The Dream
Nana didn't know how she got here—in this room bathed in soft light, lying on silken sheets that felt too real to be imagined. But dreams didn't follow logic, so she didn't question it.
What she did question was the two men looking down at her with identical hunger in their eyes.
Xavier stood on her left—her husband, familiar and beloved, his ash-blonde hair falling into those sleepy blue eyes she knew so well. He wore his usual casual clothes, and his expression held that lazy possessiveness that always made her heart skip.
On her right stood Lumiere—the legendary masked hero, dressed in his signature white and blue uniform, the mask covering the upper half of his face. But she could see his mouth, could see the dangerous smile playing at his lips.
They were the same person. She knew that logically. But in the dream, they were separate entities, both focused entirely on her.
"Look at her," Xavier murmured, his hand trailing down her arm. "So beautiful. So mine."
"Ours," Lumiere corrected, his gloved hand cupping her face. "Tonight, she belongs to both of us."
"I don't—this isn't—" Nana tried to form words, but Xavier's mouth was already on her neck, biting down possessively.
"Shh, starlight," he murmured against her skin. "Just feel."
Lumiere claimed her mouth in a searing kiss while Xavier's hands roamed her body, stripping away her clothes with practiced ease. She was overwhelmed by the dual attention—two sets of hands touching her, two mouths tasting her, two versions of the same man claiming her completely.
"She's so responsive," Lumiere observed, pulling back from the kiss to watch her face as Xavier's fingers found her breast. "Look how she arches for us."
"She always does," Xavier said with smug satisfaction. "My perfect wife knows exactly what she needs."
"Our wife," Lumiere corrected again, and his hand slid between her thighs. "At least for tonight."
They worked in tandem—Xavier's mouth on her breasts while Lumiere's fingers circled her clit. The sensations were overwhelming, doubled, impossible to process. She was drowning in pleasure, unable to distinguish between them.
"Please—" she gasped, not even sure what she was begging for.
"Please what?" Xavier's voice was rough. "Tell us what you want, starlight."
"Both of you—I need—"
"Greedy," Lumiere chuckled, but there was heat in his voice. "She wants both of us at once."
"Then let's give her what she wants."
The dream shifted, blurred. Suddenly Xavier was beneath her, his cock buried deep inside her while Lumiere pressed against her from behind. The stretch was impossible, overwhelming, but in the logic of dreams, it worked.
They moved together, finding a rhythm that had her sobbing between them. Xavier's hands gripped her hips while Lumiere's fingers dug into her waist. Four hands, two bodies, one overwhelming sensation.
"Xavier—" she cried out.
"And?" Lumiere prompted, his breath hot against her ear.
"Lumiere—oh god—Lumiere—"
"That's right," he purred. "Say both our names. Let us hear how good we make you feel."
They took turns kissing her, touching her, whispering filthy promises in her ears. The pleasure built impossibly high, and when she finally came, she screamed both their name.
**Reality**
Nana woke with a gasp, her body trembling, her heart racing. The bedroom was dark, quiet. She was in her own bed, in her own home, with her husband sleeping beside her.
Just a dream. It was just a dream.
She exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her racing heart. Of course it was a dream. Xavier would never share her with anyone—not even with another version of himself. He was too possessive, too territorial. The idea of him allowing anyone else to touch her was laughable.
Even in her fantasies, it was impossible.
She turned to look at Xavier, expecting to find him peacefully asleep as usual. But his eyes were open, glowing faintly in the darkness, fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Xavier? Are you awake?"
"I've been awake." His voice was flat, controlled. Too controlled. "For about ten minutes."
"Oh. Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I had this weird dream—"
"I know." He sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around his waist. "You were whimpering. Moaning. Very... vocal for a dream."
Her cheeks flamed. "I—what—"
"You kept saying a name." His eyes were dark now, pupils dilated. "Want to guess whose name it was?"
Her stomach dropped. "Xavier, I can explain—"
"It wasn't Xavier." His hand shot out, gripping her wrist firmly. "It was Lumiere. You were moaning *Lumiere's* name in your sleep. In our bed. While lying next to me."
Oh no. Oh no no no.
"It was just a dream! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—"
"You were dreaming about him." Xavier's voice had gone dangerously soft. "About my alter ego. The masked hero. What exactly were you dreaming about, starlight?"
She couldn't meet his eyes. "Nothing. Just... hero stuff. Saving people and—"
"Liar." He pulled her toward him, his other hand cupping her face, forcing her to look at him. "You were breathing hard. Your face was flushed. Your body was moving like—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Tell me the truth. What was dream-Lumiere doing to you?"
"Xavier, please—"
"Tell. Me."
The command in his voice made her shiver. "It wasn't just Lumiere," she admitted in a small voice. "You were there too. Both of you. At the same time. You were both... touching me. Kissing me. Making me—"
"Both of us." Xavier's laugh was dark, humorless. "You were fantasizing about me *sharing* you with myself. About being claimed by two versions of me at once."
"It was just a dream! It didn't mean anything!"
"Didn't it?" He pushed her back onto the mattress, caging her beneath him. "You seemed pretty into it. Moaning his name. Begging for more. Should I be jealous of myself, starlight? Should I be competing with my own alter ego for my wife's attention?"
"That's ridiculous—"
"Is it?" His hand slid under her sleep shirt, finding her still wet from the dream. "Because your body seems to think otherwise. You're soaking, and I haven't even touched you yet. Was dream-Lumiere that good?"
"Xavier—"
"I want to know," he said, his voice dropping to something possessive and dark. "Was he better than me in your dream? Did he make you feel things I don't? Did he touch you differently?"
