F I C : sweet dreams .

[solosection]

They're lying in Michel's bed together, Elio's skin still shining from the layers of lotion the other man's applied which has become kind of a routine when they have sex, foreplay, the scents of perfume and the sensation of slick and soft. Elio loves it, loves the feeling of luxurious care. The way Michel's fingers get in everywhere when moist and slippery from expensive creams and balms. He's feeling completely relaxed, drifting in and out of sleep without really lingering in either state, constantly aware of Michel's body next to his own, the strong, broad, long limbs of it. His gray hair is tickling Elio's ear, that's how close they're lying.

"You look unusually peaceful like this," Michel suddenly tells him, rolling over on his side to face him and Elio blinks himself more fully awake, turning his head to look at him, in turn.

"How so," he wants to know, curious.

"Everything on you moves at a calm pace right now, your eyelids and your chest. Otherwise you're always in such a hurry. Dreaming anything good?" Michel's voice is quietly amused, a bit raw still from taking Elio's cock so far down. He'd admitted to Elio at the beginning of their relationship that he severely disliked deep-throating, but he'd do it for him anyway. Don't do anything you don't like, Elio had told him, insistently. But I like doing you, Michel had replied. It had made Elio throw himself at his front like it were a wall, kissing him deep on the mouth.

"It's the same dream as always," Elio replies and brushes some wayward curls out of his face. They bounce right back, though, and Michel reaches out to flick them out of the way instead. This time, they stay. Elio smiles.

"You have a recurring dream," Michel asks.

"Yes," Elio says and makes more comfortable, throwing one leg over Michel's two, at the shins, parallel lines disturbed by a 100 degree angle. Michel shifts a bit. Elio can tell he's getting hard again. He has an impressively short refractory period for a man who's passed 60.

"Well, tell me about it!" It's not as ill-mannered as it sounds, Elio just has to wait a few seconds for the continuation, "if you want."

"I don't mind," Elio tells him and he doesn't, it's not something he finds invasive or overly private, especially not since Michel knows about Oliver, the marriage canard and how long, how very long he's waited. Somehow, actually, it surprises him that he hasn't told the other man about the dream before. It's the natural continuation. "It's nothing special, really," he begins and Michel raises both eyebrows at him as if to say, you always put yourself down, don't you. Oliver had said the same thing. "I'm in my parents' summer house, always the living room, except it's completely abandoned, there's no one there but me. There aren't even any sounds from the kitchen or the hallway, I'm alone."

"That doesn't sound like a pleasant dream at all," Michel comments, eyebrows still slightly raised. His more than half-hard cock's pressing against Elio's thigh. Elio loves the feeling of it. How his desire for him won't deny itself.

"The only thing in the room besides me is a feeling - a feeling of anticipation, like I'm waiting for someone, expecting them to be arriving anytime soon," Elio explains. In the dream, he always ends up by the piano, his father's old instrument, not to sit down and play, but to just lean on while he waits for this mysterious unknown to step into his life. He looks out the windows and the orchard trees are ready to be harvested. It feels like it's a metaphor for his own life. He's ready, he's ready.

"That's more like it! Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know."

"The one who got married, maybe?" Michel sounds slightly hopeful and Elio's so grateful to him for supporting him in his pining for Oliver, if one has to pine, pining alone's by far the worst. "You met in that house."

Thank you. He remembers.

"How long have you been having these dreams," Michel carries on.

"Since I moved away from home. Not very often, sometimes only once or twice a year, though they've been getting more frequent lately." Elio stretches lazily and as such, rubs up against Michel's cock which is mostly hard at this point, only getting harder from the friction. Michel breathes in deeply and presses back, though the conversation keeps going. His voice maybe a tad deeper and it was so lovely and deep already.

"And now you're having them while in bed with me. Should I feel jealous?"

"Do you ever," Elio wants to know, slowly reaching out with both arms and slinging one around the other man's shoulder, while the other slips around his waist. Like that, Elio pulls himself to his chest, one long slide of body against body. Michel makes a sound of enjoyment. His arms welcome him.

"I have you now, that's good enough for me. Whoever may come for you next," he says.

"I thnk," Elio whispers, lips hot against his earlobe as he leans in all the way, "you're coming for me next."

Michel chuckles and in one strong move, rolls over on top of him. "I think," he says, "you might be right."

They kiss and Elio forgets all about his recurring, empty, summer house dreams for a moment. Here, he's warm and taken care of and not alone, after all. Here he's in the present, not waiting.

Not waiting.