Heroes fic: weird dream 3 way

[triedunture]

It started when Matt realized that, at the age of thirty-seven, he was back to sneaking masturbation time like a sixteen-year-old. It was hard enough living in a one-bedroom apartment with two other people. It was even harder when one was an inquisitive young girl and the other was an inquisitive young-ish scientist.

The shower seemed to be the logical solution.

Emphasis on "seemed."

"Matt!" Molly called as she cracked the bathroom door open. "Have you seen my backpack?"

Matt jumped guiltily in the bath tub, biting his lip and reminding himself that the shower curtain was very opaque. Still, his hands were now up in the air, far away from his cock. His no-longer hard cock. He sighed, remembering the busted lock on the bathroom door, as well as Mohinder's insistence that it was silly to have a lock on it anyway because what if Molly slipped in the tub?

"Have you checked behind your desk?" Matt called back over the pounding spray.

Molly growled in frustration. "Yes," she drawled, unimpressed with his suggestion. "Geez! I wish I could pinpoint things like I do with people."

"Maybe some day, sweetie. We'll keep working on it." Matt poked his head out from behind the curtain, warm water dripping from his hair onto the tile floor. "What about under your bed?"

"I'll go look," Molly said with a roll of her eyes, slamming the bathroom door shut.

Matt ducked back under the shower spray, letting the water roll over his sore shoulders, massaging them to get out the kinks. He waited to the count of ten, then allowed his hand to snake down, from his chest down to his—

"Matthew?" Mohinder said as the door whooshed open once more. "I'm out of deodorant. May I borrow yours?"

Once again Matt did the heart-in-throat stutter-stop. He squeezed his eyes shut and suppressed an angry groan.

"Matt?" Mohinder was already opening and shutting the drawers under the sink. "Don't you keep it in here somewhere?"

Matt peered around the curtain like he had with Molly. "Medicine cabinet, left side," he directed.

Mohinder flashed a smile in thanks. "Better hurry," he advised. "Molly will be late for school." He uncapped Matt's roll-on and lifted the edge of his tee shirt, applying it with all the curving grace of a cat. Matt squinted. How did someone look good while doing that?

Matt gave up and shut the water off. A blue towel came sailing over the shower rod, and Matt caught it against his chest.

"Chop chop!" Mohinder called before shutting the door closed behind him. It was then that Matt realized he needed some other plan for alone time or he'd never have another orgasm for the rest of his life. There were just too many distractions in his busy little household. God, how long had it been since he'd seen anything X-rated? His life had gone from normal, red-blooded, stash-of-Playboys hidden under the mattress where Janice wouldn't find them to...hair scrunchies and chewed-up ballpoint pens and tiny little socks for tiny little feet. No doubt about it, Matt thought as he toweled off his hair, Molly and Mohinder had forced him into the life of a monk.

That day, a plan slowly formulated in his mind, vague and half-dreamed between cups of coffee at the station and the ride home on the subway. He had the power to toy with people's perceptions. To alter their realities in a way. To create a vision of something that wasn't real.

If he could fool someone else's mind, Matt wondered, could he fool his own? A sort of custom-built virtual reality?

Well, he certainly couldn't watch porn on the television, could he? Mohinder didn't even own a DVD player. And out there on the couch? Sh'yeah right. The chances of Molly waking up in the middle of the night and looking for a glass of water were too high.

So Matt could only bide his time until one evening after Molly had been put to bed and Mohinder was tapping away on his laptop, still ensconced on the sofa. Matt sat beside him, watching the TV through tired, blurry eyes. A yawn cracked out from his throat, though he tried to squelch it. Mohinder glanced up, peering at him from behind his reading glasses.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "It's getting late, and I'm keeping you from sleep."

Matt looked down at the ratty sofa they sat on; it was his usual sack-out spot when all three of them were in the apartment (an unusual occurrence these days). Mohinder had turned the old study into a sort of makeshift second bedroom, complete with a thin mattress on an old metal cot. That was where the scientist slept.

