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valeriianz · 1 year

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You are an obsession, you're my obsession Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

“Hello, Hob,” a low, sultry, and achingly familiar voice speaks behind him, cutting through the heavy bass reverberating off the walls and straight through Hob’s chest, lighting him up.

Turning, Hob finds– who he’d been referring to as– his stranger behind him, close enough to reach out and touch. They’re in the middle of the dance floor, bodies packed and grinding all night, but somehow they’ve given them room now.

Hob was dreaming, he was aware of it almost immediately. He’s been thrown back into the 1980s, one of Hob’s favorite periods of the 20th century, and in a nightclub no less. The music loud enough to penetrate skin, feeling the twangy synth pop in his bones. Everyone around him dressed in every color of the rainbow, over accessorized in neon hoop earrings and bangles, leg warmers, windbreakers, and mesh patterns.

Hob’s dreams often took him back in time, and he wondered what prompted this. Though as Hob often did in his dreams, instead of considering why, he simply indulged. The music wasn’t anything particular, perhaps nothing was actually playing and it was all in his head, but Hob had felt the push and pull of everyone around him and followed along like a buoy at sea.

And now, feeling drunk off the sticky sweet air in the room, Hob grins as he boldly steps into his stranger’s space and slips both arms around his middle, pulling so his skinny, pale, gorgeous friend is flush against him.

He’d been dancing with strangers all night, shadows with indeterminate faces, allowing them to trace patterns on his skin, grip his shoulders or tug on his shirt. Hob hadn’t been dancing or even hanging around loud bars or clubs in decades, maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he missed it. Missed the anonymity of it all, getting high off everyone else’s pleasure and succumbing to it. So it made sense, as Hob felt himself getting hot, his skin prickling, that his imagination would wander, drifting to his perfect stranger. The only constant in his life, and someone who frequented Hob’s dreams often, especially as their centennial meetings came around or passed.

Though this iteration of his friend appeared distinctly… solid. He was dressed in that long black coat and skinny jeans from their last meeting (where he’d apologized, apologized! And called Hob a friend), his black hair gently tousled as before.

Hob paid it no mind as his tongue finally became useful and spoke for him.

“Hello, stranger.” he tried his best to mimic his friend’s deep voice and giggled at himself, cataloging the twitch of amusement in his usual stony face.

“You were thinking about me.” He spoke again, choosing to not point out how Hob currently had his arms ensnared around him and swaying them back and forth. “In a place like this.”

His stranger cast his gaze about the room and Hob noticed, in the pulsing lights, his eyes were black, all the way to the sclera, not the crystal blue that Hob had become so acquainted with. It was startling, and as the strobe lights began to flicker, Hob watched his friend’s eyes shimmer as well, like stars dancing in the night sky.

“I’m always thinking about you,” Hob spoke, transfixed. He hadn’t meant to say that, but fuck it, this was a dream and he’d said and done much worse with his oldest friend, to this stranger, in the comfort of his own head. “Even if I don’t know your bloody name yet.”

Those piercing eyes focused back on Hob and he felt himself physically wobble, holding onto his friend now for support.

“Oh, I am aware.” Hob caught his breath at the genuine smile his friend gave him, much like the one in the New Inn just days ago. “But you do know my name, you must, in order to summon me like this.”

Hob huffed, impatient. His friend’s hands were still resolutely at his side, unmoving even as Hob squeezed and swayed with a little more force.

“Sure, Dream Stranger,” Hob’s arms eased up just enough to slot his hands against bony hips and pull, making him stagger forward. Hob smirked, elated at the absolute shock reflected in the man’s expression.

“Now get with the program,” Hob leaned in, touching his nose to his stranger’s, the slight gasp it caused going straight to Hob’s cock. “And put your hands on me.”

He didn’t pull away, which was good. This dream had been derailed long enough. And finally, finally Hob’s dream lifted his arms and surrounded Hob’s face in his hands.

