Willow's hands rested against Angelus' chest, blunt nails curving inwards, lightly digging into his flesh. The mingled fear and desire which had blossomed upon her delicate features had faded, replaced by an uneasy confusion. "Angel?" she questioned uncertainly. Her hands pulled back quickly. Her teeth slammed down into her lower lip, bitting down the quiver that threatened to claim it. 

She turned her back towards him, shoulders hunching defensively. "Even in my dreams..." Willow murmured dejectedly. 

Angelus moved quickly, reaching out to engulf the young woman in his arms. "I'm sorry, Willow... I just didn't want to upset you." His hand rested against her stomach, holding her against him. His fingers splayed out against her flat belly, feeling the quiver of her muscles as he lightly dragged his thumb along the underside of her breast. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her. 

Willow sighed, her head shifting to further expose her neck to him. "You don't upset me here, Angel. This is the one place where I know that I can trust you -- where you're mine..." her voice took on a self-mocking quality as she concluded, "even if I have to imagine you into this state." Her hand reached upwards, curling into Angel's head, holding him in place against her. 

Angelus smiled against her neck. Not only was the girl's naturally trusting nature working to his advantage, but so too was her infatuation with Angel. The undercurrents of longing in Willow's voice told the vampire that her nighttime fantasies were more to her than merely an expression of her physical desire as he had initially suspected. "There's no place that I'd rather be than here, Willow," Angelus whispered into her ear. 

Her back arched lightly as Angelus' words danced across her senses. The entire dreamscape seemed to throb in time with Willow's heartbeat. "For now," she murmured, and Angelus wondered at the young woman's ability to demean her relationships, even those she constructed in the safety of her own mind. 

"Always," Angelus insisted. His hand withdrew from Willow's stomach briefly and she groaned in disappointment. A surprised hiss followed quick on the tiny, dejected sound as Angelus' hand swept back over her, the modest shirt she wore even in her dreams inching up to expose the soft expanse of her skin. 

"Angel?" Willow yelped. "What...?" 

Had not even her true dream Angel touched her so, Angelus wondered with amusement. So very innocent, so trusting... exposed and vulnerable enough at that moment for him to snap her emotional equilibrium with a single harsh or mocking word. "Beautiful... so soft, so very _alive_." She was panting in the circle of his arms, his hands barely doing more than skimming her body. "Let me touch you, Willow..." 

"I want you to," she admitted softly. "But I wouldn't know how to wrap up this scenario... not in anyway that's halfway satisfying, at least," she admitted. The girl blushed even in her dreams. 

Angelus chuckled, a low rumble deep in his throat. "Trust me, this time you won't be disappointed." 

Willow whimpered in protest as her alarm's shrill cry broke through the lingering remains of her dream. Her arm flailed out, blindly shutting off the alarm's insistent ringing. Willow stretched luxuriously, her back arching off the mattress, sticky thighs brushing together. Her eyes snapped all the way open and Willow flushed, her arm flinging across her eyes. "Oh, God," the young woman breathed. Her imagination had definitely been holding out on her had last night's nighttime escapades been anything to judge by. 

Other than a mild flicker of embarrassment at her own forwardness in her dreams, the only emotion Willow felt upon waking from them was a blessed sensation of peace. She had long since ceased feeling regret over her nocturnal fantasies -- knowing both that the face her fantasies took was beyond her conscious control and that Buffy would never know that her own lost lover was the one who fulfilled Willow's unspoken need for romantic companionship. 

Even in her dreams, Xander had not been peaceful. Upon waking, she had always been met with a wrenching sense of despair as her attentive dream Xander dissolved beneath the weight of her waking mind. Perhaps Angel was no more hers in the waking world than was Xander, but at least she harboured no illusions about her chances with him. He was Buffy's, he had been before he even knew who Willow was. But in her mind, he offered her all the things that the young woman was denied in her own life -- someone who lavished attention on her, who made her feel beautiful and _special_... and he made her feel safe, even though he wore Angelus' face. 

She could talk to him, pour out her worries about Buffy and Angelus, let him take her pain away if only for so long as she dreamt. She didn't have to be strong, or cheerful, to be the comforting one. Even as a representation of her unconscious mind, dream Angel felt more real than anything else she had ever experienced. 

Willow cast a glance in her clock's direction, blinking at it owlishly. That morning, Willow was more than relieved that she had allowed herself enough time for a shower. With a smooth motion, she kicked her blankets free and swung her legs from the bed. Rising, Willow's arms lifted above her head, her back arching into another deep stretched. "Dream sex therapy," Willow said softly with a shake of her head and a sigh. 

Her nightgown was a large t-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs. Willow tugged it over her head, casting it onto her bed. Her fingers lingered over her body, nails lightly scraping along the path dream Angel's hands had sought out upon her body. Willow hissed, shaking off the desire burgeoning inside her. "Get yourself under control, Willow," she chided herself. 

She silently padded towards the bathroom on silent feet and firmly shut the door behind her. 

Drusilla was mewling into the pillow as Angelus slammed into her one final time with a harsh snarl. Her knees shook as he withdrew from her, and Drusilla collapsed. Her body ached, still crying out from the pain Angelus so excelled at laying upon her. Even with the enhanced healing inherent in her vampiric status, experience informed the woman that it would be hours yet before she would be able to move freely without feeling the lingering traces of pain. 

"Get up," Angelus ordered, his voice flat with disinterest now that his lust and need for violence had been sated. The dream which Drusilla had allowed him to enter had cultivated the former, while Angelus' determination to follow through with his plans for Willow had held the violence at bay. 

"_Get up_," Angelus repeated, his voice sharp with warning. 

Drusilla stirred, hiding her wince behind the curtain of dark hair which fell before her face. Once he was finished with her, he rarely allowed her to remain in his bed unless he sought her presence only to enrage Spike. She was glad to leave his rough hands and hard voice behind, remembering with a concealed shudder the days long past when she had remained at his side during the long hours of the day, open and available to any further abuse he desired to lay upon her. 

She rose slowly, moving free from Angelus' bed. He barely even watched her move, drinking in the sight of her pain. Her back turned towards him, Drusilla's mouth -- dark red lipstick smeared about her lips -- twisted into a grimace. Weaker and weaker, dying inside the girl's mind until he was gone, she thought, her thoughts disguised as the endless song of the stars who whispered into her mind. 

Drusilla did not seek out the tattered remains of her dress, nor did she look back at her sire, sprawled out on his bed, scowling at the ceiling. Cool air, filled with the scent of blood, washed around her unclothed form as Drusilla sedately fled Angelus' chamber in search of Spike and the softer caresses that could wash away the stain Angelus' touch left upon her being. 

~end~