"I'm fine," Matt assured him, fighting off another yawn.

Mohinder took off his glasses. "I'll take the sofa tonight. This monster is probably wrecking havoc on your back, anyway. Please, take the study; it's only fair."

Matt was going to protest that, no, the sofa was fine, and how did Mohinder know about his back? But then he remembered his plan for alone time and took the offer. "Thanks," he whispered quietly from the doorway. Mohinder waved him away; no problem, he said in his mind, eyes back behind glasses and focused on the laptop screen. Matt closed the door and crawled into bed.

The sheets smelled of familiar Old Spice. It threw Matt for a moment before he remembered that Mohinder was still borrowing his deodorant in the mornings. He'd have to remember to pick up a new stick for Mohinder the next time he was in the store. What did he use...? Didn't it come in a blue package?

"Focus," Matt told himself with a little laugh. He wasn't even sure if this was going to work, trying to fool his own mind's eye, but he figured he'd need to concentrate to find out.

He started small. Matt lay on his side and stared at the wall, imaging a fresh coat of paint on the dingy surface. He shut his eyes and forced himself to believe in it, and when he opened his eyes, a gleaming white wall looked back at him. In fact, the whole room had taken on a sort of dreamy glow: the curtains, once heavy navy drapes, were now pale gossamer wisps floating the the breeze from the open window. The room was warm, like it was summer instead of the near-winter it should have been. And the sheets were not the threadbare plaid rags that Mohinder had found at a thrift store; they were soft and silky and green like sea water.

Everything felt real, looked real. But Matt could see a shimmer here, a small tear in the fabric of the illusion there, always in the corner of his eye. But he kept concentrating on keeping the dream room in focus. Things were about to get interesting.

He began with thinking of a woman who was as far away from Janice as possible. He shut his eyes and considered. Someone bold where she was timid, someone vibrant where she was plain. Someone who would speak her mind instead of keeping secrets. Matt opened his eyes and saw her, lounging at the foot of the bed, nude. She was a black woman, with a long rope of thick hair braided down her back. And when she smiled, Matt knew she was perfect.

It was his fantasy, and he directed it. Every kiss, every caress that the dream woman bestowed on him was of his own making, and even though it required intense mental effort to execute, Matt had to admit it was all very hot. He'd never been so turned on in his life. Anything he wanted, anything at all, was his if he wished it. For a man who'd had to work hard for everything (affection, trust, a job, a home) his entire life, this was bliss.

The woman undressed him and pressed herself against him, teasing him with the warmth of her skin. He dipped his head to lick at the hollow of her throat, and she moaned into his hair. For a fleeting moment, Matt realized that he didn't have to do anything to please this woman; she wasn't real; she wouldn't complain unless he wanted her to. He could do anything to her. Anything.

The fact that he had even thought that chilled him. His hands stopped roaming.

"Matthew?" The woman cupped his face in her hands. Her voice was a lilting accent of unknown origin, maybe even from a country in his imagination. "You are so good to me." She kissed his brow. "You would never hurt me. Do not worry. It's not possible."

"Wow." Matt rested his hands on his hips and looked up into her beautiful face, looming over his own. "You really are perfect."

She grinned back. "I'm you," she said simply.

Matt kissed her, pulling her down on top of him, falling back against the imaginary bedsheets. His fingers, which felt heavy and clumsy to him, moved between her legs and felt wetness there. That was when Matt decided this was the best thing ever.

And that's also when the door opened and Mohinder stepped in.

Matt froze, and the woman in his arms craned her long, elegant neck to look at Mohinder over her shoulder.

"Hello," she said.

Mohinder gaped, letting the door shut behind him. He looked around the changed room with wide eyes, and Matt realized he could see it too. He saw everything.

Matt pulled a silk sheet up over his dream woman's bare shoulders. A bit late for hiding, he mused.

