#Dreamling Week 2024
Text
[FIC] Customer Service
Fandom: The Sandman
Pairing: Dreamling
Rated: E
Word Count: 4460
Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, oral sex, no deep throat, just normal skill-level bj, face-fucking, not rough, coming in mouth, facial, dirty talk, hand job
Notes: Originally inspired by this post and also for the Day 5 prompt 'dirty' for Dreamling Week 2024 organized by @mr-sadman
Summary: Mechanic Hob's just trying to fix the rich guy's Porsche but the rich guy is looking at Hob like he's a five-course meal
On AO3
It's hot, in the garage.
Hob's got the windows open, fans at strategic points to stir the air, but it's still warm enough he's stripped off beneath his coveralls and left them open to the waist, only his underwear beneath. It's just him in today, replacing the clutch on the rich guy's Porsche; technically he could be working naked if it weren't for the possibility of customers dropping in. And it's warm enough he's tempted.
The Porsche is secured up on the ramps and he's on his back on the creeper half underneath it, singing along with the retro rock he's got playing on the shop speakers as he works, when suddenly there's the sound of a throat being loudly and deliberately cleared and a nudge to his foot.
"Bloody—" Hob starts, fumbling the wrench without dropping it and grabbing the side of the car to scoot himself out. "What—?"
It's the rich guy, Mr. Ateleíotes, and Hob is abruptly conscious of the figure he cuts, sprawled on his back with a wrench in one hand, legs splayed and his coveralls open, no shirt, sweat and grease smears all over him and his clothes.
And his greasy fingers planted on the pristine smoky-grey paint job of this guy's car.
Oops.
"Don't worry, I'll give her a good cleaning 'fore I give her back to you—"
But the guy's not even looking at where Hob has dirtied his Porsche. His eyes are fixed on Hob, or rather, they're sweeping over his body, lingering on his exposed chest, the grease smears on his torso and the sweat-damp trail of hair disappearing into the open vee of his unzipped coveralls. It's a tangible gaze, and Hob can feel his body responding as the guy sweeps it back up to his face.
He's as pretty as Hob remembers, prettier with that hungry look in his eyes; porcelain-pale skin, artfully-messy black hair, casual tailored black suit with the jacket open and Hob swallows, feels his body flushing under the attention.
"I am sure you will." That voice is as pretty as Hob remembers too, deep and melodious and captivating. He speaks, and Hob wants to drop everything and listen. "I was in the vicinity, and thought to stop in, to see how the repairs are progressing? No one was at the desk."
"Uhm." Get it together, Hob. He sets the wrench aside, sits up, which puts him eye-level to the guy's crotch and oh, hello, he's not the only one with a growing 'problem'. "Yeah, 's just—just me today. Repair's coming along as expected; should be ready for you tomorrow." He stands as he speaks, grunting with the effort. "Clutch replacement will be done before I leave tonight and then I'll do the full tune-up in the morning, so. Like I said—by tomorrow afternoon." His eyes drop to the guy's lips and he jerks them back up, licking his own lips briefly. He shifts his stance, cocking one hip, acutely aware of his open coveralls and how the zip doesn't come together until a good three fingers beneath his navel; he drags the back of his arm across his face, shoving sweaty hair off his forehead and leaving a smudge of grease behind, not blind to the way that blue eyes darken as they follow the movement. "Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Ateleíotes?"
He only half-meant it to sound like a come-on; it's a perfectly plausible customer service question, but he's also seen half a dozen pornos that start just like this and Mr. Ateleíotes certainly seems interested. Hob's a professional and not about to proposition a customer outright, but if possibilities are on offer, he's not one to let them pass him by.
"There is, indeed, Mr. Gadling," Mr. Ateleíotes purrs—and Hob's dick jumps as the guy reaches to touch him, one pale fingertip tracing through his chest hair, through the grease smear just below. "The mechanic repairing my car, he is absolutely. Mouthwatering." He casts a molten glance up through his eyelashes. "And I would very much like. To suck. His cock." He rubs his thumb against his finger, spreading the grease between the two, and smiles at Hob, simmering and invitational. "Might your shop accommodate such a request?"
