A Dream Within A Dream

It started innocently enough. Watching a movie, a TV series, and the usual hook took hold. Things she watched sank their claws into her and wouldn’t let go. She listened to Savage Garden once whilst she was young and didn’t take the CD out of her radio for a year. Recently she picked up Darren Hayes’ solo efforts and again, hasn’t taken the CD out of her car stereo since. But That night, after she watched Inception and instinctively mapped it to A Conversation with God, she played the song on loop for the rest of the night, keeping the images replaying in her mind’s eye.

     She dreamt of him, of Arthur, or Joseph Gordon-Lewitt; dreamt of him a few nights in succession. Upon waking, she couldn’t really remember anything except a fading sense of loss. Deciding that she had to get it out of her mind, she read other stories, watched other movies. Listened to Glee. Rewatched some old favourites. Batman Begins with Cillian Murphy, her Scarecrow. Oh, how she loved it when his eyes ran cold and he let his lips twist into a cruel line. She had barely noticed him in Inception because Gordon-Lewitt had held all her attention on screen. Tsuki no Koibito, a Japanese TV series with Matsuda Shota as Sai Kazami. Such a sly, sharp face with prominent bones, cold slanted eyes, and again, a sharp cruel quirk to the lips. All beautiful, young, talented actors who seemed to run a little to the dark. What was it the New Yorker had said about Cillian? “… angelic looks that can turn sinister, (he) is one of the most elegantly seductive monsters in recent movies.”

     It seemed to work. Sort of.

     That night she dreamt of all three of them, instead of only Arthur. A dream to make younglings blush. She awoke to fading memories and flame in her cheeks, the only clear memory that of the ménage that had taken place in her bed.

     The next night, the same. And the third. The fourth, the fifth. It became a waking memory that haunted her waking dreams and sleeping memories.

     It always started with a kiss. Kazami’s hands almost stung as they roamed her body. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, the way she liked them. The wooden posts of her solid four-poster bed swathed in white gauze that moved in the wind. Blue shutter doors opened onto the balcony with a view of the sea, wizened wooden doors; shabby chic. The details were so clear, so intimate. The room was so innocent and bright in the lazy, warm afternoon sun. It seemed too innocent for the debauchery that took place within.

     It was Cillian beneath her this time, skin fair and taut over lean muscle. Her fingers trembled as they followed the tracery of him, tinge of copper against his cream. She ran them through his hair, beautiful dark waves against the pure white sheets. His eyes were coloured like the sea, but glacial and clear like ice. He caught her wrists in a firm grip; she could feel his fingers grate against the slender bones, but she kept silent and still. Was this how prey waited, hoping against hope the predator in the sky had not seen them? Crouching close to the forest floor, hoping against hope that the shadow above would pass them over, muscles trembling with the effort to stay still, not to bolt and run. Running would only cement their fate, their doom.

     She stayed as still as one, muscles quivering with the effort. Her knees trembled to keep herself above him, not daring to drop her weight onto his lower body. Her body ran with fine tremors from head to toe beneath their hands, captured and held still by Cillian’s eyes, as Kazami pressed her inexorably downwards against her body’s will.

     Pinned by that gaze she felt her knees slide wider, her thigh muscles giving up their effort and she slid down onto him, around him, surrounding him. She wasn’t prepared, and it hurt. Kazami’s grip on her hips would leave bruises tomorrow, but he kept forcing her down onto Cillian, forcing her to take him in in one long stroke. Her lips parted on a pained breath.

     She saw the need met in Cillian’s eyes at the sound. His eyes released hers, softened just a little in satisfaction.

     Released from that gaze, she raised her head only to meet another pair of eyes that captured hers. Arthur was sprawled negligently across the armchair directly opposite the bed. His dark eyes held hers, like still water. His hair was slicked back severely as usual, and he was attired in an impeccable three-piece suit that was both modern and lush. She could feel her whole body flush with shame, whilst at the same time desire flared and made Cillian’s intrusion into her more bearable. At that very moment, just as she stared at him with lips half-parted in surprise, Kazami’s hands tightened their grip again on her hips and he pushed himself into her from the back.

     Arthur watched her almond-shaped eyes widen and her body slump down onto Cillian’s, pushing him even deeper into her. Her head dropped onto Cillian’s chest, breathing coming in ragged gasps, but her eyes never left his.

