Tumgik
#the sandman
nerdygayheretoday · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
Damn it Neil. Im reading the sandman to distracted myself from good omens what is that supposed to be
5K notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
morpheus doodle
276 notes · View notes
voukkake · 3 days
Text
Tumblr media
That one treasure planet scene between captain Amelia and Doppler
353 notes · View notes
milfzatannaz · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
💫🌟⭐️
255 notes · View notes
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Gwendoline Christie in New York - March 25, 2024
192 notes · View notes
writing-for-life · 1 day
Text
Tumblr media
Dream—Mindy Lee
183 notes · View notes
afterdark777 · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
“LISTEN UP FIVES, A TEN IS SPEAKING” :
Tumblr media
“Hello cowards” :
Tumblr media
“WHATS UP, DEMONS? It’s me, YA BOY” :
Tumblr media
“Hello my sweet summer children” :
Tumblr media
“What’s up, Rat bastards? ” :
Tumblr media
“WHATS THE WORD BABY BIRDS?” :
Tumblr media
“Hello friends and enemies.”
Tumblr media
“What it do, baby?”
Tumblr media
“AVAST, M’HEARTIES!”
Tumblr media
163 notes · View notes
buttergranola · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
Something is going to happen
Hehe
178 notes · View notes
softest-punk · 3 days
Note
With Spring here I was thinking about gardening, and spinning the idea of a Dreamling with Hob and Hob growing heirloom/heritage vegetables and the like.
Possibly human AU with Hob realizing that he has seeds or actual plants growing on an old bit of property that are incredibly rare/people think don't exist anymore/don't even know about.
So he builds a garden and quietly reintroduces them through a gardening club or something, and Dream hears about Hob of course he has to investigate.
Because rare plants, of course. Not this Hob person or that smile of his.
Hello anon I could not imagine any version of Dream caring for even one second about any vegetable HOWEVER I could imagine burned out landscape architect Dream so I have noodled around with that for 2.7k and thrown the rest on the WIP pile 😅
---
Before securing an appointment to meet him, Dream knows two facts about Hob Gadling. The first is that he is a professor of history. The second, and more relevant to him, is that he has been cultivating a species of dog rose which had been believed entirely mythical until he stumbled across a patch of it two years prior.
The knowledge of these two facts—and only these two facts—makes the man who opens the door quite a surprise. A man no older than Dream, and very possibly younger, wearing worn jeans and a soft, equally worn jumper, and a smile which, coupled with his deep brown eyes, no doubt gets him anything he wants from anyone.
“Professor Gadling?” Dream asks, almost certain he must have the wrong house.
The man’s smile brightens. “Got it in one,” he says, offering a hand. “You must be Dream.”
Dream takes the offered hand, still a touch stunned. “I am, yes.”
“Call me Hob,” Hob says. “Come in, come in.”
He steps back to allow Dream to enter the narrow hallway of his unassuming terrace. Ex-council housing, but well and truly so. Hob will be the second generation to have inherited it.
“I’m sure you’re dying to see it, so I’ll take you through to the garden first. Then we can have a cuppa and chat about what exactly you want from me.”
Dream wets his lips. What, exactly, he wants from Hob has changed quite dramatically in the past thirty seconds.
“I… yes. That would be amenable.”
Hob laughs, though Dream feels it is more delighted than mocking, and leads the way straight down the hallway, through a cheerfully bright kitchen that smells of spices and butter and sugar and out into the garden.
The rose he has come here for is immediately in evidence. There is a small patio out here, set with table and chairs, and it is utterly overgrown with the specimen in question. A dog rose, pure white in the centre and blood red at the ends of the petals. Hob calls it a Tudor rose, and has posited the theory that what was once thought to be a late-invented symbol had once had inspiration in reality. It is, Dream understands, a boon to his career.
It might easily be one to Dream’s, as well.
