Gentle Rain

Chapter 8 - The Dream

Horses, a lot of beautiful horses with their ribs shining in the sunlight.

A dark man is riding one of them, black robes billowing around him.

Oh, it's me; I'm riding fast, very fast and without any control. The horse seems to know what to do; I don't have to direct it.

I'm taking a closer look at the gorgeous animal underneath me. It's a ginger stallion, and when an occasional ray of light hits it, its hair shimmers almost in different shades of dark red.

I ride like hell.

Other horses can't go as fast as we do, so they are soon left far behind.

Now the sun doesn't shine anymore.

I've arrived in some misty moor.

Everything around me looks very soft and hazy.

I see someone riding, with a horse white as a pearl, ahead of me.

I can't see very clearly, but she has the most alluring shape, and her long and curly hair is burning with wind in it.

Abruptly I feel much excitement, and my horse runs like crazy, but we are unable to get anywhere.

I feel the wind blowing my face, but I am not moving.

I get extremely frustrated.

All of a sudden I notice a garden to my right; the woman has descended from her saddle, and is now walking towards its gate.

It's an old fashioned English garden; just like the one I spent my summer days in as a child.

A high brick wall surrounds the garden, and I can see the rose and vine climbers growing there, covering it everywhere.

Oh Gods, she is on the other side, and I can't see her anymore.

I feel a terrible feeling of loss.

What is this?

She comes to the gate and waves to me.

Her hair frames her face as she smiles at me invitingly.

I feel my blood boiling and swear that I would sell my soul, not that anyone would like to buy it, to hold her, to be with her, all over her, inside her...

Suddenly my horse takes a huge leap over the wall, and I fly like a quaffle, just to crash boisterously on the ground.

I think I have died.

I notice that the garden is full of fig trees. Nothing but lush fig trees, full of ripe, honey dripping fruits.

Yes, I have died, and I am lying in the Garden of Eden.

I get even more assured of my suspicions of death, when an angelic face bends down over me.

I lose my breath because of her indescribable beauty.

She reaches out her delicate hand.

That hand... her hand...

I am startled when I recognise her.

She comes closer to me, tender and more loving than I have ever managed to imagine a woman could be.

She presses her hand gently against my abdomen, whispering something in my ear.

I can't hear her!

I try to speak, but am restricted.

"Are you hurt?" I hear her most attractive voice, and it makes me feel so relieved. "I'll ease your pain; just let me touch you..."

She slips her hand between my legs and kneads softly.

Oh my God, NO!

I find myself to be a little boy again.

What is this; I have wet pants all of a sudden... wet pants... wet... DREAM!

Unable to decide whether to be sorry or relieved that it wasn't really happening, Severus forced himself to get up from his bed and crawl to his bathroom, where a luxurious old bathtub with golden paws waited for him as a statue of consolation. Without wanting to see his own reflection, he sat inside it and turned hot water on. As clouds of hot steam started to obscure his vision, he could think clearer than anywhere else. "I'll think it away." He told to himself like a father tells his son not to be afraid, since he'll drive that big, bad bogeyman off for good. Then he started to rationalise and analyse his feelings in order to get them out of his system.

A few hours later, he was still soaking in the now cooling water. And he had accomplished nothing. Odd feelings were pounding ever still inside his veins. "Oh fuck, am I in trouble now." He said as quietly as a sigh. I have never appreciated lying to myself, so I'm not going to start now, not matter how badly I want to.

Fuck!

So, I see that no amount of water is able to wash this away... what ever this is.

Severus felt as if his manly body had betrayed him, and taken his mind as a hostage. And the worst of it was that it seemed his emotions had joined the enemy troops led by his hormones and they were about to run away with his rebellious body sensations. "Fuck!" Should I be worried, that it seems to be the only word that I feel like saying? He thought, not at all amused by his sudden insight.

Okay, one last time, let's sketch out the facts that can't be denied: I feel better than I have in a very long time. That's good, I'm grateful, though slightly embarrassed. Her... hmm... healing sessions have raised some feelings I'm unable to label to the surface.

Or am I? What if I'm just so cowardly, that I'm afraid to name them?

What the hell, she is a woman, and I am a God damned man, aren't I.

I want her, period.

At last he was ready to finish his "brainwashing", unsuccessful as it was, and get up. I have certainly made a fool of myself in front of my own eyes, but I'm not so self-destructive, that I would do the same mistake in front of hers. I'll never let her know, he swore while searching frantically for his clothes and parchments he needed today.