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a different kind of bad dream

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Tim wakes up with a start and a surprised moan in a hotel room in London.


It’s 4:15 am.


What. The. Fuck .


It takes him a few moments, breathing heavy and loud in the empty room, to realize how hard he is. He feels like he’s attached to an electrical socket, he’s practically vibrating. He very briefly entertains the idea that he might die.


He takes a few deep breaths. He’s not going to die. It was just a dream. An interesting dream. But still, just a dream.


The last thing he remembers is hands, big and everywhere. On his chest, on his throat, on his dick. And the weight of someone else on top of him; someone bigger than him, holding him down, making him beg for it.


Tim runs a hand along his dick and groans uncomfortably. It takes about a minute of desperate stroking for Tim to remember who the dream was about; piecing together the dark hair and the soft flesh that Tim had sank his fingers into and the soft accented voice that had said his name. His breath hitches in his throat.








Tim would be lying if he said he’s never thought about it. Or that he didn’t know he was attracted to Walter, at least a little bit. But he thought he could just kinda get over it. It was a harmless crush, born entirely out of what Tim had assumed was just misplaced admiration and affection. They were friends. He got along better with Walter than anyone else he knew, even Axel. It was nice, whatever it was that they had, and the last thing Tim wanted to do was ruin that by actually trying to bring sex into it.


Or, at least that’s what he had always thought he had wanted.


Walter twists the cap off of the coffee with a satisfying click and drains the first few inches of it. He sets the bottle down on the café table and wipes his mouth, running his thumb quickly and roughly across his lower lip.


Tim watches Walter’s hand; large with long, strong-looking fingers. He thinks about all the times he’s touched Walter’s hands over the past few months; how he knows that the skin of Walter’s hands is calloused, but that the flesh of them is still soft. It’s weird. He’s being weird. He’s never thought about someone’s hands before.


It’s 9:15 am.


Tim starts thinking about the dream. Again.


He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help himself. It’s still sitting in his brain. Of all the dreams Tim’s had, of course this is the one he remembers. He thinks about the odd sensation that had been left on his skin when he woke up earlier. The soft, heavy weight of Walter on top of him had felt so real that Tim still feels like his skin is tingling hours later in this cafe.


Walter slowly runs a finger around the lip of the bottled coffee, absent-minded and bored. Tim watches it happen, and tries not to think about a different hole that Walter could try that method on. Walter does it again, and Tim’s stomach tightens. He exhales shakily and clenches his fist under the table.


Jesus Christ.


Walter looks at Tim then, surprised by the sound of the exhale, and raises one of his thick eyebrows. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards, amused.




It takes Tim until Walter asks the question to realize how creepy he’s being, just silently staring at Walter from across the table. Fixating on his hand. Exhaling like he had been holding his breath. Turning waiting for food into some sort of weird staring contest.


Super subtle.


Tim clears his throat and looks away for a moment. He wipes his nose quickly with the back of his hand and pretends he doesn’t see his own hand shaking a little bit. He looks back into Walter’s eyes.


“Sorry. I’m just…tired,” Tim says. “Didn’t sleep very well last night.”


He adds the last part with a shrug and a sheepish smile.


And he’s not lying. Not technically. He is tired. That’s what happens when you wake up in a cold sweat, hard as hell after having a dream about being held down and fucked like a whore by a guy you thought was just a friend. It throws you off. And it sure as shit threw Tim off. To say it’s been a while for Tim, both for sex dreams and sex itself, would be a bit of understatement. At this point, it’s not a dry spell. He’s in a fucking desert. It’s a borderline medical condition. He’s tired and he’s so horny, so so ridiculously horny, and normally he’d be able to suffer through those things with the same stoic composure that he usually has. But now it’s different. And Walter’s right there. Tim could reach over and touch him if he wanted to, and he sure does want to. God , he wants to. But, at the same time, he can’t.


Walter smiles sympathetically.


“I didn’t sleep well either,” he says.


He takes another sip of his coffee and frowns before continuing. Tim forces himself not to look at Walter’s lips.


“I just…couldn’t shut my brain off. No matter how hard I tried. That ever happen to you?”


Tim thinks about how he jacked off twice last night and still couldn’t sleep.








