midnight encounter : chapter 5 , all rainbows and sunshine
Bruce was dreaming again.
This time he knew he was dreaming, because there was no way in hell, he would he would be doing what he was doing right now. It made it worse though. He didn't seem to wake up. A part of him, however knew, that he didn't really want to wake up. It was so perfect. A sunset, a yacht, the sound of water splashing against its rims, he could almost smell the salty flavor of the sea, even in his dream. And he could smell something else too, a musky natural fragrance, that represented its diabolical owner. He could smell the smell the perfume on her, the perfume that defined the man; he was holding his arms, as if he never wanted to let him go.
Bruce definitely was dreaming.
But he could feel the soft touches of his luscious mouth on his own, his tongue teasing him ceaselessly, as if daring him to defy him. He could feel blue eyes, penetrating him, leaving him bare naked. Not that he minded, a tiny voice in his head snickered. He could feel him, on his lap, touching his soft curls. His brown mane seemed so soft in his hands. He knew, it was like touching a dangerous animal, however beautiful he might be. But he loved that danger, the danger of knowing the man who had terrorized the Gotham city not a while ago, and had ripped him apart.
He also loved being on the other side of midnight, poetically speaking. The fact that a known womanizer and a big time flirt like him had fallen for a guy, every one hated and feared, held the ultimate thrill for him. Even in his dreams, he chuckled at the thought of being an outcast.
Bruce felt the rims of his glasses on his eyes, the bridge, the thick lens, the gave the good doctor , am awe impairing look. He could almost hear the man snarl, as he knew, he was almost blind without them. There was nothing to stop Bruce from leaning in and kissing the mouth that had twisted itself in an angry and unpleasant curl.
The salty water splashed on his face again, making him wet. Only it didn't taste salty. It tasted , like the first drop of rain. He opened his closed eyes with a jerk , and woke up in his room , rain drizzling outside.
Fuck, he thought as he gathered his wits about, I am going to read Freud today. This can't go on.
This time he knew he was dreaming, because there was no way in hell, he would he would be doing what he was doing right now. It made it worse though. He didn't seem to wake up. A part of him, however knew, that he didn't really want to wake up. It was so perfect. A sunset, a yacht, the sound of water splashing against its rims, he could almost smell the salty flavor of the sea, even in his dream. And he could smell something else too, a musky natural fragrance, that represented its diabolical owner. He could smell the smell the perfume on her, the perfume that defined the man; he was holding his arms, as if he never wanted to let him go.
Bruce definitely was dreaming.
But he could feel the soft touches of his luscious mouth on his own, his tongue teasing him ceaselessly, as if daring him to defy him. He could feel blue eyes, penetrating him, leaving him bare naked. Not that he minded, a tiny voice in his head snickered. He could feel him, on his lap, touching his soft curls. His brown mane seemed so soft in his hands. He knew, it was like touching a dangerous animal, however beautiful he might be. But he loved that danger, the danger of knowing the man who had terrorized the Gotham city not a while ago, and had ripped him apart.
He also loved being on the other side of midnight, poetically speaking. The fact that a known womanizer and a big time flirt like him had fallen for a guy, every one hated and feared, held the ultimate thrill for him. Even in his dreams, he chuckled at the thought of being an outcast.
Bruce felt the rims of his glasses on his eyes, the bridge, the thick lens, the gave the good doctor , am awe impairing look. He could almost hear the man snarl, as he knew, he was almost blind without them. There was nothing to stop Bruce from leaning in and kissing the mouth that had twisted itself in an angry and unpleasant curl.
The salty water splashed on his face again, making him wet. Only it didn't taste salty. It tasted , like the first drop of rain. He opened his closed eyes with a jerk , and woke up in his room , rain drizzling outside.
Fuck, he thought as he gathered his wits about, I am going to read Freud today. This can't go on.