In Dreams
By MidKnight
MidKnightslair@juno.com
From the Coldfire Trilogy.
Notes: Based on a really bad picture I drew, of Gerald and Damien kissing, with the dialog “What are you doing?” “Having you, Reverend, something I've wanted for a very, very long time.” scrawled at the bottom.
He found himself suddenly in a room of black marble, polished to a mirror-like sheen. It made him dizzy for a second, and he closed his eyes, before opening them again. Blood-colored velvet poured from the ceiling along one wall, highlighting the bed that lay in that direction. The place was opulent, even for the fact that the bed was the only piece of furniture in the room, and it was also made out of carved marble, with red veins running along it's length. The covers looked to be velvet as well, the black sheets silk.
He closed his eyes. Why was he here? He was a Priest of the Church and had no use for rooms such as these.
The velvet stirred and he felt a breeze push through the room, the sign of a door opening and closing somewhere. His eyes snapped open and he turned, but did not find the door.
Gerald stood before him, cold and dark, and he could see the power pouring off the man as things formed in his shadow and were instantly gone. Demons existed for a half a second in his wake and then were devoured by the man's own inner evil.
The Hunter's icy hair was neatly combed and it hung over his shoulders like a frozen waterfall, finally melting into the black garment he wore. More velvet from the looks of it and Damien wondered if the stuff was as soft to the touch as legends said.
He took a step back, frightened by his thoughts.
Why would he want to touch The Hunter?
And even now, Gerald was smirking at him as if he knew. As if he could read every thought that flittered thought the Priest's head, could see it in color and detail.
Gerald's black garment hissed on the floor where it trailed, and his boot heels clicked softly, as if in counter point. Damien found himself backing up, unconsciously panicking as he was herded closer to the bed.
“Why am I here?” Damien demanded, not willing to give voice to his own inner turmoil.
Gerald considered a second, no longer stalking his prey. A pale arm in a midnight sleeve rose to lift away a wing of hair, before the fingers came to rest at the opposite hip. They were long fingers, slender and powerful. Just like everything else on the hunter, even his hands reeked of power.
Damien found himself shivering, and not from the chill in the room. He imagined those hands on him suddenly, the chill they would inflict. He imagined the Hunter touching him, and shook his head to clear the image.
Gerald was smirking again, no doubt reading his mind.
“You brought yourself here, Reverend.” The Hunter intoned, his very voice making the room tremble. It was as if the place responded to him, wanted him.
Gerald advanced again, closing the distance between them, his eyes somehow seeming to contain a fire that waylaid the cold aura of his flesh. Damien swallowed, hard, as his back found the velvet covered wall. He could feel the stuff with his hands, and the cool marble beyond it, feel how soft it was and wondered if this was what the Hunter felt, in his clothes of black. This softness rubbing against his entire body. He swallowed again, at the thought, and now Gerald was so close he could feel his body heat leaching away into the man's aura.
“What are you doing?” Damien demanded. He felt himself tremble as the Hunter's hands came for him, one rising to cup the side of his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair. The other hand wormed it's way between Damien and the wall, palm pressed to the Priest's lower back.
He struggled, caught as he was, sure that Gerald would go for his throat at any second, taking his life in recommpence of all that he had been made to do on their quests. His struggles got him nowhere but pressed him entirely against Gerald's body, cold burning his front, making him gasp in shock.
The hunter leaned closer, eyes warm while his body was winter's cold. The smirk was still on his mouth, obviously amused by the Priests struggles that did nothing to free himself.
He bent in for the kill, frozen breath chilling Damien's neck as he whispered in his ear.
“Having you, Reverend.” The Hunter pulled back, looking wicked and somehow sensual in his dark power. “Something I've wanted for a very, very long time.”
Damien closed his eyes, a prayer gracing his mind in his final moments, one for his soul to be spared the darkness that inhabited Gerald, and that for Gerald to be granted mercy on his judgment day, that all the good they had done on their quests be remembered for something.
Lips pressed to his, chill, but not so frigid as the rest of the Hunter's body.
Damien's eyes snapped open, seeing only the perfect pale face before him, the Hunter's eyes closed. The hand holding his head in place twisted suddenly, fingers clutching Damien's hair painfully, thumb pressing into his jawbone to force his mouth open. Gerald leaned into him, pressing harder at his jaw until Damien feared he would break, his mouth slitting open under the assault.
