It's - well, magical. Seeing the city from above like this. He brings a hand out to press against the window as he looks down, and in the process his sleeve slips down a bit to show no scar tissue now. Gerard doesn't seem to have noticed it.
He's distracted, first by the delight of it, then by the pull in his gut, the sensation of being watched and before he even looks up instead of down, he knows what he'll see.
"Don't be afraid," he whispers to Eames. Above them, the eye opens, taking up the whole of the sky.
Okay, this has never happened before. Not with someone who isn't trained to shift the dream and design it to their will. The fact that Eames noticed no scarring is forgotten the moment that giant eye opens above them.
"What is that?" he asks tensely, his jaw tight and expression unreadable. Yes, he's a little scared.
"Is that common in your world? Eyes opening on the sky?"
Gerard isn't doing it. At least, he doesn't think he is, any more than bait in the water causes a shark attack.
The eye watches back, unblinking.
"The Ceaseless Watcher," Gerard says, because its here because if him, so he will have its focus anyway. His hand is still pressed against the window, still looking up as the colorless eye looks back down. Aside from the tension in his body, he gives no other sign of being afraid, himself.
"I've been marked by it since as long as I can remember. I get some protection from it-" the tattoos keeping back some of the burns "- but it isn't out of a sense of benevolence. It's because they're territorial. Common in the world? No. Common in my dreams? Almost every night."
"... you might need to be," Gerard says apologetically, finally turning away from the window to look up to Eames. "All it does is... watch. It's here for me, but it might be aware of you now."
Like Gerard says, it's not interested in hurting you- just giving you enough rope for you to hang yourself, and sitting back and watching the whole thing.
"But it... doesn't get involved, right?" Eames still stares at the eye, he briefly glances down at Gerard, his arm sliding over that narrow shoulder almost protectively.
"I suppose..." he starts, pausing for a moment before he finally pulls his gaze away and properly looks down at Gerard, going for a cheeky smile which doesn't feel all genuine but it's a good attempt. "We'll just ignore it for now."
Gerard grabs at Eames' jacket, tugging at him lightly, indicating wordlessly he wants Eames next to him. It puts himself between Eames and the main window, too.
"Can you tint the upper parts of the windows? Like how you unhooked the capsle." Gerard asked. It won't make the eye go away, it won't hide them, but it will at least make it easier to not see it.
Eames lets him tug him as he likes, he's not opposed to it at all. He peers at the thing up in the sky again before focusing on Gerard.
"How about we do something else, hmm?" he says and the next time he looks down, the floor has turned into glass. There's a brief but magnificent view of London down below them before the pod lands on a rooftop and Eames takes Gerard's hand to lead him out and onto the rooftop. Not for long though, he aims for the door that hypothetically leads to the building below.
"This way, love," he says and refuses to glance up at the sky and that massive, bloody creepy eye just hanging there.
What opens up behind the door is not the building, though, but it leads to a small cave like tunnel and then opens up to something that looks like the reed flute cave.
He can still feel the Watcher's gaze upon him, but it's always been there, waiting in the periphery. Once he doesn't have to see it, it's easy enough to ignore.
Gerard doesn't even try to hide his amazement at the sight through the door and down the tunnel, open-mouthed and staring.
"It's beautiful," he says, too scared to touch anything lest he mess it up.
The sight of the eye is enough to make Eames relax. He knows it's there, he feels it there, but he can't see it. That makes it somewhat better. For now.
He snorts softly at Gerard's wonder of the cave and leans against a wall.
"You can take a swim in the lake, it's cold but very pleasant."
And deep enough because Eames wants it so.
"But while you do that," he says and nudges Gerard's fingers that are still stuck between his own. "Tell me more about the eye. Or anything related. What does it want? What do any of them want?"
