Date: Tue, 21 Sep 2010 19:10:34 -0600
From: Katya_Dee <concertoind@gmail.com>
Subject: The Dreamtrap - chapter 19

This is a story of fiction, all resemblances (dead or alive) are eerily
coincidental. Everything in the story is owned by myself beloved. Contains
descriptive sexual scenes between males, if you are not supposed to read it
then don't. Feel free to e-mail me.

****

 - XIX -


            He knew that Gabriel was awake even before he opened his eyes.
They lay still and silent for several long, `tick-tock' interrupted minutes.

   "Sucked you in again?" Gabriel asked finally in emotionless voice, and
Desmond sighed.

   "No," he answered. "I woke up right there, in that parking lot, next to
the dumpster... That damn dumpster almost made me puke..."

   "I see..." Gabriel said thoughtfully. "So it doesn't even have to warn
you that it's about to get you, huh?"

   "That's what it seems like," Desmond agreed bitterly.

   They fell silent again.

   "He wanted me to finish him," Gabriel said suddenly, and Desmond shifted
slightly on top of him and looked up. "He wanted me to finish him," Rayhe
repeated. "Strange, but I never realized that until now..." He looked at
Desmond without blinking. "You knew that when you witnessed the whole thing,
didn't you?"

   "Yes," Desmond answered quietly without shifting his gaze.

   "He played me just the way he wanted," Gabriel said thoughtfully. "I
granted his wish..." He frowned. "If you knew that was what he wanted, why
didn't you stop me? I mean, I would get some satisfaction in refusing him
that favor, even though it was just a dream..."

   "Ugh," Desmond sighed and sat up, blanket sliding down to his waist. "I
talked to Tess yesterday," he looked at Gabriel again. "She said..." He
paused for a second. "She told me not to interfere under any circumstances,"
he nodded slowly. "Because this ability can alter the flow of actual
events..."

   "How?" Gabriel frowned even deeper, and Desmond shrugged.

   "I don't know," he said. "But I am not taking any chances."

   "Did she tell you how to resist the calls then?" Gabriel pulled himself
up on the pillow slightly.

   "She has no idea," Desmond said gloomily. "Apparently, this damn ability
is so bloody rare that even Tess has no clue about it... She said there were
only two dream manipulators throughout the entire history..."

   "Dream manipulators?" Gabriel blinked.

   "Yeah," Desmond sighed. "That's what it's called."

   "I see," Gabriel nodded melancholically, falling silent yet again.

   Desmond watched his empty expression for several minutes without saying
anything. Finally, he sighed.

   "When I was fourteen," he said in a low voice, and Gabriel shifted his
gaze towards him. "I killed my Grandmother," Desmond continued calmly. "She
was my first kill," he nodded. "And yes, it was the worst."

   He never told Gabriel about his Grandmother; Rayhe knew about Tomah,
Lorena May, and quite a few others – Desmond would reminiscence about his
old marks and cases often. He told Gabriel about Jason, about his mistake
that led to his mentor's demise; Rayhe knew all of that. However, Desmond
never told him about his Grandmother – it was the only thing he simply
couldn't bring himself telling him. He didn't know why; he just couldn't
tell him.

   "She didn't do anything new," he continued as calmly as before. "I mean,
she was doing that ever since I turned four, I was used to it... That day
though..." he paused. "I don't know," he shrugged slowly. "Something snapped
in me finally; I couldn't deal with that anymore."

   He looked at silent Gabriel.

   "I wanted to leave," he continued. "Just get all my shit and leave the
house, but she wouldn't let me... I think she really wanted to kill me right
then," he said thoughtfully. "I never knew how much she hated me until that
day... Anyway," he shook his head slightly, noting that still unusual
lightness and lack of long strands falling into his face. "One thing led to
another, and I ended up strangling her to death..." He nodded again. "That's
what my nightmares are..." He glanced at Gabriel. "The ones I wouldn't talk
to you about... Replaying the same event, over and over..."

   "Sounds like it was nothing but self-defense," Gabriel said after a few
minutes.

   "No, it wasn't," Desmond replied quietly. "I could've simply knocked her
out, just stop her... Hell, I could've tied her down," he grinned darkly. "I
didn't. I went all the way."

