Vallel’s Nightmare

by KT Hicks

When he awoke, it was like swimming upwards through an endless murky pool, rising from some unimaginable sludge, finally breaking the surface, gasping for breath, then opening his eyes and looking around, discovering that the night was black and deep and endless. Vallel shuddered, gingerly raising one hand to his forehead, which was throbbing like a drum.

He reached across the expanse of the bed he was lying in, his fingers trembling. Surely he would have left the wineskin within reach? He always had before. He tried to think back to the previous night. With a sickening lurch, his stomach protested. Either the wine or the thinking, he was not quite certain. The bed seemed somewhat wider than it should have. Despite occasionally sharing his bed with... with someone (Glossaria, his mind whispered briefly, then stopped), he had never gotten around to replacing the thin, one-person mattress that his aunt had purchased him in the first days since his arrival. He frowned for a moment. Had he not been staying someplace else recently? Yes, he thought. He was at the school, then. His hand continued its slow, unsteady search for the wineskin.

Suddenly his fingers stopped, froze. He swallowed hard, then continued to examine the obstacle that his fingers discovered. An arm, a warm, smooth back, long hair, soft regular breathing. He paused again. Long hair? (someone) had short hair. He repressed that thought, brought his hand back and scrubbed at his face. He touched beard stubble, perhaps as much as four or five days growth.

"Come on, Vallel," he muttered to himself. "Come on, wake up." The sleeping form on his right shifted slightly, as if in response to his voice. Much to his surprise, something shifted on his left side as well, a soft, unfamiliar voice murmuring sleeptalk as it rolled over, pulling the blankets into disarray.

Cautiously, Vallel extended his left hand, feeling his way across the large bed. Yes, there was indeed someone on that side of him as well. His fingers encountered a throat, the side of a chin. He scrubbed at his face again with both hands. Remembering something, he sent his mind searching around the room. Ah! His mind's eye saw the candle stub, then struck the wick sharply, lighting the candle. He winced away from that light, even as soft as it was, then blinked a few times, peering around.

His two companions were mostly shapeless masses bundled beneath blankets, a shapely shoulder and the back of a blonde head protruding on the right, a profile of an attractive face on the left. He rubbed at his eyes, removing the sleep residue from the corners of his eyes, and peered closely at the woman on his left. She had a full, sensual mouth, long blonde curly hair that was tousled and sleep-matted. He frowned, noticing a dark bruise across one cheek, like the wing of a bird. He reached for her, then drew himself back. Had he struck her? Surely he could not have done such a think.

But... a wave of revulsion, loathing, blackness....

It is always the same. She looks up from her stack of books, her pale eyes looking strained. She almost smiles at him, he can see the potential for smiling in her looks, but then she really sees him and her mouth curls in disgust. She stands, her face hard and her manner preemptory. She gestures at him, a motion of dismissal. He lunges for her, his hands outstretched and wraps them around her slender neck (her shapely neck, her sweet face, her eyes that he loves so much) and begins to squeeze the life from her. She tries to scream, but only a strangled, gagging noise emerges. He wrings his hands around her neck, shaking her viciously back and forth, her head flopping like some poor child's abused rag-doll. She claws at him, raking one hand across his face, opening his cheek. He can feel the warm blood spraying down his face and neck. Slowly, he starts to smile, a feral, maddening smile, and even in her terror, she sees his smile and recoils from it. With one last, sharp shake, he feels her neck break. Slowly, he lays her on the floor, her still, motionless body limp. With a sigh, he kneels beside her and then lies beside her body. He puts one hand on her unmoving breast, then places his head on her chest and listens to the emptiness inside her. The emptiness inside himself...

Vallel shuddered violently, nearly in a panic as once again the familiar vision rises before his eyes. "No, no, no, no, no, no..." he shakes his head, denying the urge. With new desperation, he looks around the dimly lit room, his eyes falling on the nearly limp wineskin (body) near the edge of the dresser.

Rather than disturb his companions, he crawls off the bed, heading straight to the foot of the bed and clambering off. He reaches the wineskin, pulls the stopped from the neck and takes a long drink. The odor of sour grapes soothes him, eases his trembling, eases his mind. He swallows, licking at his lips. The remaining wine sloshes gently in the bottom of the wineskin. He runs a hand through his long brown hair, pulling the knotted locks away from his face, tugging, as he always did, at the section just above the back of his neck. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror above the dresser.

The stranger who looked back at him was dirty, with several days growth of patchy beard, and a shiny gold loop through his left ear. Gingerly, he reached up and winced as his ear stung. When had he pierced his ear? Not that long ago, he reckoned, judging by the pain. There was a livid bruise across his forehead, one that would be covered be his hair when he had combed it. He stared at the bruise, wondering what he had done, then winced, recalling the time, a few days before, haunted by his dreams, that he had pounded his head furiously against the wall for nearly an hour, hoping to drive those thoughts, feelings, needs (desires) from his mind.

