Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Thirty-Five | Fourth World

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Finch awoke in the dead of night, his breathing heavy but without any knowledge of why he had woken up so abruptly. He didn't have to look far, as he saw a figure lying on his back; heavily breathing, desperately struggling.

Finch unfurled himself from the warm embrace of his blankets and with one long leg after the other, he scooted closer to Falcon while remaining seated. Everything around them was relatively cold now that the fire had been dampened and they had both been sleeping for however many hours.

Only when closer, could Finch identify the state that Falcon was in. Beads of sweat trickled down the bronze skin which usually entranced Finch when drenched in sweat and training diligently under the sun. But unlike then, Falcon's frame was shaking. His broad chest lifted and fell rapidly but in a broken breath sort of way.

Falcon's fingers were clutching the furs beneath him as hard as he could, pained groans slipping from his mouth as he remained completely still. Finch could only watch and speculate that it might have been sleep paralysis, but also judging by the man's frantic heart-rate and excessive sweating, Falcon was completely ensnared in a nightmare.

The man who ordinarily oozed strength and subsequent intimidation, looked completely vulnerable. Finch found himself reaching out, laying his hand gently on the man's bare shoulder. The skin soft and taut as it flexed in response.

The last thing he wanted to do was yank Falcon out from whatever dream he was having. Worse case scenario, his body would remain in a state of panic and tip the balance of what his heart was capable of withstanding. So Finch started by calmly calling the man's name, nothing above a whisper followed by a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.

Falcon's breathing lost its desperate edge, gradually becoming more controlled. For the first time, his body moved as his head instinctively tilted in the direction of the softly-spoken voice. The way his head tucked, seeking out the touch, warmed Finch's heart. He couldn't help but remove his hand from Falcon's shoulder, to brush his fingertips ever so gently against the side of the man's throat.

The reaction was instantaneous. Still deeply in dreamland, Falcon sought out the hand and just by using his face, rubbed his cheek against Finch's hand. It was so uncharacteristically soft, so much so that the younger man stared with wide eyes. Unable to tell whether or not he was himself sleeping.

A shiver wracked Falcon's large body. Still nuzzling his newfound comfort, Falcon's expression once again shifted. Brows drawn together in a severe frown as his jaw clenched tightly. The moaning protests returned, but this time they were legible. "So much blood.." He repeated, almost like a mantra.

As his condition began to deteriorate, becoming increasingly more frantic and unresponsive, Finch anxiously chewed the inside of his cheek as he came to a decision. Shifting closer, he applied more of his weight. Hopefully the man's instincts would kick in, where somewhere in the back of his mind it would register that in the real world he was being pinned down.

But pinned down was an excessive term for what Finch thought looked more like straddling. He hardly had the strength necessary to take down a man of Falcon's stature. But with that lack of strength came nimbleness, and somewhat like a cat he was able to climb up onto the man's body.

"Falcon, wake up." He called and tapped the man's cheek.

When he was continuously ignored, Finch stepped it up. He pinched the man's cheek relentlessly and repeatedly called his name. A few pinches and harsh slaps later, Finch's vision blurred as he was swiftly knocked down and received a demonstration of the definition 'pinned down'.