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Contact
Dan is alone one night. Gabriel comes by to do more than talk. (This was for a challenge to write a pairing that hadn't been written yet. There aren't that many characters. Most of them are rela...
?Blocked
It's been almost a year without her, and Dan... Dan is lonely. Diana was never exactly stable, even at the best of times, but at least she was there. At least he could touch her. And without her, his skin feels raw, like every nerve ending is extending itself, seeking the touch of human flesh. Nights like this, he usually goes down to the kitchen and makes himself some tea, then goes looking for Natalie. It helps, just to talk to her sometimes, and he remembers with a painful twinge of guilt all the times she was the one who needed to talk, and he was busy. Busy with Diana, of course.
He was always busy with Diana. Now she's gone, and his days and nights are filled with endless attempts at filling the time. He cleans obsessively. He fusses over Natalie, trying to make up for fifteen years of parental neglect. He volunteers to work overtime. Anything to make the time pass.
But tonight the house is spotless. Tonight, Natalie's spending her first night in rehab, since it became obvious to him that he has no way of fixing this for her. He can't even fix his own life; getting his daughter off drugs is all but impossible for him to do alone. Tonight, it's just him and a silent house.
Almost silent, anyway. He thinks he hears the shower running, has for the past fifteen minutes. He ignores it, his eyes fixed on the bedroom ceiling, trying to coax himself into a frame of mind that will let him sleep.
He's been through this before, the hallucinations, the delusion of a son who died an infant in his arms, yet somehow always appears to him as the age he would have been, if only he'd lived. Sixteen now, and the perfect son, if Diana was to be believed.
The fact that he's hearing him again means the new meds aren't working, but Dr. Madden can fix that. Somewhere, there exists the perfect mix of drugs, the one that will fix everything, will banish the ghosts. And if not the drugs... There's always ECT. Maybe forgetting would be a blessing.
The water shuts off, and he can hear the sounds of someone moving in the house, of footsteps coming closer and closer to the bedroom. He shuts his eyes, ignoring as much as he can. He remembers Madden's warnings, the doctor's voice echoing in his mind.
"If the drugs don't help, just try to ignore the hallucinations as much as you can. Don't interact with them, don't acknowledge their presence, and call me as soon as you can so we can try something else. You can beat this, Dan."
Right, He can beat this. He can...
"Dad?"
Before he can stop himself, his eyes open, taking in the sight of the son he should have had. Gabriel's still damp from the shower, his skin flushed. He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of worn sweatpants that cling to his narrow hips. His body's slim, but with the toned muscles of the football player he -- would have been, Dan reminds himself. Would have been.
"Dad, talk to me. I'm right here."
Dan doesn't answer, won't let himself answer, but he can't stop himself from looking. As he watches, water drips from Gabriel's hair, trickling down his chest. He looks so real. Real enough to touch. The temptation is overwhelming, just to touch him, to see if he's as solid as he looks.
With no warning, his focus shifts, from simple verification to the desire to feel skin under his hands again. He can see himself reaching out and running his hands down that smooth chest, leaning forward and licking away those stray drops of water, his hands going to the waistband of those sweatpants and pulling... No.
He shakes his head. He can't be thinking those things, not about his son, or a delusion of his son, or whatever the hell this thing calling itself Gabriel is. He's not like that. It's just that it's been so long since he's touched anyone... But he doesn't want that, not with Gabriel, delusion or not. It's too late, though. Gabriel's seen the look in his eyes.
"I didn't know you wanted that from me, Dad... You should have said." Gabriel's voice is too soft, too smooth, like a warm ocean current. He could be carried away on that voice, could drown in it... Where the hell are these thoughts coming from?
"I don't," he says, ignoring Madden's warnings. He needs to say it, needs to convince himself.
"Are you sure?" Gabriel asks, with dangerous gentleness. "I could do that for you, if you wanted." He moves closer to the bed and reaches out, trailing a hand down Dan's chest, and Dan jumps because he can almost feel it through the t-shirt he wore to bed, just a hint of sensation, of heat.