"What...?" Mohinder began.

"It's just a dream, Mohinder," the woman huffed, as if she knew him, as if they were friends. "Stop worrying."

"I'm dreaming?" Mohinder squinted at the tableau on the bed. "I don't remember falling asleep. I was...working, I think."

Matt opened his mouth to speak, to explain what was happening, that yes it was a dream, but it was Matt's dream, and Mohinder should probably go and forget he'd ever seen it. But the dream woman answered first.

"You're tired," she purred, reaching a hand out to him, clutching the sheet to her breast with the other. "Come here."

"Um." Matt glanced at Mohinder. This hadn't been part of his plan. Or had it? After all, she was a product of Matt's mind. And maybe, if his mind was supplying this bit of the fantasy...

Maybe he wanted it without knowing he wanted it.

Mohinder's eyes darted to Matt, a questioning look in his eyes. "This is odd," he said under his breath.

"You're telling me," Matt said. He propped himself up on his elbows. The woman in his lap shifted exquisitely, her hand still out for Mohinder to take.

"It feels so real." Mohinder slid his hand into the woman's, and he stared at her, marveling. "My dreams are never like this."

Matt watched as Mohinder knelt on the bed and kissed the middle of the woman's palm. She turned to Matt and gave him an arched-eyebrow look. See how good he is?, she seemed to project into his mind. But that was impossible. She couldn't have thoughts independent of Matt; she was Matt.

Matt swallowed as he watched his dream woman kiss Mohinder, running her long nails through his hair and down the back of his neck. It was something he enjoyed seeing, something he wouldn't mind seeing again. Oh god, he thought. I didn't bring Mohinder into my fantasy. Mohinder is my fantasy.

The woman looked up from her task of peeling away Mohidner's tee shirt. She locked eyes with Matt, a devilish grin on her lips. She leaned forward and tongued at an exposed nipple, making Mohinder gasp and shudder.

Is he even really here? Matt wondered. Or he just another figment of my imagination?

"He wants to play with us," the woman stage-whispered to Matt. "I can tell."

Oh yeah. Definitely a figment. A really, really great figment that Matt was not about to pass up.

Mohinder's eyes were half-lidded, and he followed pliantly when the woman pulled at his wrist. She arranged herself against the luxurious pillows next to Matt, pulling Mohinder to rest on her other side. She stroked Mohinder's hair idly with her left hand while cupping Matt's chin with her right.

"My beautiful boys," she murmured. She kissed Matt's lips then, and he reciprocated well enough, though he was distracted by the sight of Mohinder mouthing her shoulder. Their eyes met, and the woman, feeling it, grabbed Matt's hands and guided them to her. "Where were we, now?"

Matt's finger slid into her easily, a tightening fire both there and in his stomach. He watched the woman take one of Mohinder's hands from where it rested on the swell of her hip and direct it downward. Matt was about to ease his finger out of her to allow Mohinder a chance to experience it, but she stopped him. "The both of you," she said with a stern pout. And she all but forced Mohinder's slim digit to slide into place next to Matt's.

Well, Matt thought. That's different.

The woman leaned forward, a moan wafting into Matt's ear before she nibbled on his ear lobe. He could only tilt his neck for easy access and watch Mohinder, as wide-eyed as he could be, over her shoulder. With all the grace of a cat, the woman's hips undulated, riding up and down on their two fingers. Matt's other fingers, pinky, ring, and middle, curled awkwardly, bumping against Mohinder's hand. Their thumbs hooked together after a particularly hard thrust of the woman's hips. Mohinder looked up at Matt, his mouth still open in wordless disbelief.

Matt wanted more, and suddenly there was more. In a blink, he was laying at Mohinder's side, both of them on their stomachs between the woman's spread legs. Matt kissed the inside of one dark, flawless thigh. Mohinder, blinking in confusion for a moment, seemed to catch on. He ran his tongue at the crease of a slightly bent knee. The woman sighed in appreciation and dug her hands into their hair, one in Matt's short, mussed spikes, one in Mohinder's longer curls.

