A/N: Hello! You guys ready for some lady loving? Bare with me and my ability to make everyone gay. It's kinda my thing.

Inspired by Something in the Way by Nirvana.

Enjoy!


In dreams we can do anything.

I dream of us. We're in a beautiful loft in New York. There's a white glow of morning light streaming through the windows. I kiss you while you sleep. Right there where our kiss is hidden. The sun kisses your skin and you open your eyes and my heart stops. The soft city sounds purr from somewhere below us outside our walls. We're safe in here, our haven in the middle of chaos.

I can't help but smile every time our eyes meet. My heart beats so sporadically I feel like I'm dying with happiness. I don't ever want to leave you. I want to watch you fall asleep each night and wake up every morning. That moment between consciousness and unconsciousness is more beautiful than any other I could ever spend, taking my breath away.

We say "Good Morning" with a kiss. And another. And another. Each one melting like drops of wax from you to me, me to you. We say "You're beautiful" with our hands, exploring the skin we've come to know as our own, lusting for the other to moan or gasp.

When it happens-whether you or I-the kiss sets ablaze. No longer sweet words, but twisted desire turning the flavor. Suddenly it's too hot, but we hold each other tightly, regardless, reveling in the heat. We're hot and wet, twined together. Moans sing through the air because finally the heat collides.

You against me, me against you. Rutting back and forth. Pleasure rolling off like waves of smoke in the room, swirling around. Our kisses move to mark, biting and sucking down. You're the first to bring your fingers inside of me. I scream your name. Mary. I wonder at how our greetings always turn us on. Night or morning, we pull to the other passionately when they come.

We are so twined. One hand in hair, the other on each other, braided perfectly. Fingers pull when it feels oh, so good. And we beg. Unashamed and so bare, please falls from my lips to yours, and yours to mine.

This is a slow building pool of pleasure, heat collecting on our hands and insides. Time slows too, and we move into one another, searching for more and faster. Fingers curl and kisses break and shrieks of blissful agony erupt from your chest to mine, mine to yours. We're so close.

We come. Our names paint the walls with sound, echoing our praises to each other and to gods we don't believe in. A burning white light floods my eyes before I fall back from Nirvana to you, you to me. Eyes already locked, slowly focusing as we fall into our heaven. We are infinite. Unlimited.

But it's just a dream, isn't it? A fantasy of something that will never be. A time that will never happen. You will never touch me like that or love me like this.

How is it that you have bewitched me like this? How did you get under my skin and into my very heart? How did I make it stop? Every time I close my eyes I see you like this dream and you torment me like this. How can I make you stop?

Should I talk to you? Tell you that I touch myself and wish it were your fingers? Tell you that I come screaming your name? Tell you that I want to know you in every way? Or should I run as far away from you as possible and hope that time will heal this mess you've made?

I'm standing at your door. It's late. I want to knock. I want you to answer. I want to run. Hide. Scream. Beg. What do I do?

Enough courage gets me to knock twice and hold my breath. When you answer, barely dressed, eyes bloodshot, and tear streaks on your face, every thought leaves my body. All logic is gone. I simply lean forward and kiss your cheek.

Is it too much?

To my surprise, you lean into that touch. You ask me if I knew and I did. I tell you I'm sorry and you invite me in. Do I want tea? Yes. Dinner? I'd be delighted. Casual pleasantries to ease the nerves for the words I am about to utter.

"You're beautiful." The words slip off my lips so easily. You blush.

"Absolutely not. Look at me. I'm a mess."

I smile because even as a mess, I want you. I love you as a mess. I love your mess. I want to taste it.

"What will you do?" I ask not only out of curiosity, but I need to know. What do you think of such blasphemy?

"They are in love." You say, not even bitterly, but full of sorrow. "I will do nothing. Just mourn the loss of my own love. I highly doubt it was ever requited."

I want to tell you then. But something is in the way of those words. Some wall to be broken, whether it's yours or mine, I do not know.

"I'm here for you. If you wish it."

When your eyes lock onto mine it takes all of my effort to not look away or kiss you.

"I would like that."

A smile falls from your lips to mine.