If Tim thought it was bad the first time, it’s even worse the second time.


He wakes up again, with a jolt and a surprised gasp. And he’s not hard. Not anymore.


He’s drenched in his own sweat, his t-shirt clinging to his chest uncomfortably. He’s out of breath, like he just ran a marathon in his sleep. He kicks off his sheets and makes a surprised, disgusted noise at the sight of his boxers.




Tim didn’t think the term “wet dream” was supposed to be this literal. And he definitely didn’t think that having one in his 30s would involve cumming in his boxer shorts like a 16 year old.


It’s 3:15 am.


He might be cursed. He wishes he was dying this time.


He strips off the drenched t-shirt and lets it fall off the side of the bed. The room is surprisingly cool, and it feels nice on Tim’s damp naked skin. He probably should take a cold shower.


His phone vibrates. A text message, lighting up his phone on the bedside table.  He peeks over to look at it.


It’s Walter.


“Are you awake?”


Tim looks away from the phone and down at the ruined boxer shorts. He wipes his forehead. It’s slick with sweat. He looks back at the phone, still bright in the dark hotel room.


He thinks about Walter, lying awake in his hotel room down the hall. Thinking about Tim. At 3 in the morning. Probably half naked.


He definitely should take a cold shower.


Tim picks up the phone, looks at the message again. He shouldn’t be awake. He won’t be able to explain why he’s awake. Something in the pit of his stomach pulls downwards. He sets the phone back down. The screen shuts off. He exhales.


He needs to take a cold shower.


He hears the phone vibrate again. He’s not gonna answer it. He exhales, frustrated. He should not be getting hard again this quickly.








The match goes fine. They don’t win, but it’s fine. They’ve had better matches, but it’s fine. Tim can’t fucking focus on anything and he’s extremely tired and he’s so horny that it absolutely should be illegal.


But whatever, it’s fine.


“Are you sure you’re okay?”


Walter seems so genuinely concerned. He presses his lips into a thin worried line and scrunches his eyebrows together. He sets a hand, heavy but gentle at the same time, on Tim’s shoulder and rubs small circles into it absentmindedly with his thumb. Tim feels his face getting hot. He’s so sweet that Tim might actually puke.


“Yeah,” Tim says, too quickly and not looking Walter in the eye.


He goes to move and get out of range of Walter’s touch when Walter stops him, gripping his shoulder tighter. Tim’s knees feel weak.


It’s 10:15 pm.


Tim is not going to get hard in public. He’s not. That would be gross. Walter is just his friend.


“You’ve been acting very strange.”


Tim’s heart rate quickens. Because he has been acting strange. He just doesn’t know how to stop acting this way. And now Walter knows something’s changed because he’s not a fucking idiot. Tim was fine just a few days ago. Lonely and horny still, sure, but manageably so. He could have a normal day and jack off in the shower and then sleep like a normal person. And now he was losing his mind over a couple of wet dreams. He needs a nap. He needs a drink.


He needs Walter to take him to his hotel room and hold him down and fuck him until he cries.


Tim takes a deep breath, looks at Walter’s hand, still gripping his shoulder, and then at his face.


“Remember what you said yesterday?” Tim asks. “About not being able to shut your brain off?”


Walter nods.


“It’s like that,” Tim says. “I’m just always turned on.”


It takes him half a second too long to realize what he just said. Tim feels all the blood rush to his head.


Walter raises his eyebrows. He snorts.


“That’s—I didn’t...mean it like...that,” Tim stutters, his words coming out in a nervous jumble.


“Oh, sure,” Walter replies. He’s trying to hide his smile and absolutely failing, both of his dimples still making themselves known.


Tim needs to either get out of there, or die immediately.


“I’m tired, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel,” Tim says quickly.


Walter squeezes his shoulder gently before he lets him go.


“I hope you can turn yourself off tonight, Timothy,” Walter calls after him, and Tim’s thankful that he’s already halfway out the door so Walter can’t see the shocked expression on his face.


Tim raises up a hand as he leaves, half-waving. He doesn’t look back at Walter.








Tim isn’t asleep when there’s a knock at his door, but his body practically jumps in surprise anyways.


It’s 2:15 am.