“Oh,” Dream says, his attractive host entirely forgotten for the moment as the rose steals his attention entirely. He approaches it without conscious thought, and before he knows it is brushing his fingers against the petals. What a rare and beautiful thing. This close he can detect the mild, sweet scent of it, distinct from that of the varieties common in floristry, but no less appealing.
“She must like you,” Hob says, interrupting his reverie. “She’s just dropped a flower in your hair.”
“Oh,” Dream repeats, reaching into his hair but not finding the flower in question.
“Hold on,” Hob says, stepping towards him. Dream pauses, and watches as Hob reaches out and plucks the flower from his hair without pulling on a single strand. He holds it out in offering, and a spark of something bright and sweet fizzes over Dream’s skin as their hands brush when he accepts it.
He holds the rose in the palm of his hand, marvelling at the wonder of it. An ancient variety, unknown until so recently. It is a privilege to see it, let alone touch it.
“She’s beautiful,” Dream says. “And I would very much like to come to an arrangement with you.”
Hob breaks into another broad, easy smile. “Make yourself comfortable,” Hob says, gesturing to the table setting. “And I’ll make us both a cuppa. Milk, sugar?”
“Milk,” Dream says. “No sugar. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Nice to have someone else get excited about it. All my mates think I’m mad. They’re right, obviously, but that’s hardly the point. Back in a tick.”
If Dream watches Hob go inside, it is only on reflex. If his eyes happen to fall below the other man’s belt line, that is purely accidental.
Or potentially related to an extended dry spell. Owing first to having been trapped night and day in a miserable contract with a client who insisted on asking the impossible and raging when Dream was not able to defy the laws of physics adequately, and secondly to the deep-seated burnout it had resulted in.
He had pinned his hopes of renewed interest in his art on this rose. As he looks at it in his hand, be begins to see a glimmer of light. A beautiful, rare, wild thing. Just what he needs to revitalise his career.
The rest of Hob’s garden has the artless beauty of a new foal or a wild heath. Even its current untidiness adds a sort of unconscious glamour, the beauty of a rockstar passed out after a performance, makeup running and costume askew. Dream spends a moment enjoying the riot of it, plants growing wherever they will be happiest, each seemingly chosen for individual appeal rather than to fit into a larger plan. It is the garden of a person who loves not landscaping, but gardening. Who takes pleasure from the act of caring for a space, rather than any high-concept aesthetic qualities.
Some part of him wants to dig his hands into the rich earth and breathe it in, potter about tending to any small ills the plants may be suffering. To enjoy each one of them for what they are again, rather than interacting with them only to buy them in bulk or track down single specimens of the rarest only to be ultimately instructed to plant them in an environment where they will suffer.
Hob returns with tea and a plate of small cakes. The scent of spices—ginger, nutmeg, and cardamom—wafts from them, each one decorated with a single sugared rose petal.
“They’re ginger and rose honey cakes,” Hob explains as he sets a mug of milky tea in front of Dream. “Since roses are your thing.”
Dream raises an eyebrow. “You’re familiar with my work?”
He’s well enough known in his own circles, but does not kid himself that he is any kind of celebrity.
Hob laughs. “Well, I am now. Had to know who this strange man emailing me about my silly little hobby was, didn’t I? You might’ve been a serial killer.”
“I would likely not put that in my portfolio, if I were.”
“Fair point,” Hob says, sipping his tea. “You seem okay, though.”
“I imagined you would be older,” Dream admits. He had expected a man nearing or perhaps exceeding pension age, tweedy and serious. Professors had been, when he had been at university.
Hob beams at him, taking a cake. “That’ll be because I seemed so wise beyond my years when you emailed me.”
Dream means to respond, but is distracted by the noise Hob makes as he takes his first bite of cake. It starts off as a hum of pleased surprise, continues into a happy rumble, and finishes on a frankly obscene moan of satisfaction. He would not admit this aloud with a gun to his head, but Dream is uncertain he has ever caused anyone to make such a sound in bed. Not with that particular depth of feeling.