Fucking hell— Hob takes a sharp breath; the heat of the shop and the concentration of blood away from his brain are doing him no favors and he fears for half a delirious second he might pass out, but he rallies quickly. "Absolutely," he grins, dick throbbing. "We are a full service garage, after all. Did you want to see about that now, or make an appointment?" He winks.
"Immediately, please," Mr. Atelíotes replies, and there's a spark in his eye, a glint of delight at Hob's carrying of the customer-service bit, and Hob is giddy with it all.
"Right then, let me just clean up real quick—" He's pulled a greasy rag from his back pocket, which won't actually do much but take off half a layer while he heads to the shop sink, but a slim pale hand on his arm stops him.
"No. As you are now, please." The guy steps closer, hungry and intent; Hob's pulse trips into double time.
"I'm kind of filthy though?"
The guy's blue, blue eyes glitter darkly. "I am aware, yes." And then those slender hands are curled in the open edges of Hob's grimy coveralls and the sinful pink of his mouth is pressed up against Hob's.
The sound Hob makes is a little embarrassing, but then there's a supple tongue slipping in next to his own and Mr. Atelíotes gives his own little moan and that's alright then, the guy's a damn good kisser and Hob finds it's really easy to stop caring about dignity in the moment. He surges into the kiss, hands coming up and hovering, painfully aware of the dirt and grease that clings to him and the probable price tag of that tailored suit.
"Touch me," Mr. Atelíotes says, flush against his mouth before kissing again, and it is very much not a suggestion.
Hob pulls away just enough to answer. "Sorry, my hands—don't want to mess up your clothes, love—"
Mr. Atelíotes grabs both of his hands by the wrist and, much to Hob's shock, plants them firmly on the pristine white of his shirt under the suit jacket, guides Hob's grease-stained fingers to clench in the fabric. "Touch me," he repeats, low and heated, winding his hands back beneath Hob's sweaty hair. "Dirty me, dirty my clothes, my skin; I wish to be. Marked by you, stained, with your ardor—"
Hob whimpers, just a little, clenches tight around the fistfuls of now-sullied fabric and pulls him back into a kiss.
Mr. Atelíotes makes a sound of approval, maneuvers him around the front of the car and presses forward, backing Hob against the bonnet. His hips push insistently into Hob's and the feel of his hard-on in those tailored trousers is so fucking gratifying; Hob grinds against him in return, still kissing fiercely, and fumbles at the placket of the ruined shirt.
"Can I unbutton you, love?"
"You needn't ask permission," the guy pants, both hands around the back of Hob's head, his mouth dragging wetly along Hob's jaw. "The shirt will not be salvaged." His teeth latch onto Hob's earlobe, joined next by his tongue, and then warm lips ghost over the shell of Hob's ear, a low murmur following after. "Tear it from me, if you like."
Hob would like, very much, and so he does. He realizes that he has perhaps made a mistake as he hears the buttons pinging and bouncing in every direction; he will never find them all and in the back of his mind he imagines Matty returning from his trip home to the states, asking why he keeps finding these pearly buttons all over the shop, staring Hob down with his beady little all-knowing eyes while Hob burns with the mortification of being Known.
But that is a problem for future Hob; present Hob is occupied with reverently smoothing his unclean hands over the snowy-white skin exposed beneath the torn-open shirt of the gorgeous man who wants to suck his cock. The shirt took a lot of the surface grease but there's still enough on Hob's hands to leave grey-black smudges across the guy's smooth chest that seem to turn him on as much as anything else Hob is doing, which. Okay. Not even close to the strangest sex thing he's ever encountered, and he can definitely work with it.
"God, you look good, sweetheart—" He smooths his hands around bony ribs, smudging dirt and grease and grinning warmly as the guy's eyelids droop almost imperceptibly. "Bit of grime suits you, I think—"
He's cut off as Mr. Atelíotes kisses him again, hot and wet and demanding. Hob's very sure that he's been slotted into this rich guy's fantasy of slumming it with the working class, and that's more than okay too. He'll gladly play it up; not like he's never entertained that sort of idea himself.