     It was almost unbearable. Her body ached all over, muscles quivering, as if she had just run a marathon. Her limbs had no strength to support her, and she was pinned by the two men to each other. Even her legs quivered. She felt covered in shame at being caught(?) in this situation by Arthur. Why was she even here? She couldn’t remember. It was almost worse that she seemed to be at the beginnings of arousal, even though she had never been taken by a man in the way Kazami just had. It was so wrong. It was so right.

     She closed her eyes, breaking the connection with Arthur, and turned her head to look at Kazami. He had that little smirk on his face as he looked down at her, at the place their bodies joined. She knew his potential for cruelty and passion from that look in his eyes. Cillian passed her wrists to Kazami, and he took them, pulling her arms behind her, and then he began to move inside her. Fire blossomed. It was pain and yet it was… beautiful and wrong and yet so good all at the same time. She could feel the men inside her, rubbing against a thin membrane that separated them from each other. She was so full, and yet if she dared to glance again at Arthur, she was empty. Her body overloaded with sensation and emotions that warred with each other and should not co-exist. Cillian squeezed her jaw in one hand, turning her face back to his so he could watch her face as they moved concurrently inside her.

     As if it was a cue, Arthur rose from his seat. She was horror-struck as he approached them. She could see a burning anger in his eyes. He stopped as he reached the foot of the bed and reached a hand towards her…


Cirque bolted awake, breath sobbing in and out of her chest in heavy pants.

     It was the same, had been the same for days. At night she would dream of them, being taken on the edge of pain in various ways by Cillian and Kazami. Always the both of them together. And Arthur would be watching, a growing fury in his eyes that seemed to grow with every passing night. When Arthur approached them copulating on that filthy, innocent-looking bed and reached out for her she would jolt awake.

     Why did she get the feeling that she knew what he wanted of her?

     Today she just felt so wrung out. Sleep was not restful, had not been restful for a long time now. She was always tired. Without much thought, she slid back down against her pillows and shivered under the sheets. It was five to eight, and she should get up and take a shower and go to work, and…


A hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head up.

     “Have you had enough?” Arthur gritted. “Why do you not come to me and surround yourself with these fantasies to keep me at bay? Does it amuse you? This?” His very fingers were deprecating as he gestured at the scene taking place around them. Cillian and Kazami never stopped stroking in and out of her body, as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

     She closed her eyes as her body began to shudder, unable to meet his eyes as control of her body left her. She felt like crawling into a hole in the ground, shame ran hot and cold through her like the orgasm that squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, lips sealed against the animal sounds of copulation that wanted to leave it. She shut it in so hard her head throbbed with it, even as her body spasmed around the men that sandwiched her between them.

     It took her by surprise then, the hand that grasped her chin, forcing her mouth into an ‘o’. Fingers dug into her cheeks. Her eyes shot open just in time to see Arthur force his cock into her mouth. “Don’t you dare bite down, bitch.”

     His eyes were stone, so angry, so cold. “This is what you want from me? Pain? Cruelty? Kinky sex? Is this all you stole into my dreams for, a fangirl obsession? Have it then. This is what you wanted. Let me show you the taste of your fantasies.”

     She wanted to speak then, but his cock filled her mouth, almost filled her throat as he pushed it to the hilt and then pulled back, allowing her to breathe. One hand was still wrapped in her hair, and he used it to direct her, leaving her protests trapped in her mind. They clamoured, a distraction that quietened just a little when he began to use her mouth in earnest. She couldn’t bear the tinge of emotion she could see in the depths of his eyes. But his body directed hers, and she opened her mouth for his use.

     Her lips sealed around him, tongue cupping his entry and retreat. Her arms ached from the pull Kazami exerted from behind, as he used them to lever her closer for his assault. Cillian’s hand locked around her throat, thrilling and fearful as breath shortened. His other hand pinched at her nipples, driving jolts of pain between slides of pure pleasure against that sweet spot within. Distractions. But she wanted to concentrate on Arthur, wanted to worship him with her mouth, all that was left her. She wanted to wipe that foreign emotion from his eyes with pleasure and with acceptance, and she allowed the tiniest scrape of teeth against him followed by increased suction and then caressed him with her tongue. She relaxed her throat as much as she was able against the hand Cillian held there and let him slide to the hilt, even as her body tightened again in helpless climax.

     She worshipped him with her eyes as he jerked against her and spilled his seed into her throat, with her tongue as her eyes closed in her own release, as Cillian and Kazami both buried themselves within her in jerking pleasure, a tangle of limbs that tightened their hold on her until the world went black.


This time she woke quietly, like a diver coming to surface.

     This time, she remembered.