   Gabriel looked at him silently for several more minutes, and Desmond
never shifted his gaze, his expression as calm as before. Finally, Rayhe's
eyes darted towards the clock for a second, and then he said in a low voice:

   "It's five in the morning; we have two hours before we have to get up..."

   Desmond gave him a small, somewhat relieved smile and smoothly slid next
to him on the couch.

   "I want you on top this time," he murmured and ran his tongue over
Gabriel's lips, tracing them one at a time. "Go slowly for as long as you
can possibly handle... Make me beg..." he whispered with a dark, lustful
smile.

   "You will be pleading," Gabriel muttered, kicking off the blanket, his
hand slowly running down the side of Desmond's body. "You will be pleading
nonstop..." he nodded and nipped at his mate's throat a couple of times
before starting sliding his face down his chest.

   Desmond closed his eyes and buried his fingers in Gabriel's hair.

   "Make me beg..." he whispered again, and his back arched slightly when
Rayhe's tongue started working its magic.



****



   Several weeks later, Gabriel was finally able to come to terms with
Desmond's new ability. He didn't like it (for obvious reasons), but he
stopped dwelling on every single time Desmond would witness yet another one
of his dreams. It wouldn't happen every night, to Gabriel's defeated relief;
usually, it would happen three times a week, sometimes four, but not more
than that. Rayhe could live with that. Sometimes, he would wonder why he was
the only target for this pesky ability, but then he figured that it simply
needed time to develop more to be able to spread onto someone else.

   "You talk about it as if it were a disease," Desmond grumbled one of
those days when Gabriel told him his theory.

   "It *is *a disease," Rayhe nodded firmly. "And it's contagious too!"

   "How so?" Desmond frowned at that.

   "If it weren't contagious, I wouldn't remember seeing you in my dreams,"
Gabriel nodded again. "It would only bug you; instead, it tortures me as
well. It's contagious."

   Desmond rolled his eyes and said something in his usual manner, which
Gabriel ignored, as he would often do. Then, several days after that
conversation, Desmond learnt a new maneuver while he was visiting yet
another one of Gabriel's dreams – a maneuver that made him feel rather
satisfied.

   It was Friday night (or rather, early Saturday morning), and he was
relieved that he wouldn't have to get up early tomorrow – he hated early
mornings with deep passion, he was never a morning person. He mumbled,
"Night..." to Gabriel's "Sleep tight, and I mean it; stay in your own
cocoon," yawned, and let sleep to overpower him easily.

   He felt pretty safe about tonight – he had another dream-visit a couple
of nights ago, and combined with the rest of those he had during the week,
it made total of three. "See you Monday night, Rayhe..." was the last thing
in his mind before he fell asleep. Then, a couple hours later, he woke up
because of a very powerful jolt shooting through him, and it wasn't the
pleasant kind; this jolt felt like someone decided to hook him up to some
sort of a machine, which was delivering electroshock.

   "Stop...!" he muttered even before he opened his eyes. He had no idea who
or what he was talking to, but he really didn't want to experience yet
another jolt. "Stop...!"

   There were no other jolts, and he almost sighed with relief, when
suddenly, he felt that rather familiar by now, cool, impatient breeze.

   "Ah, hell..." he sighed with frustration and opened his eyes just in time
to see the wall of their bedroom rush towards him with envious speed.

   Desmond sighed without even trying to reach for his clothes this time –
he knew that the ability would take care of that for him.

   "What now?" he muttered after he found himself in some unfamiliar room.
"Holy hell, am I actually visiting someone else...?"

   His mood perked up somewhat (he was getting tired of Rayhe's teeth
grinding every time Desmond would witness yet another event from his past.
Sure, Gabriel wasn't as mad about it as he was when this damn ability hit
Desmond several weeks ago, but he would be quite gloomy every morning he
woke up from yet another shared dream), and when he heard a very familiar
voice behind the closed door, he closed his eyes with deep and utter
desperation.

   "Damn..." he muttered with a heavy sigh. "It's time to focus on someone
other than Rayhe, don't you think?" he asked his ability in harsh whisper,
and sighed when nothing changed. "Thanks for listening," he nodded gloomily
and looked around.

   The place looked like a hotel room, and not a cheap kind, for that
matter. Desmond raised one eyebrow when he saw a bottle of champagne resting
in a bucket filled with ice, and a bouquet of dark-red roses towering
proudly above that bucket.