Who. The. Fuck.


He rolls off of the bed and walks to the door. He hesitates before answering, his hand wrapping around the handle. It definitely couldn’t be. There’s no way. He takes a deep breath, and opens the door.


Well, shit, maybe there is a way.


Walter is leaning against the doorway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. He raises his eyebrows when Tim opens the door, and it’s at that moment that Tim remembers that he’s only in boxer shorts and nothing else. His face feels hot.




“Did I wake you?” Walter asks after an uncomfortable stretch of silence.


He looks Tim up and down. Tim’s breath hitches in his throat unexpectedly and he coughs.


“No,” Tim replies simply. “Can’t sleep.”


He scratches the back of his neck nervously. Walter smirks, makes a short humming sound in agreement.


“Me neither,” he says.


He purses his lips and gestures past Tim into the dimly lit hotel room.


“Can I come in?”


Tim can’t even find the words to answer him, just stands there like an idiot, his mouth partially open. He feels like he needs to pinch himself to make sure that he doesn’t wake up in 10 minutes with cum dripping down his leg again.


Fuck it.


He shifts over, lets Walter walk past him, and then follows closely behind him. He shuts the door.


Walter turns around to look at Tim again when he gets to the center of the room and his face is different, something very odd and serious about his expression now. His eyebrows knit together.


“Why are you acting so weird around me, Tim?”


The suddenness of the question knocks the words right out of Tim. Walter takes a step forward. They’re pretty close now, an arms length away. Tim opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He closes it, clears his throat, and tries again. He needs to chill out. Walter is just his friend.


“I...don’t know,” Tim lies.


“You don’t know?” Walter asks, taking another step forward. He doesn’t believe him.


He moves his hand slowly to Tim’s face, and lightly grabs his chin, tipping it upward slightly.


Tim swallows, and tries to ignore how hard he’s getting. He takes a shuttering deep breath. Maybe Walter will put him out of his misery and just kill him.


Walter looks down at Tim’s boxers then and notices, his eyes widening. He looks back up at Tim, amused in a way that Tim wasn’t expecting, and it all suddenly feels extremely dirty. They’re dangerously close now and Tim can feel the warm breath leaving Walter’s nose. He feels like his whole body is vibrating again. He might faint. The silence lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like half an hour.


Yeah, they’re not gonna be just friends.


“Tim—“ Walter starts to say, but is cut off by Tim finally giving in and smashing his lips into his.


Walter hesitates, a surprised moan transferring from his mouth to Tim’s. Tim panics for a moment. Maybe he did read this wrong.


Or maybe he didn’t. Walter returns the kiss at the last second, running his hands down Tim’s back. He guides Tim to the bed and sits him down, breaking the kiss to take his shirt off. He discards it on the floor and moves back towards Tim to resume. Tim puts out a hand to stop him.


“All of it,” Tim spits out quickly, gesturing to the sweatpants too. “Please.”


He adds the last part, but it’s not really out of politeness. He’ll beg if he has to.


He kinda hopes he has to.


Walter nods and takes off the rest of his clothes without any real begging needed, and it’s at that moment that Tim wishes he had turned another light on. He wants to take him all in, see every single part of Walter in detail. They might never do this again, and Tim needs to relish in it completely, commit it all to memory.


Walter moves forward and pushes Tim back down onto the bed. He grabs the waistband of his boxers and pulls them off roughly.


And Tim can hardly believe how quick it happens; how he ends up flat on his back and Walter ends up with two lubed fingers inside him in what Tim assumes has to be record time.


Part of him wishes they could take this slow, wants so badly to turn it into some sort of beautifully long body worship-type of situation. But the other part of Tim, the part that’s very aware that he hasn’t had sex in over a year, might start screaming if Walter doesn’t put his dick in him soon.


Walter adds a third finger quicker than Tim’s expecting and Tim is reminded instantly how big Walter’s hands are. He moans, feels like he could just finish now if he wanted to. But he can’t. Not yet.


And then Walter is curling his fingers inside Tim, working him open, and Tim still feels so desperate for more. He needs Walter inside him; he needs to feel every single part of him.


“Please,” Tim murmurs. He’s already so close.


