Dreams made Reality
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,827
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,827
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Dreams made Reality
Author's note : Alrighty, bit of a spontaneous new story. Not sure if I'll continue it or not. I suppose it'll depend on how much interest there is from you guys ^^
---
. one .
To say it was hot would be the understatement of the century. Roads sizzled and gave off steam. People walked around in a daze, smelling of sweat and the half imagined undertone of cooking meat. The air was so heavy and thick with humidity it was like wading through knee deep water. Hell seemed like a pleasantly cool holiday destination. Yeah, it was hot.
Lying spreadeagled on the hard, black tiles of his bathroom floor, the air conditioner blasting at full power, Tristan wondered if he was being too melodramatic in wishing for death. For the last three weeks or so, the heat had made life an endless misery. Even at night it didn’t let up. It was a constant, malevolent presence that seemed intent upon burning the city of St. Ellouise to a crisp.
Tristan had dragged himself into the bathroom with the intent of running himself a cold bath, but turning on the water had seemed like too much effort. So instead he’d collapsed on the blessedly cool tiles and hadn’t moved since. God, he hated summer in this country!
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there. An hour, maybe two. No longer than that, surely. From his resting place Tristan could see a square of sky outside the bathroom window. It, like his mood, was bleak and grey. Dark, heavy clouds were massing, and Tristan gave himself a moment to hope they brought rain. Everything would become more bearable, if only it would rain. He closed his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was waking up in darkness to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. Slightly disoriented, Tristan sat up, groaning when his stiff back protested after so many hours on the hard floor.
“Damnit ...” He stood slowly, both to give his muscles a chance to loosen up, and because he lacked the energy to move any faster. The temperature hadn’t dropped any and he cursed again, running a lethargic hand through his long, sweat dampened black hair.
Whoever was banging on the door wasn’t letting up either. The noise was enough to get Tristan moving, and he shuffled through the house, flicking on lights as he went. When he finally reached the door, he swung it open to reveal a scruffy looking man with curly brown hair and hazel eyes, and a short, curvy woman with hair the same pale blue as her eyes. The woman looked decidedly grumpy, and the man still had his hand raised and in position for door knocking.
Tristan gave the pair one long look, then began to swing the door closed. The only thing that stopped him shutting the door in their faces was the man’s quickly placed foot in the doorway.
“You’re a rude bastard Trist.” The man told him cheerfully, pushing his way inside, his blue haired companion close behind. “Glad to see Hell on Earth hasn’t changed you any.”
“You’re as irritatingly cheerful as always, Bernard.” Tristan sighed and wandered into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and the beers he knew it contained. “Beer?”
“Love one.” Accepting the offered can, Bernard hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and pulled it out from the table, dropping onto it with a satisfied sigh. “Pull up a pew Sasha.”
“Not before I get my hug.” Sasha stood with her hands on her hips, gazing steadily at Tristan. She was dressed as plainly as Tristan had ever seen her -- a loose white wife-beater over cut off denim shorts. Her feet were bare and her hair tied back from her surprisingly makeup free face in a tight pony tail.
“Geez, Sash. I hardly recognise you without your face on.” Tristan held back, offering insults in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable hug. “You should get a paper bag or something. You’ll scare small children walking around like that.”
“Quiet arsehole.” Her expression was stony, but there was a smile in her voice. “You made me stand around waiting, you gotta pay.”
Tristan tried to dodge, but the table was in the way and there was nowhere for him to go. Admitting defeat, he stood passively, a beer can in each hand while Sasha wrapped her arms around his chest and
hugged him tightly. It was their usual ritual, but today Tristan’s brief attempt at evasion was genuine. The hug was sticky where sweaty bare flesh met, and generally just downright uncomfortable. Thankfully, Sasha withdrew after a moment or two, taking a beer with her and sitting down beside Bernard.
“So,” Tristan sat down opposite his visitors and took a quick drink of his delightfully cold beer, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He wasn’t exactly annoyed by their unexpected arrival. Not really. But he was a solitary creature by nature, and he didn’t always respond well to people showing up on his doorstep unannounced.
Bernard and Sasha exchanged a glance, and Sasha shook her head in amusement.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you.”
“Apparently.” Tristan muttered.
Bernard laughed;
“God you’re hopeless. It warms up a bit and your brain turns to mush. Here, let me give you a hint.” He paused a moment to compose himself, then hummed the first few bars of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song.
“What?” Tristan frowned. His thirtieth birthday was coming up, and he had made plans to have dinner with Bernard and Sasha, but ... “My birthday’s not until next week.”
“Stupid!” This time Sasha laughed and pointed to the digital calendar on the wall. “It’s the 12th today, genius.”
Tristan blinked. Frowned. Studied the calendar. Frowned some more.
“It’s ‘next week’ today.” Bernard offered with a grin. “Damn, you really are out of it.”
“Oh.” Tristan said stupidly. Then, “Oh. I don’t have any food.”
“We figured as much.” Bernard chuckled, producing his cell phone from a pocket. “That’s what pizza delivery guys are for.”
