Have You Any Dreams You'd Like To Sell? - Part Two: The Fallout
“Good morning my love. Good dream?” Nicky murmured in ancient Genoese, lapsing back into his old tongue the way he always did in the mornings when he was sleepy and not quite awake yet.
His hand was reached back behind him and he was lazily, gently squeezing at Joe’s softening sensitive cock through his pyjamas; Joe had probably woken him grinding up against him and Nicky had reached back to stroke him off like they usually did in that scenario and Allah, Joe was going to be sick.
Nicky must have felt him shudder in disgust and taken it as a sign of lingering arousal because Joe could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Really good dream. Want to share it with me?” he asked, arching back into Joe’s body from where he lay against Joe’s front.
It was the way they always slept; it made Nicky feel that he would be able to protect them, protect Joe, from anyone that might try to attack them in their sleep, but Joe liked it because he felt like he was protecting Nicky. Holding him close under his arm, wrapping around him securely, like that would prevent anyone hurting him and Joe had betrayed that position.
He was still half-stuck in that dream, his residual lust battling with horror at what he’d seen, what he’d encouraged to happen to his Nicolo. He’d wanted to see Nicky broken, wanted him hurt, and seeing Keane respond to his prompting had only made him harder in the dream. He’d come to the sound of Nicky distraught and desperate, like his pain was an aphrodisiac.
And Nicky wanted him to share that, unaware that Joe had been aroused by his pain. How could he tell the man he loved beyond reason, the one lying in open trust beside him, that he’d enjoyed seeing his abuse, that he’d orchestrated it?
Joe at up abruptly, avoiding making any contact with Nicky’s body.
“Yusuf?” Nicky queried, confusion and concern clearing the sleep from his voice and Joe couldn’t handle it – he scrambled off the bed, kicking away the sheets and ducking from Nicky’s hand as he did so.
He only just made it to the toilet in the en suite before he threw up, dry heaving and gripping the rim of the toilet seat in a white-knuckled grip. He heard Nicky call his name in alarm and reached a leg out to close the door behind him. He knew that Nicky wouldn’t intrude on his privacy if he wanted it, but he also knew that it would fret and worry him to be closed out of this moment.
His sobs for air had little to do with his throwing up as moments of his dream came back to him in flashbacks; Keane’s fingers in Nicky’s mouth, the way he’d given permission for Keane to… how he’d suggested more ways to hurt the heart of his hearts, how he’d betrayed Nicky’s trust in him at every turn.
It was that last that had him crawling into the bathtub and turning on the shower, purely so that he could better hide his crying from Nicky. He sat in the bottom of the thing, his knees held to his chest as it broke apart in cold hatred with himself.
It was maybe twenty minutes, maybe more, until he was able to get up and change out of his wet clothes, drying his face of any evidence of his tears – and he was grateful for his immortality for once for draining away his swollen and red eyes as though they had never been – before wrapping a towel around his waist and going out to face his beloved.
Nicky had woken and dressed while Joe had been in the shower and was now sitting on the edge of their made bed looking right at Joe with worry. His sidearm sat on the pillow behind him, and Joe could almost see him in his mind, flicking the safety on and off, checking the chambers, all the little things Nicky did when he was worried about Joe like this. Could see that stress in his eyes as when he’d been looking to Joe for help…
His stomach turned and he held a hand to it, keeping his nausea down.
“Yusuf, love, what’s wrong?” Nicky asked, still in that old language, the questions he must have about why Joe shut him out going unasked and Joe knew it was for his benefit. He felt like a coward at his relief at not being asked, at not having to explain.
“Nothing my heart, nothing. Just a stomach thing.” He brushed off with a tight smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
I’m sorry that I told a man to rape you. I’m sorry that I asked him to hurt you. I’m sorry I told him you enjoyed it. I’m sorry that I enjoyed it. He couldn’t apologise for any of those things because the thought of admitting his dream to Nicky made his heart freeze solid in his throat – he couldn’t bear to see that betrayed look in Nicky again.
Nicky was standing now and approaching him, the worry faded to a warm sympathy. “No apologies. Are you all healed now?” he asked, and of course he would just accept Joe’s words, he trusted him after all.
“Still a little queasy.” Was all Joe gave him. He avoided Nicky’s unspoken offer to be held, avoided him altogether in fact in favour of pulling clothes out of his duffel bag and acting like his distance was normal.
He could feel Nicky’s eyes on the back of his head as he set about dressing, turned away from the other man in a way he never did.
