Irrevocably Intertwined

The lights were out in the apartment. 

They had been for the majority of the week, as was the preference of the current single tennant. If the room were closer to the ground floor and not a nauseating three hundred feet above it, onlookers would easily be able to watch the young man’s moves through the towering glass windows that faced westward into the city. Moss was thankful that this was not the case. In fact, the singular reason he had accepted the proposition to continue his stay was the lack of social intervention. With a darkened room and high vantage point, he was able to observe the urban cityscape without any unwanted attention. Though this did not stop the sour feeling that bubbled up his throat each time he stepped closer to the room’s edge. As he ran through thoughts of the firm forest floor he had so long called his home, he momentarily regretted agreeing to his current living situation. 

A cold breeze brushed across his bare skin and called him from the pile of sheets he had been lounging in. He stretched upwards, mouth opening in a dramatic yawn as he stalked through the small hallway leading outwards toward the front room. His footfalls fell silently on the cold marble floor, the smooth ground unfamiliar to his calloused feet. Each step only seemed to serve as a reminder of just how foreign his presence was here; luxury never had really been quite his style. 

Regardless, it was still his home. That much had been true for the last six months. Though, a particular aspect that defined it as such was currently away on assignment. A specific nightmare-shaped silence that Moss found both relaxing and unnerving. He had often remarked that the man’s absence might finally allow a mental relief he so greatly desired, and yet upon his leave he couldn’t help but miss the familiar scent of aromatic cologne. 

His dark eyes flitted about the scene before falling upon the grandiose stone fireplace positioned towards the far side of the living area. Its warmth had long since passed, a tinge of dust had begun to settle on the wood logs and would continue so long as the apartment bore the weight of the Corinthian’s absence. Moss frowned. He had never been satisfactory company, no, not even to the furniture. 

The Corinthian had been different. He wasn’t sure what it was about the man that first drew his attention. A collector, he had called himself. Of experiences, luxuries, people. Parts of them anyways. Moss had always supposed his presence fell into the category of the former. An oddity that begged explanation. That was the only plausible reasoning for the man’s interest in him, as it was currently the only reasoning that others had for interacting with him—in the waking world as well as the Dreaming. A mistake, a curiosity, a danger; all names that were familiar to him. Though, when considering it, it occurred to Moss that the Corinthian had never called him any of these things. Never afraid, never spiteful. Infuriatingly irritating at times, sure. Though he was sure the same could be said of him.

He glanced downwards at his hands which had been absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of his shirt. Confused and altogether a bit flustered, Moss quickly stretched his hands outwards and shook them out to clear away any lingering thoughts. 

His fingers soon found the comfort of a smooth plastic switch which, when flipped, brought the roaring electric fireplace back to life. Finally, he thought, settling down on a smooth fur rug that brought solace to his frozen feet. It was a cold November night, the fall weather had set in early this year and had promised to keep its grip until the late springtime. Indoor heating was perhaps one of the few technologies that Moss had appreciated from civilization. 

As he glanced to his left, he saw the frosted window panes reflecting his small form through the flickering light of the fire. He was clothed in a familiar deep green shirt that fell lightly upon his mid-thighs and overshadowed his satin sleeping shorts. The latter was a gift from his roommate, while the former was a comfort from his life in solitude. Neither of which were particularly adept at keeping out the cold, which is why he was grateful for the warmth that was quickly spreading throughout the room.

In the silence, and against his better wishes, his mind traveled to the Corinthian. It was not within the man’s nature to embark on a journey unprepared, though still he hoped his partner had at least the sense enough not to do anything too impulsive. Moss often cursed the Corinthian’s lack of self control when it came to the temptations of the waking world. Abandoning your clothes in the midst of one of the coldest winters in the last hundred years seemed ridiculously insensible, but add an attractive young clubgoer to the mix and, well, suddenly it didn’t seem so farfetched. Thankfully, a noise sounded at the apartment entrance and pulled him from his thoughts.

With a small click and a pull, the front door swung slowly on its hinges to reveal a familiar set of glasses and meticulously crafted blonde locks. The man’s head swiveled around to assess the dark room and stopped when it reached the glow of the fireplace. Their eyes locked, and a sly smile began to reveal a hauntingly white set of teeth.