Hob evidently catches him looking, raises his eyebrows, and pushes the plate an inch closer to Dream.
“They’re good,” he says, licking crumbs from his lips. “I’ll only eat them all if you don’t help me.”
Curiosity being one of Dream’s chief vices, he takes a cake. Secretly, he adores sweets, but tries to avoid them, feeling this a kind of weakness. In this case, though, it would be impolite to refuse, and he does want Hob’s cooperation.
The moment his tongue touches the edge of the little cake, he finds himself making a similar sound to the one Hob had. A soft, pleased grunt of satisfaction as sugar and spice lights up his palate, a surprise touch of rosewater in the thin glaze on top causing his eyes to fall closed as he basks in the perfection of it all.
Hob laughs, but it is not a mocking sound. It is warm, and pleasant, and deeply appealing.
“Good?” he asks.
“Very,” Dream agrees.
Hob grins at him. He looks like nothing quite so much as a pleased little boy.
“Well, they’re for you, so eat as many as you like,” Hob says.
Dream takes another bite. To please his host, obviously.
“So I might as well admit I’ve got no idea what you want with me,” Hob says. “I mean, the rose I guess, but I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
Dream pauses before taking another bite of his cake. “Permission to collect the seeds,” he says. “And cultivate my own. I would also ideally like to run some soil tests and take some other readings, since this specimen seems very happy. I wish to use them in an upcoming display. I realise I am pushing my luck, but if you were amenable, it I would also like to take the precaution of cultivating from cuttings. You would of course be paid for all this. I believe your own plant is a clone?”
“Err. If you mean mine came from a cutting, yeah. No idea how to collect the seeds. Just remember my wife taking cuttings. Explaining all the important bits to me.”
“Your wife?” Dream asks, trying very hard not to feel a twinge of disappointment.
Hob clears his throat. “Late wife,” he says. “Eleanor. This was all hers. I brought the rose home for her. She was already… I mean, I found it on my first proper outing, a hike with a couple of mates, after… y’know. It sort’ve felt like a gift from her. That’s silly, isn’t it?”
Dream swallows down a spike of guilt over his envy. “Not at all,” he says. “It is a beautiful thought. But it does lead me to ask if you’re certain you wish to share it?”
It would be disappointing to walk away from this meeting with nothing, but he cannot take advantage of Hob’s grief. He would never forgive himself for rebuilding his own career on the suffering of another.
“Oh, absolutely,” Hob says. “I was so pleased when you asked. This is all hers, you know?” He gestures to the garden. “I’m no good at it, but I did build this,” he adds, gesturing to the patio this time. “For her. So she could share it with other people. I’ve been struggling to keep the garden up, but I have been trying. It doesn’t get shared so much anymore. There’s actually a whole dining setting in the shed down there. Huge. Eight seats plus a few extras we’d have to bring out so all our friends and family could crowd around the table. I used to love feeding them all. I miss that.”
Dream—purely for Hob’s benefit—finishes his cake, and takes another.
“Sorry,” Hob continues. “You didn’t need to know any of that.”
“I do not mind knowing it,” Dream says. He hesitates, and then, “it is not at all the same, but my wife left me. I have felt… some part of your loss.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes,” Dream tells his tea. “Very much. Simply… not quite enough for the both of us, as it turned out.”
Hob hums. “Well, you’re right, it’s not quite the same. Just as hard though, I think. Your garden must be beautiful.”
Dream sips his tea. The segue was inelegant, but he means to let it stand.
“I no longer have one. Aside from an ornamental ginger on my kitchen windowsill. I live in a third floor flat.”
“Oh,” Hob says. “But you are a gardener, aren’t you?”
Dream smiles wryly. “I am a landscape architect,” he says. “Gardening is an altogether different profession. Look at my hands.” He offers one to Hob.
