HotCraic97:Tell me I didn’t dream you
I groan into the dark, the best and worst parts of me fighting a war with my fragile resilience, my traitorous thumbs already trembling over the screen, his voice a melodic rumble in my ear, his lips feathering my skin…
LeLionDuBois96:Pretty sure I’m the one dreaming xx
I hit send.
Die.
Cringe.
Die some more, until Galen saves me again.
HotCraic97:If we’re not dreaming, we have choices. And…I’d love to see you again xx
Galen
I do see Sab again.
Three times.
Threenightsof hot hands and snatched breaths before I realise what a fecking mess I am over it. Three nights—no,four. And we haven’t even fucked. Or blown each other. And yet I still spend every night and day in between reconsidering everything I thought I knew about sex.
His hands…Christ, his hands. No one’s ever touched me like that. Everplayedme like that—teasing, teasing, teasing, until I pop off like the New Year fireworks in Dingle Bay.
And now, four nights in…I can’t stop thinking about it—abouthim. He’s on my mind every second I’m awake, and when I’m not. Because Idreamabout him. Wake up with a granite dick and a warm feeling in my chest, and what the hell is up with that? It’s like my DNA has been rewritten, my instincts rewired. I’m not the same person anymore. Swear to the Lord, I could quit sex forever and still feel as if I’d had everything I needed, and it wasfour fecking nights.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive another, but I know I can’t live without holding Sab’s body against mine again. Without hearing his startled moans and snatched gasps.Without feeling him shiver and shake as new fires burn inside him. I just have to convince the scheduling gods to let it happen, alongside pretending I don’t recall what happened the first night. When I invited him to sleepoverin my fecking bed.
No, sir.
Not thinking about that. I don’t need to. Dick-drunk, remember?
Heh.
We fall into a cooling-off period.
Another week goes by. My rest days pass, I run out of the croissants he leaves on my doorstep a few times, and I go back to work. Get caught in an all-night incident the only evening Sab’s free. ThenI’mfree and he’s not. And so the cycle continues, and I’m not used to pining for someone. The ache in my chest has me regretting making fun of Logan all those night shifts I thought he might kill someone he was missing his man that much.
Except, that’s not what this is.
Sab’s not mine.
I’m not his.
We’re…friends, maybe? With benefits for as long as he wants them?
Christ, I don’t know, and if my Christmas spirit wasn’t already in the bin, a training-heavy day shift has my shoulder pinging again, reminding me there are other parts of me that’ll never be the same.
I remember the exercises Sab showed me. Still have the list from my physio. It wouldn’t be hard to sort myfeckingself out. But for the first time in a while, fate is kind to me. I pull my car into the petrol station at the same time Sab rolls through in his van, and he spots the pain I’m in a mile off.
Or, you know, across a diesel-scented forecourt.
“Follow me home.” He jerks his head in the direction of Cosmic Avenue. “We’ll figure it out.”
He means my shoulder.
My brain knows that.
