Overactive Imagination

by Aosora Hikaru (青空 ヒカル)

I’ve heard it said that if you spend long enough on a story, long enough absorbed in the world and the characters, that it all starts to become real. It starts to seem as though the characters are actually people you could converse with, as though the events that you write are times you’ve lived through.

I’d like to find the person who said that and punch them in the dick.

Wait, I should probably back up before I say that.

My name is Trevor. I’m an author. Not a very good one, but it pays the bills… barely. I specialize in male-male romance, because, well, I’m a dude and I’m gay. They say to write what you know, so I do. Sometimes my heroes or their love interests are bi, but they always get the man in the end.

So I’d been working on this novel for a few months now: writing, tweaking, revising, rewriting. My editor has sent the manuscript back so many times I’m fucking having dreams about this damn novel. I just can’t escape it. Sure, the action’s hot, and the hero, Chad, is amazing. Typical ripped firefighter dude. Finds this cute little twink at a gay bar and the sparks fly so hard and so fast they damn near burn the club down.

(See what I did there? Yeah, I know.)

A few days ago, I had been up late working on this novel and fell asleep at my desk. I ended up having a really hot dream about Chad. Chad, of all the things I could have had a dream about. He isn’t even a real person! There in the dream, though, he was amazing and flawless. Exactly how I imagined him and exactly how I tried to portray him in the novel.

When I woke up, I had a boner the size of Texas and new inspiration for the novel. After tackling those in order of importance (masturbation, then writing), I finally called it quits at about five in the morning and crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep, and I had a few more dreams about Chad.

That brings us to the present, where I am lying in bed with a man next to me whom I did not fall asleep next to.

And that man is Chad. There’s nobody else he could be. I created this man in my head, and for fuck’s sake, he even has the right birthmark on his left shoulder. He even snores like I imagined he did. Not so loud as to disturb you, but just loud enough to be adorable.

Fuck, there’s a living, breathing, fictional character in my bed. And he’s a bed hog.

I’ve tolerated his position in the middle of the bed for about an hour now, but he’s creeping ever closer and I’m about to fall out of bed. I’ve barely got the sheet covering my junk and beyond that, I’m naked. Lovely.

I start nudging this-man-I’m-fairly-sure-is-Chad-somehow,

and he groans. “Lee’me alone,” he mumbles.Jesus. His voice is perfectly Chad, too. The fuck is going on?”Get up.” I shove him harder.He bolts up, showing off that flawless chest tattoo I wrote into Chad’s novel. “The fuck?””That’s a damn good question.””I didn’t fall asleep here.” He scrubs his hand down his face then shakes his head. He looks disappointed when he opens his eyes again.

“I know you didn’t. What’s your name?” I know what the answer is going to be before he even says it.


Fuck. “Ah. Trevor.”

He nods in acknowledgement, then starts to climb out of the bed. He stops once he starts to lift the sheet off of himself, then slams it down again. “Where the fuck are my pants?”

So he’s naked, too. Fucking wonderful.

“I might have a pair you can borrow until we figure this out,” I say as I stumble out of bed. No use being subtle. To be honest, I already know what Chad looks like naked — I created him, remember? — but I play along with his modesty and toss a pair of loose pajama pants at him. He wiggles them on under the sheet, then stands up, pointedly not looking at me until I’ve pulled on a pair of pajamas myself.

“So, uh.” I clear my throat and start again. “Guess we may as well have breakfast and… and maybe get to know each other.”

Chad looks at me as if I’ve grown another twelve heads. “I… guess.”

Smooth, Trevor. Smooth as gravel.

Thankfully, a cup of coffee and a couple microwaved breakfast sandwiches get him to relax a bit. A conversation with him confirms that he is exactly who I think he is. It turns out fate is cruel and has taken him out of the twink’s bed and plopped him directly into my own. Poor guy. I was writing that twink with the intention of making him hotter than me, though we share a similar build and hair color.

“He looked kind of like you, actually,” Chad finishes, which snaps me back to reality (is this really reality?) too fast to be comfortable.

“Really?” I set down my mug and place my hands on the table in front of me to try to keep him from noticing the way they shake.

“Yeah. You remind me of him. The same sorts of mannerisms and…… I don’t know, the way you carry yourself is similar.”

What? That… that wasn’t how I wrote that twink at all. “Nah, you must be imagining things.”

“No, really. He kept putting his hands on the table like that to keep them from shaking, too.” He leaned forward, a teasing grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “It was cute when he did it, and it’s cute when you do it, too.”

Fucking hell, why did I have to write Chad as a flirt?

That teasing grin gets bigger. “He blushed like you, too.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I really shouldn’t have written him as a tease.

Chad moves around the side of the table and leans in, his voice dropping dangerously low as he speaks. “But with him, it felt… inauthentic. Crafted. With you, it’s all genuine.” He puts his arm around me and my stomach drops out.

I have to clear my throat a couple times before I can say anything. “How can… how can you tell?”

God, I can feel all his muscles when he shifts his weight. Fucking hell.

He shrugs, which just makes those butterflies in my stomach worse when muscles flex against my skin again. “It’s pretty easy to tell. He was trying too hard to get me to like him. It worked, but I like the way you’re trying not to like me more.”

Now I can feel myself blushing, and it’s only making it worse. I can’t even think of anything to say. This all has to be a dream; nobody wakes up with a fictional character of their own creation in their bed. It just doesn’t happen.