He never should have spoken. He closes his eyes, willing himself not to react to the almost-touch, but his body betrays him.
"It is what you want. I thought so." Gabriel's hand moves back up his chest, fingertips brushing his neck, and it's probably just his imagination, but the touch this time feels more solid.
"Don't." The word passes his lips before he can stop himself.
"Why not?" Those fingers are tracing his jaw now, and it's not his imagination. They're more solid.
"It's wrong. You're supposed to be my son, aren't you? You may not be real, but it's still wrong!" He's damning himself with every word, but now that he's begun, he can't seem to stop.
Gabriel's silent for a moment, and he dares to think he's won, but then he feels a ghostly weight settling onto him, the faint feel of someone straddling his hips, a chest pressing against his, lips against his ear, a hand in his hair.
"You're right, I'm your son. Your perfect son, remember? I want to be whatever it is you want. So how is this wrong?"
"Perfect son? Please. A perfect son wouldn't drive his mother to attempt suicide." Anger is good. Anger, he can use to push away the feel of a body against his own.
"I just wanted her to be happy. You know she wasn't. You know there was nothing they could do for her. If she had just come with me, she'd be happy now. And so would you, Dad." Warm breath against his ear, and, oh God, an erection pressing against his, and then Gabriel moves and grinds them together, and it's so close to real it almost hurts. "We could be together all the time. We could talk to her, both of us, until she listened, until she came too, and we'd never have to be alone, never have to be unhappy again. I know you miss her. And I'd be whatever you wanted me to be, do whatever you wanted me to do." He rocks his hips, and Dan has to suck in a sharp breath, has to force himself not to pull Gabriel into his arms, to see how solid he can become. "Let me show you how happy I can make you, Dad..."
No. No. "No, Gabriel." This can't happen between them, it won't happen, and he forgets everything in the urge to get Gabriel off him, his eyes opening again as he grabs Gabriel's shoulders and pushes, as he would anyone else who touched him like that... And then it hits him.
The shoulders he's holding onto are solid under his hands, warm and slightly damp, and he can feel the muscles shift as Gabriel's hands take hold of his arms, solid, real. The weight on him isn't just a suggestion of mass anymore, it's the full weight of a teenage boy.
They hold onto each other, both staring, Gabriel's eyes as wide and startled as his own.
"You say I'm not real, and then you do this. Not even she could hold me like this." There's something both awed and loving in Gabriel's voice, and that frightens Dan more than anything else that's happened tonight.
"Gabriel... Just leave me alone. Please." He lets go of Gabriel's shoulders, suddenly exhausted. The rush of energy from his earlier anger is gone, and then some -- like it's all been pulled out of him. He tries not to think of where it might have gone, tries not to think of the absolute solidity of the boy in bed with him.
Gabriel shifts over him, hands going to his shoulders. And then lips are pressed against his, soft and warm and open and wet, and he can smell, feel, taste nothing but Gabriel, and it's good and it's right and Yes God please more and his hands are on Gabriel's waist, fingers sliding under the loose elastic of the sweatpants, and he doesn't ever want this to stop.
"You don't want me to go," Gabriel says, finally breaking the kiss. And as much as he can't deny the truth, without his son's lips on his, he can think again, can summon up the tiny sliver of willpower that remains in him.
"No, I don't," he says, looking up into eyes that remind him far too much of Diana's, "but I'm telling you to go anyway."
Gabriel sighs, and Dan can feel the air move from that soft exhalation. He climbs off the bed, and the mattress creaks. And then he strokes Dan's face with a firm, slightly calloused hand, his expression unreadable.
"Thanks, Dad," he murmurs, a thumb brushing Dan's cheekbone.
"Go." Dan doesn't so much say the word as moan it, a low, pain-filled sound made up of defeat and grief and frustrated lust, and Gabriel turns and leaves the room without saying another word.
