The In Between Places
by Phobosgirl

Brian POV

You wake up in the middle of the night from a dream in which he's fucking you. Really fucking you, in a way he is rarely given the opportunity to do- slow, like it's love, with soft whispers and tender strokes. You wish you could hate it, it's so wrong and so not who you are, but you're hard, rigid, and your breath still comes in pants, and that's when you roll towards him. It's not a decision, you tell yourself, it's a base need, a primal instinct. But it's really neither of those things, and you know that, too.

His name. Just the sound of his name makes you harder as you whisper it to his sleeping form, lick it into his skin, caress it across his back, until he stirs, reaches for you. He burrows close to you, balanced between waking and sleeping, waiting to see which way you'll take him, and you know that when you roll over, nudge your ass into his hips, he'll choose wakefulness. You would, if you were him. You've only rarely passed up an opportunity to fuck him and you always regretted it, later. He's never passed up a chance, not once, and thank fucking god.

He does it slow, with soft whispers and tender strokes and you could never hate this.

He became the dream, and needing him is your reality, just a thing you live, every day. He blurs the lines of the in-between places, when you're awake, when you're asleep. You've never been more grateful for anything in your life.

fin