When he kisses me it catches me off-guard, and now I’m positive that I’m dreaming. His kiss is soft enough at first, enticing me to return it, but quickly turns hungry. Chad obviously wasn’t lying about his attraction, and I definitely have a part of me glad that I created Chad as one who is okay with casual sex.

It’s not long before my pants are coming off and Chad’s hands are wandering over my body. The skin is callused from the hard work he does, and the texture is making my nerves sing. I don’t know what I’m saying, but words are spilling from my lips between fevered kisses.

My pants stay behind in the kitchen as we end up in the bedroom again, and his mouth is on my dick and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever imagined. I manage to spare just enough brain power to wonder how he possibly could be better at oral sex than I wrote him being, and then it’s all out the window again as he swirls his tongue just right under the head of my cock and I’m fighting to keep from coming faster than a high school kid on prom night.

Thankfully he stops before I blow my load, and I have his pants off faster than you can blink and good Lord is he hung. Thanks, imagination, for being awesome. His dick is heavy in my hand, all hard and silky and alive, and the way I stroke it draws out low moans from him that I’m glad to hear. He bucks his hips up into each stroke of my hand, and we’re both panting and groaning before I’m finally crawling over him and praying I still have condoms in my bedside table.

I make a mental note to thank every deity I can find that is somehow related to sex later when I find condoms and lube there.

Sex with Chad is mind-blowing. Maybe it’s because I’m the one who created him, but somehow he knows every single one of my weaknesses. The way he kisses his way down my body sends shivers down my spine. He pushes my knees up to my chest, and — oh God, a guy hasn’t done that to me in who knows how long, and I have needed to feel a tongue there like burning. My brain practically shuts down, and all I can do is lay there, hugging my knees to my chest and groaning. He enjoys doing it as much as I enjoy receiving it.

That’s probably my fault.

I don’t know how many more times he intends to make me feel as if I’ll explode at any moment, but he keeps doing things with his tongue I’ve never felt before until I’m begging and pleading for him to just fuck me already. He grins, teasing me with a few more strokes of his tongue before he straightens up and grabs the condom from the bedside table.

It feels like forever until he’s finally pushing into me, and I’m clawing at the bedsheets. It’s almost more than I can bear but feels so good. He leans down over me and positions me with my thighs hooked over his hips and I scrabble at his chest as I try to grab his shoulders to pull him closer. He’s drawing it out, teasing me again, and I beg again for him to fuck me harder, faster. I know I’ll probably wake up to find a noise complaint shoved under my apartment door but there is no way I could possibly be quiet now. The headboard slams against the wall with each of his deep thrusts, and I’m clawing at his chest again, wanting him deeper yet. He’s growling things into my ear, unspeakably dirty things that make everything all the more intense. The last scraps of my rational brain wonder if I’m drawing blood with how hard I’m digging my nails into his skin, but all that disappears as I explode between us. He tumbles over the edge as I’m still riding my orgasm, and we collapse together into a sweating, panting heap.

We barely manage to summon enough energy to do some rudimentary cleaning before we fall asleep again. It feels so good to sleep curled up against someone else, especially while riding that post-sex high. I drift off with no problem, no worries about waking up alone plaguing me or keeping me awake.

And then I wake up to an empty bed.


“Chad?” I don’t dare to speak too loudly, for fear that I really had dreamed the whole thing and have gone just a little off the deep end.

I slip out of bed… but my pants aren’t in the bedroom. Neither are the ones I’d loaned to Chad. I pull my last clean pair out from my dresser and poke my head out of the bedroom.

There he is, on my sofa watching bad TV. My laptop sits on the coffee table, but something’s amiss there. When I had gone to bed at 5 that morning, there had been a huge stack of papers sitting next to the laptop. The manuscript had been there, waiting for more comparisons with my electronic copy.

Chad’s manuscript.

“Hey,” I say.

Chad looks back up at me and gives me a lazy, wide grin. “Hey. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Uh, not at all. Look, did you move the stack of papers here?”

He furrows his brow. “What papers?”

It’s my turn to be baffled. “The papers that were right here next to the laptop. Dude, it was a full novel manuscript. You really couldn’t have missed it.”

“I’m serious, there’s no novel here.” He moves aside, gesturing at the table. I sit down and pick up the laptop, though I could tell without looking that the manuscript wasn’t there. I open the laptop, and the document is… empty. As if I hadn’t written a single word.

“…The fuck is going on?” I look through the recent documents and notice no mention of the file name. The folder which formerly housed the document does not exist. The emails between my editor and myself regarding the novel are gone. The novel appears to have never existed at all, but here Chad sits next to me all the same.

The universe has a strange sense of humor.

Chad is staring at me expectantly. “Well?”

I shrug as I struggle to come up with an explanation that doesn’t make me appear insane. “Guess I forgot I’d moved it.”

Chad nods, though he still looks a little wary. I know I’ll have to explain this all to him eventually, but maybe just for now I could try to ignore the fact that Chad used to be imaginary.

“Look, I really should get home and change… why don’t you come back to my place and we can make dinner?” He grins at me again, that wide, disarming grin. I can’t help but say yes.

My life seems to have taken an extreme upswing thanks to my imagination. I’d still like to punch the idiot that said fictional characters can seem real after long enough in the dick, though.

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/260784.html)

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