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Lucidity

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Bzzzt.

Bzzzt.

Bzz—

Rhett barely catches the last vibration before it cuts off, lids peeling open. He shuts them again and lowers a hand to his pocket, feeling around in half-sleep, and when he retrieves his phone, his suspicions are confirmed: the alarm had asked too much of the remaining battery. It’s dead.

His cheek is sticky on the library table, a not-unpleasant warmth that begs him to think about the cleanliness of the surface, but it’s not like sitting up any faster after a power nap will keep his health safe now.

Had a dream. Needa record.

Tapping his phone, neurons connect blearily and he remembers that it had just died—and he’d known it would die, had left the charger in their room on accident.

Link is with him. Rhett had fallen asleep with him studying to his left, so he pivots his forehead on the slick surface to hazard asking him for his phone charger, but the words dam up in his throat: Link is asleep as well, tuckered out with his own face down, inches from Rhett’s.

For some reason, the closeness isn’t as scary as it would’ve once been. Rhett blinks sleepily and examines Link’s features at rest: eyelashes down easy, hair perfectly framing his face, lips parted enough that he should be drooling on the table. 

S’fine. I’ll just use my lapto—

Crap. If only I had it.

Grimacing, Rhett spins to look at their study things on the table. His drifting mind finds his little gifted journal, and he grabs it and drags it to his shoulder, turning away from Link again to hunch over it with a temple still pressed to the table. It’ll be a pain to physically write, but better do it than forget entirely; he’ll just have to transcribe it once his phone is charged. He reaches blindly for a pen and draws that close too, briefly letting his eyelids sink to recall the first details of the dream. Opening the journal to a random page in the middle, he hums gently and starts to write, too lazy to capitalize and too sleepy to mind how he wanders as he recounts.

10/27:  we were camping, but i didn’t wanna go camping. so i changed it to a farm. thought it would be fun.

in a field… but i didn’t want to be in a field either. the fun thing about control is that if something happens that you don’t like, you just change the story. you don’t have to interrupt it in harsh jumps, you don’t have to say ‘no, it was a tropical resort.’ i made it rain, instead.

smelled like mud and ozone.

L ran ahead of me, pulling me along and laughing. if you’ve ever seen a cheesy romance movie, you know what it looked like. it didn’t feel like hallmark, though. you get to feel it in your cheeks and bones, and it gives that little space around your heart wings that beat real fast, ‘cause you’re living it.

well. not ‘living’. but kinda close.

the thrill, the giddiness. willing to follow no matter where you end up, since you know it’ll be worth it.

Rhett blinks sleepily and listens. Link is breathing long and steady, fast asleep.

we found a barn. i guess that was my doing, too, but it didn’t feel like it was. we just needed to get out of the rain. it was starting to pour.

Shoot. What had happened next? Pausing to let his vision blur across the room lets the scenes unravel easier, coming back like tea steeped.

there weren’t any animals in the barn. just old wooden boards and lotsa farming equipment. horseshoes hung from a wall. and i know it sounds just as stereotypical as the rest, but L kept pulling me, grabbed me by my hoodie and dragged us down to lay in a pile of hay soft from the passage of time. 

he kissed me. 

there’s been more kissing lately.  i’m not going to try to defend it. i’m in love with him, and that’s what i want to do in my dreams. he always wants it, too, and that’s how i know it’s a dream. 

he said stuff i wanted him to say. silly things, like “this hay tickles” and “an old man with a pitchfork is gonna find us and chase us out.” he kept laughing into the kisses, like it was funny that i didn’t wanna stop even when he was trying to appreciate where we were. i really hope he felt like he was the center of my world, ‘cause he was. is.

he couldn't stop giggling and the rain in our hair warmed. between kisses he told me he was worried about spiders in the hay, and i reassured him that there weren’t any. that was true. any life in those walls would never bring harm. there might have been a white-faced owl up in the rafters, watching the two curious mammals tangled in each other down below before vanishing out the window.

sometimes it’s hard to tell apart details i made true in the moment, and the stuff i simply would have liked to think happened once i’m awake. like even my dreams need ornamentation, ‘cause they’re still not good enough. ridiculous.