Hob, quite by surprise, takes it gently in his own broad, dry, pen-callused hand. Dream watches as he inspects it, running the tips of his fingers along the length of Dream’s own, brushing the pad of his thumb over Dream’s palm. He smiles so that the corners of his eyes crinkle, turning Dream’s hand over, inspecting it thoroughly. “You’ll have to tell me what I’m looking for.”
“Any sign of a single day’s manual labour,” Dream says.
Hob laughs, and squeezes his hand before giving it back. “You’re full of shit.”
Dream blinks at him. “You are not the first person to make this observation.”
Hob laughs again, a low chuckle this time.
“I miss it,” Dream admits. “Digging my hands into the soil. Watching flowers sown with my own hands sprout and bud and bloom. Something to care for.”
He looks down at his own hands then. Clean and soft and with perfectly-manicured nails. Not the hands of a man who has connected with the earth—with much of anything—in a long time.
“You’re making me wish I wasn’t so terrible at it.”
“It can be learned like any other craft. I can neither cook nor bake, but I imagine it is possible to gain these skills if one has the time, opportunity, and inclination.”
“Cooking? Absolutely. But the plants hear me coming, I think.”
Dream thinks otherwise. Dream thinks Hob has been afraid to do the work that needs doing—the cutting back, the culling, the uprooting. The destructive work that must come before the productive result. Afraid to destroy it irreparably in the process.
Dream thinks that he would be similarly afraid, in Hob’s position.
“I don’t want any money,” Hob speaks up, breaking the not uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. “For the rose, I mean. I just want to share it.”
“I had planned to offer you a five-figure sum,” Dream says. “Which I think you ought to take. I do not imagine history professors to be well paid.”
“We’re not,” Hob says. “That much?” he adds, eyebrow raised.
“For the rights to cultivate it, yes. It is your discovery. It is worth more than you might understand.”
Hob shakes his head. “Don’t want it. You can sell it, if you like. As long as I’m still allowed to give it away.”
Dream had planned to ask for exclusivity, but cannot imagine doing so any longer. Not now that he understands what the rose means to Hob.
“Eleanor would want you to get some value out of it,” Dream says, and then immediately regrets it. He never knew the woman. She might not have wanted anything of the sort.
Hob goes quiet, chewing on his lower lip. Dream braces himself to be asked politely but firmly to leave.
“Probably not,” Hob says. “Other than, y’know, the intrinsic pleasure of flowers, which I do actually get even if they tend to shrivel up and die if I so much as look at them wrong.”
Dream takes a cautious sip of his tea.
“She was always better than me, though. Kinder. Effortlessly generous. I do want something,” Hob says. “She had plans for this garden. Not terribly ambitious ones, but unfinished. I’ve still got them. They look detailed to me, I don’t know how they’d look to you. Anyway. You know what you’re doing, and I don’t. I want you to help me finish the garden like she wanted it finished.”
Dream looks out at the garden. The scruffy edges, the plants which haven’t known the touch of a practiced hand in some time, the weeding getting the better of a lonely widower who lacks the confidence to pull what must be pulled.
He thinks of the feeling of earth under his fingernails, and the sun on his back, and the ache of muscles well-used. The satisfaction of doing something with his own two hands. Shaping the very landscape with his will.
And he thinks of Hob’s smile, and his laughter, and his little spiced cakes topped with rose petals because the only thing he had known about his guest had been that he presumably enjoyed roses.
“Done,” Dream says.
“Seriously?”
“Entirely,” Dream confirms, pleasure curling in his belly at Hob’s obvious surprise. He too can be generous.
Aside from which, it will be good for him. A manageable project for a client who, he can already tell, will be prodigiously undemanding. Exceptionally polite, as well.
“Right,” Hob says, visibly gathering his wits. “Right, great. Deal.”
Hob offers his own hand this time, and Dream shakes it.
“Deal.”
