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Sweetdreams (or a beautiful Nightmare...)

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It was a nightly ritual for Oswald, a terrifying one, but one he would never dare to miss. The apprehension that came to him everyday as the dusk took over. The hours ticking by slower while the rest of the world seemed to melt and distort in front of his eyes.

 

The first time he could recall this happening had been when he was still a very young man, barely over the edge of manhood, the baby fat melting away from his body. The dreams that had come had a very startling effect that first night, leaving his bed clothes damp and sticky and his face embarrassingly red with heat burning the tips of his ears.

 

Mother had been forgiving, in telling him that all men have these urges.

 

She didn’t know. How could she have known, that Oswald’s nighttime activities were far from normal.

 

At 9 O’clock on the dot Oswald felt himself dragged from the pleasantness of conversation with his mother or associates, an invisible hook reeling him to slumber. He dared not to make his mind wait from who he knew was waiting for the lights to turn off and his eyes to close.

 

Faint screams could always be heard when he opened his eyes in this new world, the stars covering the skies over head even as clouds formed for the coming rain. It always rained from fire illuminated clouds that billowed black.

 

Pushing himself up in the rubble of the ruined city, he would crush the dirt from his suit, his perfection was always key to pleasing the man who waited.

Sometimes it took the whole night to reach him, other times the city blurred around his prone form and he found him standing before the throne of bones that held his obsession.

 

This man was Oswald’s guilty pleasure, or was he the mans?

Tonight as he picked his way through the chaos and collapsed buildings he heard the rubble shifting and the sharp ring of a brick falling down from somewhere near the top of a pile. Turning his head to he would look for the source, finding only wispy fog and the faint echo of a deep throaty laughter.

I am always around, but never seen. “

That whisper would make him shiver and close his eyes, “You came to me?”

I am often avoided, but you can't out run me. for I will come when your old and grey, or maybe even the very next day.”

“Please.. I want to see you.” Turning now in his spot he would move to follow the whispering voice, this was a trap.

I will come with cold embrace, and give you rest with a chilled kiss on your face.”

 

The words were against his ear this time, Oswald freezing up with eyes wide. The press of a lean frame against his back as arms wrapped around his body had him mentally panicking and yet he did nothing. A shuddered breath escaping him as his eyes closed.

“I come in may forms of emotional state, weather it's irony, love, laughter, or hate. I am everyone's finale fate...”

 

The words here deeper now, the figure obviously no longer playing cat and mouse, those long bony fingers that often left dark bruises worked efficiently over the fabric of Oswald’s suit. Stripping his upper body bare in the hellscape of his dreams.

“Who am I?” the voice growled, nails raking lightly over the pale flesh.

Oswald shuddered, he felt light headed, not wanting to wake as he leaned into the warm embrace. “D..Death… You’re m-my death.”

 

The stuttering was not attractive but it seemed to please this man. His fingers pressed downward to slip past the barrier of Oswald’s trousers, burning the sensitive flesh as it wrapped around his semi hard cock.

“Shi… please.” Gasping Oswald opened his eyes wide and looked up to the narrow face, those dark eyes just behind the reflective glint of his glasses hide the desire he longed to see.

Shh…”

Gulping a breath he could feel the tension building, his lovers hand working his length, this was a nightmare. Oswald wanted to feel so much more than just his fingers around his cock, he had so many other places he could have been touching or filling with something far better than fingers.

A prickling need had his canting his hips back to push against a prominent hardness, Ozzie knew he also wanted more, but the nightmare of teasing continued.

“Please… Please.”

“Mm. Please what my little bird?”

“Please. I need you, need more...”

There came a chuckle as his hand squeezed around Oswald’s flesh. “I shouldn’t, you can not keep quite.. don’t want to wake up your mother.”

Whimpering he closed his eyes and tried to keep quite, rolling his hips a little to attempt teasing this man into giving him just what he needed.

 

Whatever it was he did, it worked before he realized it, the hand leaving his slacks and roughly pulling the fabric down. The body lowering behind him, a hand hand pushing his cheeks apart and the hot breath and slick tongue of his lover found his entrance.

Crying out sharply, Oswald was up and wide awake, still able to feel that tongue that had pushed into him. Aware that his pants were cooling quickly.

“Oh Oswald.. did you have a nightmare?” That crooning voice of his mother came as she opened the curtains of his room.

“My poor boy, still having nightmares at your age. Come mother will draw you a bath and you can tell me about it.”

Staring at her he felt the heat rising to his face, he was not telling her he dreamed about death fucking him senseless.

“I can’t mother, I’ve somewhere to be, business.. you understand.” He hoped she’d believe him.

A smile came and she would nod, crossing to his bedside to give his forehead a kiss. “I’ve made breakfast if you have time, you work to hard my boy.”

 

If she could smell the cold mess, she said nothing about it, leaving Oswald when he gave a tight smile and nodded. Falling back into the pillows when his door clicked shut.

“Wouldn’t want to wake mother… fuck.”