Fic
Title: 6) Perchance to Dream
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG
Summary. Fruit as a metaphor. I suggest just going with it.
Disclaimer: Still don't own.
AN: Another of the Fifty Prompts from hanuueshe's list. In which I indulge my latent inner Psych major. First attempt at writing the Petrellis. Nathan was extremely insistent on making a cameo.
Perchance to Dream
For the most part, Matt didn’t usually remember his dreams. Unless they were nightmares. And for the most part, he didn’t ever have recurring dreams. Again, unless they were nightmares. Which he had a lot more often these days. Which was supremely bad luck on his part.
Why then had he been not only having the same dream for over a week but remembering ever single detail of it as well?
It wasn’t a bad dream necessarily. Just…odd.
One night while out having beers with the Petrelli brothers, he gets up the nerve to ask Peter. Figures the younger man is suitably new agey and philosophical enough to attempt an interpretation.
“Hey, did you ever have a dream that made no sense?”
Peter quirks an eyebrow and flashes his crooked smile. Matt can’t help thinking it makes his face look sort of lopsided.
“I don’t know, Nate, have I ever had a dream that didn’t make sense?”
Nathan puts on a great show of pondering the question.
“Hmm, let me think…Does exploding count?”
Matt rolls his eyes, instantly regretting bringing it up. He should have anticipated the Petrelli Smart Ass Tag-team.
“Okay, stupid question. Forgive me for momentarily letting it slip my mind that I’m friends with a walking comic book character…says the guy who reads minds. It’s just; I’ve been having this recurring dream. Mohinder and I-“
Out of the corner of Matt’s eye, Nathan stands to get a new pitcher of beer and immediately sits back down at the change in topic looking extremely intrigued. The ‘shouldn’t have done this’ alarm blares in Matt’s head loud enough to almost block out the thoughts of everyone in the bar. However, in the end, a need to know weighs out and he tries again.
“…Mohinder and I were on the roof of our apartment building. But it’s this jungle. A freaky jungle with vines everywhere and leaves the size of my arm. Flowers as tall as I am. And we’re sitting in the sun splitting a bag of cherries.”
There’s a long awkward silence as his companions take this all in. Matt desperately gulps down half of his glass in one huge swallow.
“That’s it? You and the professor in a lush tropical hideaway eating fruit? Wait, I remember reading this story once. It doesn’t end well. Was there a snake? A big slithering evil snake that talked? Were you two naked?”
Matt wants to sink underneath the table at Nathan’s smirk. Did he have to make it all sound so dirty? Especially when Matt kind of just a little suspected it might be?
“That’s it. No conversation. No snake. No midgets talking backwards. But it was so weird. I mean besides the jungle in Brooklyn, the cherries were like the most perfect cherries you’ve ever seen. Whattya call it? The platonic ideal of cherries. No seeds, no stems, each one exactly ripe. And the bag never empties. We sit there eating cherries forever and never get tired of them or feel sick.”
Matt looks up from where he’s been absentmindedly tracing at patterns in the condensation on the table to find Peter’s ears are red and the younger man appears distinctly uncomfortable.
“I-uh-I’m really not good at non-apocalyptic dream interpretation. Sorry. No luck. You know what we need? I think we need more beer. Anyone else want more beer? I’m going to go get some.”
Nathan immediately grabs a hold of Peter’s shoulder preventing his escape. “Aw, come on Pete, give it a try. Not even a theory?”
Peter shoots his brother an I-hate-you look. “Maybe…maybe you’re just really craving cherries?”
Nathan’s flashes his shark smile which seems to show every single tooth-all three hundred of them.
“Yeah, Parkman. I’m sure that’s what it is. Probably just a Vitamin C deficiency.”
They don’t talk about it again for the rest of the night until Peter is helping Nathan into a cab. Nathan sticks his head out the window and yells out, “Good luck on your cherry hunting quest, Parkman!”
Matt hunches down pretending not to hear. Pretending not to notice the little old lady walking her dog who is staring at him utterly appalled.