"Fear," Gerard answers that one easily, "They - are fears. It isn't a coincidence with what they represent. The Eye, the fear of being watched, judged. Dark, self explanatory there. The Slaughter, pure violence, as impersonal as a bullet fired into a crowded street. The Spiral, It Is Not What It Is, the fear that your perception of reality is lying to you, that you're going mad... they don't feed off of it, not really, they just are it. And like making more of it, if they can be thought to he intentionally doing anything."
Gerard had heard the theory that they're not even really aware of humanity, that all this is completely incidental. That is, somehow, more frightening.
Eames falls silent to think about it. He plays with Gerard's fingers while he stares at the still water surrounded by beautiful limestone pillars and formations.
"It sounds sort of Lovecraftian in its maddening scale of incomprehensible creatures," he says finally.
"How do you endure that eye? All the time? Why does like you in particular?"
"It fits my disposition, I suppose," Gerard replies, giving Eames' fingers a squeeze before letting go. He begins shedding clothing while he speaks, then. Eames said they could swim, so damn it, he's going to. He never could in a place like this in real life - enough run-ins with the leavings of the Dark, the Buried, the Lonely to ever want to try cave diving.
"Overwhelming curiosity, a horrible need to know, even being fully aware you will regret having that knowledge. At least, that's what I figure," he says, crouching down to take off his boots.
He has a small birthmark on his stomach, an almost heart-shaped smear of tan just above his navel. It's completely covered up by scar tissue in reality, but here, in the dream, the only marks his skin has are the tattoos and piercings, the marks he chose.
"As for how I endure it - I dunno. I never really had a choice not to. It's deal with it or give up and die."
While Gerard undresses, Eames watches him. The cave is barely his imagination, and while it is beautiful, it has nothing to the complexity of a human being, and Gerard is one that keeps Eames wondering and coming back to the delicate ways he is structured.
So of course he's going to look. And finally touch as well. His fingers light when they touch Gerard's nape and then run down along his spine.
"You have been living with this thing your whole life?" he asks quietly. "Since birth?"
What does it want from Gerard? A sudden clench at his gut makes Eames press his palm warm and flat against the small of Gerard's back.
Gerard has gotten used to Eames seeing him, but even so, he there's those little subconscious movements to hide his body when he's baring skin. Arms covering his torso when possible, being curled in on himself, trying to make himself smaller.
There's none of that now. He arches back into the warmth of Eames' hand, sighing with pleasure at the feeling - the feeling of it. Even the lightest touch is there and electric, and he briefly loses track of the conversation for it.
"...you can't really build a dynasty off them, not without a lot of work," Gerard explains. "They don't care who you're related to, assuming they even understand those connections. What matters is belief, your own disposition. Only one family's managed it that I know of, the Lukas family. Hilariously, they serve the Lonely. That's irony for you."
"Didn't stop my mum from wanting to try to make her own legacy that way, though. Didn't quite turned our like she planned. She couldn't have any kids after me, and not just because she murdered my dad in his sleep," she didn't actually. Eric Delano was awake, and Mary stabbed him in the neck with pruning shears. Gerard doesn't know this, though. "I didn't want anything to do with any kind of legacy she established, though, so the whole thing fell apart. The majority of my childhood was spent with take your son to work days when it came to meeting with the stuff of nightmares, though. So yeah, as long as I can remember, I've been in it. Thanks, mum. Bitch."
Of course, there is no scarring and nothing to block the sensation. Eames finds himself smiling as he moves to trace his other hand down along Gerard's spine as well. Obviously he is starving for the touch and sensation that comes with it.
He's already opening his mouth to say something, something about Gerard and how beautiful he is like this. But then falls silent as Gerard talks about his mother. He knows something about parents who have no regard for their child's happiness when it comes to their work. And honestly, there's very little he can say to that. Very little that would make it in any way better.
So, instead, he leans in to press his front to Gerard's back and traces his fingers down along his front next, his mouth touching the slope of Gerard's shoulder in a gentle kiss.