L wasn’t taking me seriously until i dropped a hand to the front of his pants and rubbed his hardness with a familiar palm, like i’d done it countless times before. feels like i have. his chuckles dissolved in a last breathy, open-mouthed laugh, and he did that smile he always does when he’s excited. eyes low on our bodies, ready for whatever’s next ‘cause it’ll be me and him.

i got right to the point. let him out to play and sank down onto his hips, with my elbows on his thighs. 

i gave him head. no need for something outlandish every single dream, not when i’m just trying to make him feel good. that’s not to say that there wasn’t something fiercely forbidden about being able to look up his loosely-clothed body and meet his eyes while i sucked him off. there was something unfairly hot about how his shirt kinda pooled at his bare stomach. the way he relaxed and lorded over me, like he was content to let me worship him like that, completely at ease and resting his head to one side… 

Rhett’s legs flex under the table, and he allows himself a moment of reprieve from remembering. The inside of his boxers are dry, so he’s not as immune to journaling as he usually is upon waking.

“you havin’ fun?”

i remember those words vividly, ‘cause i nodded on him and sucked harder, held his gaze, and i guess that was a lot for him—me just casually servicing him, like there wasn’t anything else i’d rather do. for the record, there wasn’t, lol. he moaned some words, innocent-turned-filthy, and put his hands above his hand to lay out.

i’m... i think that’s when he bumped into it.

Sometimes, Rhett doesn't particularly enjoy recording the truth of his dreams. They're humiliating and telling, and doing it in Link’s company seems dangerous. But he’ll finish this up and hide it. Real quick.  Smoothing out the journal’s page, Rhett glances over the paragraphs there before turning it over and writing on the back.

L stopped me and twisted at the waist to point at something large and silver poking out of the hay. looked like it was on a dolly of some kind. “what is that?”

“i dunno,” i said, ‘cause i really didn’t. honestly i just wanted to get back to making him feel good, but he immediately started brushing it free from the mess.  a large metal pot, hooked up to some wires—one of them, connected to a battery. but the more i looked at it, the more it dawned on me that the other “wires” weren’t wires at all.

Rhett blushes and lets the pen sit on the page long enough to produce a small pool of black ink, which births the next words.

it was a milking machine for cattle.

L figured it out faster than me, and i didn’t even have time to cut in before he squirmed onto his side next to it, reaching around the mechanism and feeling about. he must’ve found what he was looking for, though, ‘cause it turned on and a mechanical rhythmic hissing competed with the rain hitting the roof.

“no way,” L said, laughing and grabbing one of the tubes designed to hold a giant teat. 

i’m not gonna pretend i’m innocent. okay? that stupid basting tube was the perfect size and length for other things, and when L put the rubber-lined opening flat on his palm and felt the suction, the humor left his face real fast... so he’s not innocent, either.

if i’ve got any dignity remaining here, it’s that he was the one who swallowed and looked at me with the obvious conclusion clear in his eyes.  “rhett.”

“oh, gosh.”

i remember blushing. hard.

“these things aren’t dangerous, are they?” L asked. i nearly griped at him when he stuck two fingers in to test it… but i guess finger damage would be preferential to damage elsewhere, for a test run. 

“i don’t think they’d do that to the cows,” i pointed out, and L stared at the pulsating thing on his hand, mesmerized. through the clear exterior was a black sleeve that bobbed up and down on his fingers, sucking them and tightening around them. desperately trying to collect a liquid that wouldn’t come. 

there isn’t a person alive who would’ve looked at it without getting dirty thoughts, okay? it looked like an industrial sex toy for fuck’s sake.

after some seconds passed and L's cheeks had darkened, he pulled the thing off of him and held the tube in his fist, still staring at it.

“L?” i knew without asking that he wanted to use it, and if it made him happy, and excited him? then of course i’m gonna drag that out into the open. “you wanna try it…?”

L’s eyes flicked up to me before he gulped again and smiled, a nervous thing. “are we that horny?”

“are you?” i pressed, and his gaze fell. not to his own cock—still hard and peeking out of his pants—but to mine, still confined. straining against the front of my jeans.

“would you…” he stopped and took a deep breath, holding up the sucker. it pumped away, ignorant of whether it was full or empty. “would you put it on while you blow me…?”

fuck.

i didn’t know what i’d been expecting, but it wasn’t THAT. 

“yeah?” i asked, and he nodded.

“if you’re okay with that.”

“...you can’t make fun of me,” i warned him, but he seemed eager to set the record straight.

