A Wish Your Heart Makes

Sleep didn't come easily that night. Not because he wasn't tired, but because resisting temptation took far more energy than he was comfortable admitting.

Roy lay on his side in Zara's bed, the room dim and unfamiliar in that soft, late-night way where everything felt quieter than it should. The faint glow from the street outside slipped through the curtains, cutting the space into gentle shapes. Beside him, Zara had settled quickly, her breathing evening out, one arm draped loosely across his chest like she'd claimed the spot without hesitation.

Warm. Real. Comforting, in a way that made everything else harder to sort through.

His eyes stayed open long into the night. Thoughts kept circling, refusing to land. Varoonth's words. Zara's voice. The weight of what he might be choosing, whether he meant to or not.

Eventually, though, exhaustion won. His mind drifted off in the dark, his body relaxing, and sleep took him.

---

The bar came first. Except it wasn't right.

The lighting was wrong, too bright, too dim, both at once, and the space stretched further than it should, the walls pulling back like they didn't want to stay put. The counter ran on forever, polished wood reflecting something that didn't quite match the room.

Varoonth stood behind it.

Roy couldn't remember walking in. Had he always been there? Did anywhere else even exist?

"You're early," the bartender said in sounds that conveyed their meaning, but didn't land like words. The sounds slid past Roy's ears, warped and doubled, like someone speaking through water.

Another glass appeared in front of him.

Beer. Foam cresting just over the rim. Roy hadn't asked for it. Varoonth smiled anyway.

"Choice is a direction, not a destination."

That definitely wasn't what he said. Or maybe it was.

Another glass appeared.

Then another.

Then three more.

The bar began to fill. Not just the counter, but every surface. Tables, chairs, the floor itself. Beer, everywhere, sloshing gently like the room had started breathing.

Roy stepped back. His shoe sank into it. Cold at first. Then not.

The bartender kept talking.

Words stacking on top of each other, syllables bending, meaning slipping away the harder Roy tried to hold onto it. Something about time. Something about appetite. Something about completion?

A laugh followed. Or a sigh. Or both.

Roy turned.

The bar stretched behind him, the far end dissolving into something else entirely...

A battlefield.

Tiny at first.

Painted figures arranged in neat lines across a tabletop that wasn't a table anymore, but a landscape. Jagged terrain. Ruined structures. Colours too sharp, too deliberate.

One of the figures moved.

Roy frowned. It wasn't supposed to do that.

A second step. Then a third. The tiny figure turned toward him. Too detailed. Too precise.

Its face...

No.

Not a face. A suggestion of one. But the longer Roy looked, the clearer it became. Familiar. Uncomfortably so.

Tom.

The figure took another step, and the ground shifted beneath it, expanding. Growing. The painted edges blurred as it scaled up, armour thickening, colours deepening into something real and heavy.

It kept coming.

Each step louder than it should have been. Metal grinding against something unseen. Roy backed up.

The battlefield expanded with it, terrain stretching, warping, giving the thing more room to grow.

Too big now. Far too big. It raised something, a weapon, maybe, and the air itself seemed to pull tight around it.

Roy turned to run..

...and something red cut across his vision.

Movement.

Fast. Certain.

A figure dropped between them. Not small. Not fragile. Powerful.

The colours were unmistakable. Red. Blue. Gold. Strong lines, bold shapes, a presence that didn't ask for attention, it demanded it.

Wonder Woman.

She stood between him and the thing that had been chasing him, braced, unyielding. The world stilled. For a moment, Roy just stared.

Relief came first. Then something else. She turned toward him. And her face...

It wasn't just one face. It shifted. Resolved. Changed.

Elaine.

The white streak in her hair caught the light, her expression calm, steady, protective.

It shifted.

Michelle.

Younger. Brighter. That same warmth, that same certainty, but wrapped in a different energy.

Back again.

Neither.

Both.

Roy stepped forward without thinking. His hand came up, touching her arm, grounding himself in something solid. She didn't pull away. He leaned in. Kissed her. Familiar and not. Right and wrong at the same time. The world tilted again.

"Roy?"

Zara's voice. Soft at first. Then louder.

"Roy!"

He turned.

The battlefield was gone. The bar was gone. Everything narrowed into a small, enclosed space: a box. Wooden. Cramped. Too tight.

The sound came from inside it.

"Roy, I'm here!"

His chest tightened.

"Zara?"

Her voice again, more urgent now.

"I can't get out. I need you to, please, just open it. Please!"

Roy dropped to his knees in front of the box, hands scrambling for a latch that didn't want to be found. The edges shifted under his fingers, seams appearing and disappearing, the wood warm like it was alive.

"I'm trying," he said, though he couldn't hear his own voice properly.

"Please, Roy, please..."

The word please echoed. Stacked. Repeated. Overlapping.

He found something, some kind of edge, and pulled.

The box resisted.

Then gave. Just a little. Light spilled out. Too bright. Too...

Warm.

Soft.

A bed.

The shift was immediate, jarring in how natural it felt.

Sheets beneath him. Skin against skin. The air thick with heat that didn't come from any one place.

Elaine was there. Michelle. Zara. All of them. Close. Too close to separate.

Hands moving, not frantic, not overwhelming, just present. Touches that lingered, that explored, that reassured. A kiss at his shoulder. Fingers tracing along his arm. Warmth pressed along his side, down his front, and onto his groin.

Roy looked down.

No clothes. No distance. Just sensation.

Comfort, first. Then something deeper.

He sank into it without resistance. Let it happen. Let them be there, let himself be there with them. The noise in his head quieted, replaced by something simpler. Something easier.

Belonging.

Zara's voice again, softer now.

"You found me."

The warmth built. Layered. Spread. Not overwhelming. Just insistent.

Something pooled low in his body, heavy and undeniable, threading through everything else until it was impossible to ignore. Heat. Pressure. Need.

The world narrowed to that feeling, to the closeness, to the way everything seemed to centre around him and what he wanted...

---

Roy woke up.

Bright ceiling.

An unfamiliar room.

Zara's.

For a second, nothing made sense. Then sensation snapped into focus all at once. Warmth. Movement. Something very real, very immediate.

His body reacted before his mind caught up, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him, blurring the line between what had been imagined and what was happening now.

Then awareness hit.

Sharp. Jolting.

He looked down. Zara. Between his legs. His erection in her mouth.

Panic followed right behind it. Not because of what she was doing, though that didn't help, but because of what it meant.

It was too soon! Far too soon!

"Zara... wait..."

The word came out rough, unsteady, paced between his panting. Her eyes met his, confused but not upset, her hair a little messy from sleep, expression soft and open. But she didn't relent. She, too, could sense how close he was to completion.

Her hand began to make small movements up and down his shaft as she continued to suck. Roy could feel the vibrations of small moans she she began to make as she drew him deeper into his mouth.

It was too much. What would have been the fulfilment of a fantasy before his wish had become a nightmare. Roy's body tensed as he came, filling Zara's mouth as he did.

Gone were the thoughts of what he was trying to do, thoughts of resistance, thoughts of protection. Zara had woken him up in the best way possible. The worst way possible.

And as his body shook from pleasure, thoughts of losing her began to slip back into his mind, and he worried that it was too late to do anything about it.