192 notes · View notes
fruitvampart · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
Prince of dreams
139 notes · View notes
joytherabbit · 1 day
Text
Tumblr media
107 notes · View notes
sevrinve · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
Happy Birthday to Nuala 🌸💕
99 notes · View notes
cosmictapestry · 1 day
Text
the concept of lucienne being a cheerleader for literally any dream ship IS viscerally funny to me because she would never. she judges him for breathing wrong man literally the second it starts raining flowers or whatever the fuck she’s like 🙄😒 and saying shit like “Well! i Certainly hope His Majesty know what he’s doing This Time” and “PLEASE do not disturb His Lordship on his……. date………….. lest you invite Darkness upon us all” and if anyone asks her anything she’s all “oh well i CERTAINLY don’t know.” and launches into her two hour video essay on the situation
77 notes · View notes
gabessquishytum · 1 day
Note
CEO Dream is looking to mess with his board of directors (they’re all cronies of his parents, resentful of his being nepo’ed into the position despite his actual qualifications, and constantly looking to needle or undermine him), so he decides to hire his preferred sex worker Hob as his PA in order to fuck him all over the office all the time.
They don’t really hide that Hob is there for sex, given that the whole point is to piss the board off with it; during meetings Dream’s hand is usually up Hob’s skirt, or sometimes he’ll just pull Hob to sit in his lap. Directors will have scheduled one-on-one meetings in Dream’s office, only to walk in and see Hob and Dream who had clearly just finished having sex. Even finding Dream alone in his office sitting at his desk isn’t a safe bet, as there’s a decent chance that Hob is under the desk sucking Dream off.
Dream is having a great time, both the sex and the chance to be a menace to his board is incredibly stress-relieving. But also Dream has inadvertently given himself an opportunity to get to know Hob better; before they only met up in order to have sex, and despite the fact that they are having even more sex now, there’s still time left over to learn about Hob as a person, which is beginning to do funny things to Dream’s heart.
Not to mention, as time goes on, both of them are startled to discover that Hob is…actually really good at the PA part of the job. Like extremely competent kind of good. Not only willing but eager to even take some of the workload from Dream, and clearly thriving in his new position.
(Competent is a very sexy look on Hob, of course, which encourages Dream to come on to him at the office even more)
The day Hob presents substantial and comprehensive proof of corporate wrongdoing from the most annoying board member, leading to their termination, Dream very nearly proposes on the spot.
-🪽anon
AKAJDJF this is such a great au, with SUCH great fic potential.
Hob never told Dream this (because they never really talked a lot), but he actually started doing his BA in business and even nearly graduated, but unfortunately had to drop out because money was so tight - that's when the sexwork started. So Hob is far from clueless about what he's doing - he's extremely knowledgeable and competent. He makes reforms in the office that make work much more efficient. He seems to notice everything that happens, even the tiny things. He could easily put Dream out of a job. Although of course, he'd never want to.
He very much enjoys having unrestricted sex with Dream. It's so much better than only seeing him a few times each month. Hob doesn't have to bother with other clients because Dream is keeping him very much afloat financially. His new work outfits are sooo cute and fun. Dream even gets him lunch every day... and yes, Hob is maybe developing feelings in that particular direction. But hes too afraid to investigate his heart any further. Falling in love with a client is a bad idea, that's just good business sense.
Getting fucked is enough. Particularly because Dream makes it so fucking good. It seems to get better every day. Hob can't even smell Dream’s cologne without getting hard, and he can't pass the main boardroom without flushing pink. Knowing exactly how many orgasms he had while spread-eagled on the table and speared open on Dream’s tongue....
Alas Dream does not propose when Hob shyly reveals the outcome of his investigation into the board member. He does, however... offer Hob a seat on the board. And it's not just a seat on Dream’s lap this time.
The scandal is uproarious. Dream put a common whore on the board of directors! Didn't vote him in or anything! Too bad Hob has a dossier on each of the other board members and plenty of corporate secrets to spill about them. Looks like they'll have to accept his presence.
