This guy is too good to me, Alice mused as she lay there in Rafe's bed, the thick comforter pulled up to her chin as he lay near her, quietly perusing his book under the glow of the lamp on the nightstand.
She'd been provided with a pair of his pajama bottoms, and he'd made her chamomile tea as they watched a movie that'd been produced from a book they had both read, leading to a lively discussion on their opinion of how the Jane Eyre movie handled itself compared to the classic.
Even though her panic attack had since subsided, it was hard to not compare Rafe to Shawn, although the internal debate always settled in Rafe's favor, and how could it not? Shawn hadn't cared much for books, generally preferring to look the summaries up on the Internet rather than do any of the reading that had been required for their English and literature classes. When it came to movies, he only liked watching things with a lot of gunfire and explosions. And when it came to how she was treated, Shawn always thought of himself first, only doing nice things for her with strings attached. And she'd taken this as normal since her parents weren't a very good example of what a healthy relationship constituted, whether it be between one another or the bond -- such as whatever the fuck it could be called -- between themselves and any of their children.
If she'd been born a generation earlier, she might still have been mired in all of that. But thanks to the Internet, as well as a greater social acceptance and willingness to talk about mental illness, she had come to realize that the way she was being treated was not okay.
The way Rafe treated her... well, that was more than okay. After she'd run away from her hometown, she'd paid no mind to having a boyfriend. She was too busy trying to get her shit together and trying to make a life for herself to even consider dating. The women's shelter she'd come to had plenty of horror stories from women escaping abusive men that made Shawn seem like a choir boy in comparison.
Yes, she had to admit that on occasion, especially after moving to the tiny studio apartment she now resided in, it did get lonely. What would it be like to come home after a long day at work to a partner who would be there to comfort and support her? Was there someone out there that she might meet someday, who would genuinely care for her? Was she worthy of such a person?
Rafe did seem to think she was worthy. She felt his hand on her shoulder and wondered if perhaps he was going to initiate a fresh attempt at intimacy. Fair was fair, considering what he'd done for her earlier and the patience he'd displayed. I won't freak out this time, she told herself.
The hand moved along her side, down to her butt in a gentle caress. And then back up. He repeated this gesture several times, and she looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked. She blinked and nodded. He was mostly a silhouette because of the lamp at his side, but she was able to make out a soft smile on his face.
"Good." He set his book aside and turned the light off, casting the room into a darkness that was broken only by ambient light filtering in through the blinds. She felt her heartbeat quicken as his weight shifted, and she rolled over onto her back. He leaned over her, and she had to focus on keeping her breath steady before she felt his lips on her forehead.
"Good night, Alice. Sleep well and sweet dreams."
As he settled next to her, draping an arm across her, she exhaled slowly, feeling a twinge of disappointment.
o0o
She was in the seaside temple again, but this time it was night, with the only illumination being offered coming from braziers in the walls that surrounded the chamber. In the center of the room, Sogoth lay splayed across the bed, wearing nothing but a... She paused, trying to think of the right word. A kilt -- not the Scottish variety, but something that reminded her of what she'd seen men wear in the pictures of ancient Egyptian art -- was wrapped around his hips, held in place by an ornate belt with a gold design on the wide leather strap, with a jeweled buckle. The fabric was a warm light orange-yellow hue, setting off the blue and green tones of his skin.
The sea outside sounded strangely muted, and the chamber looked quite different steeped in shadows. She looked down at herself, making note of the loose pale lavender robe she wore, the belt around her hips similar to the one Sogoth wore but thinner.
Everything felt so real. She'd dreamed often enough of Sogoth and her encounters with him, and even though these images always dissipated upon her waking, she yearned for him. Lately, especially as she'd been spending time with Rafe, she'd wondered if Sogoth was a figment of a lonely and yearning imagination.
Yet even after she met Rafe, she still had these dreams. What did that mean? Had her struggle with mental illness reached some new plateau, to the point where she was having these bizarrely intense dreams? And if that was what it was, did it mean that it would escalate until this bled into reality? Rafe knew about her anxiety and depression, to be sure. He'd been very kind and understanding about that, but what would he say if she told her about Sogoth?
What if Rafe was also a figment of her imagination? Surely someone as sweet as him wouldn't be interested in a neurotic loser like her, unless he was real and wanted to exploit her, setting her up to be used and abused...
