Dreaming of You

by Kallie Rose

Copyright © 2004

kallierose@yahoo.com

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I acknowledge Joss Whedon as god of gods. All the characters in this story are his creation, along with Fox, the rest of the Mutant Enemy Crew, and whomever else wants to lay claim to them. I'm merely killing time by putting them in totally unrealistic situations :-)
Distribution: Night Flowers http://www.geocities.com/kallierose01/
The Mystic Muse    http://mysticmuse.net
Sure, take it if you want it. Just let me know where it's going so I can visit it.
Feedback: Pretty please.
Spoilers: Angel Season 5.
Author's Note: This was a response to a challenge. The requirements were for a W/S or W/Aus story (I chose W/S and then added in Angel) that explained the origins of the phrase 'Smart as a whip', and the use of an actual whip.
Pairing: Willow/Spike/Angel

She slept fitfully, and in her dreams she was surrounded by dead lovers. Tara smiled softly, her long dark blonde hair shimmering brightly in the faint light surrounding them. Beside her sat Kennedy, her newest dead lover. Her eyes were dark and empty like the blackest night. Together they watched her, their expressions slowly turning from warm to condemning.

"Why are you leaving us?" they cried out in unison, watching as she flinched at the disappointment in their eyes. They were punishing her, she knew, for leaving the Slayers and the Watcher's Council, and choosing to follow her own path in Los Angeles.

It had not been an easy decision for Willow to make, but after Kennedy's death she knew a change was needed; Slayers and Watchers had consumed her life over the last ten years, and now it was time for her to decide for herself what she really wanted.

She still wanted to fight – needed to fight – for the side of good. She knew now that that would never change. But she wanted to choose her fights. Working with Giles and Buffy had made her realize how aloof she stood from it all, from the day-to-day existence of so many people out there. She worked with the Watchers, trained new Slayers, even did a little research; it *did* make a difference, and she wasn't trying to discount her contributions, but it was so far removed from the people she wanted to help.

Willow wanted to get her hands dirty again. Wanted to snatch people's lives from the jaws of death. Wanted to be alive again.

Sensing that Willow's choice was made, the two women faded slowly away from her, and once again she was alone in the darkness.

His hair was the first thing she noticed, glowing brightly like a beacon in the darkness, slowly becoming more visible as she watched, rather like the smile of the Cheshire cat, only in reverse.

"Hello, Pet," he said softly, his lips curving into an indulgent smile as he registered her uneasiness at the sight of the whip he held in his pale hands. As far as whips went, it wasn't much; smooth and wide, it was a mere two feet in length. But the way he held it in his hands promised...something. Whether it was something good, or something bad, she wasn't sure. He walked slowly towards her, the thin edge of the leather slipping between his fingers as he caressed it.

Willow watched him approach her, finally coming to a stop when he stood less than a foot away from her, at the head of the bed. She stared at him apprehensively, completely naked, and unable to move. She was still lying on the bed, but at some point, gold silken strands had appeared, soft yet sturdy, binding her wrists to the headboard. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, then cleared a bit when she remembered that this was a dream. Only a dream.

A second demon emerged from the darkness that surrounded her, prowling the room before coming to stand beside his childe, his eyes cold and angry. "Just what makes you think that we would want you here, in LA?" he asked accusingly, his tone turning her blood to ice. "We needed you before, but did you come to help then?" He raked her naked body with his gaze, judging her, and finding her wanting.

"But, I didn't know. I didn't!" she said frantically, straining against her bindings, hoping the words would explain it all to him. And it was true; she hadn't known. Not until weeks later, when Giles had mentioned the call to her during a casual meeting in a hallway.

But by then it had been far too late.

"She didn't know," Angel tossed the excuse carelessly to Spike, the smirk they shared making her feel small and helpless. "Such a shame. She used to be such a smart girl," he said, sending the words into the empty space between them.

"Smart as a whip," Spike agreed, his fingers twisting the leather whip, winding it between his fingers and pulling hard until it cut into his flesh.

A small stream of blood trickled from his fingers, and he unwound the whip, offering the blood to Angel.

Willow watched in rapt fascination as the dark vampire held his childe's hand to his mouth, his tongue reaching out to capture the liquid before it could fall to the floor. A satisfied smile passed his lips; lips that compressed into a tight line as his gaze slid back to the naked redhead on the bed.

"I've always wondered how that phrase came about," Spike admitted, his eyes flickering back and forth between Angel and Willow. "Surely you've come across the story, in your years of research, right Willow?"