“Well, what do we have here?” The tall figure slowly stalked his way into the living room, setting his overcoat on a nearby chair and dropping two silver blades on the glass coffee table. The noise rang out across the room, breaking the silence that had settled in his absence. “There are such things as lights, you know, if you ever care to use them. Though I suppose this is more to the style of your usual underground habitat.”

Moss frowned. In hindsight, perhaps the solitude would have been better.

“A shame you weren’t gone longer. A day more and I might have finally made my escape from this wretched waste you call a city.” He turned back to the flames and pretended to be enthralled by their erratic movement. 

“Oh come on now, don’t be rude. A week away and that’s your greeting?” The blonde pouted,  sidestepping a large lounge chair and moving toward the apartment’s small kitchen. “Believe it or not, this place has improved quite a bit in the last hundred years or so. I happen to find it quite enjoyable.” 

“Your enjoyment isn’t so typical.” he commented pointedly. “I just don’t understand it. The city, I mean. There’s too much uniformity here, any chance for growth is snuffed out by car fumes and concrete. In the Dreaming, things are constantly shifting, adapting. Even some of the waking world mirrors that sentiment. But here?” His face involuntarily crumpled itself up in disgust. “There’s just no life. Not any worthwhile anyways.”

The Corinthian paused, considering the words while smoothly plucking a bottle of wine from a rack on the kitchen countertop. “You’re thinking about it wrong.” His deft hands quickly released the cork with a pop before pouring out two glasses of deep red wine. “It’s not that simple. Down there, every person you meet offers a unique selection of opportunities. Their experiences, their talents, well, I guess you could say that they create a little ecosystem. Something like your little models. Extract one part and the whole system comes crumbling down. Their dreams, their nightmares, their flesh. It’s all out there on display. You,” he sat himself to Moss’ right, one leg propped upwards while the other rested lazily on the ground. “are just never close enough to see it. You should sometime. I’ve been told I’m a wonderful guide.” His smile clinked across the glass rim as he raised it to drink.

“As tempting as that may sound, I have the feeling neither of us would find it quite enjoyable. I’ve been told that I tend to be a, hmm, what’s the term you so graciously use?”

“Buzzkill.” The Corinthian said, pausing only for a moment before continuing his drink.

“Yes, that’s right. How charming.” Moss rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Besides, I’d quite like to keep my eyes if at all possible. Nightmare or not, I don’t know that you’d survive getting that close to me. I’d rather not test my luck.” 

Moss held his breath, his eyes affixed to the ground below. The heat from the fireplace had done its job, perhaps too well. The smell of roasting fungi began to emanate from various points on his skin unfortunate enough to be caught within the line of fire. He moved rearwards further onto the rug and set his back gently across the glass table behind him. The position was unintentionally close to his conversational partner, a fact that most definitely did not go unnoticed by the latter. 

“The job—how did it go?” Moss fumbled out, desperate to take the attention off himself. “Did you find what you needed?”

There was a pause as the Corinthian looked at him, seeming to consider something before ultimately deciding against it. “Yes, and no. The artifact we’re looking for wasn’t exactly where I was told, but I now have a very good idea where it might be. Lucky for us, it’s pretty close to home. The nightclub down the street, The Purge, it’s run by a man named Robert Folean. There’s nothing particularly interesting about him besides his involvement in the artifact’s passage, but I figured a night on the town might be nice for the both of us.”

Moss shot him a look that could have wilted every flower in a ten mile radius. Him? At a nightclub? Ridiculous. 

“No.” He said flatly. But the Corinthian seemed to have already made up his mind.

“Like I said before, there’s no point in escaping the Dreaming if you’re going to trap yourself the same way you had there. You need to live a little Moss, take in some of the things this world has to offer.”

“Just because my habitual preferences aren’t the same as yours doesn’t mean that they’re not worth enjoyment. That—” He pointed out towards the city skyline. “may work for you, but I’m just fine up here thank you.”

There was a long pause. The Corinthian sighed, seeming to give up his ground before taking a final sip of his drink and setting it on the glass table beside him. 

“Come over here.” He said, finally. His expression was unreadable behind the dark shades resting heavily on his buttoned nose.

“What?” Moss squeaked out, stunned. He must have heard him wrong, or misunderstood. The pair were already so close, any further and he’d be practically upon him.

He searched the man’s face desperately for clarification, but found none. Was this another game?

