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yearnful dreams

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Sometimes he dreams of Daphne, towering over him while he looks up at her from where he’s on his knees. He can’t remember the last time he wanted something this badly but he can’t reach out to touch her, not with the way his hands are bound behind his back. He squirms in an attempt to dissipate the burning tension that thrums in his blood, but it doesn’t help.

“Please,” he says in desperation, head so clouded with desire that it takes him a moment to realize he’s spoken out loud.

“Is there something you want?” she asks, though she doesn’t need to, a knowing smile on her lips.

“You,” he answers, his urgency sneaking its way into his voice. He thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t get his mouth on her in the next few seconds. For good measure, he adds another, “Please.”

“Hmm...” She pretends to think about it, fingers reaching to the hem of her dress. She watches him watching her, the way his eyes drop to her hands and his mouth goes dry when her bare thighs are exposed as she begins to lift it. He aches with the need to replace her hands with his own and do it himself, but there’s nothing he can do about it except hope she has mercy on him. “I suppose you have been good...”

She gives him a nod and he doesn’t waste a moment before shuffling forward, eager to finally get his mouth on her. She gives a sigh of pleasure as he puts his tongue to work, focusing on his task. His knees might end up hurting later but it’ll be worth it — in fact, he prefers the reminder that Daphne is the cause of everything he feels.

He knows exactly what makes her tick and could have her finished as soon as possible, but he takes his time. He cherishes every time he gets to see her like this, he’d do anything to make it last forever. Even so, she finds herself rapidly approaching the edge. The noises she makes as she lets go are music to his ears and he keeps at it until she starts to pull him away, now oversensitive. She’s so open about her reactions to him and it still makes him giddy, the knowledge that he’s the one she’s with.

She leans down to kiss him, which he gladly accepts. He wishes life could be this — Daphne, her kisses, and nothing else. He could die, right now, and he’d be happy.

 


 

Other times he dreams of Daphne, her hand holding his tie as she pulls him into the bedroom by it. He follows her the same way he’s always followed her (like the love struck puppy he is) and shuts the door behind them. She presses him up against it, leaning in to thoroughly kiss him until he’s breathless. Not that it takes much to render him breathless, especially when she’s involved.

She pulls away much too soon and he instinctively goes to chase after her lips, only stopped when she slides her hand into his hair and tightens her grip to keep him in place. The spark of pain spirals through him and settles underneath his skin, causing him to gasp.

“What should I do with you?” she asks and he shivers, his mind already racing at the possibilities.

“Whatever you’d like,” he says, and he means it — he’d be happy with anything as long as she’s happy too. She smiles and rewards his response with another kiss, her other hand now also making its way into his hair.

“You’re mine,” she tells him, pulling away for long enough to speak. It sends a surge of... something down his spine, a mixture of lust and appreciation and incredulity. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite be able to believe he’s hers, but it’s true and has been since the first time they met.

“Yours.” The word that falls from his lips is not just a word; it’s a promise. “All yours.”

“Good boy.” She releases his hair and her hand glides down to his throat, where he automatically tilts his head back slightly to grant her access. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he agrees, desperately. She increases her hold on his neck, slowly cutting off his air. He’d never do this with anyone else, but Daphne is different. He trusts her with everything, including his life. She lets go, and he breathes in as much as he can. “Again. Please, again.”

She repeats the action and it doesn’t take long before he’s trembling, overwhelmed with the sensation of it all.

“You’re doing so well,” she reassures him, reaching down to undo his trousers. A whimper escapes from him and he can’t help but buck into her touch when she makes contact, feeling the direct evidence of how much he likes this. She lifts her free hand to his throat again and both combined are almost too much for him.

“Please,” he whispers, shutting his eyes as she leans in for another kiss. This time he can’t return it, can only struggle to gasp against her lips, and it’s so good everything whites out.

 


 

And sometimes on the rarer nights when he’s lonelier than usual, his brain conjures up something from the forbidden fantasies he tries to keep locked away and untouchable, and he dreams of Daphne, snug in his arms as they lay in bed together. He’s had a long day but everything’s fine, everything’s perfect, now that he’s with her. He brushes her hair aside and presses a kiss to her cheek, then trails his lips down to her jaw and then her neck.

“Niles,” she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed as he goes directly for the spot he’s learned is the most sensitive. He’ll never get used to how it sounds hearing her call him his first name, rather than the Doctor Crane she also uses for his brother. “Mm, Niles...”

One hand comes up to the back of his head to keep him where he is, not that she needs to; he has no intention of stopping. He moves his own hand across her skin, over her chest and lower over her belly and then lower.

“Okay?” he asks, pausing in case she’s not in the mood or doesn’t want to do this for whatever reason. She nods and arches up into his touch, encouraging him to continue. He obeys, skilled fingers where she wants them most and causing her to gasp.

“Niles,” she says again, the word turning into a moan as he does a thing he knows she likes. “Oh, good boy.”

The praise only spurs him on and he doubles his efforts, determined to satisfy her if it’s the last thing he does. She tenses as she gets closer, and it only takes a few more moments before she’s crying out his name in utter bliss.

She takes his hand and gently pulls it away, looking up to see him smiling.

“I love you,” he murmurs, quietly.

“I love you too,” she replies, reaching for him. “Now it’s your turn.”