There's a wet spot on Dan's pillow where Gabriel's head rested as he whispered into his ear. Dan turns and presses his face into it, smelling a hint of shampoo. And as the hours pass, alone in his bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, the wet spot on the pillow grows, until all he can smell is the salt of his own tears.
He was always busy with Diana. Now she's gone, and his days and nights are filled with endless attempts at filling the time. He cleans obsessively. He fusses over Natalie, trying to make up for fifteen years of parental neglect. He volunteers to work overtime. Anything to make the time pass.
But tonight the house is spotless. Tonight, Natalie's spending her first night in rehab, since it became obvious to him that he has no way of fixing this for her. He can't even fix his own life; getting his daughter off drugs is all but impossible for him to do alone. Tonight, it's just him and a silent house.
Almost silent, anyway. He thinks he hears the shower running, has for the past fifteen minutes. He ignores it, his eyes fixed on the bedroom ceiling, trying to coax himself into a frame of mind that will let him sleep.
He's been through this before, the hallucinations, the delusion of a son who died an infant in his arms, yet somehow always appears to him as the age he would have been, if only he'd lived. Sixteen now, and the perfect son, if Diana was to be believed.
The fact that he's hearing him again means the new meds aren't working, but Dr. Madden can fix that. Somewhere, there exists the perfect mix of drugs, the one that will fix everything, will banish the ghosts. And if not the drugs... There's always ECT. Maybe forgetting would be a blessing.
The water shuts off, and he can hear the sounds of someone moving in the house, of footsteps coming closer and closer to the bedroom. He shuts his eyes, ignoring as much as he can. He remembers Madden's warnings, the doctor's voice echoing in his mind.
"If the drugs don't help, just try to ignore the hallucinations as much as you can. Don't interact with them, don't acknowledge their presence, and call me as soon as you can so we can try something else. You can beat this, Dan."
Right, He can beat this. He can...
"Dad?"
Before he can stop himself, his eyes open, taking in the sight of the son he should have had. Gabriel's still damp from the shower, his skin flushed. He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of worn sweatpants that cling to his narrow hips. His body's slim, but with the toned muscles of the football player he -- would have been, Dan reminds himself. Would have been.
"Dad, talk to me. I'm right here."
Dan doesn't answer, won't let himself answer, but he can't stop himself from looking. As he watches, water drips from Gabriel's hair, trickling down his chest. He looks so real. Real enough to touch. The temptation is overwhelming, just to touch him, to see if he's as solid as he looks.
With no warning, his focus shifts, from simple verification to the desire to feel skin under his hands again. He can see himself reaching out and running his hands down that smooth chest, leaning forward and licking away those stray drops of water, his hands going to the waistband of those sweatpants and pulling... No.
He shakes his head. He can't be thinking those things, not about his son, or a delusion of his son, or whatever the hell this thing calling itself Gabriel is. He's not like that. It's just that it's been so long since he's touched anyone... But he doesn't want that, not with Gabriel, delusion or not. It's too late, though. Gabriel's seen the look in his eyes.
"I didn't know you wanted that from me, Dad... You should have said." Gabriel's voice is too soft, too smooth, like a warm ocean current. He could be carried away on that voice, could drown in it... Where the hell are these thoughts coming from?
"I don't," he says, ignoring Madden's warnings. He needs to say it, needs to convince himself.
"Are you sure?" Gabriel asks, with dangerous gentleness. "I could do that for you, if you wanted." He moves closer to the bed and reaches out, trailing a hand down Dan's chest, and Dan jumps because he can almost feel it through the t-shirt he wore to bed, just a hint of sensation, of heat.
He never should have spoken. He closes his eyes, willing himself not to react to the almost-touch, but his body betrays him.
"It is what you want. I thought so." Gabriel's hand moves back up his chest, fingertips brushing his neck, and it's probably just his imagination, but the touch this time feels more solid.