He sucks in a breath when the kiss breaks at last. "How am I so lucky that a posh pretty thing like you wants to get your knees dirty for me, hmm?"
"It was not my intention when I arrived," the guy says, panting, forehead resting against Hob's. "But then you rolled out from beneath my car. Gleaming, and. Dirty. And I could think of little else."
Hob chuckles, shivers as slender hands delve back into his sweat-damp hair. "No complaints from me, darling. Delighted that all my natural glory does it for you."
"Dream," Mr. Atelíotes says, fingertips scratching lightly along Hob's scalp.
"Uh?" Hob blinks, not sure quite what he's meant to do with that word.
"My name," Mr. Atelíotes clarifies, leaning in to mouth wetly beneath the corner of Hob's jaw. "Call me what you wish, I am not averse to your endearments—" his tongue takes a path down the sweat-damp curve of Hob's neck "—but should you like to use it. My name—" his lips drag up Hob's throat, over the cleft of his chin "—is Dream." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's open mouth.
"Dream," Hob manages, when he's let up to breathe a moment later. "Beautiful name for a beautiful man—"
"Silver tongue," the guy says, nipping hungrily, helpessly at his mouth. "Such uses I have in mind for it…"
"I'm game, love, anything you like," Hob breathes, enchanted with the possibilities. "Sure you just wanna suck me off? 'Cause you talk like a bloke who'd like to get proper fucked."
That earns him a full-body shiver and a sharp inhale. "I would very much like to be fucked by you, Hob Gadling, in this garage, over this car. But as I did not have the foresight to prepare for that possibility, I will content myself with having your prick in my mouth and your hands in my hair and my name on your lips when you spill."
"Fucking christ," Hob swears, as Mr. Atelíotes—Dream, as Dream slides to his knees in his neat tailored trousers on the dirty shop floor, lips dragging down Hob's stomach as he goes, hands following behind. He glances back up as he reaches the zipper, smiles coyly as he grasps it and draws it all the way down so the coveralls flag completely open down past his crotch. Hob makes no move to take them any further off; Dream has shown no hesitation to tell him exactly what he wants up to now and Hob figures if he wanted them off-off, he'd say so.
Dream curls his fingers in the waistband of Hob's underwear and pulls it low, reaches around to tug it down past his arse cheeks so it stays put and dips into the front with both hands to draw Hob out. Hob shudders at the touch, bites his lip with a stifled sound and leans back on the bonnet. Dream just smiles wider.
"You are as magnificent as I had hoped," he murmurs, cradling Hob's cock to his face, delicately kissing the tip. He grasps it underhand and pulls it down, laves the flat of his tongue along the thick vein on top from crown up to base in a long slow lick, exhales his pleasure on a decadent moan. He reverses his grip, points Hob's dick skyward and nuzzles into his balls, breathing deep. Hob has a flash of self-consciousness—he's been working all day in a shop with no AC, he's got to be a bit ripe—but Dream doesn't seem offput in the least. Rather the opposite, in fact; he buries his nose in Hob's sweat-damp crotch with another moan, mouths wetly at his testicles and sucks each in turn. "Exquisite," he declares to the base of Hob's cock, and drags his tongue lovingly up the underside all the way back to the tip.
Hob's never had his dick worshipped quite like this, he thinks feverishly, every muscle in his thighs and buttocks tensing and flexing against the car as Dream mouths and licks at the head of him with all the enthusiasm of a kid on a melting ice lolly. The heat of the shop and Dream's attentions to his dick have him panting, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, trembling with anticipation as Dream finally opens wide and takes him in.
It's so fucking good, the soft wet warmth enclosing him, the slide of plush lips down his shaft and back up, again, and again, and Hob is so, so grateful to be in the right place at the right time. Never had he imagined he would find himself here, leaning back against the bonnet of some rich guy's Porsche with that self-same rich guy on his knees on the dirty shop floor, pretty pink lips stretched around him. Dream sucks with skill and enthusiasm and his tongue is positively magical and he's really into the eye contact, gazing up adoringly like having his mouth full of Hob's prick is all he could have wished for when he woke up this morning. It's heady and exhilarating and he's so fucking beautiful, looking at Hob as he glides up and down, hands wrapped around Hob's hips beneath his coveralls, and Hob. He's not always the brightest but he's definitely caught on to the theme of this tryst by now, and Dream's face is entirely too clean.
