Disclaimer: None of them belong to me.

Summary: Post-SAR; "Adam" finds himself haunted by dreams of a certain brown-eyed girl. M/Z

A/N: Honestly, I've never written anything quite like this before and the only reason I did now was because the idea simply wouldn't leave me alone, nagging at me while I was trying to study. So let's just say this is a little exorcizing of demons. Please review!




- brown eyes -


He'd dreamt of her so often—chocolate gaze, matching hair, caramel skin—he'd come to expect her near-nightly visits. She invaded his mind, tortured his body with promises unfulfilled, and drove him insane with the desire to know. To know who she was, what she was to him, and why she wasn't a part of the life he led by day.

Tonight she came again.

As usual, she didn't speak, didn't allow him to put a voice to that beautiful face. He felt her before he ever saw her. Opening his eyes in this dream within a dream, letting them drift down to the foot of his bed, and there she stood, like an angel, silent and watchful, mysteries burning in that deep gaze. His angel wore blue jeans and a black t-shirt—she was a practical girl.

She smiled at him, mischief glinting in every feature, and he propped himself up on his elbows, ever watchful of her every move. He would have watched her for hours—forever—if she'd allowed. But she didn't remain still for long.

Dropping to her knees on the bed, slowly, teasingly, she crawled her way up, following the length of his body. Chin tilted slightly downward, eyes directed up, locked on his own, and dark hair framing her face, swaying back and forth with each movement, almost hypnotic. His breath caught in his throat as she grazed along his flesh, he clad only in his boxers, sheets tangled around his legs. Hands on either side of his body, low and slinking like a cat stalking its prey.

A downward flickering gaze as she reached his midsection, but she didn't stop. Now at his navel, warm breath tickling and torturing… now his chest… When he felt her knees, one on either side of his hips, the heat of her core against him, he had to force himself not to buck up to her. And finally, her face level to his, lips but a breath apart, hands resting by each shoulder. Dark eyes shifted down to his mouth and back up into his own burning gaze. Those full, lush pink lips parted, beckoning, inviting, promising.

It was too much, the wait, and he reached up, mouth taking hers with a crushing force. She responded in kind, soft hands coming up to his bare chest, and the feel of her fingers raking down his flesh drew a growl from his throat. Flipping her over before he could think, her on her back, staring up at him as he pulled away.

Swollen lips curled in a devious smile, hair splayed against his pillow and the sight was enough to drive him wild. Lips returning to hers, coaxing them open with probing tongue, hands drifting down her body, along her sides, down to her waist, pulling up the hem of the t-shirt. Fingers grazed burning flesh and he reveled in the gasp that escaped her mouth, only to be swallowed by his own. Her hands weren't idle either, running up and down his back, over his shoulders, pulling him closer until it was hard to draw the line where he ended and she began.

Pulling away, he drew up the cotton material between them, baring her to his eyes, lips curling to see she wore nothing underneath, nothing to keep her from his gaze. Then he dove forward, abruptly, giving her no time to anticipate the move, and took into his mouth what moments ago he had admired with his eyes. Fingers kneading the soft, firm flesh as he feasted, not only on the taste and texture of her, but also the sounds she made as he did so. Throaty moans drove him on, fingers raked through his hair, pulled him nearer, kept him firmly in place. He moved from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of wetness in his wake, tongue probing, twirling, teasing. Long legs closed around his waist as she ground up against him, and it was all he could do not to take her then, to force his control so he could draw it out, take it slowly, make it perfect.

Nimble fingers slipped to the front of her jeans, releasing the button, lowering the zipper. And then his mouth had to leave her flesh, though it disappointed them both, that loss of contact. But his hands were slipping down her jeans, her waist lifting momentarily to aid him, to let them pass. Down, down, down they went, his fingers brushing along the smooth skin of her lean limbs as he worked.

Then that slip of lace that remained between them followed the same path taken by her pants. The aching slowness of it all driving him to madness, but he wanted to savor this, to enjoy every little detail. He pulled away to gaze, simply watch her, and she took the opportunity to remove the bunch of black cotton resting above her breasts, tossing it to the side. That done, she fell back to the bed and pointedly eyed his boxers, the only piece of clothing he'd worn during this whole experience, and still firmly in place. He obliged her quickly, slipping them off with graceful ease, tossing them aside to fall, forgotten, beside her own clothes. He glanced down at her questioningly.

She caught his eyes and smiled, the expression on her face saying all that he needed to hear, and in just case there was any lingering doubt, she clasped her hands behind his neck and brought him forward for a deep, devouring kiss.

It was all he needed, and parting her legs with one hand, he positioned himself between them. He met her gaze again, eyes burning into those enchanting pools of chocolate, wanting to memorize her expression during this moment.

God, how he wanted this—how he needed it. Needed to feel her around him, feel her under him, her soft, hot flesh burning against him. To open his eyes and see that face—those haunting eyes. To plunge into her and hear her scream for him, to hear her call his name, loud and clear—

"Adam!"

He bolted upright in his bed, instant awareness hitting him as he glanced toward the doorway, spying the kind-faced middle-aged man who regarded him patiently.

"Adam, it's about time you got up, son," Buddy drawled in that casual, easy manner of his. "Remember, we have a lot of work to do this week and we need every minute we can get." He paused, and then added, "Mary's got breakfast waiting for you already."

Adam ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Oh right," he managed, reality taking hold once again. "Sorry Buddy, it was just this dream I was having…" He faded off, uncertainly.

The other man smiled slightly and inquired, "What about?" His expression was warm and welcoming.

Adam shook his head, rubbing both hands over his face. Already the details were fading into the recesses of his mind, and what he did remember, he had no desire to share. His response came after a pause and was murmured so quiet Buddy could not have heard it. "Brown eyes."




fin