Untitled Belonging One Shot

It is late and he is tired, tired to the point his eyelids are drooping. But still he moves carefully, almost methodically as he prepares for bed. He won’t be rushed, even though Lezard longs to go to sleep with every fiber of his being. But first things must be put in their proper place, his books marked for various passages, and a stone, polished to a gleaming shine, must be locked away.

He handles the stone with leather gloves, and even then he can feel the energy crackling off it’s surface. The power sends tingles along his nerves, a delightful feeling that makes him hungry to devour the stone’s secrets. But he’s spent enough time on it for the day, studying the things it shows him well past the time the sky has blackened, and the candles have all burnt down.

Lezard knows the stone is changing him, bit by bit, until it invades his every thought, fills him with knowledge of things man has never been meant to know. And still he can’t get enough of it, even when he dreams. He supposed he should be worried, the stone is trying to consume him, eat him up until he is just a shell of the person he once was. It was almost enough to get him to get rid of the stone, but Lezard is confidant he can handle it.

It is a lie, he can’t, the knowledge will be too much for him, it will keep at him until the last threads of sanity are driven away. But there is a reason behind his persistence, and it has nothing to do with the limitless knowledge, and everything to do with the dreams.

He feels a shiver of anticipation as he lays down to sleep, wondering if he will be so blessed as to see that particular one again. There’s no doubt it is his favorite, and it doesn’t come often enough for his liking. And yet, every detail, every second of the dream is ingrained on his mind, on his very soul, Lezard replaying the memory of it whenever he has a quiet moment to himself.

It’s the sort of dream that can lead a man to distraction, or to his ruin. He waits impatiently for sleep to claim him, and it does so seamlessly, Lezard not even realizing he is asleep until the room becomes hazy. It’s like looking through thick curtains, Lezard throwing off his blankets and rising from his bed. He’s dressed in rumpled silk, pajamas a dark gray that cling to his body, Lezard padding barefoot across the cold floor.

The door to his room opens, and dim light beckons him forward. He steps into a room that has never existed in his home, of curtains that drape from overhead, and the light of a million lit candles flickering in the warm breeze. Somehow he manages to not get tangled in the curtains, moving between them, feeling them brush against him in a tender caress. He bats them aside, and listens, waiting for a sound other than his own breathing and footsteps.

He’s rewarded with a laugh, Lezard going still at the sound of it. It’s happy and careful, joyful and feminine, and it’s music to Lezard’s ears. He begins moving quicker, till he’s running blindly through the curtain’s, following the laughter as it guides him to his goal. He comes to a stop when he sees her, his breath stolen away by her beauty.

She’s not facing him but sitting towards a stream, the curtains surrounding a little grove of flowers. The woman is seated on boulder, bare feet extended to dip her toes in the steam. Her unbound hair is draped over the front of her shoulder, revealing her back, where a white sheet slips down low enough for him to see the markings of wings over her shoulder blades. He innately knows that tattoo could become reality in an instant, this woman is an angel of some kind, an ethereal being whose wings give her flight.

The first time he saw this creature, he could only stop and stare at her, watching as she brushed her hair. It was a mesmerizing sight to see her elegant fingers stroke confidently though her silver blue hair, the golden brush a pale reflection to her beauty. How many times did he dream of her, before he saw her face, the woman turning just enough for him to catch a profile that revealed her eyes to be like sapphires.

He doesn’t waste time now, Lezard sneaking towards the woman, his bare feet silent on the grass as he creeps towards her. She doesn’t turn until he is upon her, placing his hand on her bare shoulder. She doesn’t frighten at his appearance, instead her rosy lips turn upwards in a smile, the woman looking delighted to see him. His hands shake, fingers trembling as he moves to touch her hair, and even after he wakes he’ll feel the memory of the cool silk like texture of her mane.

If she speaks to him, he cannot hear the words, Lezard lost to staring at her. The dream is always different at this point, sometimes the woman takes the initiative, rising to stand on tip toe to kiss him. He doesn’t know how much time he has left, how long it will be until he wakes up. He hopes he was sufficiently tired to remain sleeping for hours, but it’s always a risk.

