“Time to rise and shine.”
* * * *
It took several seconds for Matthew’s thoughts to gather cohesion. He’d been dreaming, and it had been a very good dream indeed—a dream that was made up of snapshot images of tongues and fingers and slippery wet penises that came from everywhere, but at the same time, all belonged to Gavin. He knew that in the way a dream’s eye always knew what was familiar and what was not.
It had been a dream that was displaced and fragmented…and that had somehow made it seem all the more erotic. All those parts of Gavin, multiplying, searching him out and filling him up in every way possible, drawing him in and wrapping around him at the very same time. It was not a dream where a mere demand to “wakey, wakey” would be enough to free him. Besides, it couldn’t be morning. Not yet.