“no! no, i… i think it’ll be hot. gosh.” 

he was patient with me as i undid my jeans. he even spit into the sleeve, just to get it a bit wet for me, but most of his spit was just sucked right down the tube connected to the pot in an obscene squelching sound. 

i had to move closer for it to reach. and yeah, the decision to stick my dick in it wasn’t nearly as difficult as it should’ve been.

it felt… weird. good-weird, definitely not the kind of overwhelming sensation i was expecting. just like, a constant suction and light pumping up and down, and i fell onto my knuckles.

L full-on moaned. the machine's whir lowered in pitch, and the fact that it stayed sealed on me even when i didn’t touch it anymore... it got to him. he whispered, “oh, gosh. look at it, man.”  i did. the black sleeve on the inside didn’t move, but the clear tube around it bobbed up and down with purpose, locked on yet seeming to dangle, and i felt so ridiculous that i laughed. L laughed too, but his sounded different.  “god, rhett. come on, then,” he encouraged, shimmying down for me.

the milking machine felt ten times better once i had my mouth on link. sometimes your brain does funny stuff and short-circuits logic, like someone was down there giving me attention while i was on L, and like that someone could’ve somehow been L despite the impossibility of it in our current position.

and i will admit… there’s something hot about how a toy doesn’t tire, and doesn’t slow down. 

“you gettin’ milked, rhett...?

everything was fine until L started talking to me, loving and teasing all at once. and i’d asked him not to laugh at me, but it was a good kind of laugh and not a cruel one. he was into it. 

god. i was, too. 

he leaned back at one point and fiddled with the controls (i think he was paying more attention to me than he was to himself) and the tempo picked up on me. the suction increased, too, and i moaned, 'cause it felt hungry for me. had to stop sucking L so i could adjust to it, just working him with a hand.

“dang, rhett. you make it look like a good time.” he paused, obviously trying not to make me feel bad with his choice of words. “i kinda feel like i’m missing out…?”

crawling up beside him on the hay (having trouble controlling my muscles), i grabbed one of the vacant tubes and spit into it for him, pressing it into L’s hands. “do it. dunno when we’ll get another chance.” a

ny dream i want, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that.

and jesus, he was eager for it. 

he slid it down onto his dick and immediately his head fell back, and i got to see exactly what was so enticing about watching someone else use the machine. L was just… hooked up to something that was stimulating him. absolutely perverse. getting off without a body or any effort of his own, and the second his eyes closed and he started moaning, shifting his hips back into the hay, i wanted to remind him that i was still there. that i was feeling it, too.

i’m selfish, lol.

since i couldn’t get on top of him, i scooted close to his side and pulled him into a kiss. he was trembling—absolutely gorgeous—and the way his tongue dove into my mouth, like that was the only thing that was missing for him to get off... and to know he was experiencing the same pulses, the same suction, synced up to mine? making out's never gotten me that worked up.

jesus christ, it didn’t take long for him to

“Why you writin’ in my journal...?”

Rhett jolts so hard his knee bangs the underside of the table, and about three things happen in the span of a second:

He turns and finds a sleepy Link leaned forward on the table, squinting to try and read what’s being recorded.

Rhett looks down and notices, for the first time, that the cover of the thing he’s writing in is indeed dark red, not dark blue.

And then he grabs the two pages he’s filled and rips them clean out of the spine without thinking, slamming it shut and standing to cram the pages into his pocket.

“Whoa, what the crap?!” Link blurts, blinking hard and waking up. “What were you writing?! Gimme that!” Link makes a snatch for his pocket, but Rhett springs away from their huddle, eyes bugged and heart wracked, striding fast for the nearest door to a stairwell.

I’d die first. 

Shit, that was his journal—shit, shit, shit!

I should’ve just gone through his things for my charger—

“Rhett! Come back, I can’t just leave our—what the hell’s gotten into you?!”

But Rhett doesn’t stop. His brisk pace carries him in a weightless, adrenaline-fueled panic through the library, meandering and shell-shocked, and by the time his mind comes back online, he’s standing in front of a toilet and tearing the pieces of paper to tiny shreds, dumping them into the bowl. He flushes, catatonic, and watches them get sucked down into the pipes. 

That’s not enough to calm his panic, though.

I gotta come up with a good lie.

I’ll… I’ll tell him I thought it was my journal. That’s not damning alone.

I’ll tell him that I thought it was mine, and that I was writing down Christmas gift ideas for him. In October. 

Oh, fucking hell.

And truth be told, Rhett knows he won’t want to remember that dream to record it later. So... it’s fine that it’s lost.