He lifts a thumb to his chest, smears it through the grease still adorning him there, lowers it to Dream's face. He watches as Dream's eyes widen, rubs a light smear of black across Dream's cheekbone and smiles at the way Dream's pupils dilate, the way Dream whines around his cock. He strokes his other hand through Dream's hair, gently holds him still, drags his greasy thumb down along the corner of Dream's mouth stretched wide around his girth; that earns him a whimper and Dream shivers, eyes fluttering briefly closed. He sucks harder, tongue flicking delicately against the tip, eyes pleading now with Hob, and he takes Hob's free hand, guides it to rest in his own hair like the other. Hob takes the hint, holds Dream's head still in both hands and gives a gentle roll of his hips; his cock slides out of Dream's mouth and back in and that's. Yes. Another roll of his hips, out and back and Dream whimpers and fuck, but it's good—
"God you're gorgeous," he moans, carefully combing his fingers through Dream's hair, heat blazing in his belly as he watches his dick sliding between Dream's luscious lips. Dream is making the sweetest little sounds now, cheeks flushed beneath the grease stain, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazes up at Hob like this is everything he could have wanted; he drops his hands to undo his belt, to pull himself out and start stroking, and that's just. That's it.
Dream splays his free hand across Hob's thigh over the coveralls and Hob fucks, careful and shallow, driven by the view before him and the thought of how they look together and the hungry eager noises Dream makes around him. He can feel himself climbing, soaring up to his peak, sweet and steady; the hot-wet slide in and out of Dream's mouth and the way his tongue wriggles along the underside on every stroke are making short work of the journey and Hob is panting out sharp desperate grunts and moans as it looms closer and closer. His balls are drawn up tight and full and he's close, so close, and he can't just—he's got to give him warning—
"Dream, sweetheart, I'm about to pop—"
But Dream only moves his hand from Hob's thigh to wrap around Hob's cock and doubles down on whatever he's doing with his tongue, and Hob moans, hips stuttering, Dream working him masterfully up to the crest; helpless, with a breathless grunting cry, Hob tips over the edge.
Dream takes the first shot of his come with a delighted little moan and then quickly pulls off of Hob's dick as he spurts again. It lands across Dream's face, white against the black smears of grease; the next shot falls a little shorter, half on his cheek and half in his open mouth and then Dream is diving back onto his cock for the rest, sucking hard with a desperate needy little whimper. The tip of his tongue worries at Hob's slit in search of every last drop and Hob groans, body clenching and spasming again and again to give this insatiable hungry creature everything that he wants.
But at last he has nothing left to give and his cock is shrinking from Dream's ravenous mouth, overstimulated by the way Dream still nurses at the tip, the grip Dream's got around the base of it. Firmly but gently Hob flexes his hands in Dream's tousled hair and eases him back, off. Dream gazes up at him, flushed and heavy-eyed, panting with his shirt and suit and trousers open, stroking himself steadily.
His tongue curls out to lick Hob's come from his upper lip, and his smile is sultry, hungry.
"Get up here, beautiful." Hob pulls Dream to his feet, slides a hand around the back of Dream's neck, smears his come liberally across Dream's grease-stained cheek with his thumb on the way. Dream's mouth opens and Hob plunges in, kissing him fiercely, tasting himself with a heady sort of satisfaction. Being wanted feels so good, whatever the reason.
Dream is still stroking himself, his easy rhythm speeding up, fist bumping against Hob's hip each time, and Hob breaks the kiss after a moment. "D'you want me to suck you off?"
"No, no—but touch me—" He seizes Hob's hand, brings it down to his own dick.
Hob hesitates for half a second—scrubbing automotive grease off your chest or hands or even your face is one thing; scrubbing it off your dick would be quite another and he's not interested in putting Dream through that sort of grief. But his hands have touched enough in the last fifteen minutes that all the easily-transferable grime is gone; it's really just the deeper-level staining going on and a bit of heavy petting shouldn't create a problem. So he takes Dream in hand, slides his other arm around Dream's back for support and strokes his lovely cock with relish, claims his sticky mouth in another kiss.