   "Champagne," he thought warily. "Roses..." He glanced around some more,
and blinked rapidly when he saw a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs resting
coyly on top of one of the pillows.

   All these objects could only mean one thing...

   "God, it has been too long..." Rayhe's voice said from behind the closed
door, and this time, it sounded closer than it did a minute ago. "I hope you
freed up your schedule for tomorrow, because you are not getting out of
bed...!"

   Yeah, all these objects meant exactly that, Desmond thought feverishly,
while he glanced around wildly. Rayhe was about to get into this room, horny
as hell, and with someone in tow.

   "Dammit..." Desmond moaned quietly, wondering if he could maybe hide in
the closet until his ability decided it was okay to let him go.

   "Look in the closet when we get there," Rayhe said from behind the closed
door, and Desmond swore up a whispery storm. "There is something in there
for you... I hope you will like it..."

   "I *know *I will," a female's voice said in velvety purring. "God,
Gabriel, it has only been ten days, but I feel like I haven't seen you for
at least a year...! God, I missed you...!"

   "I missed you too, Sheila," Rayhe's voice said, and Desmond's eyes became
perfectly round.

   "Sheila?" he thought numbly. "*Sheila*?! Fucking hell..."

   He definitely did not want to bump nose-to-nose with Rayhe and his first
mate-to-be, even though he was somewhat curious about her.

   "I am not *that *curious," he thought desperately and glanced around
again, more wildly this time.

   He was perfectly aware of the fact that Gabriel would give him crapload
of nasty looks after he woke up in the morning, and that he would care less
about the fact that Desmond was completely and utterly helpless when it came
to this particular ability.

   "You could've hid," he heard Rayhe's voice in his head. "You could've
just gotten the hell out of sight...! Why in the world did you decide to
stay in the middle of the goddamn room?"

   He groaned softly in trapped desperation when he heard a light scratch of
the key in the keyhole.

   "Under the bed?" he thought wildly. "Shit, do I have to hide under the
bloody bed?! Goddammit...! I don't want to be here...! Get me out...!
Goddammit, get me the hell out...!"

   He glanced around yet again, with no hope this time whatsoever. Suddenly,
there was something rather near him that made him frown in disbelieving,
panicking manner. There was some sort of a shimmer in mid-air, which
suspiciously looked like that very familiar transparent wall – it was the
same kind of `shimmer,' and it was the same kind of `see-through,' except
now, there was just some small, almost insignificant portion that was doing
it.

   "Mnngh..." was all Desmond said before lunging towards that shimmer.

   He made it there right before the door of the room swung open, and he
closed his eyes, almost positive that Gabriel would see him, and that the
shimmer would never work. "Who in the bloody hell are you...?" he almost
heard in his head when he made an impact with that shimmer.

   Instead of Rayhe's voice, he heard nothing but buzzing silence, and he
risked opening one of his eyes just a tad. He glanced around quickly through
his half-shut eyelid, and when it seemed that he was safe, he let out a
shaky breath and opened both of his eyes all the way, scanning the area
warily.

   "Huh..." he thought a minute later. "I suppose, I *can *make it bend to
my will after all... I can't make it to stop, but I can make it to change
the scenery...! That's the start..."

   He almost ordered his pesky ability to take him somewhere else, when his
curiosity took the best of him. "Where in the world am I?" he thought with
genuine interest while looking around without blinking. "I have never
visited this place before... Rayhe...?" he glanced around, looking for
Gabriel.

   It seemed like he was in some big garden. Desmond looked around again,
with more appreciation this time. The place was impressive, to say the
least. It was obvious that a whole lot of care, time, and money were put
into this garden to make it look this way. Desmond started slowly walking
down a winding path, enjoying the sweet floating smell of roses. There was
nobody around, it seemed; the garden was empty except for Desmond himself
and countless birds that kept exchanging busy chirping signals.

   After five minutes or so, Desmond saw something ahead of him; it looked
like a gazebo. He headed towards it, wondering whose dream was he visiting
now, and where was the dreamer. Finally, he made it through the trees and
bushes of some peculiar looking flowers (those purple things almost made him
sneeze a couple of times), and slowed down somewhat, patting his shoulder,
trying to get all that purple powdery dust off his sleeve.