When she reaches up with a warm hand, fingers pressing against his cheek, he falls, dropping to his knees. He’s shaking more than he cares to admit, wrapping his arms around her waist as he presses his forehead against her lap. She bends her head over him, her hair falling down like a curtain, She’s running her fingers through his hair, the touch soothing and Lezard looks up at her. The woman is still smiling, eyes full of warmth and adoration, a sight he is unused to seeing directed at him.

He strains upwards to reach her, kissing her full on the lips, and her reaction is a surprised but welcome one. She sighs, lips yielding to his, the woman making no attempt to push him away. She wants this as much as he does, her lips soft, trembling against his as they move. He’s not experienced with women, but with this angel he makes no mistakes, she’s too precious to him to allow any.

His hands move as they kiss, cautious at first as though expecting her to object to his touches. His hands smooth up her sides, lightly caressing over the white sheet that she wears. She kisses him harder in response, Lezard taking that as invitation to find the ends of the sheet, parting them with trembling hands. Lezard pulls back from the kiss to view the unveiling of her body, his breath catching in his throat as he sees her beauty bared.

Her skin is so pale, it reminds him of porcelain, with the faintest of pink for her nipples. He’s staring too long, the woman is taking hold of his hands, placing them on her body. Encouraged, he grows bolder, doing an experimental squeeze of her breasts. Her mouth opens, pink lips forming the sound that escapes her. It is pleasured approval she lets out, Lezard risking a smile at her.

She smiles back, and seems to coo as he continues to knead and squeeze her breast, her flesh pliant and easy to manipulate. Her nipples grow stiff, like two tiny pearls, Lezard leaning closer to investigate. A low keen of encouragement when he licks one, the woman arching into his tongue with a gasp. He becomes greedy for her, licking and sucking at her tips, working her breasts over with mouth and lips and moaning all the while.

Her hands are in his hair, fingers running through the brown strands again and again. He wonders how he got to be so lucky, rolling his eyes up to stare into her face as he suckles at her breast. It is she who decides when enough is enough, reaching down to grab his hand and press it between her legs. Lezard doesn’t recognize his own voice, the sound is so sharp with excitement.

She’s wet, and growing wetter yet, and it’s with the knowledge that he’s done this to her. He grins now, and sees his smile mirrored on her face, the woman wiggling and bucking against his stroking fingers. He hurriedly reaches to get the drawstring ties of his pajama pants open, freeing the erection he’s gotten from touching her. He’s never gotten this far before in the dream, Lezard pulling the woman down onto the grass, her sheet a blanket for him to lay her down on top of.

She stares trustingly up at him, eyes shining with desire, body unresisting as he spreads her legs. She holds out her arms to him, Lezard moving into place between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock against her wet sex. He goes into her embrace, feeling her wrap her arms around him, hugging him close as he thrusts inside her. He stares at her as he does it, she’s all he can see, all he’s ever wanted.

They moan together, the sound wordless but satisfied, Lezard working his hips as he thrusts into her body. She moves with him and it is heaven, Lezard kissing all over her face as he moans and groans. Soon he is almost mindless with pleasure, hips continuing to move, his cock seeking her heat deeper and deeper inside her. When he touches what feels like the very center of her body, he explodes, and feels the climax ripple through them both.

Lezard gets to see one last smile from her before the dream is ended, his eyes snapping open in shock. He’s covered in sweat and more, his pajama bottoms sticky with his release, his body practically humming with the memory of how the woman had felt. Paradise would describe her perfectly, Lezard kicking aside the sheets to get up and wash himself.

For one brief instant he catches his reflection in the mirror, and he swears she is reflected in his eyes. When he blinks she is gone, leaving him to slide into depression. He doesn’t even know her name, doesn’t even know if she’s real, or just a figment the stone has given to help him get that much closer to insanity. But he knows one thing, and it is this. The woman is his, without a doubt. She belongs to him just as much as Lezard does to her.