Gerald made a noise of approval and changed his angle, the mouth pressed to Damien's, seeking entrance which it soon found through virtue of pressure at the joint. Damien leaned int the wall, trying to avoid it, feeling Gerald's body follow his, the arm around his back pressing them both together so he could feel the erection pressing into his thigh.
In shock his mouth fell open, and Gerald took possession, caressing his tongue within. Cool lips slid across his own warm ones, igniting feelings in him that never should have been. His eyes slipped shut, giving in, and he moved his mouth against Gerald's using his own tongue to make the demon sorcerer moan, his own hands coming up to pull the man closer to him-
Damien sat up in shock, hand going to his mouth as he shook his head to clear the dream images from it. How dare Gerald use such a dream on him, and he turned, one hand going for his sword, about to cut the man's head from his shoulders. It was one thing to terrorize him with visions of his excommunication to devour his fear, another to...
But Gerald was asleep.
The Hunter had stayed up, offering to guard them while they rested, and even now he was crouched next to the fire, the long stick he'd been using to stir up the blaze laying on the ground next to his limp hand.
Damien felt like cursing. Or hitting his head against something.
The Priest shook his head and walked away from the small campsite, into the woods beyond hoping for a few minutes to set his head on straight and get himself in order. He found himself overlooking a cliff, and sat to watch the stars, praying for guidance.
When a twig snapped behind him he knew who it must be who had found him. He didn't even bother to turn. The hunter took a few more steps, getting closer, his tall black boots coming into view. Damien said nothing, his body still aroused by what had happened in his dream.
The Hunter looked up at the stars and then down at Damien. The Priest could feel the eyes upon him and shivered, much as he had during the dream.
“You created that dream.” The Hunter said. “And you even managed to drag me into it, so strong was your desire.” He snorted. “I'm impressed, Reverend.”
He felt his cheeks heat and looked away, not able to bear the thought of looking at the Hunter, who promptly sat down beside him, leaning back on his elbows in a sprawl. He dared a glance, and saw the Hunter smirking at him. He looked away again, remembering the dream and feeling his willpower crumble.
“Don't lie to me,” Damien growled. “You created it, to feed on-”
The hunter laughed, a full, echoing noise. “I fed on your fear last night, Reverend. What need should I have to feed on you tonight?” He paused, surveying the Priest's rigid frame. Perhaps if he pushed a little harder he could make the Reverend snap, maybe even throw a few punches. How delightful it was to toy with the man. “You know, the Church doesn't condemn that,” he smirked when Damien turned, a shocked look on his face. “Same-sex relationships, I mean-”
“Shut up.” The Priest growled, fury in his voice.
“Make me.” Gerald taunted, hoping, praying for a good fight.
The fist hit him before he really had time to prepare for it, and his wonderful sprawl was ruined when he fell back onto the ground, blood dripping into his mouth from his split lip. Nor was he prepared for the weight that settled onto his stomach, pinning him in place with scalding heat. Damien's fingers wound in his collar, half choking him as he was dragged up into another punch. And another.
He found himself laughing, even as the Priest hit him, amused at how much Damien was fighting himself over all of this.
And then Damien kissed him, cursing into his mouth, teeth sharp on the Hunter's cool lips, hand still wound in his collar and cutting off his air. He felt wonderful and dizzy and his face hurt like the devil, but Damien was hot above him, legs straddling his chest and attacking his mouth with all the desperation of a dying man. He could taste his own blood in his mouth and with his tongue he pushed the cursed blood into Damien's mouth, lapping at the tongue there with a certain depraved desire. He felt his hand bury itself in Damien's hair, feeling the heat beneath his palm and pressing them closer, as in the dream.
Damien yanked away suddenly, and struggled to his feet, leaving Gerald laying in the dirt, blood dripping down his face, his hair in shambles. He looked debauched, filthy, used.
The Priest stumbled away, angry at himself, heading back to camp, not sure what to do when first light came. He fell into his bed roll and hid his face from the world, doing his best to ignore it when Gerald snatched at his blanket and slid in beside him, cool arms twining around his chest.
What have I done? Damien thought, as Gerald spooned up behind him.