No more teasing was needed, Matt knew, and he licked her just as Mohinder bent to do the same. Their tongues brushed together, but neither seemed distracted by it, keeping at their task as the hands tugged at their hair. And before Matt knew it, he was kissing and licking at Mohinder's mouth, just a small tilt of the head was all he needed.

Mohinder broke for air, panting like a dying man. "Oh my god," he breathed. "Oh, god."

"He can't take much more of this," the woman said silkily in Matt's ear. "He needs release." A long hiss on the word "release," like a snake.

One thought was all it took. Soon Matt was flat on his back again, buried in the tight heat of his dream woman's ass. And there was Mohinder, on top of her, fucking her pussy. She writhed and cried out and clawed her nails along forearms and flanks, and Matt was certain he would die. It felt so good, and his head felt so heavy with the weight on it all, the pressure to keep up the illusion.

"This—" Mohinder shut his eyes and fell to his hands and knees, sandwiching the woman between them. "This is like nothing I've ever..."

"Shh." The woman placed a delicate kiss on his neck. "It's okay, it's all right."

Matt turned his head on the pillow and saw Mohinder's fingers digging into the sheets, millimeters away from his nose. That white-knuckled grip; he was close. Good. The feeling was mutual. Matt wrapped his hands around the woman's hips, but she plucked them off and placed them deliberately behind her, on Mohinder's ass.

That just about did it. Matt squeezed his eyes shut, groaning at the impending wave of orgasm crashing through his system. His brain went on the fritz, and he opened his eyes to find the room flickering in and out of focus around them. Mohinder didn't seem to notice; all his concentration was, if Matt was reading his mind correctly, on several different languages' worth of curses.

The dream woman faded in and out like a ghost. She turned her head for a brief kiss to the corner of Matt's lips. A sly smile. Then she was gone completely, and Matt was unable to bring her back. It was just too much.

Mohinder's eyes snapped open then, and they turned wide with shock. He gazed down at Matt. There was now nothing between their bodies, no third person, nothing but the sweat-slide of skin and hard cocks thrusting against each other. And Matt wasn't about to stop, not when he was so close. His throat closed up, his eyes shut again, and his grip on Mohinder tightened; he came between his ragged breaths, in powerful waves. And Mohinder, now clutched to him in a death grip, shuddered helplessly. Matt felt his warm wetness against his stomach, adding to the mess there.

Overtaxed lungs dragging in air. The rough cotton of the real bed sheets beneath him. A body, warm and real, pressed up against him. Not an illusion. The real Mohinder, staring down at him with terror and dread clouding his eyes.

"Matthew." He said it like an accusation, and Matt released his hold on Mohinder. But they didn't move.

"Go to sleep," Matt whispered, both to Mohinder's ears and his mind. Mohinder's eyelids drooped, and he seemed to fight the suggestion like a stubborn child.

"No," he murmured, his cheek falling to rest on Matt's chest. "I need to know what...what happened..." The words faded in puffs against Matt's skin.

"In the morning." Matt threaded his fingers through Mohinder's hair, biting his lip, hoping to keep his voice from breaking. "I promise."

"Don't let me forget," Mohinder said. "Don't make me forget."

Matt's gaze darted around the small, dusky room. He tried to speak past the lump in his throat, but he couldn't lie; the thought had occurred to him to somehow erase this night from Mohinder's memory.

"Such a good dream," Mohinder mumbled sleepily. "Never had one...with you and a woman before." His knuckles brushed against Matt's cheek. "Just you. Only you." He yawned. "So don't make me forget."

Matt lay there in the dark, stunned, looking down at the tousled head of his roommate, now bedmate. "I won't," he promised, but Mohinder was already snoring.


fin.