"So, in a sense she decided for you," he says quietly. "Our parents are often our worst drawback. I'm sorry to hear that, love." The sympathy in his voice is very genuine and deep, feeling an ache for Gerard right under his ribcage.
Once Gerard starts on about his mother it's very difficult to stop. Every part of his life revolved around her for so long, no matter how he tried to fight it. She's a poison he can never clear from his veins.
Having Eames touch him like this, though... having every slight caress able to be felt, no matter how soft. It feels like being touched for he first time. He's breathing hard and heavy before he knows it, pressed back against Eames, goosebumps rising on his skin.
"Just - keep touching me - " it's both a demand and a plea.
Eames presses closer to him, one arm circling Gerard's waist to hold him firmly while his other hand starts from Gerard's throat and makes a slow descend over his front toward his hips, fingertips light on his skin, counting ribs, diving into hollows and describing arches like a sculptor discovering the shape of something beautiful out of clay.
"Like this?" he asks softly beside Gerard's ear while both of his hands drop to his hips and from there to his thighs. "Where do you want me to touch?"
The question is followed by his lips mouthing the columns of Gerard's throat.
Gerard doesn't answer with words, just writhing against Eames at first before covering Eames' hands with his own and moving them from the tops of his thighs to slide down to the insides of them. It's just as good as Gerard remembered it feeling. Better, even. He'd gone wild from his the small amount that had full sensitivity before. Having it all back, if only in this shared dream...
"Oh God-" Gerard gasps, squirming against Eames like he's trying to crawl into his lap, to fuck himself on Eames' cock through his clothing. His own hands drag up to scratch marks up Eames' arms.
Eames gets rid of his shirt. In a dream this is easy, doesn't even have to free his arms for it. Skin against skin, there's nothing quite like that sensation and Gerard seems like he's ready to crawl out of his own and Jesus if that isn't hot as hell.
Apparently they're not going to swimming just yet.
He lets Gerard guide his hands, push them between his legs to the sensitive inner thigh. He drags a little bit of the blunt line of his nails across the skin there and when Gerard shudders, he hums against his ear, low and soft.
"We need a bed before your legs will give out," he murmurs softly and makes sure that there is one to be found once they turn their heads towards the water. It stands on rocks at the shore, half in the body of the water. A decorative metal frame and muted dark grey sheets of crumbled linen.
He's pretty sure if he couldn't climax from just this - Eames's nails on his inner thighs, Eames' voice warm in his ear - it could keep him on edge for a day until he was begging for any kind of release. Eames being able to just make a bed appear, too - the perverse possibilities of this really are endless, aren't they?
"Carry me?" Gerard half asks, half demands. Bold in assuming his legs aren't already having second thoughts about any kind of movement that isnt to work himself further against Eames. His hands just feel so good, though. The warmth and strength to them, the control, the callouses from his art - Gerard tries to commit all of it to memory, hoping he won't forget the feeling when he wakes.
Eames smiles as he bends down to pick Gerard up. "Your wish is my command, darling," he murmurs as he hauls the light body against his own and carries him to the bed. Things like weight and gravity have no hold over him in a dream but he likes them, so the satisfying feeling of Gerard's weight against him makes him hum under his breath.
The sheets are soft and crumbled and have a scent of sleep on them, a little bit of a sunlight and fabric softener in the mix, like warm summer days spent in the sun, reading. This is a memory that Eames is mixing in with the dream. The bed makes the same sound as the metal framed sofa at the porch of his childhood as he lowers Gerard on it, groaning under their weight. (It's a strange detail given that he's lived in a concrete block all his youth.)
He scoots beside him onto the bed, propping his head up on one elbow while his other hand urges Gerard to turn onto his stomach. Then Eames proceeds to trail his fingers over that slender back, again and again, starting from the nape of Gerry's neck and sweeping over his back, down to his arse. He slides his fingertips to the crease beneath his glutes and down to his thighs, tracing the insides when he comes back up. He's patient and watches tremors run ahead of his fingers, following them where they go, finding all the sensitive spots on Gerard's body without even trying too hard.