Dream whines into it, eager and open, and brings his hand to Hob's chest. He plants it in that grease smear that's still got some substance to it and splays his fingers wide, spreads it around like it's lotion and okay, maybe it is kind of hot Hob decides. Maybe it'll be a bitch to clean up but he's not about to stop the gorgeous creature in his arms from making a bigger mess of his body hair if it's getting him off. He's enjoyed being the fantasy this pretty posh thing needs, is still happy to play his part until the end.
He starts stroking a bit faster and breaks the kiss, drags his lips across Dream's messy cheek to his ear.
"God I'd love to fuck you, spread you open and pound you senseless, leave my dirty handprints all over your pretty white arse—"
Dream makes a raw little sound of want and buries his face against Hob's throat, panting open-mouthed. He smears his greasy hand down Hob's torso again, slips it around beneath the open coveralls, fingertips sliding into the sweaty dip of Hob's spine, hanging on as Hob works him up to the edge. His other hand clings to the grimy fabric at Hob's shoulder.
Hob flicks his tongue along the shell of Dream's ear, a soft tease, speaks again. "I would make such a sweet sweet mess of you, darling, fuck you until you've had enough and then pump you so full of my come that it runs down your beautiful thighs—"
"Hob—"
"Sure I can't get my mouth on you?" Hob tightens his fingers around Dream's cock, stroking faster, caught up in the thrill of the fantasy he's spinning. "I'll bet you taste amazing, Dream, especially after I've had my filthy hands all over you—"
Dream is tense in his arms, breath shallow and rapid and he shakes his head, trembling. "Hob—ahh—Hob—" He dips, pulling the shoulder of Hob's coveralls aside and nudging desperately beneath their edge until he finds Hob's armpit; he mouths at the crease of it, wet and open with the most wanton little sound. He inhales and whines, high and sharp and short; he gasps out another whine, and another, higher and more urgent each time and then he is coming, head lolling back with a broken cry as he throbs and pulses in Hob's hand.
Hob pulls his cock tight, lets Dream shoot all over him, his arm and his belly; he keeps his other arm around Dream as he sags a long instant later, forehead falling against Hob's shoulder, panting, spent. Dream's hand twitches against Hob's spine and his fingers drag sensually slow around the curve of Hob's waist.
Hob wipes his messy hand on the side of his coveralls—best he's gonna get right now—and then curls his knuckle under Dream's chin, tipping his pretty face up.
"Alright then?" he asks, as those gorgeous blue eyes blink open, and Dream gives the faintest nod into Hob's gentle touch.
"Mmh." His face is soft, sated and open and inviting what with the way his lips are parted, and Hob can't quite stop himself dipping in for a kiss.
Dream welcomes it, meets him halfway with mellow eagerness and Hob sighs into it, awash in his own post-orgasmic high. This kiss. This kiss. It's sweet, and languid, and god but Hob could lose himself in it, in the thought of keeping this guy.
Dangerous, that.
So he breaks the kiss at last with a grin, then steps back and pulls his underwear up where it belongs again. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up here." He moves toward the shop sink, hums a little distractedly along to the music on the speakers that has just filtered back into his awareness.
Dream follows, but makes no move to clean the smeared grease from his skin.
"No, I think not," he says, in that low effortlessly-sensual voice that plucks quivering notes of interest all along Hob's spine even now, in the aftermath. "I should like to carry your marks home with me." He takes up his pristine shirttails and wipes his hands deliberately on them, eyes on Hob all the while.
It's not his business if Dream wants to show up at home dirty and disheveled with his shirt torn open and looking absolutely debauched; maybe he lives alone and there's no one to comment, maybe he wants to flaunt his dalliance in the face of a parent or sibling or servant or who knows—no concern of Hob's at all, he reiterates, but damned if the idea of Dream proudly showing off the mess Hob's made of him doesn't turn him right the hell back on again.
"As you wish," he says, but plucks one of the many sample-sized bottles of Matty's favorite Orange Goop off the shelf and holds it out. "But take this with you; whenever you are ready to clean up, it'll be a big help."