"No! It wasn't like that—"
"Then what was it like?" His fingers circled her clit, making her gasp. "Describe it to me. Every detail. I want to know exactly what my competition is doing."
"He's not competition! He's you!"
"Not in your dream, he wasn't." His fingers pressed inside her, curling expertly. "In your dream, we were two separate people. Two separate lovers. So tell me—how did he compare?"
This was insane. He was jealous of himself. But the dark possession in his eyes was real, and it was making her impossibly aroused.
"He was... intense," she admitted breathlessly. "Confident. Commanding. He knew exactly what he was doing."
"And I don't?" Xavier's thumb found her clit, applying pressure that made her arch.
"That's not what I meant—"
"Show me." He withdrew his hand completely, and before she could protest, he was stripping off his clothes. "Show me what dream-Lumiere did to you. I'll prove I'm better."
"Xavier, this is crazy—"
"Is it?" He pulled her sleep shirt over her head, leaving her naked beneath him. "You fantasized about two versions of me. About being overwhelmed by doubled pleasure. I can't give you two of me, but I can damn well prove that one of me is more than enough."
His mouth crashed down on hers, claiming her with bruising intensity. This wasn't her gentle, sleepy husband. This was something darker, more possessive—the side of Xavier that emerged when his territorial instincts were triggered.
"I'm going to make you forget that dream," he growled against her lips. "Make you forget dream-Lumiere ever existed. By the time I'm done, the only name you'll remember is mine."
His mouth moved down her body with single-minded focus, biting and sucking marks into her skin. When he reached her thighs, he spread them wide and settled between them.
"Did dream-Lumiere do this?" he asked before his tongue swept through her folds.
"Yes—ah!—but not like—oh god—"
He worked her mercilessly, his tongue and fingers driving her toward the edge with practiced skill. He knew her body better than anyone—real or imagined—and he used that knowledge ruthlessly.
When she came, crying out his name—just Xavier, only Xavier—he didn't give her time to recover. He flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hips up.
"Did he take you like this?" Xavier asked, positioning himself at her entrance.
"Xavier, wait—"
He pushed inside in one hard thrust, and they both groaned. "Answer me. Did dream-Lumiere fuck you from behind?"
"Yes," she gasped, her fingers clutching the sheets.
"And was he as deep as this?" He withdrew and slammed back in, hitting that spot that made her see stars.
"No—not as deep—Xavier—"
"That's right." His pace was punishing, possessive. "Because I know your body. I know exactly how to touch you, how to fill you, how to make you scream. No dream version of me could ever compare to the real thing."
One hand wrapped around to find her clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, and she felt another orgasm building impossibly fast.
"Come for me," Xavier commanded. "Say my name and come for me. Show me who you really belong to."
"Xavier—oh god—Xavier!"
She came hard, clenching around him rhythmically. He groaned and followed her over the edge, burying himself deep as he filled her.
But he still wasn't done.
He pulled out and flipped her onto her back, immediately positioning himself between her thighs again. His eyes were wild, possessive, almost feral.
"One more," he said. "I need to hear you say it one more time."
"I can't—I'm too sensitive—"
"You can." He pushed inside again, and despite her protests, her body welcomed him. "You took two of me in your dream. You can take one more round from the real me."
He set a slower pace this time, deep and grinding, his forehead pressed to hers. His hand found hers, lacing their fingers together.
"You're mine, starlight," he whispered. "Not dream-Lumiere's. Not fantasy-Xavier's. Mine. The real me. The one who's here with you every night. The one who knows you better than any dream ever could."
"I know," she gasped, tears pricking her eyes from the overwhelming sensation. "I'm yours. Only yours. I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize for dreams." His lips brushed hers gently, contrasting with the intensity of his movements. "Just remember when you wake up. Remember that this—" he thrust deep, "—this is real. I'm real. And I'm the only one who gets to make you feel this way."
"Xavier—I love you—only you—"
"I love you too." His pace increased, chasing release. "Now come with me. One more time. Show me you're mine."
His fingers found her clit again, and impossibly, she felt herself climbing toward another peak. When it hit, gentler but no less intense than before, she sobbed his name—only his name, over and over—and felt him shudder above her as he came.
They collapsed together, breathing hard, covered in sweat. Xavier immediately rolled to his side and pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "That was... intense. I shouldn't have been so possessive over a dream."
"No, I'm sorry." She snuggled closer. "I can't control my dreams, but I can promise you—awake me only wants you. The real you."
"Even though dream-Lumiere was so 'intense and commanding'?" There was amusement in his voice now.
"Real Xavier is better." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "Because real Xavier actually loves me. Dream-Lumiere was just... fantasy."
"Good answer." He tightened his hold on her. "Though I have to admit, the image of you wanting two of me at once is... interesting."
"Xavier!"
"What? I'm just saying, if you ever want to role-play—"
"Absolutely not. One of you is more than enough to handle."
He laughed softly, the possessive edge finally fading. "True. I did just prove that, didn't I?"
"Very thoroughly." She yawned, exhaustion finally catching up. "Multiple times."
"That's my job as your husband. Making sure reality is always better than dreams." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now sleep. And if you dream about Lumiere again, I'm going to have to have another 'talk' with you about whose name you're allowed to moan."
"Jealous of yourself," she mumbled, already drifting off.
"Territorial," he corrected. "There's a difference."
But as she fell asleep in his arms, safe and satisfied and thoroughly claimed, Nana couldn't help but smile.
Her husband was absolutely ridiculous.
And she loved him for it.
⭐⭐⭐