It smells and feels like comfort altogether unfamiliar in its warmth, the bed. Gerard is only too happy to turn to lay on his stomach when Eames directs him to - he's most comfortable lying on his stomach rather than his back anyway. It doesn't hurt that he's then rewarded with Eames exploring every bit of sensitive skin. Fingers along his spine make him tremble. He shivers again when Eames touches his ass, breath hitching just slightly. Like this, his whole body is terribly sensitive, but his inner thighs especially so, along with just above his tailbone. He spreads his legs a bit to give Eames more room to work, to invite further exploration. He doesn't feel the need to demand more or encourage Eames to rush, though. Something about the way Eames's hands seem so determined to map every part of him makes him want Eames to take all the time he desires at it.
"Does everyone use this dream sharing for things like this?" he has to ask, breathless.
"No," Eames replies, his voice soft to accompany the light, teasing and gentle touches his is flooding over Gerard's body.
He definitely takes his time, tracing every nook and cranny of Gerard's body with his fingertips, the undersides of his arms, his elbow creases, the rise of his hipbone and then up to describe his shoulder plates. He draws Gerard out with his fingertips, each inch of his skin equally explored.
Then he follows the light touches of his fingertips with his mouth, pressing warm, wet kisses on the expanses of Gerard's back and down towards his hips, over his perky arse. Between kisses he speaks quietly, slowly, taking his time to offer explanations.
"Dreamshare was developed for the army. And we spent quite a few years diving in as a team and learning how to shoot each other, how to kill and be killed, and then do it again the next night.
"I was very good at it, so I spent a lot of time with the unit, teaching new soldiers. But eventually it just wore me out. There were some people looking into the technology for other purposes. They were exploring the limits of it and some of it ended up being somewhat illegal.
"It's often used for information gathering. Secrets, you can learn those through dreams if you know what you're doing. Extractors give the target a place to hide their secrets, then they go and steal them.
"In the extreme and difficult cases, you can also plant ideas..."
Goosebumps follow in the wake of Eames' initial touches, pale blonde hairs almost invisible against pale skin. By the time Eames switches to his mouth to follow up, Gerard's heard enough for his cock to be leaking against the bed, rubbing against it every now and again just to get some relief from the slow teasing touches.
That it started as military isn't surprising - Eames was a former soldier, he had said as much, so of course if he was familiar with it this intimately.
"Are you trying to plant an idea right now?" He asks, breathless, looking over his shoulder at Eames. He rather thought Eames was trying to plant something else...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He's distracted, first by the delight of it, then by the pull in his gut, the sensation of being watched and before he even looks up instead of down, he knows what he'll see.
"Don't be afraid," he whispers to Eames. Above them, the eye opens, taking up the whole of the sky.
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"What is that?" he asks tensely, his jaw tight and expression unreadable. Yes, he's a little scared.
"Is that common in your world? Eyes opening on the sky?"
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The eye watches back, unblinking.
"The Ceaseless Watcher," Gerard says, because its here because if him, so he will have its focus anyway. His hand is still pressed against the window, still looking up as the colorless eye looks back down. Aside from the tension in his body, he gives no other sign of being afraid, himself.
"I've been marked by it since as long as I can remember. I get some protection from it-" the tattoos keeping back some of the burns "- but it isn't out of a sense of benevolence. It's because they're territorial. Common in the world? No. Common in my dreams? Almost every night."
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"It's a little creepy, love," he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "Is this what you talked about it looking into you when you look into it?"
Whatever it is, that giant eye, it gives Eames so many creeps he doesn't even know how to count them.
And they still have two hours in the clock. So, there's no out from the dream without... well. Things he'd rather not introduce to Gerard.
"Should we be worried?"
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Like Gerard says, it's not interested in hurting you- just giving you enough rope for you to hang yourself, and sitting back and watching the whole thing.