Big hands, Hob realized as his entire body went still. Big fucking hands, with long fingers, cool to the touch, and slipping back into his hair. Hob felt like he’d been electrocuted, his face forced forward, pupils shaking as he met his stranger dead on, getting lost in the inky black atmosphere of his impalpable eyes.

“Ah,” Hob eloquently said, swallowing hard. “This is different.”

“Is it?” His stranger gave a smirk of his own, lips turning up sharp at the corners, like they could cut. “How do these dreams normally proceed?”

Slowly, like pieces fitting into a puzzle, understanding trickles in Hob’s brain and his eyes go wide, his heart stopping before kicking back up in double time.

“Oh, you’re– really here, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. Hob would feel more embarrassed about this if his ancient friend wasn’t holding him at eye level, scrutinizing in an obnoxiously amusing way.

“Yes.”

Hob wets his lips and doesn’t miss how the galaxy flicks down to watch the motion. “And your name is…”

“Dream.” His fingers tangle further into Hob’s hair, gripping it and causing Hob’s jaw to drop with a not-so-quiet groan.

He leans in close, cold lips brushing Hob’s jaw and making every hair stand on end.

“I would appreciate it if you used it now, Hob Gadling.”

Hob’s eyes flutter shut, his fingers pressing on narrow hips hard enough to bruise. “Dream?”

“Mm…” Dream purrs, like a cat content, as he nuzzles his way up Hob’s neck to speak hotly in his ear. “Again.”

Hob gasps like the air has been ripped from him as Dream bites the top of his ear, sending a bolt of electricity down his spine and causing his hips to twitch involuntarily.

“Dream.” Hob tilts his head, exposing his neck as Dream’s lips drag along the stubble there, licking and nibbling as he goes. “Oh my god–”

“Again.” The demand is punctuated with one hand moving from Hob’s hair to his backside, groping roughly and setting Hob on fire as he feels the confined outline of Dream’s arousal press against his own straining erection.

“Fuck–” Hob releases Dream’s hips and holds onto his face instead, pulling it from his abused neck and forcing their mouths together.

The kiss is the most grounding Hob has ever felt, but also fleeting, delicate like a cloud. Hob holds on like Dream could vanish, melt into the floorboards or dissolve into a pile of sand– sand! God, Hob was an idiot.

Dream’s tongue invades Hob’s mouth like a cavalry, drowning Hob. Bites his bottom lip like a brand, a claim, drawing blood and making Hob shake with want. The dance floor suddenly becomes vacant, people vanishing, music filtering out like a volume knob had been turned down. Hob’s hands settle on Dream’s shoulders and push, walking them backwards until Dream’s back connects with a wall and Hob thrusts his entire body onto him. The impact forces a cough of surprise from Dream and Hob likes it, elated to elicit any kind of reaction from his friend.

“You make me crazy,” Hob bites out, pressing his own fingers against Dream’s throat and up into his silky soft hair, grabbing it and watching his friend to see how his eyes glint something hot and dangerous. “You know that?”

“Would you demonstrate it for me?” Dream’s lips curl, enticing and provoking, daring Hob to say yes. To take Dream apart and show him every fantasy he’s ever conjured up. To act on every impure thought Hob’s ever had, every fleeting glance or touch turned purposeful and laden with desire.

Hob would take Dream apart, if that’s what he wished. And here, in his dream, anything was possible, and Hob intended to keep him here as long as he could, letting Dream into his darkest whims and satisfactions. Perhaps he already knew, could feel it in Hob, the way Dream made him ache, the way he made him hunger.

Slipping his fingers through Dream’s belt loops, Hob pulled as he rolled his hips, connecting their fronts and knocking his head back with the bolt of pleasure. Dream’s hands fisted into his shirt and held on as they met again and again.

“Hob–” Dream crooned, his mouth at his collarbone.

“Yes,” Hob finally answered, his head coming down to watch Dream, seduced by the exploding cosmos in his eyes. “I would show you everything.”