The next day during a quiet moment at work, Matt checks out a dream symbolism website. He gets as far as the phrase ‘Fruit often a symbol of passion and sensuality’ and immediately glances over his shoulder as if he’s looking at porn.
‘To dream that you are in a jungle signifies aspects of yourself and your personality that may have been inhibited.’
He reads this sentence over and over. Clicks the window closed and does paper work the rest of the day with his head down determinedly not thinking about the implications.
Or at least, he tries not to think about it, but it’s like telling yourself not to think about pink elephants. Your mind immediately goes there. And stays there. No matter how much you want it to go somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not making you reassess your sexuality and obsess about ruining not only your living situation but also one of the best friendships you have.
Aw, crap. When did his brain get smarter than him?
At dinner, it’s all he can do not to blurt out, ‘I’ve been having naughty fruit related dreams about you.’ when Mohinder asks about his day.
The dream continues to occur. And the more frequently he has it, the more aware Matt is of Mohinder. The sharp line of his collarbone. His smile. His easy grace. The dark fan of his eyelashes. Matt suspects he may be losing his mind. Even the cherry creamcheese danish in the precint breakroom has him blushing and stammering.
One night, the scene changes. Mohinder stares right at him as he licks the juice from his fingers and dribbling down the inside of his wrist. He makes a pleased humming noise in the back of his throat and grins, teeth impossibly whiter against the stained red of his mouth.
Matt watches as his dream self cups Mohinder’s jaw. Mohinder turns his face into the other man’s palm and sucks a bit of cherry pulp off of the tip of DreamMatt’s thumb. He wakes up with a start soaked in sweat, sheets sticky and damp with what is very much not sweat.
3: 00 a.m. linen changes. Didn’t need to be Freud to figure that one out.
It would seem he was in big gay cherry eating lust with his roommate.
Stupid subconscious.
The next morning he can’t meet Mohinder’s gaze. Hasn’t felt this self conscious since he was fourteen and terrified his mother would learn of his fantasies about Nadine Bannerman, the Hottie of Homeroom.
“-Get you anything?”
“Huh?” Real smooth there, Parkman.
Mohinder doesn’t comment on his wool gathering. Merely smiles patiently-Mohinder smile! Too much for first thing in the morning!-and repeats himself.
“I’m going to the grocery store with Molly. Is there anything I can get you, Matthew?”
Mohinder looks so obliging. All curls and dark eyes. It’s on the tip of Matt’s tongue to ask…
“No! I mean…no. Thanks, but I’m good.”
The afternoon finds Matt aimlessly flipping through channels when Mohinder and Molly return.
With one ear he acknowledges Mohinder is speaking to him.
“I bought a treat for us…on sale…good to pass up.”
An icy cold wave of dread washes over him from the tips of his eyelashes to the soles of his feet. Mohinder has his head buried in one of the bags, but Matt doesn’t even have to look. He knows instinctively what it is.
“Aha!” A loud shut of triumph as Mohinder holds up his prize.
Cherries.
A huge plastic bag bursting to almost overflowing with them.
Matt stares slack jawed as Mohinder wastes no time popping several into his mouth.
He doesn’t stop to think about it. Crosses the room in three huge steps and pulls Mohinder into a kiss.
He’s lost all sense. His dreams have clearly driven him mad. Or maybe he’s dreaming right now. Would that count as a viable defense? Sorry for the awkward moment, but I thought I was in one of my dirty dreams about you and got confused.
No, this must be reality because the cherries from the store aren’t perfect dream cherries. They’re tart and slightly sour on Mohinder’s tongue. But Mohinder’s mouth is better than any dream, so warm, slightly sticky at the corners, and he moans clutching desperately at Matt’s shoulders when he sucks on his bottom lip. They pull away because they have to.
Because this is reality and man can not live on cherries and kisses alone.
“What- What was that?” Matt’s relieved Mohinder doesn’t sound angry, merely surprised at this sudden turn of events.
The stuff that dreams are made of.
He doesn’t say it aloud. He’s not Bogie cool and would never be able to play it off. Instead he kisses Mohinder again, his expression more than a little giddy.
“Something I’ve wanted a long time. Grab the bag and we’ll talk about it…you know anything about dream interpretation by any chance?”