It was not uncommon for the Corinthian to test his boundaries. He did, often, and relished in the discomfort that it brought to Moss. There had once been a time when they were forced to pose as a newlywed couple to gain access to their target’s hotel. The Corinthian’s theatrics were enough to earn himself a bed on the couch for the next two weeks. 

However, this felt different. There was no joke here, no challenge so far as he could tell. At least, not an aggressive one. 

There was a long moment before Moss finally shifted himself towards the man. It was awkward and ungraceful, his body felt less like a cohesive unit and more like a jumble of shaking limbs. The Corinthian didn’t seem to notice of course, he was frustratingly calm even in moments like this. He only reached out to grip Moss’ waist, his strong hands guiding the smaller figure towards his chest. Somehow he had the suspicion that this wasn’t the first time the Corinthian had imagined this scenario. He tried to focus on the heartbeat next to his head to drown out his own.

“There we go. Now, isn’t that much better?” Deft hands began to run through his hair, an intoxicating rhythm of warmth and comfort. He slowly sank deeper into the man, suddenly hyper aware of every nerve in his skin. One hand held his head close, making waves from his cheek to his hair and then back again. The other was exploring its way across his lower body in an intoxicating rhythm that left him flushed all over. Perhaps he would have dressed differently if he had known the unexpected turn of the night’s events. Then again, perhaps he wouldn’t have. 

The sweet smell of wine drifted from their close contact. Moss had not touched his own glass, a part of him desperate to be conscious of every action and sensation in this moment. He wondered if this is what the Corinthian had been musing about earlier. His desires, his flesh, both certainly felt on display. Was this what he had been missing out on? The sweet touch of a stranger, a night of unbridled ecstasy and release? But that wasn’t him, no, it was only a remnant of foreign memories he had viewed during his time in the Dreaming. 

The Corinthian wasn’t a stranger though. In this high-rise apartment every sheet was soaked in his scent, every item lingered with the ghost of his fingers. Perhaps, Moss considered, there was a reason more than convenience that he chose not to leave.

“You haven’t touched your drink.” The Corinthian mused, betraying no notice of their shift in positioning.

“Huh? Oh, no. I suppose I haven’t.” His eyes blinked slowly as he considered the glass sitting on the edge of the table.

If he moved, just for a moment, it might all come to an end. Someone would shift away, deciding that perhaps it, perhaps they were a mistake. For everything that Moss had given up in his life, the distance that he kept himself from others, for just once he wanted to keep this moment to himself as long as he could. Maybe this was his first step in learning to live as the humans did. To choose to stay, despite the fear of what it could bring.

“When you leave,” He started, voice faltering from the unfamiliar words that tumbled out of his mouth. “I worry for you. Worry about you, I suppose. When you’re out there alone, I don’t know who or what might catch up with you. Maybe Dream, Desire, I—I just don’t know. If you were with me, maybe I could do something.” He took a deep breath, chest shaking with unspoken emotion. “But here? I can’t do anything for you. I’m as helpless as I’ve always been. I’m just not sure what to do. I could stay here, safe and free from an existence of unpredictability, or I could come with you and face whatever that may mean for me.”

Moss looked away, his eyes creased in frustration as he felt the beginning of tears begin to swelter beneath his eyes. 

“This is a new world, Moss. There’s never quite been a place for beings with our… proclivities.” He said the last word tenderly, but there was a hint of a laugh that tugged at his voice. “There’ll be a time when we’ll be able to reshape things the way we want—the way they should be—without Morpheus and the Dreaming to hold us back. I just need you to trust me until then.”

Trust. Did he trust him? He looked upwards, past the inky black shades that hid the Nightmare below. What stared back at him was a dawning realization that there was something between them that had bloomed in the crevices of his own fearful ignorance and frustrated naivety, a flower that was nourished by his broken body and fed by the roots of his own guarded heart. It could not be killed by his own touch because it was him—mistakes and all. It was borne of his own will and had been growing slowly in the heat of the Corinthian’s sun.

With his last reservation torn apart by the man’s tender words and soft touch, he reached up to kiss him.

Soft at first, a whisper of a touch fueled by the spontaneity of his own surprise. However, that was all that the Corinthian had needed. Moss held tightly at the man’s shirt, his breath catching in his throat as the sweet taste of red wine invaded his mouth. A forceful hand pressed into his thigh as another trailed its way underneath his shirt and upwards, leaving a shivering mess as it went. A surprised gasp quickly escaped his lips before it was swallowed up again by one of the Corinthian’s three hungry mouths.