“I’ll go make breakfast.” Nicky said quietly after a beat and Joe hated that the relief he felt outweighed the guilt as Nicky left.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: FILL: Nicky/Joe, imaginary Nicky/Keane, noncon, part 2a
Date: 2020-08-13 04:21 pm (UTC)Have You Any Dreams You'd Like To Sell? - Part Two: The Fallout
“Good morning my love. Good dream?” Nicky murmured in ancient Genoese, lapsing back into his old tongue the way he always did in the mornings when he was sleepy and not quite awake yet.
His hand was reached back behind him and he was lazily, gently squeezing at Joe’s softening sensitive cock through his pyjamas; Joe had probably woken him grinding up against him and Nicky had reached back to stroke him off like they usually did in that scenario and Allah, Joe was going to be sick.
Nicky must have felt him shudder in disgust and taken it as a sign of lingering arousal because Joe could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Really good dream. Want to share it with me?” he asked, arching back into Joe’s body from where he lay against Joe’s front.
It was the way they always slept; it made Nicky feel that he would be able to protect them, protect Joe, from anyone that might try to attack them in their sleep, but Joe liked it because he felt like he was protecting Nicky. Holding him close under his arm, wrapping around him securely, like that would prevent anyone hurting him and Joe had betrayed that position.
He was still half-stuck in that dream, his residual lust battling with horror at what he’d seen, what he’d encouraged to happen to his Nicolo. He’d wanted to see Nicky broken, wanted him hurt, and seeing Keane respond to his prompting had only made him harder in the dream. He’d come to the sound of Nicky distraught and desperate, like his pain was an aphrodisiac.
And Nicky wanted him to share that, unaware that Joe had been aroused by his pain. How could he tell the man he loved beyond reason, the one lying in open trust beside him, that he’d enjoyed seeing his abuse, that he’d orchestrated it?
Joe at up abruptly, avoiding making any contact with Nicky’s body.
“Yusuf?” Nicky queried, confusion and concern clearing the sleep from his voice and Joe couldn’t handle it – he scrambled off the bed, kicking away the sheets and ducking from Nicky’s hand as he did so.
He only just made it to the toilet in the en suite before he threw up, dry heaving and gripping the rim of the toilet seat in a white-knuckled grip. He heard Nicky call his name in alarm and reached a leg out to close the door behind him. He knew that Nicky wouldn’t intrude on his privacy if he wanted it, but he also knew that it would fret and worry him to be closed out of this moment.
His sobs for air had little to do with his throwing up as moments of his dream came back to him in flashbacks; Keane’s fingers in Nicky’s mouth, the way he’d given permission for Keane to… how he’d suggested more ways to hurt the heart of his hearts, how he’d betrayed Nicky’s trust in him at every turn.
It was that last that had him crawling into the bathtub and turning on the shower, purely so that he could better hide his crying from Nicky. He sat in the bottom of the thing, his knees held to his chest as it broke apart in cold hatred with himself.
It was maybe twenty minutes, maybe more, until he was able to get up and change out of his wet clothes, drying his face of any evidence of his tears – and he was grateful for his immortality for once for draining away his swollen and red eyes as though they had never been – before wrapping a towel around his waist and going out to face his beloved.
Nicky had woken and dressed while Joe had been in the shower and was now sitting on the edge of their made bed looking right at Joe with worry. His sidearm sat on the pillow behind him, and Joe could almost see him in his mind, flicking the safety on and off, checking the chambers, all the little things Nicky did when he was worried about Joe like this. Could see that stress in his eyes as when he’d been looking to Joe for help…
His stomach turned and he held a hand to it, keeping his nausea down.
“Yusuf, love, what’s wrong?” Nicky asked, still in that old language, the questions he must have about why Joe shut him out going unasked and Joe knew it was for his benefit. He felt like a coward at his relief at not being asked, at not having to explain.
“Nothing my heart, nothing. Just a stomach thing.” He brushed off with a tight smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
I’m sorry that I told a man to rape you. I’m sorry that I asked him to hurt you. I’m sorry I told him you enjoyed it. I’m sorry that I enjoyed it. He couldn’t apologise for any of those things because the thought of admitting his dream to Nicky made his heart freeze solid in his throat – he couldn’t bear to see that betrayed look in Nicky again.
Nicky was standing now and approaching him, the worry faded to a warm sympathy. “No apologies. Are you all healed now?” he asked, and of course he would just accept Joe’s words, he trusted him after all.
“Still a little queasy.” Was all Joe gave him. He avoided Nicky’s unspoken offer to be held, avoided him altogether in fact in favour of pulling clothes out of his duffel bag and acting like his distance was normal.
He could feel Nicky’s eyes on the back of his head as he set about dressing, turned away from the other man in a way he never did.
“I’ll go make breakfast.” Nicky said quietly after a beat and Joe hated that the relief he felt outweighed the guilt as Nicky left.