Sasha smiled, raising her beer can in salute.
“Happy birthday Tristan.”
---
---
. one .
To say it was hot would be the understatement of the century. Roads sizzled and gave off steam. People walked around in a daze, smelling of sweat and the half imagined undertone of cooking meat. The air was so heavy and thick with humidity it was like wading through knee deep water. Hell seemed like a pleasantly cool holiday destination. Yeah, it was hot.
Lying spreadeagled on the hard, black tiles of his bathroom floor, the air conditioner blasting at full power, Tristan wondered if he was being too melodramatic in wishing for death. For the last three weeks or so, the heat had made life an endless misery. Even at night it didn’t let up. It was a constant, malevolent presence that seemed intent upon burning the city of St. Ellouise to a crisp.
Tristan had dragged himself into the bathroom with the intent of running himself a cold bath, but turning on the water had seemed like too much effort. So instead he’d collapsed on the blessedly cool tiles and hadn’t moved since. God, he hated summer in this country!
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there. An hour, maybe two. No longer than that, surely. From his resting place Tristan could see a square of sky outside the bathroom window. It, like his mood, was bleak and grey. Dark, heavy clouds were massing, and Tristan gave himself a moment to hope they brought rain. Everything would become more bearable, if only it would rain. He closed his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was waking up in darkness to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. Slightly disoriented, Tristan sat up, groaning when his stiff back protested after so many hours on the hard floor.
“Damnit ...” He stood slowly, both to give his muscles a chance to loosen up, and because he lacked the energy to move any faster. The temperature hadn’t dropped any and he cursed again, running a lethargic hand through his long, sweat dampened black hair.
Whoever was banging on the door wasn’t letting up either. The noise was enough to get Tristan moving, and he shuffled through the house, flicking on lights as he went. When he finally reached the door, he swung it open to reveal a scruffy looking man with curly brown hair and hazel eyes, and a short, curvy woman with hair the same pale blue as her eyes. The woman looked decidedly grumpy, and the man still had his hand raised and in position for door knocking.
Tristan gave the pair one long look, then began to swing the door closed. The only thing that stopped him shutting the door in their faces was the man’s quickly placed foot in the doorway.
“You’re a rude bastard Trist.” The man told him cheerfully, pushing his way inside, his blue haired companion close behind. “Glad to see Hell on Earth hasn’t changed you any.”
“You’re as irritatingly cheerful as always, Bernard.” Tristan sighed and wandered into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and the beers he knew it contained. “Beer?”
“Love one.” Accepting the offered can, Bernard hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and pulled it out from the table, dropping onto it with a satisfied sigh. “Pull up a pew Sasha.”
“Not before I get my hug.” Sasha stood with her hands on her hips, gazing steadily at Tristan. She was dressed as plainly as Tristan had ever seen her -- a loose white wife-beater over cut off denim shorts. Her feet were bare and her hair tied back from her surprisingly makeup free face in a tight pony tail.
“Geez, Sash. I hardly recognise you without your face on.” Tristan held back, offering insults in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable hug. “You should get a paper bag or something. You’ll scare small children walking around like that.”
“Quiet arsehole.” Her expression was stony, but there was a smile in her voice. “You made me stand around waiting, you gotta pay.”
Tristan tried to dodge, but the table was in the way and there was nowhere for him to go. Admitting defeat, he stood passively, a beer can in each hand while Sasha wrapped her arms around his chest and
hugged him tightly. It was their usual ritual, but today Tristan’s brief attempt at evasion was genuine. The hug was sticky where sweaty bare flesh met, and generally just downright uncomfortable. Thankfully, Sasha withdrew after a moment or two, taking a beer with her and sitting down beside Bernard.
“So,” Tristan sat down opposite his visitors and took a quick drink of his delightfully cold beer, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He wasn’t exactly annoyed by their unexpected arrival. Not really. But he was a solitary creature by nature, and he didn’t always respond well to people showing up on his doorstep unannounced.
Bernard and Sasha exchanged a glance, and Sasha shook her head in amusement.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you.”
“Apparently.” Tristan muttered.
Bernard laughed;
“God you’re hopeless. It warms up a bit and your brain turns to mush. Here, let me give you a hint.” He paused a moment to compose himself, then hummed the first few bars of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song.
“What?” Tristan frowned. His thirtieth birthday was coming up, and he had made plans to have dinner with Bernard and Sasha, but ... “My birthday’s not until next week.”
“Stupid!” This time Sasha laughed and pointed to the digital calendar on the wall. “It’s the 12th today, genius.”
Tristan blinked. Frowned. Studied the calendar. Frowned some more.
“It’s ‘next week’ today.” Bernard offered with a grin. “Damn, you really are out of it.”
“Oh.” Tristan said stupidly. Then, “Oh. I don’t have any food.”
“We figured as much.” Bernard chuckled, producing his cell phone from a pocket. “That’s what pizza delivery guys are for.”
Sasha smiled, raising her beer can in salute.
“Happy birthday Tristan.”
---