He felt small against the other man, his pleading palms gripping widely at his shirt, desperate to make contact with flesh. “Please,” he begged, his voice coming out a cracked whimper as the Corinthian moved ravenously from his mouth and downwards, carving out a trail of kisses and teeth. He felt the man’s smile form against his skin as the hand on his thigh snaked higher and higher. Moss’s breath left his body as the ground beneath him lurched and he was forced backwards onto the soft rug below. The Corinthian was above him now, one hand holding up his tall, lithe frame while the other threatened to quench the growing ache in his lower half.

“Ah, what a surprise. I never took you for a beggar, Moss.” He cooed teasingly at his ear, his breath warm and sweet. Moss needed to get a grip, and quickly. The intimacy was intoxicating like nothing he had experienced. Lust was never an area that had particularly appealed to Moss. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the sight, but the feeling, oh god, the feeling, He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. “You can try to deny it, but your face tells a different story. You look so beautiful, you know, underneath me like this. I’ve been waiting for this a long time—to touch you, to taste you.” 

An involuntary flash of fear shot through his body. It had only been a few hundred years since he had been able to stabilize his body enough to maintain a permanent physical form. Though there was still an occasional day of pain, he had been able to keep the toxins from completely unmaking himself. When it came to others though, he wasn’t sure how far his luck would stretch. The thought of the Corinthian corrupted by his own disability was enough to make him physically sick.

The Corinthian noticed his hesitation and paused. “I’ve always dreamed about you shaking from my touch, but unfortunately I get the feeling this is not quite what I’d imagined. What is it? Do you want to stop?” He frowned slightly. 

Moss shifted uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact. “No. I mean maybe, I’m not sure.” His face twisted in frustration. Once again, he was ruining things. “I just—I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never been close to someone, not like this,” He motioned to their intimate positioning. “I know that you’re not human, but you’re not invulnerable either. If I— if you—” 

The Corinthian laughed softly, “Well, if that were ever to happen, it would certainly be a hell of a way to go out.”

Moss scowled and pushed him softly. “I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” His eyebrows were raised in mock offense. “You don’t scare me Moss, I’ve been through a lot worse than you and come out the other side. Don’t think I haven’t considered the risks. I have—plenty more than I should care to admit. I’ve just decided that I want this, I want you, more than I fear them.”

For as long as he could remember, there had been only one moment in his life where he’d ever truly felt safe. It was on a beach, in the Dreaming, where he had first opened his eyes and met the gaze of his creator. Before the hundreds of times he’d tried to fulfill his duty as a Nightmare and before the hundreds of times he had failed. Before the constant pain, the isolation, the years of bargaining only to be forced to accept the inescapable flaw built into the core of his being. After that day, he had come to believe that his existence would always be too difficult to burden another being with. And yet, despite that, he couldn’t deny the absolute sincerity with which the Corinthian had spoken.

Moss was speechless.

“Now, if you’d be so kind, I believe I was in the middle of something I’d quite like to get back to.” He stood perfectly still and waited patiently for Moss’ response.

“Yes.” He breathed out, unable to conjure anything more articulate. His head spun with the realization of the Corinthian’s dedication to him as memories of their past together flickered through his mind. Forcing him out to the beach, bringing home childish souvenirs from his travels, Moss had always assumed these gestures were for his partner’s own meddlesome amusement. Looking back at it now, he supposed it was possible that it was the Corinthian’s way of showing that he was cared for, that someone was watching out for him even when he was alone.

“What was that?” He cooed, bending down next to Moss’ ear. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific. What exactly is it that you want?”

“You.” He said simply. The Corinthian had the audacity to look shocked by Moss’ sudden declaration, as though he had not revealed his own true feelings only moments before. “I just want you,” he repeated, voice softer than he’d ever believed it could be. “If you’ll have me.”

Two beings, alone in the world and yet irrevocably intertwined. A Nightmare created for a purpose that he would never be able to fulfill, and one that would never be satisfied—perfectly connected by their imperfections.

“Ah, Moss.” he closed the distance between the two men, his fingers sliding around the back of his partner’s head and pressing him further into his own body. “There isn’t a being on this plane or any other that could take you away from me now.”