|lemondropseven (lemondropseven) wrote,|
@ 2011-12-12 22:24:00
|Entry tags:||angst, ficlet, harry potter, kink!night, r, severus snape, snarry|
Ficlet: In My Dreams
Title: In My Dreams
Word Count: 1,055
Warnings: Chan (14-16), Somnophilia
Summary: Strange dreams help Harry deal with the losses in his life.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world belongs to JKR.
A/N: Written for Kink!night at Severus Sighs. Thanks to whitecotton for the beta. (original post date: 11/26/09)
Prompts: Harry’s bedroom at the Dursley’s, somnophilia, and silence.
Fire burst into life before him, red and hot—so hot. The flames beckoned him closer, burning him sweetly…not with pain, but pleasure. Oh, the pleasure. It seared him, destroyed him, created him…he danced, danced, danced in the light and heat with no fear. Faster and harder, losing control…he jumped and spun until—
The fire became waves and wet heat flooded through him…cool blue water, rushing, rushing, rushing. Soothing him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back so the water flowed over him, covering him completely. He needed to breathe but he didn’t want to leave—didn’t want to leave the calm, the silence. Finally, with black dots creeping into his vision, he surged out of the water and—
Harry bolted upright, gasping for air. Still shuddering in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm, he ran his hands through his hair and reached for his glasses. He swung his legs over the edge of the raggedy cot he slept in at the Dursley’s and thanked Merlin that these dreams were quiet, unlike the ones Voldemort plagued him with.
After washing off the evidence of his dream and changing into a clean pair of baggy shorts, Harry flopped onto the thin mattress with a sigh.
The dreams started the summer after his fourth year. He’d been utterly devastated by watching Cedric die in front of him, by causing his death, and the first two weeks of that summer were the hardest of his life. Up to that point, anyway. The last couple of years hadn’t been any better and he now had Sirius and Dumbledore’s deaths to add to his tally of guilt.
The night after he’d written a suicide note and then discarded it, he’d dreamed. Dreamed of fire and water and woke with come drying on his body and the feeling of being watched. A couple of times a week, the dream re-occurred, never varying, and Harry woke each time searching the darkness for…something. But the dark, tiny box room was a silent as ever.
When he left for Grimauld place after the Dementor attack, the dream didn’t follow.
He’d almost forgotten about it, but then on his second night back at the Dursley’s after his fifth year, he’d dreamed. The fire was hotter than he remembered and the cooling rush of his climax more healing than ever before. Somehow, the dream wasn’t a normal sex dream; he wasn’t just getting off, for one thing. It also gave Harry something to think about other than the death of his godfather and his part in the huge screw-up at the Ministry. And there was always that feeling of someone in the room with him.
Harry had only dreamed of fire and water a few times when Dumbledore had come for him early last summer. The dream had stopped just as before, but that time Harry hadn’t forgotten it.
Tonight, it was almost as if whoever was responsible for the fire in the dream knew exactly what he was going through. That he or she, Harry wasn’t sure, had come to comfort him and replace the image of Dumbledore falling from the tower with that of the heat and light of the flames. He was far from happy but he didn’t feel so alone.
Harry sighed and rolled over, wondering if the dream was more than it seemed. It wouldn’t be the first time his dreams, or nightmares, were actually connected to reality. Deciding it didn’t matter since the dream wasn’t hurting anyone and clearly had nothing to do with the war, he fell asleep, hoping the fire would return soon.
Ah, the heat…it felt wonderful as always and Harry basked in it. Throwing his arms wide, he spun in a circle, releasing a shout of joy before realizing something was different this time. The dream wasn’t just sensation and distorted symbolism. He could think, move, and talk here just like when he was awake. It confused him for a moment and he looked around.
At first, he could see nothing but shadows beyond the circle of light the fire cast, then the shadows moved and a figure stepped into the heat with him. The flames flickered, spiking higher with every step the shadow-man took. He could tell now that it was a man: tall, lean, and dark, moving confidently.
He drew close enough to touch, but somehow remained shadowed, his identity a secret. Taking Harry by the hand he led him into the flames. Orange and gold and flashes of white sprung up around him…and Harry danced, never letting go of the stranger in the fire—the stranger causing the fire.
Harry felt the fire begin to flood through him and knew the waves would be crashing over him soon. He stopped suddenly, trying to hold off the catalyst that would wake him, the need to know who was with him surging as powerfully as any climax.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
The shadow-man shook his head slowly.
Red fire melted and cool blue rain started to fall.
Harry looked up at the drops, knowing time was short, and tried to meet the stranger’s eyes, but he had none; he was all black, wispy smoke and fading fast. “Please, I need to know. You—you’ve helped me so much, I want to…” Harry broke off, frustrated at the crashing waves building, rushing, impatient. “Just—just look at me. I want to see you. Look at me!”
For an instant, the fire was gone, the water hadn’t come yet, and Harry was in his room, pierced by black eyes.
Slipping back into the dream, if he’d ever left it, the shadowy stranger was still holding his hands as the water rose from below and fell from above. So close now.
Taking a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes, seeing the shadows on the walls, feeling a hot hand on his cock.
Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the relief of release…floating in—on—the water, he was free. Yet still secure—the stranger was still with him. He never stayed this long.
Harry was usually awake by now. Looking up at a dream, he saw Snape fade from sight, blending into the room, into the flood. Harry was too tired, too content, to be shocked or angry.
It was only a dream, after all.