That night she had troubling dreams. She had woken in a cloudy, underwater version of the X-mansion. It was dark. She was in her bed and a wavering silhouette stood between her side and the window. At first terror threatened to take control as she realized her limbs were caught in a semi-paralysis, but incrementally - was it in minutes or hours - it dawned on her. She was having a nightmare.
The fear ebbed, and she found she could exert some control over her body. Lucid dreaming. She thrilled slightly at the possibilities. As she tested the limits of her movement, however, the figure descended upon her, triggering another rising panic. Her muddled mind forced through the fog, reminding herself not to worry. It's not real. Just relax.
Her dream-self lifted her arms through what felt like molasses, and pushed experimentally against the figure which had become an immovable weight above her. Even with her limited control, though, her arms were flimsy, barely able to lift themselves. It's just the dream. Concentrate on breathing. Deep slow breaths raised her chest against, then away from the weight above, which itself seemed to be breathing.
She expected the scene to change as it so often does in dreams, but it held steady. The weight was simply there, and she was simply breathing, helpless but unafraid below it. As the moments passed, however, more details began to fill in. The weight had texture and form, and smell; she sensed a vaguely musky scent behind the cloudy dream atmosphere.
And then suddenly there was sensation. It felt like hands, hands sliding up her legs, pushing her nightgown slowly up, up, up above her waist. Her pulse quickened and her groin tightened as she felt more hands - or were they the same hands - slide up under her gown to her breasts. They cupped them, fondled them, pulled gently at her nipples, leaving her wondering whether it was a part of the nightmare or a part of the dream that was under her control.
Lips tickled at her throat. Something wet and hot slid across it, while something else - hard and sharp - dug and scraped gently at the skin. She moaned loudly, enough to wonder foggily at the vividness of her reverie, though soon after she was lost to her senses, her dream thinking too slow and hazy for anything else.
A rumbling from somewhere, almost inside of her, spoke. "The name is Victor." She moaned slightly as a distant connection was made in the recesses of her mind. "Say it." Palms slid down over her groin, igniting it in an inhuman fire. Fingers caressed and kneaded her inner thighs, causing her to moan again. "Say my name." Words, sensations, desire. They seemed to exist as one in the murky aether that surrounded her. The fingers tightened. "Say it!" Her mouth felt clumsy as she tried to form sounds. "Viiiictooooor," she breathed. In response, a deep heated growl raked over her, setting her skin trembling with arousal.
The fingers slid under her buttocks, kneading them, burrowing between them, grazing what lay within. Her breaths stumbled out desperately as this taboo was touched and prodded. The touching faded gradually as the hands slid down further to grip the underside of her thighs, and she gasped as she felt her legs being pulled wide.
In the distance, a distorted voice shouted something unintelligible, and the possessing hands froze in tight embrace around her. She felt the weight press down between her open legs and the lips resume sucking her throat relentlessly. The shouting repeated, and after a pause that seemed to last for hours, the weight above her rumbled, rose, and finally disappeared. Her body quivered at the cold emptiness above her. Yet her breath came more easily, and before long, she fell out of the dreamlike haze and into blackness.