The Soul of a Bird Never Flies {boyxboy}

Chapter Two

~Tuesday 19th June 2018~

Twenty-one years without an adequate night of sleep, Dove was used to the fatigue by that point. He had been to many a doctor about it, mostly when he was younger since he had never been able to sleep through the whole night as a baby. It was considerably worrying for his parents, but, in the end, there was no solid diagnosis. No medical term Dove was able to describe his condition, he simply was plagued with hyper-realistic, vivid dreams. And that night previous had been no different.

Dove could often be found roaming around the house in the early hours of the morning, either searching for a book to read or having a snack, it was a constant that his siblings and mother had gotten used to long ago. Dove didn't even really mind it anymore, it was just how it was, there was no point worrying about it when there was nothing he could do to change it.

That particular night, Dove had been relatively lucky. He had slept from eleven until five, six hours, which was a pretty good night for him. Sitting up in bed, Dove sighed deeply, running his fingers through his mess of hair. He glanced around his room for a moment, wondering if maybe it was the light that had woken him, or rather it would have been if he wasn't certain it was the dream he had experienced.

Collecting the little garnet journal from the top drawer of his bedside table, Dove leant back against the headboard of his bed, picking up the violet pen he often used to scrawl down his dreams. Over the years, Dove had learnt to document the contents of his dreams the moment he woke, so as not to allow any details to drift away before he could illustrate them onto the cream pages. He had gone through almost ten journals, with them piled up in the corner of his room, ready for him to flick through if he so desired. Last night's dream had been a particularly bizarre one...

19/06/18 - Six hours.

Night time, midnight maybe? Stars out, moon half eclipsed, very pretty, very bright. Laying in forest, branches bare on old oak and silver birch trees. Birds, crows maybe? Not too loud, why not asleep? Cold grass, tickled bare skin, could have been naked, unsure. Not alone, resting half on someone's chest. Man, white but not pale, tanned, no tattoos, some scars, similar to all others. Still seen no face. Arms around my waist, tight but not to the point of hurting, possessive maybe? Didn't have any tattoos myself, nor piercings, unsure. No dialogue, companion kissed my forehead, felt beard scruff, maybe saw long hair too? Unsure. Felt at home, safe, even though it was dark, and we were in an unfamiliar setting. Body not in my control, muttered something, a name. Began with L, can't remember full word. Looked from sky down to man's chest, completely naked. Eyes drifted further down body, man was hung. Sucked him off, unable to look up, hand on the back of my head, still unable to see face. Rode him then, facing away, his chest up against my back. Man was whispering things, can't recall. Felt everything, felt real.

Dove often contemplated giving in the man in his dreams a name but didn't want him to become some fantasy that he indulged in. It wasn't often that he dreamt of sex with the man, however, when he did, the dreams were even worse than usual. He would wake up drenched in a cold sweat, with an aching erection tenting the sheets, praying he hadn't spoken a word whilst he slept. Shifting ever so slightly in his bed, he became painfully aware of the stiffness in his groin, great.

Dove tore the corner off that particular page, knowing it would be a dream he would not relay to his mother. He let her read his recounts sometimes, if they weren't too raunchy, although he never showed her a single one that involved the man fucking him. Dove was out to his mother, and she was wonderfully accepting, she simply didn't need to hear about the twisted illusions the boy's brain could fabricate.

Returning the journal and the pen to the top drawer of his bedside table, Dove rose to his feet and made his bed. He drew back the curtains, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the window, looking out into the garden below his bedroom. His family home was a nice one, situated in a rural area in a little, close-knit town that bordered a beautiful lake. It had always been a pleasant place to grow up, Dove supposed, despite the darker aspects he endured.