"Uuughh."

It's a sound somewhere between a moan and a grunt. A voice that's experiencing that glorious intersection between pleasure and pain. Aidan Scott's sweaty body twists in the pristine white silk sheets, neck twisting up to look behind him.

"Uugh..."

Another moan escapes his lips - even as his emerald green eyes meet the clear crystal ones of Trsitan Merteuil. Waves of pleasure rise up within the gypsy - building from below and rising to the flush in his cheeks.

Their lips meet - passion, hunger, an electric attraction - Aidan's breath gets caught in his throat. The kiss continues. For so long that Aidan can't breath. He tries to reach out, but his hand in trapped underneath his body, held in place by Tristan's strong grasp. Then, suddenly, sweet fresh air fills his lungs. The kiss has been broken by the whitelighter - who now pushes the gypsy's hair into the pillow.

"Uuggh!"

The cry is more carnal this time, rising from deep in his throat. But even as Aidan closes his eyes to become lost in the moment - he feels something cool and wet on the back of his neck. And with a shock, Aidan Scott realizes that they are tears. Tristan's tears...

(It isn't Clarke... he isn't Clarke... what are you doing?... you're using him... No, I'm not... It's just that... you're using him...)

Tristan internal dialogue rips through him, tearing him apart from the inside out. He had tried to be with Aidan for Aidan, but part of him still felt as though he was treating Aidan as a replacement for the lover he lost all those years ago. The tears came with no warning. Talk about ruining the mood.

The whitelighter pulls out and rolls over on the bed, lying on his side. Soft whimpering is the only sound he makes for a moment, face turned to the side in a sad attempt to hide the tears from the gypsy beside him. "I can't... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"What do you mean, YOU CAN'T?!"

Wow, dream Aidan is a bitch. But really, how would you feel if you were just about to... and someone had to go ruin it for you. His voice starts as a low growl but escalates into a harsh yell.

Of course, Aidan Scott realizes what this little... arrangement... is. He was a body for Tristan, like he had been for so many other men (well, mostly men) in his life. Of course, Tristan liked to pretend otherwise. And hell, Aidan liked to pretend too. What guy doesn't like being taken out to dinner? Or be orbed away at a moments notice to see the Taj Mahal at sunset?

"Get back here and FU-" It's no use. Even as the words tumble out of his lips, Aidan knows that the moment is gone. And the whimpering whitelighter just looks pathetic to him. Aidan is torn. He's mad at Tristan. But a part of him feels sorry... well, not sorry. Just sad.

"Ugh. Whatever. Just orb back up to wherever the hell you go - and look me up the next time you wanna see "Clarke" again." Aidan's cruel words are accompanied by quotation signs in mid-air.

Tristan takes advantage of Aidan's instigating, burying his pain and guilt beneath rage. He spins around, anger now visible through the wetness. His hand balls into a fist, though he represses the urge to throw it and settles for glaring at the gypsy instead.

"That isn't fair." The words are forced through gritted teeth as Tristan fights to restrain himself. He lifts his hand and wipes at his eyes, not wanting to appear weak before Aidan, and he continues on as though the action never even took place.

"I didn't ask for this, for you. It just happened." Tristan realizes that he is slipping into a neutral stance and immediately jumps back on the offensive. "You came to me. Remember? You wanted to be Clarke."

"I AM CLARKE!" The words are said with a sudden ferocity behind them. Aidan rises up from the bed, his own hands balled into fists now. "I'm Clarke." He repeats,"just as good as him, at everything." (Better even.)

At this point, as such things are wont to happen in a dream, Aidan's attention becomes drawn to the driver's license on the bedside table. Particular attention is paid to the name on the little card: Clarke Ryder. It's his face, but Clarke's name. And Clarke's address.

The room does a little spin around him. The walls, Tristan, the sound of cars and trucks driving by outside... driving? Oh, yes. Somehow, in that crazy dream way... Aidan's back in the past. And he's not living his life. He's living Clarke's. Aidan, is, Clarke.

"Baby." His words are softer now. His hand reaches out to cusp Tristan's cheek. "You were having a bad dream. It's me. It's Clarke."