Random Thoughts I: Sleeping Alone
Written by Redell

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following involves a new character, Keaton ('Kat') Warner, not yet written into the fanfic annals. She will be featured in a Homicide/XF fanfic, as an FBI agent from NYC, Alison B. and I are presently writing. And this series, if any, doesn't reflect actual events in the story. This takes place before a week before "Random Thoughts: Anxiety Attack".

* All Inspired by dementia, lack of sleep and...a Redbook article... *

This is my second attempt...be gentle

Morning comes too quickly these days. I can't sleep. Or at least, I don't really think I can. Something is keeping me up...something is bugging me.

And for those times, I do sleep..I just wake up, go to work, stop by the bar and I finally come home. Day in. Day out. Jim told me I'm too young to be stuck in this rut.

So, I play with a not so gentle fantasy, that I've had for years. Curling under the sheets, I close my eyes and like a mantra, I whisper to myself, "Not tonight. Get some sleep. Frank'll, beat the shit out of you if you nod off at another crime scene."

I was deluding myself, of course. But, this was the only conscious thought I've had lately. I really wanna sleep. Just sleep. But, I can't now; I find, I only sleep to dream. And tonight, the dream changed. This time, she wasn't Kay, she wasn't Russert. This time, she was that damn fibbie from New York; Agent Warner.

And so the dance begins. I come home to my very empty, very spotless apartment. As always. These events never falter: Kicking my shoes off at the door, I whistle a thoughtless tune. Rummage endlessly through pestering bills and miscellaneous letters. Discarding them on the floor, as always. And slowly, I travel upstairs, always really tired. God, so tired.

I stand in my bedroom doorway. I can see someone in the corner. I reach for my gun, and flip on the switch. And there she is. Bare naked, before me. Dropping my weapon(which was safetied, all along), I marvel at the reality in front of me.

My heart is pounding in my throat. This air around me is so stiffening and thick, I can barely breathe. I still can't believe what I'm seeing. She is as perfect, as I imagined at the precinct. With those, ambiguous curves hid under pant suits and her all-business-no-play attire. Those long, black ringlets curling at the tips of her breasts. Her liquid, eyes gaze soulfully on me. She's taking me in; sizing up what she is about to go against. And within moments of our encounter, she floats to me like some wicked, little angel.

She presses softly against my slowly, peaking erection. She stands up on tip toes, as her lips capsize my tongue. Her lips are soft and I can taste her lipstick. Between our impassioned gasps, our saliva mingling with petroleum byproduct and a hit of alcohol. She'd been drinking. Wine. Arouses me even more.

I wanna to hold her, but she won't let me. She's not ready for me to touch her, yet. She grabs me with some, new found strength, slamming me against the wall. Kat then, giggles at the feel of my stiffening erection against her belly. Sliding her body, up against mine she laughs again. She can see that awkward expression I have on my face, not wanting to contain, the steadily rising ache she's so, expertly producing...in these dreams. But, I don't really wanna wake up, either.

Pulling apart, Keaton smiles at me; leaving me *wanting* to finish her. She's still, silent even as she undressed me. Coat. Tie. Shirt. Undershirt. Pants. Running her cold fingers along my chest, I wonder what is real and what isn't. And I *know* this isn't. So, I am determined to let my mind wander with as much free will as possible; I have no intention of letting old beliefs ruin this.

Taking my hand in hers, she pulls me to the bed. Pushing me down, her body falls next to mine. Touching whatever space, I can leave vacant. She rests on her stomach, giving me full reign to lay the whole of my hand, against the small of her back, to connect with her sensual warmth. My hands are still cold. As hers were.

But, my fingers still float, along the subtle, velvety curves of her. I feel a mysterious protrusion, along her waist area. A mole. An ominous thing. Fleshy. Ocher. What I felt now, surpassed any sexual gratification, I'd had or wanted of the past. This was the most lucid realization-It was about being here with her.

I laid my face against her exposed back flesh. Running my stubbled cheek, reddening her silk-like skin, I realized, I couldn't deny myself this moment any longer. I'm not, sure at this point, if this is real or in my head, but, I can feel the blood rushing from my face and into my penis. My balls aching.

All apart of the game. I sit up, allowing her to roll over. On her face is hunger. On mine is pain. She sits up, running her tongue across my lips, moistening them slightly without actually kissing. We slowly pulled ourselves into a deep, passionate kiss, nibbling on each other's lips, numbed by our tortured lust. But, this all still feels wonderfully platonic. Safe.

All of the sudden, I'm surprised at her following actions in this fantasy.

Purring, she slides her dominant hand down my chest and into my boxers. We still, haven't said much of a word to each other; I feel talking would make this fantasy even more dirty than it actually is. Her hand's warm to the touch. I nearly jump She takes me inside the pocket she created, with her hand. I can feel her index finger, slowly circling the rim of my foreskin and slowly, she pumps her fist upwards. I feel like disappointing her fun and shooting it all over her. But, I don't.

The outer lying areas of my shaft tingle, preparing for the explosion.

My boxers are soaked and I've coated her from fingertip to palm. And she still says nothing. I feel free to be dirty, now. I don't care about appearances or perversion, as I did in my waking life. She lets me recline on a pillow, as she cleans off her hand(mostly in her mouth) and she straddles me...leaving the boxers still on. We continue wordlessly with our experiment.

She lets me finger her second opening, as we make love. Kat chews on her lips and moans contemplatively. Almost, as it she's really here, I say her name. I beg her to come, as gratefully as I did. I beg her to coat my hand from palm to fingertip. I feel her quivering as she scratches my chest and neck. Pulling her close, our bodies pressed silently together. And she kisses me again. This time, the taste of alcohol is gone and the lipstick is a memory. This new flavor, salty and pungent, is me.

"Oh, God!" I mumble through her mouth.

Her body quakes over mine, into a strong orgasm. "Yes...please...oh...Yes...Tim!!"

I hold her without wanting to let go, wanting to forget this was just a dream. And as suddenly, as possible I'm yanked from unconsciousness, like a child from it's mother. My heart pounding throughout my chest...the goddamn phone.

"Bayliss," running my hand over my face, trying calm my shock overtaking my body.

"I see, you're up. There's a murder over on Druid Hill."

"Frank, call Lewis. Call Munch. Just let me sleep."

"Get up, Bayliss. *NOW*. I'll swing by, so be ready when I get there."

Looking over at the clock on the night stand, I read the numbers out loud. "Seven eighteen."

"That's right. You're late."

"Okay, okay. I'm up. I'm up. I'll be ready to roll in about, ten minutes."

"Five. And uh, Tim, Warner'll be there. So keep your dirty little thoughts to yourself."

I was shocked. "Frank, I-"

"Don't wanna hear it. Just get dressed."

As I fumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, I believed, this dream was some sort of message. That my life was beginning to be different . And that, Keaton Warner was somehow gonna be a big part of it.