Silent Bridge

I dreamed a dream

This short piece was entirely inspired by Brinna | Erotica Writer’s spicy scene prompt for today, 27 June: My favourite character’s fantasy. Thank you for the prompt.

There will not be a Sunday short this week, to avoid overwhelming your inboxes. Let’s call this a Saturday short, shall we? We’re only a couple of hours away from Sunday, after all.

I have chosen a character very close to my heart, from my story Reasonable Adjustments. You may wish to read that first, but as always, it’s not compulsory.

*****

I see him in my dreams.

I mean I literally see him: the contours of his face that I have only ever felt under my fingertips, the smudgy outlines, all resolved into a sharp, clear image that my brain doesn’t really have the language to show me, even in my dreams.

So instead, I get the feeling like I’ve seen him, the warm glow in my chest that I know would be there if one day, I were to open my eyes and see him.

His arms would be around me, and we’d be in my single bed that’s too narrow for two, in the room that I’ve been allowed to stay in even though hall rooms are normally only for first years. Reasonable adjustments, right? Really, I think the maintenance team just wanted to postpone having to put the door back on the ensuite.

I’d open my eyes, and there he’d be, my running boy. My bringer of pastries, my teller of tales. My window to the world.

Like a stained glass window, he makes everything look so colourful and wonderful. And like a stained glass window, he filters everything.


In my dream, I wouldn’t need to touch his face to know it’s him. I’d open my eyes and know, just by looking.


I’d watch him sleep.

Yeah. That’s what I’d do.


Then I’d gracefully kiss his eyelids, and not have to feel for them first so I don't accidentally smash my forehead against his like I did that one time. Kiss his eyelids; once, twice, until his eyes start to move under them, under my lips.


He’d move suddenly, rolling me over, and I’d laugh as he kisses me properly, as I wrap my legs around him. And I’d keep my eyes wide open, so I can look into his and see exactly what he thinks when he’s kissing me, when he’s moving inside me, his hands caressing my arms, his lips on mine, looking back into my eyes that aren’t just either vacantly staring or desperately squinting.

Fingers were never meant to see. I’d be able to use mine as they were intended. To touch him, to bring him pleasure, to stroke him without them pulling double duty as poor substitutes for eyes.


Sometimes, the dreams are from a distance. I dream I can pick him out in a crowd without him having to call my name. Not that I don’t like him calling my name. His voice whispers up and down my spine. But I crave the intimacy of a silent bridge that I’ve never had the chance to use, if only I could open my eyes and see him.

You know what I would do, if that moment ever came?


I would never close my eyes again, in case by the time they reopen, the world has once more disappeared.


I open my eyes and wipe them with the back of my hand. The world is still blurry.


I feel for his face, and kiss his eyelids, once, twice.

I feel his eyes moving under my lips, his eyelashes fluttering as he starts to wake, his cheeks shifting as he smiles. His hardness against my thigh, his hand moving down my back. “Good morning,” he whispers up and down my spine.

His lips rest on mine, his breath warm against my cheek.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper back. 

And I close mine, too. For that moment, we see the world the same way.

And together, we make it move.