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Red.
All he could see was red.
Not the muted color of brick or rust, but something richer—velvet, wine, the inside of closed eyelids when the sun burned through them. It surrounded him on all sides, bleeding into the floor, the walls, the air itself until the world felt steeped in it.
Jon wasn’t sure where he was.
The thought occurred to him only briefly before fading away, unimportant.
All that mattered was the pair of eyes watching him from across the room.
They moved slowly over him—caressing him with their deliberately open gaze, as though there were nothing to hide—like they wanted him to notice. The weight of that attention settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach.
Edward stood only a few feet away.
His lip was caught between his teeth, gaze roaming Jon’s body like a starving man taking in the sight of food. There was something almost reverent in it, but hunger won out in the end.
Edward moved then.
Or perhaps the room shifted—Jon couldn’t tell which. One moment there was space between them; the next, Edward was there, hands already lifting, sliding around the back of Jon’s neck.
The leather of his gloves brushed lightly there as his hands settled.
He drew Jon closer without hesitation, their bodies aligning until the heat between them became impossible to ignore.
Edward radiated it in waves.
Not just warmth, but something brighter, more vivid—like standing too close to a roaring fire. His hair caught the red light and turned it incandescent, a flare of copper and flame. His eyes glittered beneath it, green cut with gold.
For a moment Jon simply stared.
The sight of him left him unsteady, something inside his chest turning over itself in a slow, heavy roll.
“You’ve been keeping me waiting,” said those pearly teeth.
His voice was low and threaded with amusement.
Jon opened his mouth. “I—”
“Don’t.” Edward’s thumb brushed lightly along the side of Jon’s throat. “I’m tired of words.”
The kiss came before Jon could form a reply, those beautiful lips stealing the breath from his lungs.
Edward’s mouth was warm and insistent, swallowing the protest from Jon’s lips before it had the chance to exist. The contact sent a sharp pulse through him, something electric that spread through his entire being.
Jon caught at Edward’s shirt almost instinctively.
The fabric twisted beneath his fingers as he pulled him closer, the need sudden and impossible to ignore.
Edward made a quiet sound against his mouth—pleased.
When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, hovering but an inch from Jon's lips as he gazed down into his eyes, their foreheads nearly touching.
His eyes searched Jon’s face with unnerving certainty.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Edward murmured.
Jon’s thoughts scattered immediately.
“That’s—”
“I know what you’ve been thinking.”
If Jon had been capable of clear thought in that moment, he might have argued. Might have insisted Edward was mistaken—
But the idea felt strangely hollow here, in this red-washed room where everything seemed stripped down to its most honest form.
Edward didn’t wait for an answer.
“I want you too, Jon.”
His voice softened, but the intensity behind it didn’t fade.
“Let me have you.”
His mouth moved again—not to Jon’s lips this time, but ghosting along the line of his jaw, brushing lower until he reached the side of his neck.
The first touch of his tongue was light, exploratory, tasting the salt on his skin as his teeth followed close behind.
Jon’s head tipped back before he could stop himself, eyes fluttering shut in a mix of arousal and disbelief.
Edward purred at the movement, quietly triumphant as it gave him more room. His hands slid down Jon’s back, settling at the base of his spine before pulling him closer, their bodies meeting flush.
The contact sent another sharp jolt through Jon, the kind that made his fingers tighten helplessly in Edward’s shirt.
It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
He tried to pull him closer, pawing at his clothes like the man wasn't already glued to his front—but there was no space left to close.
Edward huffed out a quiet laugh against his throat.
“So impatient.”
The teasing note in his voice was familiar but edged with something far darker—something heavier and unmistakably sultry.
It sounded far too good coming from Edward's mouth, and Jon wondered distantly how he’d gone so long without hearing it.
Edward’s hands slid lower then, tracing the curve of Jon’s hips before drifting down his ass in an unhurried path.
Then he moved.
Jon felt it more than saw it—the shift of weight, the gradual lowering.
When he finally looked down, Edward was watching him from below.
A hand lifted between them, one gloved finger pressing lightly to Jon’s lips.
“Let me take care of you.”
The words left Jon momentarily speechless.
He watched as Edward sank the rest of the way down, bringing his face level to Jon's crotch as he settled on his knees with easy confidence. The red light caught along the edge of him, backlighting his silhouette in a molten halo that made the whole scene feel unreal.
Edward’s gaze lingered on Jon for a moment longer.
Then it dropped.
There wasn't much preamble before those luscious lips found their home against Jon's slacks, mouthing at him through the fabric in a scene that looked straight from a porno.
Jon's brain short-circuited.
He stared down slack-jawed as Edward's hands crawled up from the back of his thighs to find Jon's belt. He made quick work of removing it.
A bit too quick. Like he'd simply wished it gone.
Then a faint, crooked smile reached his mouth as he murmured softly.
“Let go, Jon.”
Jon’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest as his eyes snapped open violently.
But they were met with nothing but a blank gray ceiling.
Familiar. Flat. Lifeless.
No red.
No warmth.
And no Edward.
The quiet of his apartment settled slowly back into place around him.
For a few seconds he lay there, staring upward, mind still struggling to catch up with the sudden shift.
Then reality arrived all at once.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
A dream.
Just a dream.
He turned his head toward the clock on the nightstand, the dull glow of the numbers informing him it was far earlier than he would have liked.
The sheets shifted with him as he pushed himself upright, sighing heavily.
Jon froze.
Slowly, cautiously, he lifted the edge of the blanket and looked down.
“…Oh no.”
He stared.
“Oh no—no, no, no.”
The words slipped out under his breath, growing more horrified by the second.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Jon dropped his head back against the pillow with a muted thud, dragging a hand over his face.
“I’m nearly fifty years old,” he muttered to the empty room. “Why the fuck is this happening?”
The silence offered no explanation.
He looked down again, as if hoping the situation might have resolved itself in the last few seconds.
No such luck.
He groaned quietly.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
He shoved the blankets aside and swung his legs out of bed, already heading for the shower as if the cold water might somehow erase the entire humiliating ordeal.
The realization settled in with a humbling clarity.
A wet dream.
At his age.
He stood under the water for a long moment, staring blankly at the tile, waiting for some kind of epiphany—some reason, some explanation. But nothing came.
By the time he stepped out again, the worst of the embarrassment had dulled into something closer to weary resignation.
Still. The dream clung to him.
Details lingered stubbornly in his mind—the red room, Edward’s voice, the way everything had felt too vivid to dismiss, too real.
Jon frowned slightly.
If he didn’t write it down now, it would slip away. Dreams always did.
He crossed the room and settled into the chair at his typewriter, hesitating only briefly before beginning.
The first words appeared on the page in sharp black ink.
It happened again.
He paused.
I had that homosexual dream again.