   It was indeed a gazebo, white and ornate, with interesting-looking roof
and elegant low benches. Right next to the gazebo there was something that
looked like a rather large koi fish pond. Someone was sitting next to that
pond, hugging his knees, his head pulled into his shoulders. The person sat
still, and Desmond had no idea who it was.

   "This must be the dreamer," Desmond thought with a small frown and walked
closer. "Who in the world..."

   His foot kicked one of the small rocks and it immediately rolled towards
the pond, smacking into larger rocks on the way with soft clanking sound.
The person by the pond jerked slightly, straightened up somewhat, and turned
around without letting go of his knees. Desmond froze in his spot.

   "Sam?" he said incredulously, and the kid by the pond (he looked like he
was maybe thirteen right now) frowned at that.

   "Who are you?" he asked tightly. "And what do you want? Leave me alone,
whoever you are; it's not seven in the evening yet..."

   Desmond frowned, wondering what seven in the evening had to do with
anything, and then he realized that was probably when LeVoughn-senior came
back home from work. Desmond closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened
them when he heard a very familiar sound.

   "What are you doing?" he asked dumbfoundedly when he saw the kid light up
a cigarette – the sound of lighter was the one that made Desmond open his
eyes. "Sam, what are you doing?"

   The kid threw him a dark look without saying anything.

   "Sam, you don't smoke," Desmond stepped closer. "What are you doing...?"

   "I don't," the kid agreed in the same tight voice. "Figured that I wanted
to see what all the fuss was about..." He looked at the cigarette
thoughtfully.

   "And...?" Desmond asked when the kid fell silent again.

   "It's okay," Sam shrugged. "Nothing spectacular," he dragged on his
cigarette slowly, and suddenly, Desmond craved one so bad that his head
throbbed.

   "Hey, could I..." He coughed. "Could I have one of those?"

   Sam looked at him with some mild curiosity this time, and put the pack of
the cigarettes and the lighter next to the pond, closer to Desmond.

   "Help yourself," he shrugged.

   "Is it okay if I sit with you?" Desmond asked carefully, and Sam shrugged
again without looking up.

   "I don't care," he said. "Just don't throw cigarette butts into the
pond..." he looked at the blue water. "It's bad for the fish."

   "I won't," Desmond promised and sat down on the soft grass, reaching for
the cigarettes. "So..." he said after he inhaled several times with great
satisfaction. "I don't wanna sound like a nag, but..."

   Sam threw him another mildly curious look.

   "This shit is addictive," Desmond nodded. "You might wanna steer clear of
that."

   He figured that he wasn't really interfering, since Sam didn't smoke ever
since Desmond knew him.

   "I won't get addicted," Sam let out short laughter. "You can't get
addicted in three days...! Well, not to smokes anyway," he shrugged. "And
tomorrow it won't even matter."

   Desmond frowned at that.

   "What do you mean?" he asked, and Sam sighed and turned towards him.

   "Who are you?" he demanded. "I've never seen you before!"

   "I am..." Desmond paused and looked at his cigarette for a few seconds.
"I am in your dream," he said finally with a slow nod.

   "Dream..." Sam repeated in a low voice. "I am dreaming right now..."

   He sounded dark and sarcastic.

   "Yeah," Desmond sighed. "Anyway, what's tomorrow?"

   Sam pressed his lips tight, clearly not buying the dreaming part.
Finally, he sighed again and turned away from Desmond, staring at the pond
once more, his half-finished cigarette resting between his fingers.

   "Nothing," he muttered. "Tomorrow there will be nothing... Finally," he
hemmed.

   Desmond frowned deeper and dove into kid's mind.

   "...right after he leaves for work," he heard. "Don't wanna do it too
late; he might be able to bring me back again... Just have to make sure he
didn't find my razor..."

   "Sam, no..." Desmond muttered, feeling icy-cold all of a sudden. Right
now, he could care less about the consequences of his interfering. "No,
don't...!"

   The kid looked at him with a mix of surprise and tired indifference.

   "Don't what?" he asked.

   "Don't kill yourself," Desmond muttered. "Lose the fucking razor...!"

   Now Sam frowned.

   "How did you know?" he asked slowly.

   "Doesn't matter," Desmond said quickly without looking away from kid's
dark-blue eyes. "Don't do it! Please!"