"Don't." The word passes his lips before he can stop himself.
"Why not?" Those fingers are tracing his jaw now, and it's not his imagination. They're more solid.
"It's wrong. You're supposed to be my son, aren't you? You may not be real, but it's still wrong!" He's damning himself with every word, but now that he's begun, he can't seem to stop.
Gabriel's silent for a moment, and he dares to think he's won, but then he feels a ghostly weight settling onto him, the faint feel of someone straddling his hips, a chest pressing against his, lips against his ear, a hand in his hair.
"You're right, I'm your son. Your perfect son, remember? I want to be whatever it is you want. So how is this wrong?"
"Perfect son? Please. A perfect son wouldn't drive his mother to attempt suicide." Anger is good. Anger, he can use to push away the feel of a body against his own.
"I just wanted her to be happy. You know she wasn't. You know there was nothing they could do for her. If she had just come with me, she'd be happy now. And so would you, Dad." Warm breath against his ear, and, oh God, an erection pressing against his, and then Gabriel moves and grinds them together, and it's so close to real it almost hurts. "We could be together all the time. We could talk to her, both of us, until she listened, until she came too, and we'd never have to be alone, never have to be unhappy again. I know you miss her. And I'd be whatever you wanted me to be, do whatever you wanted me to do." He rocks his hips, and Dan has to suck in a sharp breath, has to force himself not to pull Gabriel into his arms, to see how solid he can become. "Let me show you how happy I can make you, Dad..."
No. No. "No, Gabriel." This can't happen between them, it won't happen, and he forgets everything in the urge to get Gabriel off him, his eyes opening again as he grabs Gabriel's shoulders and pushes, as he would anyone else who touched him like that... And then it hits him.
The shoulders he's holding onto are solid under his hands, warm and slightly damp, and he can feel the muscles shift as Gabriel's hands take hold of his arms, solid, real. The weight on him isn't just a suggestion of mass anymore, it's the full weight of a teenage boy.
They hold onto each other, both staring, Gabriel's eyes as wide and startled as his own.
"You say I'm not real, and then you do this. Not even she could hold me like this." There's something both awed and loving in Gabriel's voice, and that frightens Dan more than anything else that's happened tonight.
"Gabriel... Just leave me alone. Please." He lets go of Gabriel's shoulders, suddenly exhausted. The rush of energy from his earlier anger is gone, and then some -- like it's all been pulled out of him. He tries not to think of where it might have gone, tries not to think of the absolute solidity of the boy in bed with him.
Gabriel shifts over him, hands going to his shoulders. And then lips are pressed against his, soft and warm and open and wet, and he can smell, feel, taste nothing but Gabriel, and it's good and it's right and Yes God please more and his hands are on Gabriel's waist, fingers sliding under the loose elastic of the sweatpants, and he doesn't ever want this to stop.
"You don't want me to go," Gabriel says, finally breaking the kiss. And as much as he can't deny the truth, without his son's lips on his, he can think again, can summon up the tiny sliver of willpower that remains in him.
"No, I don't," he says, looking up into eyes that remind him far too much of Diana's, "but I'm telling you to go anyway."
Gabriel sighs, and Dan can feel the air move from that soft exhalation. He climbs off the bed, and the mattress creaks. And then he strokes Dan's face with a firm, slightly calloused hand, his expression unreadable.
"Thanks, Dad," he murmurs, a thumb brushing Dan's cheekbone.
"Go." Dan doesn't so much say the word as moan it, a low, pain-filled sound made up of defeat and grief and frustrated lust, and Gabriel turns and leaves the room without saying another word.
There's a wet spot on Dan's pillow where Gabriel's head rested as he whispered into his ear. Dan turns and presses his face into it, smelling a hint of shampoo. And as the hours pass, alone in his bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, the wet spot on the pillow grows, until all he can smell is the salt of his own tears.
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