The redhead looked up at them in confusion. This was a strange and disturbing twist to her dream. Why was Spike asking her? He and Angel were the ones who had been around forever. And something told her that they were far more familiar with the whole bondage thing than she was. She had no idea where the phrase came from. Probably something about the smart of the whip as it hit the body, something like that?

"Yes, tell us Willow," Angel agreed, his tone mocking, his eyes burning into hers.

"But, I don't know!" she cried. It was just a dream, she reminded herself. Like the one she used to have when she was younger. The one where the teacher called on her in class, and she didn't know the answer.

Only the teacher had never played with a whip in her dreams. And how disturbing would *that* have been?!

Angel bent over the bed, his face next to hers, as his lips brushed against her earlobe. "It doesn't have to be true," he whispered in her ear, his cold, seductive voice sending shivers down her spine. "My boy just wants to hear a story."

"Give us a story, pet," Spike agreed, his voice sounding almost child-like. "Keep me entertained? Who knows what might happen if I got bored..." the unspoken threat behind his words promised that if she failed to entertain him, unpleasant things might happen. Willow was smart enough to understand that they would happen to her.

The young woman licked her lips uneasily. A story. "It smarts," she blurted out, watching their faces for clues. "When it hits the body, it smarts. Stings. Cuts."

Spike flicked the whip towards her, not using much power at all, watching with satisfaction as it connected with the pale skin of Willow's stomach. It didn't break the skin; there hadn't been enough force behind the movement. But the sensation brought a yelp of surprise from the redhead, and then a look of embarrassment when she realized that it hadn't hurt as she had expected it to.

"Like that?" Angel asked curiously, bending over to run his hand lightly over the spot where the whip had kissed her skin, tracing the line it left behind with his index finger.

Willow nodded wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak just yet. The feel of his cold hand on her overheated, sensitive skin, was quickly driving most coherent thought from her mind.

"They – they would use whips to make the horses move faster," she mumbled, her eyes closing as she fell under the hypnotic spell of Angel's touch.

His fingers continued to caress her stomach and abdomen, skipping lightly over the skin, both the pristine ivory and the pink, slightly raised area where the whip had played along her stomach.

She heard the sound of the whip before she felt it, sensing the displacement of the air around her. This blow was sharper, and her body arched up to meet it, as if it were the touch of a lover. A cry came from her lips, a small part of it from pain, but more from the anticipation of it than the actual feel of it. Like last time, the whip hadn't really hit her that sharply.

"Just trying to keep you focused, pet."

Her eyes flickered open, shooting Spike an angry glare. How was she supposed to concentrate on anything when Angel seemed to be fixated on drawing her attention back to him with those damn fingers of his? Fingers that were even now playing lower over her body, slowly teasing their way down below her bellybutton, to tangle tantalizingly in her pubic hair.

Smart as a whip. Okay, she could do this. She could – oh god, his fingers. What the hell was he doing with those fingers? They were between her legs now, caressing and trailing over the lips of her cunt, cooling her body, yet building her mind to a fever pitch.

Another crack of the whip, and this time it stung, the pain reminding her of a thousand tiny paper cuts. Willow's back arched, and she bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound. She looked down to see the livid red mark the whip had left high on her torso, just below her left breast. Glancing nervously at Spike, she saw his thick lips curl into a smile, looking exactly like a naughty boy who knows he has done something bad, but is reasonably sure there will be no punishment.

"I – the, the horses, they – " the words turned abruptly to a moan as Angel plunged two fingers into her cunt, initiating a leisurely in-and-out motion that left her distracted and very nearly unable to breathe. The pounding of her heart sounded deafeningly in her ears, and her body felt blisteringly hot, as did the air around her. She looked down her body at the dark vampire who sat comfortably between her legs, his face hidden as he concentrated on his task.

Sneaking a look at Spike, she watched him play with the whip between his long, tapered fingers. He gave her another smile, this one full of threat and menace, and she quickly resumed her story. "The horses, they got to the point," she paused to suck in a ragged breath. Angel had discovered her clit, and had added that to his symphony of torture, "they got to the point where you didn't have to hit them with the whip."

Another deep breath, as she willed her body not to respond to the teasing fingers. For some reason, it seemed very important that she not come. At the very least, not until she finished her story. It became a goal, of sorts, to concentrate on. Again she bit her lip, hoping the pain would distract her from the pleasure.