   "I guess I *am *dreaming," Sam muttered under his breath. "Why do you
even care?" he sighed.

   "Because I love you," Desmond said as quickly as before, and now, the kid
looked wary. "Not in a sexual way," Desmond said impatiently. "There was
never anything sexual between us, and there never will be! Different kind of
love...! You are..." he stuttered for a second. "Hell, you are my kid!"

   "Huh," Sam said thoughtfully and looked away again. "You are my survival
instinct... Brain works in mysterious ways," he grinned.

   "How old are you right now?" Desmond asked quickly without bothering to
dispute his theory.

   "Sixteen," Sam said melancholically.

   "What month is it right now?" Desmond yanked another cigarette out of the
pack without even noticing it.

   "September," Sam nodded. "Well..." he frowned. "Tomorrow is October
first."

   "Sam, you have four months and fourteen days before you can finally get
the hell out of here!" Desmond almost grabbed kid's shoulder, but restrained
himself at the last second. The kid will freak out, he thought warily; dream
or not, but the kid will definitely freak out. "Sam, you'll get out of this
hell in four months! Please...!"

   "That's too long," the kid said thoughtfully. "Even four days sound too
long..." He sighed and looked at Desmond with a small smile. "It's even
worse now," he said quietly. "Julian's mate got killed a month ago... He's
been in a very dark mood ever since that happened," he nodded, and Desmond
squeezed his eyes shut, cursing helplessly in his head. "So yeah," Sam
continued. "Four months is the same for me right now as four hundred years.
I can't do this any longer."

   "Sam," Desmond opened his eyes. "I never begged for anything in my life,
but I am begging you right now, please don't...! Do you want me to go on my
knees? I will..."

   "What are you doing?" Sam frowned when Desmond indeed attempted to get on
his knees. "God, get up! Bloody hell... Get up...!"

   "Sam, please..." Desmond whispered, sitting down again slowly.

   "So I'll get out of here," Sam said sharply, unborn frustrated tears
reflecting in his eyes. "I'll get out, and then what? It will never go away;
it will be with me for the rest of my life...!"

   "Yes," Desmond nodded quickly. "But it will get better..."

   Sam snorted at that rather loudly and reached for another cigarette.

   "It will get better, I swear," Desmond hesitantly handed him the lighter.
"Look..." He took a deep breath. "How about we'll make a deal... Postpone
this, okay? I mean, you can always do it later; it's not like you are going
to miss a time window or something..."

   "Postpone," Sam repeated, narrowing his left eye from cigarette smoke.

   "Yeah," Desmond nodded. "If everything is still shitty on your
twenty-first birthday, go through with it."

   "Twenty-first?" Sam repeated incredulously. "Are you out of your..."

   "It'll get better before that," Desmond interrupted him. "I swear...!"

   Sam gritted his teeth, sucking on his cigarette furiously.

   "Damn you," he muttered finally after several minutes. "Goddamn you...
I've made up my mind; I finally accepted it... Shit..." he squeezed his eyes
shut for a second. "I was almost looking forward to it... And now..." He
opened his eyes and looked at Desmond. "Damn you," he said again bitterly.

   "Sam..." Desmond started saying, when suddenly, the trees and bushes
behind Sam's back shimmered slightly, and several seconds later, Desmond
could clearly see his own bedroom and himself sleeping next to Gabriel.
"Crap," he muttered, and Sam looked at him with a silent, dark question. "I
gotta go," Desmond said tightly. "Promise me that you won't do it!"

   Sam stared at him with the same twisted frown, his jaw locked tightly,
forgotten cigarette dying in his grasp.

   "Promise me!" Desmond said louder when the bedroom on the other end of
the reality swayed somewhat impatiently, as if saying, `Hurry up before I
lose my patience!' "Promise me!"

   "Goddamn you..." Sam whispered and closed his eyes, one of the tears
finally escaping the prison of his eyelashes.

   "Sam..." It seemed like shimmering transparency has finally lost its
patience, and the bedroom was getting closer rather quickly.

   "I promise!" Sam yelled angrily and opened his eyes. "I promise...! Damn
you! I promise...! Happy now?"

   "Yeah," Desmond muttered. "Stop smoking," he added, and then transparency
swallowed him whole and he wasn't in the garden anymore.

  ****

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