Maybe you did it already, something sly in his mind suggested. Maybe it is not a dream. Maybe you actually did it.

No! He insisted. Surely not. Surely he could not, would not have done it. Surely he could not have (raped her, strangled her, killed her) done it.

He looked at the mostly empty wine bottle. He drank, the fumes of the grape blotting out those alien thoughts, those desperate desires, those horrible ideas. He continued his examination of himself.

Only a shallow scar under his left shoulder marred his chest, smooth and bare, except for a few dark curly hairs, which stuck out from his breastbone. Absently, he rubbed at the scar, a dimple in his flesh, a hole where his blood had spilled from, his life nearly spilling from there as well.

A bloody, yellow dress clung to her body; the moisture and the gore somehow making her even more appealing than she was normally. He wanted to rip it from her, tear at the material, feel the fabric rend beneath his fingers until he found her smooth skin. He wanted to pull her body to him, bury his face in her neck, kiss that smooth skin, hear their hearts beating together, smell her unique scent, which reminded him of cedar shavings and that slightly spicy odor of old books. He wanted to hear her voice, look into her shining eyes, lose himself in her embrace, talk of inconsequential things, listen to her describe the cultural traditions of the Myopian Gray Butterflies, one of the few sapient insect species. He wanted to see the laughter light up her face, touch the soft tenderness of her mouth, wanted to feel her arms around him and know that he is loved, know that he is safe, know that she is safe.

He took another long drink of wine, emptying the flask. He looked around the room quickly. Surely there must be another bottle of wine. He had vague memories, which stirred in him a slight tremor of guilt, of using his psionic ability to make a wine merchant believe that the few copper coins Vallel still had left in his possession were actually gold. Surely he had another bottle of wine. He saw the distinctive strap of a wine flask over by his untidy pile of clothing and sighed in relief. He sat down on the floor; his bare back against the wall, and uncovered the bottle. He drank.

Nearly half the bottle was drained before he felt calmer, more in control of himself. He looked up at the bed, wondering about his companions. Who were they? He tried to pull some sort of coherent thought from his brain, but his memory seemed to be providing him with no information. He became aware of his nakedness, and flushed for a moment. Had they? Had he? He looked down at himself. Across his hips were a few purple bite marks, sore, but not excessively.

Well, he thought. That would be one thing. The mocking, laughing face of the red-haired whore rose in his mind like a demon. Shame flooded him, his own unmanliness in the face of her tough and cynical face, her sensual body, her blatant and somehow corrupt nakedness. He banished these thoughts with another long gulp of wine.

He stood slowly, pulling on his loose cotton under-trous and tying the waistband. He walked over to the bed, looking down at the two women lying there, still sleeping. The curly-haired girl, the one with the bruise like a shadow-wing on her face, had rolled fully onto her back, her round breasts revealed in the dim light. A black wave of lust swept over him. He swallowed hard, licking at his lips, wanting to lick her nipple until it grew hard, wanting to thrust his hand between her legs and feel her body rise underneath him.

He wanted to touch her breasts, wanted to clamp his hands over them, not in a loving caress, but viciously squeezing, tearing at the skin, seeking her beating heart beneath her ribs. He bites her, hard and cruel, tearing the flesh, tasting salty blood, hearing her screams, her small fists beating against him helplessly. He slaps her, knocking her head backwards, a cry of shock and pain forced from her. Blood flows down her neck, across her bare breasts, the nipples hard and hurtful. He...

Shaking his head, he turns away from the sight of her, clenching the wine bottle tightly. He glances over his shoulder at her, looking at the bruise. Please, please I didn't do that, he begged silently. He could not remember. He. Could. Not. Remember. His stomach suddenly shifted greasily to one side and he bolted for the wash basin. He made it in time, barely, vomiting out a vile-smelling thin purple liquid, his stomach heaving frantically.

He looked into the basin with a sneer. "Oh, that's appealing," he muttered, picking the basin up and going to the window to dump it before the smell filled the room. He pushed back the curtain and looked out of the window as he emptied the basin. He still had no idea where he was. He saw the back of a brick and plaster building, a dingy little alleyway, a scrawny and slat-thin dog routing through piles of debris. His eyes swept upwards, seeking the sky, the dim, early morning light.

A soft body suddenly pressed against his back, her slender fingers wrapping around his waist. His skin rippled into gooseflesh as she breathed warm against his back, licking his skin lightly as her fingers pressed flat against his stomach. His breathing roughened as a surge of renewed passion raced up his spine, sending signals of need, urgency, want, desire from his brain to his cock and back.

He lifted the wine bottle again, wanting to wash the taste of vomit from his mouth before turning to see her. As he raised his arm, she traced a slow line up his chest, flickered across his nipples which tingled and contracted. He moaned, nearly spitting the wine back out. He swallowed painfully, then carefully stoppered the wine bottle before letting it fall from his fingers. Her hand traced down his chest, the muscles in his stomach jumping as she ran her fingers further down, teasing lightly just above the waistband of his trous. He reached down, took hold of her wrist ground the bones painfully tightly and moved her hand down to where he needed it. He groaned as she dipped into his trous, holding his shaft with her hand, a gentle pulling upwards.

