[fanfiction] - Adam Carlson's POV of the Love Hypothesis

deviations

I had the dream again. 

THE dream. 

The twisted love-hate relationship I have with this recurring dream is part of a routine, I became painfully accostumed to. Waking up all shaky, bones weak and limbs heavy. My head still in some part of half-dream, half-reality stratosphere. 

I shouldn't be surprised, that the dream has varied over the last couple of days. Days, in which I talked to her more than I did the last two years combined. Days, in which I held her close to me. Breathed in her scent. Memorized her slender frame molding into my hands. Her lips on mine. Sharing a kiss, sharing a breath. 

Maybe it was inevitable that the dream would change. Evolve. 

From a very warm, very cosy and intimate moment under my sheets, sharing a small smile, sharing an even smaller touch. A finger grazing a cheek. A thumb stroking a lip. 

To something... else. 

I toss and turn restless in my sheets, my skin sweaty, the scent overwhelming and it takes me the exact same moment, she grabs me, holds my bicep in her delicate hands and simply - press. Pressing her naked frame onto my body, her fingernails biting into my skin, her rushed exhale singsonging into my ears. 

That's the moment I realize I have to still be asleep. And yet I can't help myself, I have to drown into this vision. An opportunity to be close to her, that I can't miss out on. 

"Olive." My voice rasps into the calm sounds sorrounding us. Limbs moving on smooth sheets. Open mouth breaths. A humming, that's new and it takes me a second to realize it comes directly from Olives throat. 

"Mmmh." 

I lose control. It's almost like a ticking time bomb going off in my head, but I need to gain everything I can from this. 

Grabbing her, feeling her. Pressing all those warm, naked skin of hers onto mine. There's an almost overwhelming sensation of heat, once I have her under me. Smoothing my hips between her thighs and enjoying this sound. This mmh sound that will be forever and ever the soundtrack of my wet dreams. 

"Olive." I sound helpless and it's no use to be lying to myself. I am. Helpless and greedy and needy and my cock is hard and leaking. I pump my hips, a voracious move and I trap him between our stomachs. Not ready to imagine the ultimate fantasy. Not ready for it at all, when there is too much going on right now anyway. 

THIS Olive is grabbing me. Touching me. Rather than gracerfully accepting my advances, she emancipates from being the passive goal of all my movements. Instead she moves on her own behalf. Stroking my shoulders, her fingers dancing over my neckline and a a stronghold of my hair forces out a helpless shutter, an even more helpless moan. 

"Please." Her begging is my undoing. 

"Whatever." I bark. Shout. Rattle. 

"Whatever you could possibly want. Need. You tell me. You hear me, Olive. Whatever it is. I'll give it to you. I need this." My confessions get even more desperate the second she starts to wriggle under me. A slow rocking of her hips, her head tossing from one side to the other. 

"Let me do this for you!" I beg, my voice completely lost all tone. It's like I'm crunching on stones, hoarse and muffled. 

"Please, Olive." My head plops down on itself, my greedy lips searching hers. That's the ultimate goal. More than I want to fuck her senseless. Ramming myself so deep, we change each others shape. More than EVERYTHING I want that kiss. A kiss from Olive, her delicate lips back on mine and this time I wouldn't stop. I wouldn't retreat. 

Not a single second. Not a single nanometer. 

I would invade, posess, grab and never giving back. 

I plop onto my elbows, my nose wandering up and down this incredibly sweet path from her raised neck to her earlobe. Whispering to her. Giving me consent. 

"I want to kiss, again. Please say yes. Please, Olive." Dream Olive is a saint. A merciful soul full of grace. She all but breathes one little 'yes' and I'm on her. 

My skin suddenly prickling, tingling from head to toe and my hips getting absolutely wild, the moment I close her mouth with mine. Invading her with more tongue than acceptable, cramming her full, tasting her, eating her, not getting enough. Her throaty hums get trapped between our mouths, I all but eating them. Consuming her and all she gives me. 

And then I make one move. 

A wrong one.

I know it instantly. It's not like an icebucket gets thrown over my head, no, nothing so severe. It's a bittersweet recognition and it leads to my whole dream-Olive going up into smoke, vanishing from my view, my touch. 

It's her ribcage. Spreading my fingers over this delicate part of her. And dream-Olive didn't catch up. Not like real Olive did. 

And suddenly my dream is over. 

With a loud bellow, I become awake, fully entangled in my real sheets, instead of humping Dream-Olive, my desperate hips hump my sheets instead and as embarrassing as it is, it's just one eyes-pressing-shut-and-pretend moment away to tinge my bed linen with my cum. 

I still. 

I'm dangerously close to an eyeblinding orgasm, nothing more than a collection of sweaty skin, heavy breaths and one motherfucker of a stiff cock. 

I came before. Even with passive-Olive in my dreams, I came. Painfully hard and sometimes loud and shot like a geysir all over me. And yet, I somehow never felt dirtier, never felt more wrong, than right this very second. Where I used ALL gained knowledge about her and her taste, her touch, her scent, to fuel my fantasy. And if I go off on that fantasy right now...

I'm shaking my head like a dog retreating a lake. Clasp a sweaty hand on my forhead, cover my eyes and roll onto my back. 

I can't. 

I can't do it. It's more than wrong. It's like taking advantage of her. 

And that is where I realize, that this version of myself I were tonight with Holden - the one, who felt closer to her, the one, who actually considered asking her out on a date. A real one. Helping her out and helping myself. And gaining - EVERYTHING out of it-

- that version was absolutely delusional. 

How could I ever be in her direct vicinity and not turn into - this here. Someone who would consume her, if he ever had just the slightest chance to do so. 

No. 

No, it comes to me with absolute clarity: 

I can't date Olive Smith. I can't really date Olive Smith, because if I would, I would start to - want. want want want. neverending. neverstopping. taking it all, wanting more. begging for more. 

Jesus motherfucking christ. 

She didn't even liked me touching her back. 

This has to stop. 

This has to immediately stop, because it will do only damage. To me and - thanks to my tonights version of assholery - kind of also to Holden. 

But most and formost to Olive. 

And that's something I will never let happen. 

Never. 

Olive Smith will never feel even the slightest amount of pain because of me.