Dream takes the bottle, slides it into the pocket of his trousers, which he has just re-fastened; he draws his suit jacket together over the ruin of his shirt and buttons it, making himself semi-presentable for his drive home. His eyes linger on Hob, however, on grease-smeared chest hair and the remains of his own orgasm on Hob's belly, on the shape of Hob in his underwear where he still hasn't bothered re-zipping his coveralls.
Dream's eyes flick up to Hob's, dark with banked heat.
"I really ought to learn more about the proper care and maintenance of this vehicle," he says, ostensibly about the Porsche, but his gaze stays fixed on Hob. "Will you be working alone tomorrow, as well?"
Hob hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his flagged-open coveralls, lets his hip jut forward just a little. "Yeah, Matty's out all week, so it's just me for a couple more days."
"Then perhaps I will. Arrive early, to pick up my car, and you can show me your best techniques for finishing the job."
The warm weight in his tone, the smouldering heat of his gaze, the way he'd talked earlier about getting fucked over the bonnet—his intent is crystal clear, and Hob is one hundred percent on board.
"Brilliant plan," he says, with a broad smile, and Dream's lips curl sweetly in response.
"Should I book an appointment, to ensure your availability?"
Hob waves a hand dismissively. "If you like, but it's not necessary? Just show up when it's convenient and I'll fit you right in." He winks.
"Truly, you take excellent care of your customers." Dream's smile is positively feline at this point.
"I'm just delighted I can help you out with all your maintenance needs." Hob lets a hint of mischief seep into his own smile, just enough to promise this pretty posh thing that coming back is definitely worth his while.
Dream's eyes lower and he inclines his head, an old-fashioned little bow of farewell that suits him perfectly. "Then I will see you tomorrow, Hob Gadling. My thanks for your…irreproachable service."
And he sweeps back out of the shop, Hob watching him go every step of the way.
=
Started: 5/4/24
Drafted: 6/1/24
Posted: 6/4/25
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1389 Hob remembering his encounter with the strange lord dressed in black, the first time he survived something he definitely shouldn't have:
#1389 hob gadling#hob gadling#dreamling#the sandman#the sandman text post#dreamling week 2024#sometimes i think i'm funny
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@mr-sadman Dreamling week day 7 "nightmare." Doing all the days would have killed my hand, so I just grabbed what prompts I liked the most in a quantity I thought I could handle. Don't loooove how this one turned out, but ehhhh I guess it's fine.
#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#dreamling week#dreamling week 2024#morpheus#the sandman#sandman#monster
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For Dreamling Week prompt 'Monochromatic'
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For Friday 7 Monochromatic I embroidered the most lovely lamb in the world. Thank you @amielot for inspiring me and for all your brilliant (monochromatic) art. Your horse girl au makes me so happy!♥
Please, go give some love to the original art here.
The Dreamling week is organised by the amazing @mr-sadman. Please, follow them, you can see all the fantastic content for this event in their acount!♥
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"He wanted a lamb but it was no use, in my dream i didn´t even had paper or a pencil with me...."
Dreamling week day 5 - storm
#my lamb.....where it is.....#somewhere....jumping and baaaing somewhere....#being a free lamb...indeed indeed#dreamling week 2024#dreamling#awua
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Moments before disaster
#dailydreamling#dream of the endless x hob gadling#dreamling#text post meme#dailydreamling text post meme#Dreamling Week 2024#dreamling week
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Is there by any chance a fic where Hob opens the new inn and hires Dream as a bartender? If not, can somebody please write it so I don’t have to?
Of course Dream is a little shit and constantly drives his boss mad by turning up late without any explanation and doing whatever the hell he wants…but the college girls, and some of the boys too, spend a good amount of money while trying to talk Dream into their beds so Hob is fine with it.
And he’s not jealous at all…why would he? Dream never would be interested in a college professor/owner of the inn. Or would he….?