"The horses, they were smart enough to see the whip, and go fast, because they knew that if they didn't, they'd be whipped." The words were breathed awkwardly, as Willow attempted to separate her mind from her emotions, and the feelings of pleasure Angel seemed hell-bent on wringing out of her.

The irony of her situation didn't escape her. Watching Spike finger the leather thoughtfully had been enough to bring her mind back to task, eventually, despite the extra distraction that Angel provided.

"Were they really all that smart?" Spike asked, his voice reminding her of a teacher, trying to lead a particularly difficult student to a somewhat obvious truth.

"Huh?" she responded, wishing her hands were free so that she could hit herself on the forehead for such a brainless response.

"The horses," Spike prompted. "Were they really all that smart, like the phrase implies, or just easily trained?"

Stupid damn vampire, Willow fumed. She had told him a story. Admittedly, not the most interesting story, but a story nonetheless. Requirements had been satisfied. But was that good enough? Apparently not. Now, he seemed to want to have an intellectual conversation. Something which, under other circumstances, might be enjoyable. But now? Not so much.

"I suppose they were just – " another sharp intake of breath. Angel had changed his tactics now, adding another finger inside her, spreading them as if preparing her – preparing her for...

Her mind did a U-turn from that thought, coming back to territory that was safe by comparison. Spike watched her carefully, amusement at her predicament dancing behind eyes that could be cold as ice one moment, and warm and understanding the next.

Movement at the end of the bed caught Willow by surprise, and her eyes flew back to Angel. The vampire was kneeling now, his hands moving quickly to undo the buttons of his black leather pants. Figures, she thought. He always had looked best in leather. It would be only natural for him to appear that way in her dreams.

She gasped at the sight of his cock, long and pale in the poorly lit room. He smiled indulgently, as if he had seen that reaction before. Looking her straight in the eye, he moved his body over hers, using his hand to position himself between the lips of her sex.

He thrust in, her body stretching to accept him, grasping him tightly. The strength of her grip made him growl in satisfaction. "So tight," he grunted, watching curiously as her face turned pink in a self-conscious blush.

Using his arms to hold his body above hers, Angel started a quick rhythm of shallow thrusts, trying to allow his cock to move freely within her. She had been wet when he entered her, but movement was still difficult; it had been a long time since she had held a man inside her body.

Willow thought briefly of Oz, sweet and caring, but full of awkward teenage fumbling. This was something different. This was maturity and sureness and power – and only a dream, she reminded herself. She was the one who was imagining him like this, because it was what she wanted. How he would be in bed, in reality, would always be a mystery to her.

Soon his movements became easier, more fluid, as her body became used to him. It was still tight though, and every thrust brought them both a delicious friction. She felt every inch of him as he thrust into her, and her cunt fought to hold him every time he withdrew. Her breath came in sharp pants, the only sound to be heard in the silent room.

The bed dipped down next to her, and she looked up to see Spike sitting there, his pants unbuttoned, his cock erect. He reached up to undo the binding that restrained her right arm. "Don't think we need this, do we, luv?" he asked huskily. "I've got something much better for you to do."

As her arm fell back to the bed, he lifted her hand and massaged her wrist gently. "Feel okay?"

"Ummm," was all the response she could give.

Her hand reached out to stroke his cock tentatively, smiling uncertainly as it jumped beneath her touch.

"That's it," he said, smiling encouragingly. As she watched, he laid back next to her, his upper body coming to rest comfortably against the headboard.

The position was awkward for her, but she managed to grasp him, running her hand up and down over the length of him, in tandem to what Angel was doing to her. Her mind was an autopilot, breaking into pieces as she tried to accommodate them both. Soon the rhythm of her hand over his cock became almost mechanical, as the pleasure she received from Angel's cock grew more and more distracting.

Angel's thrusts became harder, burying himself to the hilt on every plunge, the bones of their pelvis' colliding upon impact, faster and faster until she could barely stand it. The sensations built, one on top of the other; the feel of her hand on Spike's hard cock, the drag of Angel's cock within her, and now the gentle pull of Spike's fingers on her nipples. She wanted to scream, she wanted to die, she wanted to always feel exactly this way.

Willow screamed as she came, a wordless cry that jerked her awake, tearing her suddenly from the erotic dream. Her back arched, the muscles of her legs ached, and her sex throbbed with unfulfilled need. The hotel room was unbearably, oppressively hot and humid, both sensations pressing down on her, beating her back into the mattress below her.

Her breath came in frenzied gasps, the sound of it deafening in the silence emptiness of the early morning.

She was alone again. Always alone, in the end.

The End