Dreams
Title: "Dreams"
Author: prettysirenx/PrettySiren, etc
Rating: NC-17 (explicit)
Genre: smut, angst, romance, one-shot
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own Revolution. If I did, there would be more of this going on.
Warnings: This is Miles/Charlie. So, if you don't like the pairing, don't read.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd. This was just a random thing I started writing that kinda ran away, but I'd been encouraged to write some actual smut, so here you go. :)
Charlie had a dream last night. When she closed her eyes, she could still recall every vivid aspect.
It was unsettling.
It was a night just like tonight. There was a cool, gentle wind blowing and the air was cold. Charlie sat in front of the fire, keeping warm while she waited. Miles came up beside her.
“They won’t be back for another hour,” he’d said conversationally.
And they were instantly all over each other. Hands were grasping at clothes as their lips tore at one another, quickly leaving them breathless. Charlie pulled away, gasping for air as his kisses trailed down her neck. She ripped off his jacket franticly and threw it on the ground. Hers landed beside it, and they tumbled down onto their makeshift bed, kissing and hands roving all over. She was straddling him, pinning his hands down as she kissed the part of his throat that vibrated when he groaned. His stubble tickled her lips and every tactile sensation was electric.
He smiled, and with a swift movement, he was on top of her. She felt the blood rush to her loins. Despite the dreamy notion in her head that they’ve done this a thousand times, it all felt new. It all felt real. Especially when his eyes flicked to the zipper of her pants; she inhaled as he kissed her lower abdomen, making her wait for it. The weight was unbearable as he unzipped the zipper; every moment was hellish eternity only soothed by the hypnotic sensation of his lips on her skin.
But then the zipper was undone. The last thing she could remember before she woke up in a sweat was the way his lips felt as he smiled into her skin.
And tonight was another night. Tonight was another night of wondering how his lips would feel if only they were just a little lower on her body, how his hands would feel tearing at her clothes and pulling her into him. And she had to wonder-did his lips even feel like that at all? It was only just a dream, after all. The other night, Aaron dreamed that a leprechaun ate the last carrot. Did dreams have any meaning at all?
Of course they do, she told herself. Or, at least, hers did (she couldn’t vouch for Aaron’s). This felt real. This was real.
Still, it didn’t stop the intense urge to verify it. Tonight, Miles was sitting right beside her. They were alone, waiting to rendezvous with the others-a scenario her dream practically predicted. The time was right. The moon was even in the same place in the sky-if that mattered. Now was as good of a time as any.
Miles cleared his throat. “So, I reckon the others won’t be back for an hour or two.”
That did it for Charlie. Her dream definitely meant something. If Miles, wonderfully clueless yet entirely serendipitous, Miles, could align himself within whatever ether dreams were made in…it definitely meant something.
She looked at him, her eyes drawn to his lips, lips that were so exquisitely formed it was like he was a god in a book she read once. He noticed her looking and he looked back. She knew-she knew he was looking at her lips too. She thought she’d caught him doing it once before, but now there was no mistake. She looked back at his eyes and then again at his lips. Not kissing him caused an ache in her stomach.
“Your lips look cold,” she said.
“They could be warmer,” he admitted quietly.
She pressed her lips to his, gentle, not like her dream. His mouth was so soft, surprisingly; she wanted to savor it, savor it for as long as she could. His lips were still, unmoving under hers. She held his face in her hands, brushing his chiseled cheeks with her thumbs. For a mortifying moment, Charlie was sure her overtures were way off-base and possibly alarming. But then he did something even more alarming: he kissed her back. Soft for the first few brushes of his lips, but the kiss intensified quickly until it was finally what Charlie had come to expect from her dreams.
It was real, it was all real. He kissed her so hard that she had to gasp for air, his lips immediately went for her neck, running his hands up her, from belly to breasts, sliding under jacket and brushing it off of her body like it was nothing. She ripped his off and flung it to the ground. She threw him on the pile of jackets; he gazed up at her all serious, like he was seeing her for the first time-really, truly seeing her.
Her hands clutched his wrists; she had him pinned just like she had the night before in her dream. Straddling him, she could feel the heat emanating from between both their legs. He wanted this. She knew he did. But awake, she wasn’t as brave as she could be. She needed more from him, more from him than just that beautiful gaze of brown eyes. She needed to know; she needed to-he rose up and kissed her. It was an unmistakable kiss, a kiss of want, of yearning. His tongue thrust violently into her mouth and she was enraptured as she found herself on her back, under his weight, as his body slid down hers, his hand slid up her and clenched her breasts.
“God,” she whispered, shuddering. His hands were firm, decisive, and maybe even a little rough-but it didn’t hurt. It felt extraordinarily good.
His lips on her stomach felt exactly as she’d dreamt: firm like his hands, decisive like his actions, and kissing her oh so roughly. And he made her wait; he made her wait so long for the zipper, just like he had before. But this time, when he was done, he pulled the leather off of her skin, exposing her throbbing, hot flesh to the night air.
He pressed his tongue to her wetness, and she felt alive. Her mouth gaped, she gasped, and clenched at the jackets as he made her feel so good, so good she could scarcely stand it. Nothing she ever imagined felt as good as this; no dream could compare. As she reached ecstasy, she ran her fingers through his hair, urging him on, to keep going and not stop until she writhed and cried out in the best way.
He kissed her urgently; she tasted a faint glimmer of herself on his tongue. She fumbled with his belt buckle, frenzied; she wanted so bad to lay naked with him, to see him and for him to see her, but there was no time. They may never have another opportunity. Every second alone with him was precious, sacred.
She wondered if she needed to do something for him to get him ready, as he pleased her, but found, surprisingly, she did not. He was hard and big; she looked upon him with hunger and desperation, desperation for him to be inside of her.
The moment he slid into her was the happiest she’d ever felt. She realized it was all she wanted, to love him and to be loved by him. And he did love her; she knew it; she could tell by the way he knew exactly what to do with her body, how to be gentle and ease her into it; horseback riding made sure she no longer had her cherry; so did fooling around with a village boy or two. But, she’d never, ever made love. This was making love, what he was doing to her, the way he moved inside. This was real.
He kissed her as his thrusts intensified, quickened. She kissed him back, their mouths drowning out each other’s groans.
“Miles,” she moaned; she could feel herself growing hot with impending climax once more. “Miles, God, Miles.”
“Charlie,” he growled into her neck. She felt him pump inside her several times, pumping his body, pumping life into her.
She sat up in a sweat and found herself alone by the dying campfire. It had been another dream. Miles lay asleep six feet away.
But these dreams, these dreams grew more and more intense. She wanted him so bad it was all she could think about. It was her day; it was her night. He was all she wanted, all she needed. And looking at his handsome, peaceful, sleeping face, she knew she could never let him know. Dreams weren’t enough, but they were all she had.