He turned to face her bringing his fist up, punching her sharply across the nose, feeling the small bones crunch and stepped back, admiring her body, the sway of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. He watches her sprawl across the floor, blood flowing freely from her broken nose, her hands desperately trying to cover her nakedness put a hand on her breast, rubbing the nipple erect with his palm, his left hand running over the curve of her ribs, resting lightly on her hip. He kneels by her, raising his fist and driving it into her stomach, knocking the wind from her. He raises his fist, hits her, raises his fist, hits her. She bent down, licking his skin just below his navel, her hand still working up and down, softly. He ran his fingers through her hair, looking across the room. The other girl was leaning on her elbow, facing him, her form still covered by the sheet. She pushed her dark red hair back, revealing her neck, and for a brief heart-stopping moment, one bare breast. She licked her lips invitingly.

Semi-conscious, the girl moans, shaking her head in negation, blood pattering onto the floor in some meaningless splotches. He goes to her, the knife held in one hand. He lays the shining blade, cold and glittering, against her bare thigh, the point just barely touching the soft flesh where her leg joins to her hip. She whimpers softly, almost desperately. With violent insistence, he spreads her legs apart, lying between them as he moves the knife up, pressing the tip against her throat as he pushes himself into her. She weeps, not gently, but raggedly, hysterically, snot and blood gathering beneath her ruined nose.

Vallel moaned again as the blonde licked his cock, the soft material of his trous between him and her questing tongue. With a nearly indescribable surge of relief, he felt the fear and hatred slip from him like a cold sweat, leaving him with nothing, no dark thoughts, no unspeakable desires. He smiled at the red-haired girl on the bed. She rolled over, moving with cat-like grace, stretched up onto her hands and knees, then bent forward, the blanket slipping off her body onto the floor, revealing her long lean legs as she bent and flexed her muscles.

The blonde, still licking him through his trous, slipped one hand up his leg, under the material, rubbed urgently at the base of his erection. He cupped the back of her skull with one hand, pulling her to him eagerly, the other hand stretched out, as though to touch the red-head. She looks at him over her shoulder, her dark eyes filled with wanting.

Painfully, wanting her to stop and not wanting her to ever stop, Vallel gently pulled the blonde to her feet, leading her backwards across the room towards the bed. The red-head (Stephanie) reached out, curling one hand around (Elesia's) breast, the other slipping between the blonde's legs. Elesia cried out, arching her back and raising up on her tiptoes. Vallel bent his head, taking her other nipple into his mouth, his left hand wrapped around her waist, to support her, the other seeking Stephanie's body. Stephanie moaned as he found her center of pleasure, pressing and rubbing his fingers between her legs.

Stephanie moved backwards on the bed, leading Elesia and Vallel onto it. The two women grinned at each other, then moved in harmony, removing Vallel’s trous with a quick, sensual movement. Kneeling on either side, they kissed each other, tongues working eagerly in each other’s mouths. Then, slowly, slowly, they moved down, each of them licking one side of his erection. They move up and down, kissing occasionally. Elesia continued upwards, planting searing kisses along his stomach and chest, suckling his nipples urgently. Stephanie leaned forward, taking his cock into her mouth, sliding up and down the lengths, stopping occasionally to lick the tip of his cock like a lollipop with quick flicks of her tongue.

Elesia straddled his chest, pulling her hair up and tucking her hands behind her head. Vallel looked up at her, the dim candlelight gleaming off her breasts. Vallel moved one hand between her legs, slipping his fingers into and out of her, pressing forward from the inside. Elesia moaned, rocking her hips towards him, lowering one hand to touch his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, Vallel licked her fingers, gently biting the tips of each one. Stephanie turned, taking one last lick, then straddled his hips, impaling herself on his cock. At the same time, she slid her hands over Elesia’s breasts, flicking the nipples. Vallel cried out in pleasure as her warmth enfolded him. Elesia, frantic, rocked back and forth on his hand. Quickly, he moved his right hand to her, rubbing her bud while pressing upwards and forwards from inside with his left hand.

Elesia screamed, leaning into Stephanie’s embrace, moaning and gasping. Vallel groaned, straining his hips against Stephanie, need building in him. He surged his hips forward one last time, only barely aware of Stephanie crying out in chorus with him, as a great wave of pleasure and relief crashed over him. His breath caught in his throat and he gradually relaxed.

They lay there for a while, exhausted and glistening with sweat, then, carefully, the two climbed off him, settling down, one on either side. Sleep seemed to claim him, but just as he drifted, he saw a pair of dark eyes staring at him, full of hurt and reproach. With a last effort, he thought, Gloss, my love, forgive me... He slept.