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"I suppose..." he starts, pausing for a moment before he finally pulls his gaze away and properly looks down at Gerard, going for a cheeky smile which doesn't feel all genuine but it's a good attempt. "We'll just ignore it for now."
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"Can you tint the upper parts of the windows? Like how you unhooked the capsle." Gerard asked. It won't make the eye go away, it won't hide them, but it will at least make it easier to not see it.
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"How about we do something else, hmm?" he says and the next time he looks down, the floor has turned into glass. There's a brief but magnificent view of London down below them before the pod lands on a rooftop and Eames takes Gerard's hand to lead him out and onto the rooftop. Not for long though, he aims for the door that hypothetically leads to the building below.
"This way, love," he says and refuses to glance up at the sky and that massive, bloody creepy eye just hanging there.
What opens up behind the door is not the building, though, but it leads to a small cave like tunnel and then opens up to something that looks like the reed flute cave.
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Gerard doesn't even try to hide his amazement at the sight through the door and down the tunnel, open-mouthed and staring.
"It's beautiful," he says, too scared to touch anything lest he mess it up.
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He snorts softly at Gerard's wonder of the cave and leans against a wall.
"You can take a swim in the lake, it's cold but very pleasant."
And deep enough because Eames wants it so.
"But while you do that," he says and nudges Gerard's fingers that are still stuck between his own. "Tell me more about the eye. Or anything related. What does it want? What do any of them want?"
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Gerard had heard the theory that they're not even really aware of humanity, that all this is completely incidental. That is, somehow, more frightening.
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"It sounds sort of Lovecraftian in its maddening scale of incomprehensible creatures," he says finally.
"How do you endure that eye? All the time? Why does like you in particular?"
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"Overwhelming curiosity, a horrible need to know, even being fully aware you will regret having that knowledge. At least, that's what I figure," he says, crouching down to take off his boots.
He has a small birthmark on his stomach, an almost heart-shaped smear of tan just above his navel. It's completely covered up by scar tissue in reality, but here, in the dream, the only marks his skin has are the tattoos and piercings, the marks he chose.
"As for how I endure it - I dunno. I never really had a choice not to. It's deal with it or give up and die."
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So of course he's going to look. And finally touch as well. His fingers light when they touch Gerard's nape and then run down along his spine.
"You have been living with this thing your whole life?" he asks quietly. "Since birth?"
What does it want from Gerard? A sudden clench at his gut makes Eames press his palm warm and flat against the small of Gerard's back.
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There's none of that now. He arches back into the warmth of Eames' hand, sighing with pleasure at the feeling - the feeling of it. Even the lightest touch is there and electric, and he briefly loses track of the conversation for it.
"...you can't really build a dynasty off them, not without a lot of work," Gerard explains. "They don't care who you're related to, assuming they even understand those connections. What matters is belief, your own disposition. Only one family's managed it that I know of, the Lukas family. Hilariously, they serve the Lonely. That's irony for you."
"Didn't stop my mum from wanting to try to make her own legacy that way, though. Didn't quite turned our like she planned. She couldn't have any kids after me, and not just because she murdered my dad in his sleep," she didn't actually. Eric Delano was awake, and Mary stabbed him in the neck with pruning shears. Gerard doesn't know this, though. "I didn't want anything to do with any kind of legacy she established, though, so the whole thing fell apart. The majority of my childhood was spent with take your son to work days when it came to meeting with the stuff of nightmares, though. So yeah, as long as I can remember, I've been in it. Thanks, mum. Bitch."
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He's already opening his mouth to say something, something about Gerard and how beautiful he is like this. But then falls silent as Gerard talks about his mother. He knows something about parents who have no regard for their child's happiness when it comes to their work. And honestly, there's very little he can say to that. Very little that would make it in any way better.
So, instead, he leans in to press his front to Gerard's back and traces his fingers down along his front next, his mouth touching the slope of Gerard's shoulder in a gentle kiss.
