From Dreams to Reality

When I was a child, I had a dream. In my dream, I was a monster with yellow eyes and gray hair running down my back. I was an animal, rabid and angry at the sight of anyone who stood in my way. I would bare my teeth and growl until everyone would back away from me. But there was always someone who wouldn't leave me. This person stood cloaked in a dark shadow, and though he approached me, I never got to see his or her face. He would advance toward me, his arms opening wide to let me into his embrace until he stopped in front of me. His arms would wrap around my waist, his fingers clenching at my back until I felt safe, secure, and loved. That was the best of it. I felt love.

In the mornings, my dreams would disappear, the soft touch of the kind man would vanish and I would be replaced with my normal self. The fear I held captive within my heart would return so quickly as I stared across the room. I was waiting for something to happen. I could smell citrus in the air, the deadly smell of acid that turned my stomach and caused itchy rashes across my body. I would feel warm, my face turning bright red as I burnt up with fever. My mouth would open, and the cries for my mother would escape me. “Mom!” I would shout, and she would come in, her arms snaking their way around my back and she would hold me.

But it was never like the stranger in my dream. The unknown man, or woman, who held me tight though they knew all my flaws and all of my faults. It was different. But I clung to her anyway, her presence bringing me some sense of security in the vulnerable state I would always find myself.

I was always vulnerable, but physics was my class. I could do the calculations better than anyone, I could talk about Einstein's theory of relativity, velocity, and anything else I was asked. It was my food, my bread, my honey, but it still never would replace that distant feelings I had in my sleep.

Those dreams have faded away now, their potent call diminishing as the years went by. The hugs soon became more like Mom's hugs. They were loving and caring, and yet something totally different than I needed. I pulled away, soaking in my own self pity, hatred, and disgust at the world. I became a man of science, and only science, for I felt as if my work would fill the gap.

I've been hugged many times since those days in high school, each one different and yet all the same. There is only one exception. The shadowed figure is no longer hidden to my eyes, but standing in front of me almost glowing. He beckons me, alluring me into his presence, and I come, like a puppy dog to his feet where he'll pat my head and tell me to be a good boy.

But it's hard to be a good boy, when all you can think about is that dream, and how you have thrown out all science and entered into the world of premonition. And these types of thoughts continue until I can no longer think of anything else but him, my shadowed figure, my burning light, my love.

He walks into the infirmary with poise and confidence as I lay crumpled on a bed whimpering in fear and pain. He's stronger than I am, I can see it in his eyes. The ways he looks at me and everyone else. He's able to feel, to love, to have compassion. He's stronger than me.

I think he's smarter too, but I could never say it out loud. I'd never live it down. The master of snark, the great doctor, the best of the best, and he would never say anyone was smarter than he was, but Beckett is smarter than I am. He knows how to show his love in ways that could be passed off as mere friendliness. He knows everything about me, my weaknesses, my strengths, my loves, my hates...he knows me better than I know me. He's Carson Beckett.

The shadowy figure of my dreams becomes clear as the darkness overtakes the light and Atlantis is smothered in blackened sky. He enters my room, his blue eyes glowing brightly under the crappy incandescent light of my room. He doesn't say a word, not a hello, or anything else. Yet he holds his arms out wide and invites me in and when he wraps his arms around my waist, I close my eyes realizing my dreams cannot compare to the way I feel now. His fingers clench at my back, and my nerves calm, my heartbeat slows to a normal rhythm.
I smile at him, my eyes dancing with his as he lowers his face in for a kiss. His lips touch mine briefly, teasing me, testing me. I want more, I always want more, but he is slow, careful, and lazy. He pulls himself away from me and straightens his shirt. “Rodney,” he says with his thick Scottish accent.

It melts my heat and I begin to feel my pulse throbbing in my neck. He does this to me all the time, and yet I can't stop reacting this way. I grab him by the collar, my fingers tightening around the rough fabric and pull him back to me. I need his body, the taut muscles touching me, I need him, and I need his heat. My mouth finds his, and we meet in a tantalizing dance of both passion and fatigue. Tongues touch, hearts pound, and our bodies frantically pull closer together.
In each other's arms, we sigh a quite breath of relief. Our hearts pound out the sweet rhythms of need as hands move to caress and legs touch. We move backward slowly, our feet shuffling along as our brains fight to concentrate on each other. His hands move across my back, stroking circles slowly as I move mine across his. A warm rush of emotion passes over me and soft sigh escapes into the quiet room. I stand in the shadows.

We pull away briefly as I grab at his shirt and give a harsh tug. He grunts in distress and he pushes my hands away to do it himself. I laugh. I can't help but laugh. His eyes are full of annoyance, but his movements are wild and frantic. He rips at himself, his fingers unzipping and unbuttoning as fast as he can and when he's done, I grabbing him closer again.

I'm greedy and impatient. I need him, I push his shirts off, his chest bare to me and I gawk at his beauty. He is beautiful, sculpted like Zeus with the power of Ares, but the love of Aphrodite. He pulls at my shirt, tearing buttons as he does so. His eyes are focused on mine, the desire burning in his eyes.

We fall backward, pulling off the rest of our clothes as we tumble onto the couch before sliding to the floor. He takes control, his body over mine as his head moves slowly downward. His movements are lazy, each one calculated to torture. His voice washes over me, a soft whisper of love and admiration. I believe his words, as my arms snake around his neck for a kiss.

More kisses follow, soft wet kisses across my body, his face never leaving mine as I stare at him, watching slowly. I'm his, I know that.
My heat belongs to him and when he stops, I look at him, my face turned into a pout. He laughs at me, as he trails his tongue across my abdomen, a sly grin on his face. My hand reaches for his hair, tugging, pleading for more, begging.

He obliges.

I can see he's just as ready as I am, just as wanton, but I don’t' want to give it to him yet. No, not yet. My body weight shifts, as I push myself up with my elbows. “Carson,” I groan as he covers my mouth with his in a brutal kiss.

“No Rodney,” he whispers his command as he pushes me back down.

He takes control again, our bodies joining together in heat and passion. My fingers trail over his skin, touching, groping, and rabidly discovering as he has his way with me. His movements become labored, his breath shaky as he continues on with my urging moans. My mind gives a laugh for a moment as a wave of pleasure hits me. All thoughts stop as I open my mouth. “More,” I mutter so softly I can barely hear myself.

He hears and continues, my body about ready to let go all the pent up energy, all of the emotions, all of the love. My back arches into him, his breath raspy against my neck as I let out my cry of release. My head clears as I choke back the sound that threatens to escape my lips. Everything seems to shake, my muscles contracting as I grasp at his shoulders.

He’s close. I can feel it as his mouth comes down on mine roughly. His body tenses, his eyes shutting tightly as he rides out his own pleasure. His mouth returns to mine, a loud grunt escaping the back of his throat as his teeth take my lip. “Rodney,” he groans as he tumbles after me and in my haze I can think is how sexy it is to hear my name with that accent.

The morning light comes too fast, the sounds of Atlantis too loud, the emotions too bold and persistent still. Sighing, I close my eyes and let my mind drift to the times when I was a child, and in my dreams, there was a figure, darkened by blackness. And he moved closer to me, his arms wide open, to pull me into a hug. But this hug was different from any hug I'd ever had, and I could never compare it to anything...

Until now.