The Stains Beneath Our Skin [mxm] ✔

9 | Nightmare

Wakefulness crept slow into Casper's mind, but it was an awakening like a dream, his body cradled on a cloud and the scent of dreamy incense and pine enveloped him. Quiet, blissful quiet. These candyfloss pillows swallowing his head, and these sheets... Sighing, Casper rubbed his cheek against the silk and buried his face in the thick covers. The slow smile hurt his cheeks. A deep ache overlaid by sharp stings. In fact, his whole body ached, hunched like a hunk of scrap in this feather-stuffed dream. Strange, but no matter. Especially not here.

Wherever ... here was.

This wasn't his bed.

Tension shot through his limbs and Casper's breath shuddered out of him. Don't fucking move an inch, Roach Boy. His muscles quivered. Right down to his ears straining out like a goddamn elephant's, fondling the air for a hint. One little tip that said, yeah, Roach, don't worry you're supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here.

The quiet didn't sound quite so empty anymore. His own sharp, quick breaths and the blood pounding in his ears. Behind that, some soft bird call, the hum of pipes and distant wind.

Breathing. That wasn't only his breathing. Slower, deeper. Someone else sat right there, an arm's length away.

Cain.

Fresh ice pooled in Casper's gut and slow, as if he were still asleep, he pulled the covers further over his head.

"I know you're awake, Cas."

Oh my god, this isn't fucking happening. This whole fucking night. This was a nightmare. Casper pressed his hands to his mouth. His lungs heaved for air, but his head still rolled, edging black like these oppressive sheets were the plastic bag pulled over his head. There's no way this is fucking real. What if he'd just passed out? Imagined those chilling words whispered in his ear.

A long, slow sigh from beside him. "I suppose I've no right to expect you to actually want to look at me now..."

Alright, so it was real. Shit. And this fucking psycho was talking to him all calm like he hadn't just fucking kidnapped him. Fuck. Breathe, Roach. Fucking breathe. Jesus fucking Christ. This seriously could not be happening. How had he not seen this guy was a fucking nut?

Oh god, he'd dropped his phone off the fucking bridge.

Did he have clothes on? T-shirt and jeans by the feel. At least the psycho hadn't fucking stripped him. How about... No. They'd found it. Taken it and put it to better use. Casper's gorge rose and shuddering, he curled deeper beneath the covers.

This was a nightmare.

A dry sob burst past his clutching hand.

This was a fucking nightmare.

Wood creaked beside him, the rustling of cloth. "Cas—"

Fingers brushed against his hair. Just a tickle, but Casper broke. Twisted away and scrambled across the bed. The covers strangled his legs like clutching hands, and in that panic, a shriek tore from his throat.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Cain fell back in his chair with a clunk, hands held up by his head and a deep grimace on his lips. The chair was some big heavy behemoth frowning at Casper around nutjob's shoulders. It sat right beside the bed, and behind him, a vast window poured the orange-tinted sunset across the room, drenching the side of Cain's face in a tangerine dream.

Somehow, he still looked like that perfect stranger, not a fucking psycho nutjob, and everything about him was still so calming and soft that Casper gagged with the shuddering, rotten cold flooding his body. His breath came hard and fast, and he made himself look around the room, because this couldn't be happening and maybe he'd find the mark of a dream.