Even when he spends half of the meeting under the table. He can still take notes from there just fine, don't worry!
71 notes · View notes
Text
120 notes · View notes
lenreli · 10 hours
Text
relinquish your flesh
[AO3]
Dreamling, Explicit, 2.2k. Inspired by @meadowziplines, who is also writing something along these lines!
Dream is very tense. Hob helps him relax - and let go of his long-held control. (aka, Hob doms Dream into an incoherent mess)
-
Hob gasps, mind trying it’s best to hold onto the pleasure coursing through him as Dream’s cock spears him― 
But Dream looks so tense, which of course Hob didn’t get anything out from his partner aside from courtly matters, and well. He looks so strung-tight, even in his bed, that Hob can’t help but think of turning Dream over and taking control, making him pliant and boneless, only pleasure on his mind― 
And Dream stops altogether. “Dream?” He asks, blinking at the way his lover has completely frozen. “Love? You’re not breathing?” He asks gently, and sure, Dream doesn’t need to, but he tends to when they’re getting physical like this, especially in the Waking. 
Dream blinks, hands no longer digging into Hob’s hips as starry eyes look up at him. “You would? But,” Dream, oddly enough, closes his mouth, expression confused and Hob groans as Dream’s dick leaves him. 
“I would?” He asks, only realising after that Dream’s probably talking about the daydream. “Of course I would,” he clarifies and Dream frowns, brows furrowing ― and such yearning want in his eyes, the blue getting swallowed by black and stars, and Hob’s heart twinges.
“I am a king,” Dream offers, like that explains anything, “a king is supposed to rule,” Dream continues, a hand gesturing between them, and Hob’s eyebrows raise at the implication. 
“Love, you’re not meant to rule the bed no questions asked,” he sighs, and Hob can only feel incredulous as Dream looks even more confused, starry eyes blinking. “You’re not the king in our bed, you’re my lover, my partner,” he explains.
“All my other,” Dream cuts himself off, frowning and looking down at Hob’s chest. Hob bites back a sound, something angry probably, but even more baffled because Dream’s been around since the beginning of the universe, billions of years and yet― “you would not think less of me? For,” Dream stops again, pink lips thinning as he looks away. 
Sighing, Hob tugs Dream down, pressing light kisses to Dream’s lips and jaw, his partner stiff as a board as Hob eventually wrangles him down onto the bed, “do you think less of me?” He asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow and Dream shakes his head, still looking away from him. “So why should I think less of you?”
“I do not, I,” Dream opens and shuts his mouth more, searching for words and Hob nips down his pale neck, light bruises soon appearing as Dream holds onto his biceps. 
“My love, relax, I’ll look after you,” he says softly, hands sweeping up and down Dream’s torso and Dream makes a sound that seems pulled from him. “The only thing you’d need to do is enjoy it―and follow my instructions,” he says as he bites the hinge of the other’s jaw, and Dream makes a confused sound, and there’s a gasp as he takes hold of Dream’s cock, sliding it back inside with a groan. 
“You have given no―” Dream whines along with Hob as he rides himself on the other’s cock, adjusting the angle until it hits his prostate consistently. 
“Relax,” he breathes, nipping Dream’s ears as Dream’s hands, on the bed, arching into him and Hob whines, bliss fizzling through his veins, “and don’t come,” he grins and Dream makes a sound, starry eyes looking up at him as Hob grabs one of Dream’s hands, kissing and licking the inside of his wrist. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” 
Inside him, Dream’s cock twitches and his partner makes a sound that seems wrenched out of him, hand near his face spasming and eventually patting his beard, Dream’s black eyes becoming even wider. 
“See, you’re being so good for me already,” he says and Dream whimpers, gasping as Hob nips down a pale inner arm, chasing the orgasm that was derailed a bit earlier. “So sweet and lovely, my own treasure to look after,” he whispers into Dream’s elbow and there’s another wrenched sound, the other’s body gasping underneath him as his thoughts just become pleasure as he comes with a whine, squeezing Dream’s cock as he does, his come splattering up to the other’s neck. 