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG
Summary. Fruit as a metaphor. I suggest just going with it.
Disclaimer: Still don't own.
AN: Another of the Fifty Prompts from hanuueshe's list. In which I indulge my latent inner Psych major. First attempt at writing the Petrellis. Nathan was extremely insistent on making a cameo.
Perchance to Dream
For the most part, Matt didn’t usually remember his dreams. Unless they were nightmares. And for the most part, he didn’t ever have recurring dreams. Again, unless they were nightmares. Which he had a lot more often these days. Which was supremely bad luck on his part.
Why then had he been not only having the same dream for over a week but remembering ever single detail of it as well?
It wasn’t a bad dream necessarily. Just…odd.
One night while out having beers with the Petrelli brothers, he gets up the nerve to ask Peter. Figures the younger man is suitably new agey and philosophical enough to attempt an interpretation.
“Hey, did you ever have a dream that made no sense?”
Peter quirks an eyebrow and flashes his crooked smile. Matt can’t help thinking it makes his face look sort of lopsided.
“I don’t know, Nate, have I ever had a dream that didn’t make sense?”
Nathan puts on a great show of pondering the question.
“Hmm, let me think…Does exploding count?”
Matt rolls his eyes, instantly regretting bringing it up. He should have anticipated the Petrelli Smart Ass Tag-team.
“Okay, stupid question. Forgive me for momentarily letting it slip my mind that I’m friends with a walking comic book character…says the guy who reads minds. It’s just; I’ve been having this recurring dream. Mohinder and I-“
Out of the corner of Matt’s eye, Nathan stands to get a new pitcher of beer and immediately sits back down at the change in topic looking extremely intrigued. The ‘shouldn’t have done this’ alarm blares in Matt’s head loud enough to almost block out the thoughts of everyone in the bar. However, in the end, a need to know weighs out and he tries again.
“…Mohinder and I were on the roof of our apartment building. But it’s this jungle. A freaky jungle with vines everywhere and leaves the size of my arm. Flowers as tall as I am. And we’re sitting in the sun splitting a bag of cherries.”
There’s a long awkward silence as his companions take this all in. Matt desperately gulps down half of his glass in one huge swallow.
“That’s it? You and the professor in a lush tropical hideaway eating fruit? Wait, I remember reading this story once. It doesn’t end well. Was there a snake? A big slithering evil snake that talked? Were you two naked?”
Matt wants to sink underneath the table at Nathan’s smirk. Did he have to make it all sound so dirty? Especially when Matt kind of just a little suspected it might be?
“That’s it. No conversation. No snake. No midgets talking backwards. But it was so weird. I mean besides the jungle in Brooklyn, the cherries were like the most perfect cherries you’ve ever seen. Whattya call it? The platonic ideal of cherries. No seeds, no stems, each one exactly ripe. And the bag never empties. We sit there eating cherries forever and never get tired of them or feel sick.”
Matt looks up from where he’s been absentmindedly tracing at patterns in the condensation on the table to find Peter’s ears are red and the younger man appears distinctly uncomfortable.
“I-uh-I’m really not good at non-apocalyptic dream interpretation. Sorry. No luck. You know what we need? I think we need more beer. Anyone else want more beer? I’m going to go get some.”
Nathan immediately grabs a hold of Peter’s shoulder preventing his escape. “Aw, come on Pete, give it a try. Not even a theory?”
Peter shoots his brother an I-hate-you look. “Maybe…maybe you’re just really craving cherries?”
Nathan’s flashes his shark smile which seems to show every single tooth-all three hundred of them.
“Yeah, Parkman. I’m sure that’s what it is. Probably just a Vitamin C deficiency.”
They don’t talk about it again for the rest of the night until Peter is helping Nathan into a cab. Nathan sticks his head out the window and yells out, “Good luck on your cherry hunting quest, Parkman!”
Matt hunches down pretending not to hear. Pretending not to notice the little old lady walking her dog who is staring at him utterly appalled.
The next day during a quiet moment at work, Matt checks out a dream symbolism website. He gets as far as the phrase ‘Fruit often a symbol of passion and sensuality’ and immediately glances over his shoulder as if he’s looking at porn.
