Table of contents for The Dreaming

1. The Dreaming Chapter 1: Holly
2. The Dreaming Chapter 2: Butler

Fandom: Artemis Fowl
Genre: Vignette/General
Rating: PG
Word Count: 256
Summary: Oneshots exploring the dreams and nightmares of the Artemis Fowl characters.
A/N: Many thanks to WillItWork for ideas and beta-ing. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Maybe whine a lot more? D

My dreams are filled with death.

That sounds more macabre than it actually is. I’ve died a time or two the past few years. Died and lived to die another day.

They don’t know that I remember what it’s like to be dead. How do you tell your closest friends that it’s entirely possible they’ve been pulling you out of heaven?

Each night, as I return to the afterlife, there is sense of…peace and tranquility. Calmness and serenity. Not adjectives normally used to describe the feelings of a bodyguard. Especially not the bodyguard of one Artemis Fowl II, who manages to get himself and all his acquaintances into the worst situations I’ve ever been a part of.

Remembering my charge, I turn my head to speak to him, expecting him to be there beside me—this is heaven, after all—but he isn’t there. Of course he isn’t. I’m dead, and he’s still living.

Or I failed at my duties, and he’s in a far less pleasant place than this.

I’m starting to panic as I look all around me, but there’s no sign of him. No sign of anyone. No Fowls. No Juliette. No Minerva. Not even a fairy.

Nothing.

The realization that I’m alone and without a purpose is like a chill, and it fills me with a sense of deep loss and despair. The calmness and tranquility dissipate, and I am left empty and broken.

When I awaken, I wonder if they pulled me out of hell after all.

Table of contents for The Dreaming

1. The Dreaming Chapter 1: Holly
2. The Dreaming Chapter 2: Butler

Fandom: Artemis Fowl
Genre: Vignette/Romance
Pairing: Holly/Artemis
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 568
A/N: Many thanks to WillItWork for beta-reading this piece and giving me helpful suggestions for improvement. =D

I dream about him, sometimes. Not too often, but more than what’s good for me.  

And what’s good for me is never.

At least, not for the particular variety of dream I’m prone to having about him. The kind that leaves me panting and flushed andunsatisfied when I wake up. The kind in which a barely fifteen-year-old boy should certainly not be starring as lead male. The kind that leaves my stomach churning with self-disgust for lusting over a child.

But in my dreams, Artemis Fowl is no child. Oh no. He’s eighteen as he had been when we blundered into the past together not long ago. His features are much more sharp and angular, having shed the boyish look for a masculine one, and his body is tall and lean, completely free of extra baby-fat. His keen, knowing gaze turns my insides to jelly as he prowls around me, circling in towards his prey as graceful as any predator would. My heart skips a beat whenever his mismatched set of eyes meet my own.

Strands of his silky, black hair escape from his ponytail, brushing against my cheek as he leans in to whisper about the things he had learned. “I have doubts as to the validity of some of my readings,” he tells me, his breath hot in my ear, his husky voice sending shivers down my spine. “I would like to…experiment.”

He touches me all over when I give in—and I always do give in. His long, slender fingers cup my face and brush lightly against my pointed ears as he steals a deep, sensual kiss, then they trail down my neck and sweep over my breasts. His finely-manicured nails scratch me lightly, eliciting a gasp whenever they do so.

Eventually, I realize that he had positioned himself behind me as his roving hands caressed my chest and my sides and my stomach, keeping me so occupied with sensation that I hadn’t even noticed him move. He kneels, pulling me towards him, slipping a perfect finger into my folds and chuckling as he finds me wet with anticipation.

“Holly,” he murmurs into my ear as he works me expertly, his slick finger teasing my entrance and flicking over my clitoris. “What is it that you want?”

My hips buck into his hand and I ache to release. My body strains against his hold, asking for more, more.

“You, Artemis,” I manage to moan through my whimpers of pleasure. “You, always you…”

And then his finger slips inside of me, and his hand grinds into my sex, and he holds me up when my legs collapse out from under me because my body is shaking and quivering and my insides are pulsing around him.

And then I wake up, panties soaked through, and I have no choice but to bring myself again or I’ll surely be distracted by the empty ache in my loins for the rest of the day.

Every time, I wonder if I will be able to control myself as Artemis grows up to be the man he is destined to be? Will I have to stop seeing him entirely to keep from selfishly using him, seducing him, alienating him from his own species? Am I even capable of staying away from him forever if that’s the only option I’m given?

I hope, for both our sakes, that I am.