“Hob,” Dream keens, eyes wide and unblinking as Hob pulls himself off, one hand fluttering on the stubble of his beard, the other on his shoulder as Hob focuses on moving to the bedside table, getting out some warm, tingling lube that he usually saves for when he wants to feel really good. Or when his partner before Dream wanted it. 
“Now, if you still want to be king in bed, consider a king being fucked so crudely by a peasant,” the words leave him without warning as he puts a lubed finger into Dream’s hole, who shudders, plush lips open as Hob licks up his neck, “but of course, that can be for another time, just something for you to think about. I do have many years of these fantasies, you know,” he says as Dream gasps, arching into him. 
“I,” Dream whines, the fingers digging into his shoulder as he adds another finger, the other’s cock twitching and red, leaking pre-come. 
“I want to make you feel good, want you to look after you so well,” he rambles, slowly stretching Dream open, eventually adding a third finger as his other hand pushes Dream’s arching body down by his stomach. “You’re no longer a king in bed unless I want you to be.” 
His words are punctuated by a brush against the other’s prostate and Dream lets out a wail that makes his ears ring, that makes the window in his room shudder. 
“Please,” Dream’s voice cracks, low and breathy ― and there are tears, like shooting stars out of his glistening eyes and Hob leans in to kiss him softly, free hand coming up to touch Dream’s throat, caressing the soft skin as he continues to finger Dream. 
“I know, don’t worry,” he soothes, spent cock twitching and he groans, nipping marks down Dream’s throat, down to sharp collarbones as Dream’s cock, red and leaking presses against his stomach. “You want to come for me so much, but you’re so good for not doing that,” he whispers as licks a pink nipple, Dream whining and crying out. “So very good for me.” 
Dream keens and arches into his fingers, nails digging into his shoulder, another into his bicep as Dream makes a frustrated noise and Hob sighs, pushing Dream flat onto the bed. With how desperate he is, Hob’s not sure if Dream can tell the way he wants to wrestle back some control, clinging to it. 
“My love,” he smiles, hand going down to a bony hip, lightly touching the other’s cock and Dream gasps, “let me take care of you,” he pleads softly, stretching Dream’s hole as another sound gets pulled out, Dream slowly relaxing, the nails no longer biting into his skin, “there we go. My wonderful Dream,” he praises, feeling a shudder around the fingers inside of Dream. “Your only duty now is to not come, my Dream.” 
There’s a keen as his fingers brush against the other’s prostate, and a gasp that seems to suck some of the air out of the room―and Dream’s hands fall off him, lightly gripping the bedsheets as unblinking eyes of the universe stare up at him. “Yours,” Dream ― speaks, though it sounds more the machinations of reality, Dream’s form seeming to unravel briefly, hurting his eyes before becoming even more solid under him, around him. 
“And I’m yours,” he says with a smile, feeling Dream relax even more around his fingers ― and Hob can feel his cock hardening, heat coiling in him and Hob hums. “One other thing. Do you want it tight, or looser for when I make love to you?” 
At this, Dream blinks slowly, eyes flickering down to where they’re connected. Dream’s mouth moves and there’s a whimper as Hob twists his fingers. “Tight,” Dream breathes. 
“Of course, my love,” he smiles, and there’s a whine as his fingers leave, Hob peppering kisses over Dream’s face, the edge of teary eyes as he coats his cock with lube, “so good for me, telling me so quickly,” he hums again ― and they both whine as he enters Dream, cock dragging against velvet walls and Hob takes a deep breath, dry hand going to pet wild black hair. “You can touch me,” he breathes. 
There’s a keen as Dream’s hands go straight to his chest, nails digging into his chest hair as he slowly leaves Dream, and there’s a gasp as he goes back in. One of Dream’s hands trails up into his hair, holding it loosely as he begins a slow rhythm, only garbled sounds that are close to his name coming out of Dream’s mouth and Hob mentally pats himself on the back. 