"Alice..." she heard Sogoth call out gently. She blinked and looked at him, focusing on the visage that had become so familiar to her. She took in the lean, muscled arms and lower legs, the tentacles that were spread along his chest and the blanket, undulating here and there. The hands that came with long, graceful fingers, the dark eyes that seemed fathomless when she stared into them.
She moved to the edge of the bed, bare feet taking her across the stone floor. He sat up, reaching for her with one arm. Without thinking, she reached out, feeling his fingers wrap around her hand, and she let him pull her close, feeling the soft firmness of the bed under her knees as she knelt beside him.
"Is something the matter?" he asked, touching her face with his other hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
"Are you real?" she asked. She half expected his answer to be fanciful or evasive.
"Yes," he said simply. Still, she could not help but doubt. After all, she wanted him to be real, and if he was just a figment of her imagination, then wouldn't her desires be reflected in whatever he said?
"Then why do I not see you when I am awake?"
"Is that what you want?" he whispered, one of his tentacles sliding up her arm. Was she inviting a delusion into her waking consciousness if she responded in the affirmative?
"I want..." She hesitated, giving out a small shiver as the tentacle slid into the sleeve of her robe, sliding along her skin in a now-familiar sensation. Several more hooked around her waist and middle. "I want to be safe and loved," she whispered.
"And you are," Sogoth assured her. A tentacle slowly hooked itself around the back of her neck, drawing her even closer to him. A quiet whimper slid past her lips as she pressed her face to his shoulder, and his hand cupped the back of her head reassuringly.
"There may be bad things in the world, but I am not one of them... and neither are you." His other hand caressed the side of her face as his tentacles squeezed her gently. How many times in her life had she been told that she was bad, stupid, useless, or a thousand other insults, slung at her by the people who were supposed to care for her?
Her free arm lifted itself, finding its way past his shoulder to reciprocate his embrace the best she could. He leaned his head, nuzzling her temple as she did so, his fingers tangling into her dark hair.
"I just want to be with you," she said as she tightened her embrace.
"And I you," he purred, nuzzling her more firmly. "Forever and always."
She smiled faintly at that before starting to press kisses along his forehead and cheek. He hummed with delight, and the tentacles that had been embracing her chastely before started to writhe in a more sensuous fashion. The tentacle that was residing in her sleeve slid to the side, curling past her underarm and under her breast, following the curve where the mound met the torso.
"Yes," she breathed, her hand moving down to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and the mild warmth of his flesh. Fingers slid across his taut stomach to meet the cool hardness of his belt. She tugged at it several times, trying to figure out the buckle. A bit of a jiggle revealed how a pair of hooks fastened it from one side, and with a sense of triumph, she pulled it apart with both hands almost like a child opening a much-anticipated present.
His tentacled grip loosened enough to allow her to maneuver comfortably, backing away as she tugged at his kilt, the fabric falling to one side to reveal the organ that had come to full hardness. She ached at the sight of it, and she looked from it up to his face. His gaze was half-lidded, tentacles writhing slowly and almost hypnotically from the lower half of his face.
"Take what you want," he said in a tone that was both a command and an entreaty, Undoing the fastening of her robe, she bared herself before him, seeing -- and feeling -- the tentacles twitch in appreciation and anticipation before one circled her left breast, flicking the nipple.
"You see something you want?" she asked him playfully, eliciting a nod and chuckle from her lover. A slow smirk spread across her face before she straddled him, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder. A couple of tentacles slid along her inner thighs before reaching her labia, teasing them apart as she shuddered in delight.
I hope I don't wake up any time soon, she mused as she impaled herself upon him, groaning out his name as she felt the wonderful fullness overtake her. His hands squeezed against her hips as she wiggled around, savoring every little -- and not-so-little -- friction against her inner walls.
"Fuck... Sogoth..." She arched her back, feeling her lower stomach brush against his as he hugged her close, tentacles hooked around nearly the entire length of her back like the rungs of a ladder. A couple more were tangled in her hair, tugging gently at her scalp as she gyrated against him, hearing him give out quiet pants and groans, obviously enjoying this as much as she was, if not more.
A tentacle found its way to her clit, and she gave out a shuddering gasp as it rubbed against her firmly, able to keep pace with her increasingly frantic gyrations. For a moment, somewhere in her consciousness, she wondered how her lover had the mental dexterity to manipulate all these tentacles to different tasks, but that question was whisked away as she felt her orgasm approach.
