"Another nightmare?" He jumps abruptly when he hears Mark's voice call to him from the doorway. Ah, so he must have been sleep talking again, then?
"You don't know what it's like.." It was far from what someone may call a nightmare, though from his standpoint, he considered it to be.
"Then, help me understand." Mark's voice is soft and assuring, as always, but he can't. He won't, not when his dreams are..
"I can't...I'm sorry, I just can't." Images of HIM burn into his conscious, flooding his senses with nonsensical feelings and emotions. He can't understand it himself, doesn't know how to explain, how to make it sound reasonable.
It isn't. It really isn't. Because nothing, nothing about these feelings are reasonable. Nothing could be told without anyone seeking further explanation, for why he was so fucked up, for why he was dreaming about HIM in such a way.
"Okay.. I won't pry." He could hear footsteps approach his bedside, "but you know this isn't healthy, Charlie.." A hand laid on his shoulder, squeezing affectionately, worryingly. Mark, don't.
It wasn't healthy in more ways than one.
"I'll be fine. Been through worse." With that sentiment, he gave a half-hearted grin, in hopes that Mark would understand to just leave it be. Leave him be, with these.. unhealthy thoughts of his.
The air was suffocating, way too thick of an atmosphere for either of their likings. Mark obviously did not take his words the way he wanted him to, but, "yeah.. I know." A small chuckle that fell on deaf ears. "But, maybe that's why we need to talk about this?"
"We don't need to talk about anything, I'm fine." Fine was a grand understatement. He felt like a flame had materialized inside of his chest, trapped and burning to escape.
A shove of his shoulder and change in tone, Mark finally got the message and backed off.
"Alright, alright." The male raised his hands up in feign defense and stepped away from the bedside, "just.. yell if you need me."
With those words, he watched on as Mark began to flee the room, keeping silent until he was halfway through the door.
He turned, eyes trying to fixate on the brit through the darkness of his room, though he found it to be difficult.
"Thank you." This time, his words had elicited a smile from Mark's lips, and Charlie tried to do the same to show that he meant it. He hoped the other had missed the way it faltered.
Mark left, keeping the door slightly ajar in case Charlie needed him. The brit wished he had shut it, to be left alone with his thoughts. His dirty.. unhealthy thoughts.
There had to be a reason he was experiencing these dreams, these feelings. There had to be something wrong with him, with his brain. A chemical imbalance of some sort. It had to be.
There's no way he'd dream about HIS hands grapsed firmly around his throat. HIS hands sensually tracing every inch of his skin - HIS mouth, slowly...
"Fuck." The air surrounding him was too thick, the overwhelming and burning desire to submit filling him with dread. It was too much. All of it was too much.
His chest felt like it was lit aflame. Sweat starting was to form on his bare skin, holding secrets within each bead.
He was going mad. That had to be it. There was no other explanation for this. He was not dreaming of HIM in such.. lewd ways. And enjoying it. He wasn't.
"I'm not." He couldn't be.
A small, pathetic sob escaped his parted lips. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes, dragging his lower eyelids down as he slid it towards his mouth, past his flushed cheeks.