“Please, what?” Walter asks.


He wants Tim to say it. He wants Tim to beg. He knows Tim will beg for it. Tim can see it in his eyes. Tim doesn’t have to hope for that anymore.


“Fuck me. Please.”


And Walter obliges, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with his hard dick. He places a hand on the top of Tim’s chest, dangerously close to Tim’s neck, as he pushes himself all the way in.


Tim moans so loud he’s sure everyone on this floor of the hotel heard him, but he truly couldn’t care less at this point.


“God, you’re so big,” Tim says, and then he’s wrapping his legs and his arms around Walter, pulling him in closer, tucking his face into Walter’s thick neck.


“Yeah, no shit, Tim,” Walter mumbles, half-joking.


And Tim would absolutely slap the shit out of him if he wasn’t so caught up in how good it feels. He needs Walter inside him, he needs Walter on top of him. He sinks his fingers into the soft flesh at Walter’s hips and Walter thrusts into him at an even pace, each time eliciting a small moan out of Tim.


And Tim is still so tight that he should probably be worried that Walter is going to rip him in half, but that’s what he wants at this point; to just be completely torn apart and fucked like a dirty whore.


Walter picks up the pace a bit, and Tim moves his hands up to his back, digging his fingernails in. He knows that has to hurt, but Walter says nothing about it, just moans and keeps thrusting into Tim like it’s his job or some shit, his mouth dragging its way along Tim’s throat.


It’s then that Tim realizes how close he is. He mumbles something to Walter, quick and to-the-point. He’s not even sure exactly what he says, he’s that fucking close.


Walter stops rather suddenly, his dick still very much inside Tim, and pulls his mouth away from Tim so he can look him in the eye. Tim thinks that he might kill him. That’s just not fair. Tim’s toes curl and he squirms in Walter’s arms and Walter has the audacity to laugh, breathless and self-satisfied.


Tim is definitely going to kill him.


He whines, and squirms again, trying desperately to fuck himself on Walter’s dick, which isn’t even possible in this position. Walter moves his hands to Tim’s hips, puts more pressure into holding Tim down. He can’t move.


“Do you want to cum?” Walter asks, simple and direct. He’s still out of breath and he’s smirking.


Tim nods quickly, his hair ruffling against the hotel mattress. His eyes water and he blinks quickly. Walter moves one of his hands and touches Tim’s face softly, tracing his thumb along the line of Tim’s beard. He looks at Tim expectantly.


“Ask nicely,” Walter tells him. He takes his hand off of Tim’s face and rubs it slowly along Tim’s dick, making every individual hair on Tim’s body stand up straight.


“Please,” Tim begs. “Please. Please, Walter. Please.


And Walter nods and lets him, and Tim spills out all over himself and all over Walter’s hand, cumming harder than he has maybe in his entire life.


“Good boy,” Walter says as soon as Tim is finished and it’s shocking how much Tim likes it; how ridiculously hot it is to get praised for ejaculating on command.


Walter cums soon after, emptying himself onto Tim’s stomach with a final satisfied moan. He collapses onto his back next to Tim, breathing heavy, and part of Tim really wouldn’t care if Walter just didn’t clean him up; just left his seed there to dry on Tim’s stomach. Gross, and completely fucking his.


Thankfully for the non-gross part of Tim, Walter does clean him up. Walter pulls Tim towards him after he’s done, letting Tim rest his head on his chest.


And Tim has a thousand questions that he could ask right now about how Walter knew and if Walter had liked him like that for a long time or not and what this means for them and if they’re going to tell Axel about it. And if they’re going to do that again some time soon because, God , Tim really really wants to do that again.


He doesn’t ask any of them. He’s too tired, and the voice in his head is yelling at him to not over-complicate this. To just enjoy it.


He just rests his head on Walter’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath, and appreciates not being weighed down by the weird tension of “I want to fuck you, but I can’t” for the first time in days.


It’s nice.




He mumbles the word into Walter’s chest and he knows he should probably put more effort into it, but he’s too tired. Walter laughs, the noise bubbling out of his chest, and runs a hand through Tim’s messy hair. And, even though Tim is already half-asleep, he still feels his heart leap into his throat at the word Walter decides to reply with.