‘To dream that you are in a jungle signifies aspects of yourself and your personality that may have been inhibited.’
He reads this sentence over and over. Clicks the window closed and does paper work the rest of the day with his head down determinedly not thinking about the implications.
Or at least, he tries not to think about it, but it’s like telling yourself not to think about pink elephants. Your mind immediately goes there. And stays there. No matter how much you want it to go somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not making you reassess your sexuality and obsess about ruining not only your living situation but also one of the best friendships you have.
Aw, crap. When did his brain get smarter than him?
At dinner, it’s all he can do not to blurt out, ‘I’ve been having naughty fruit related dreams about you.’ when Mohinder asks about his day.
The dream continues to occur. And the more frequently he has it, the more aware Matt is of Mohinder. The sharp line of his collarbone. His smile. His easy grace. The dark fan of his eyelashes. Matt suspects he may be losing his mind. Even the cherry creamcheese danish in the precint breakroom has him blushing and stammering.
One night, the scene changes. Mohinder stares right at him as he licks the juice from his fingers and dribbling down the inside of his wrist. He makes a pleased humming noise in the back of his throat and grins, teeth impossibly whiter against the stained red of his mouth.
Matt watches as his dream self cups Mohinder’s jaw. Mohinder turns his face into the other man’s palm and sucks a bit of cherry pulp off of the tip of DreamMatt’s thumb. He wakes up with a start soaked in sweat, sheets sticky and damp with what is very much not sweat.
3: 00 a.m. linen changes. Didn’t need to be Freud to figure that one out.
It would seem he was in big gay cherry eating lust with his roommate.
Stupid subconscious.
The next morning he can’t meet Mohinder’s gaze. Hasn’t felt this self conscious since he was fourteen and terrified his mother would learn of his fantasies about Nadine Bannerman, the Hottie of Homeroom.
“-Get you anything?”
“Huh?” Real smooth there, Parkman.
Mohinder doesn’t comment on his wool gathering. Merely smiles patiently-Mohinder smile! Too much for first thing in the morning!-and repeats himself.
“I’m going to the grocery store with Molly. Is there anything I can get you, Matthew?”
Mohinder looks so obliging. All curls and dark eyes. It’s on the tip of Matt’s tongue to ask…
“No! I mean…no. Thanks, but I’m good.”
The afternoon finds Matt aimlessly flipping through channels when Mohinder and Molly return.
With one ear he acknowledges Mohinder is speaking to him.
“I bought a treat for us…on sale…good to pass up.”
An icy cold wave of dread washes over him from the tips of his eyelashes to the soles of his feet. Mohinder has his head buried in one of the bags, but Matt doesn’t even have to look. He knows instinctively what it is.
“Aha!” A loud shut of triumph as Mohinder holds up his prize.
Cherries.
A huge plastic bag bursting to almost overflowing with them.
Matt stares slack jawed as Mohinder wastes no time popping several into his mouth.
He doesn’t stop to think about it. Crosses the room in three huge steps and pulls Mohinder into a kiss.
He’s lost all sense. His dreams have clearly driven him mad. Or maybe he’s dreaming right now. Would that count as a viable defense? Sorry for the awkward moment, but I thought I was in one of my dirty dreams about you and got confused.
No, this must be reality because the cherries from the store aren’t perfect dream cherries. They’re tart and slightly sour on Mohinder’s tongue. But Mohinder’s mouth is better than any dream, so warm, slightly sticky at the corners, and he moans clutching desperately at Matt’s shoulders when he sucks on his bottom lip. They pull away because they have to.
Because this is reality and man can not live on cherries and kisses alone.
“What- What was that?” Matt’s relieved Mohinder doesn’t sound angry, merely surprised at this sudden turn of events.
The stuff that dreams are made of.
He doesn’t say it aloud. He’s not Bogie cool and would never be able to play it off. Instead he kisses Mohinder again, his expression more than a little giddy.
“Something I’ve wanted a long time. Grab the bag and we’ll talk about it…you know anything about dream interpretation by any chance?”