"So, in a sense she decided for you," he says quietly. "Our parents are often our worst drawback. I'm sorry to hear that, love." The sympathy in his voice is very genuine and deep, feeling an ache for Gerard right under his ribcage.
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Having Eames touch him like this, though... having every slight caress able to be felt, no matter how soft. It feels like being touched for he first time. He's breathing hard and heavy before he knows it, pressed back against Eames, goosebumps rising on his skin.
"Just - keep touching me - " it's both a demand and a plea.
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"Like this?" he asks softly beside Gerard's ear while both of his hands drop to his hips and from there to his thighs. "Where do you want me to touch?"
The question is followed by his lips mouthing the columns of Gerard's throat.
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"Oh God-" Gerard gasps, squirming against Eames like he's trying to crawl into his lap, to fuck himself on Eames' cock through his clothing. His own hands drag up to scratch marks up Eames' arms.
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Apparently they're not going to swimming just yet.
He lets Gerard guide his hands, push them between his legs to the sensitive inner thigh. He drags a little bit of the blunt line of his nails across the skin there and when Gerard shudders, he hums against his ear, low and soft.
"We need a bed before your legs will give out," he murmurs softly and makes sure that there is one to be found once they turn their heads towards the water. It stands on rocks at the shore, half in the body of the water. A decorative metal frame and muted dark grey sheets of crumbled linen.
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"Carry me?" Gerard half asks, half demands. Bold in assuming his legs aren't already having second thoughts about any kind of movement that isnt to work himself further against Eames. His hands just feel so good, though. The warmth and strength to them, the control, the callouses from his art - Gerard tries to commit all of it to memory, hoping he won't forget the feeling when he wakes.
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The sheets are soft and crumbled and have a scent of sleep on them, a little bit of a sunlight and fabric softener in the mix, like warm summer days spent in the sun, reading. This is a memory that Eames is mixing in with the dream. The bed makes the same sound as the metal framed sofa at the porch of his childhood as he lowers Gerard on it, groaning under their weight. (It's a strange detail given that he's lived in a concrete block all his youth.)
He scoots beside him onto the bed, propping his head up on one elbow while his other hand urges Gerard to turn onto his stomach. Then Eames proceeds to trail his fingers over that slender back, again and again, starting from the nape of Gerry's neck and sweeping over his back, down to his arse. He slides his fingertips to the crease beneath his glutes and down to his thighs, tracing the insides when he comes back up. He's patient and watches tremors run ahead of his fingers, following them where they go, finding all the sensitive spots on Gerard's body without even trying too hard.
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"Does everyone use this dream sharing for things like this?" he has to ask, breathless.
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He definitely takes his time, tracing every nook and cranny of Gerard's body with his fingertips, the undersides of his arms, his elbow creases, the rise of his hipbone and then up to describe his shoulder plates. He draws Gerard out with his fingertips, each inch of his skin equally explored.
Then he follows the light touches of his fingertips with his mouth, pressing warm, wet kisses on the expanses of Gerard's back and down towards his hips, over his perky arse. Between kisses he speaks quietly, slowly, taking his time to offer explanations.
"Dreamshare was developed for the army. And we spent quite a few years diving in as a team and learning how to shoot each other, how to kill and be killed, and then do it again the next night.
"I was very good at it, so I spent a lot of time with the unit, teaching new soldiers. But eventually it just wore me out. There were some people looking into the technology for other purposes. They were exploring the limits of it and some of it ended up being somewhat illegal.
"It's often used for information gathering. Secrets, you can learn those through dreams if you know what you're doing. Extractors give the target a place to hide their secrets, then they go and steal them.
"In the extreme and difficult cases, you can also plant ideas..."
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That it started as military isn't surprising - Eames was a former soldier, he had said as much, so of course if he was familiar with it this intimately.
"Are you trying to plant an idea right now?" He asks, breathless, looking over his shoulder at Eames. He rather thought Eames was trying to plant something else...
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