“So good and beautiful for me,” he praises, voice breathy as he focuses on Dream’s pleasure, and there’s a loud wail as he grazes Dream’s prostate, the other’s cock twitching against his stomach. “Oh, my Dream, you want to come so badly, don’t you?” 
“Ye―s,” Dream grinds out, the plea long and slurred, tears flowing more freely as Hob fucks into his prostate, and Hob moans as the other’s hole squeezes him tightly, keeping him inside. “Hob.”
“You’ve been so good for me, you’ll get what you want soon,” he croons, Dream whining as a hand goes to pet Dream’s jaw, trailing down to hold onto the other’s hip. “My king, so bound by duty and function, so good and dutiful for me in this,” he says, and Dream shudders, eyelashes fluttering as the stars in Dream’s eyes seem to vanish, becoming more black void than the night sky. “Do you feel good?” 
Dream nods, motions jerky as a sound floats through the air―literally, the waves of it tangible, the moan hanging suspended as more come out, and Hob keeps up a steady pace. 
“You’ll have to tell me, pet,” he breathes, and Dream makes more garbled sounds, the soundwaves hanging above them as Dream looks at him pleadingly. 
“I―yes,” Dream gets out eventually, arching into him, the pale form blurring around the edges briefly, almost melting into his groin and chest before he solidifies again. 
“Excellent,” he whines, focusing more on his building heat, the soon enough tipping over the edge as he comes into Dream’s hole, feeling the walls around him grip him tighter, “I won’t leave you,” he soothes, thumb brushing back-and-forth on Dream’s hip, going down to press a kiss to pink lips, Dream trying to respond but lips slacking, the other’s tongue grazing the stubble of his beard. “You can come anytime now.” 
Dream squeezes him tightly and comes with a sob ― and Hob blinks as the other’s hand come flies up to his neck, and there’s a faint sound of dogs barking, other things and Hob looks around, his alarm clock turned off. And Dream is ― resting, eyes closed, and not even a sound comes out of him as he exists Dream, looking around to see that the power’s blown out, probably due to a certain anthropomorphic personification. Caressing Dream’s face, he quickly moves to get a towel, cleaning them up. 
And some red wine in a glass, as well as a snack for himself, and Dream curls up against him as he gets back to his bed. Taking a sip, he knows Dream doesn’t care for it, but perhaps Dream might want some as he pets Dream’s hair, the body next to him all but lifeless. 
Hob’s gotten halfway through his chocolate bar before Dream stirs to life next to him, and there’s a groan as Dream slowly opens his eyes, expression confused. “No need to get up, just feel it,” he says softly, kissing a black brow and Dream lets out a sigh, melting onto his chest. “You may need to turn the power back on though,” he grins, and dark blue eyes flick up to him from his chest, and soon enough the alarm clock blinks back to life. 
“This is why―”
“If you’re going to go on some this is why I shouldn’t experience ground-breaking, mind-bending pleasure route, please know that I don’t care,” he says quietly, but firmly and Dream’s mouth clacks shut. “The important thing is: did you like it? And would you be up for more?” 
And of course, there’d be things like safe-words and all that, but they can take it slowly. Dream groans, pushing himself up to kiss his collarbone ― and take a sip of wine before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder. “I would,” Dream whispers, voice rough and croaky, “I,” Dream frowns, his hands wriggling before settling on his chest, fingers going through his chest hair. “Hm,” Dream purses his lips, shutting his eyes as he melts even more onto him.
Literally, the other’s form melting over his chest as Hob continues to pet his hair, everything below his neck losing coherency until there’s a mass of white on top of him. “I’d love to do it again, if there’s any doubt,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows and Dream just makes a soft sound, almost a purr and Hob is delighted to see not an ounce of stress or tense lines anywhere on him. 
[Fin]
33 notes · View notes