#dreamling#dreamling fic idea#dreamling fic prompt#bartender!dream#hob gadling#dream of the endless#the sandman#dream x hob#the new inn#dreamling week 2024#dreamling week
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Dreaming Week 2024 Day 3
Dreamling Week 2024 Day 3 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): solarpunk, painting, meet cute, massage
Dreamling || Rated T || 1093 words
tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, they get captured and held for days as torture, passing mention of biological consequences of being tied to chairs for days on end, confessions
Read Part 1 here. Part 2 here.
(In chronological order, Part 2 comes before Part 1 and this comes after Part 1. Mentions events of Part 1 and events discussed in Part 2.)
“When we get out of this the first thing I am doing is getting a three hour massage, bloody fuck these chains are tight.” Dream tries to twist his wrist to get some wiggle room and can't even manage that; all the movement does is jostle their chairs. His partner whines. “You alright there, Hob?”
They are chained to a pair of chairs, back to back, with heavy steel links. The chains aren't spelled, but they don't need to be when they are this tight: there is no way Dream will pull off even the smallest somatic component restrained like this and Hob certainly can’t play an instrument or draw a gun. Even worse, the room is unnaturally dark.
Dream hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to the sunlight and the greenery of the surfacelands until they were taken from him. For a moment he takes comfort in thoughts of twirling tree branches forming the beams of great towers, arched windows carefully grown in between, columns of elevators going so high they meet the top of the building in the clouds. He thinks of winding streets made of sandstone and brass and overflowing with greenery, the whirring music of solar panels as they track the sunlight along with their flower-kin.
The thought of the movement of the sun reminds Dream that time has been passing, that they have been in here long enough that he is starting to have trouble tracking time–the only clock he has to go by is his heartbeat and that is only reliable for so long. Hunger has long since passed into a dull ache, which tells him it must be more than a couple days. Both of them have vacated all the remaining volume of foodstuffs left in their digestive tracts, removing another marker of time.
They have not seen another soul since they awoke here. There is a dim illumination that comes from… somewhere, but Dream cannot pinpoint it. It is only enough to see his own knees by, make out the faintest outline of the large stone blocks of the ceiling that is a mere few feet above their heads. It is not enough for Hob to see anything, dull as his half-human senses are.
Cruelly enough, water drips from the seams in the stone structure in a few places, landing on the top of their heads, on Hob’s shoulder and chest, on Dream’s cheek. It is the bare minimum to keep them alive and Dream suspects that is very much on purpose.
Dream leans his head back with a sigh and it presses against Hob's.
“You ever wonder what would have happened if we met under different circumstances?” Hob's speech is slurred enough that it makes Dream reconsider if those arrows they got hit with were a poison targeted for those of the surface. It adds a new layer to the puzzle of who has captured them. “Like, if I wasn't working that night in the tavern, wasn't being the biggest distraction possible?” He is silent for a beat. “I would've asked to join you at your table. Start back up properly, like old friends might. But we’re not friends, are we?” His chuckle is hollow. “No, most definitely not. Perhaps I would’ve tried to woo you with song… paint you a picture with music. Gods, you were so beautiful. Are. So beautiful.”
“Hob…” He doesn't sound like himself, can't possibly be meaning to say any of this.
“Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Fuck, like all the time. From the very first moment I saw you, when you walked into the Guildhall while I was trying to convince them to hire me. I can even still hear the swissh-click of your airwalker boots on the wooden floor.” Dream can hear him swallow. “It never goes away, you know? This yearning for you. It lives inside me now.”
He closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. Hob cannot be meaning to say this right now and Dream certainly does not want to hear it without Hob’s consent; he is relieved when they lapse into silence once again.
But it doesn't last.
“If you get a chance to escape, you have to promise me to take it, even if you can't get me out.” Hob’s voice is a threadbare whisper.
No. They can't talk like this. He won't have it. “Hob, you’re-”
“I am not delirious and I am not talking nonsense!” He is panting now and Dream swears he can hear Hob's racing heartbeat. It is another piece of evidence that he is not himself. “Promise me, Dream. Promise me you will save yourself if you have the chance, even at my expense.”
“No.” Absolutely not. Dream's answer is immediate and brooks no argument; he won't even consider it. The idea is anathema, like teaching the Druidic language outside of a Circle or attempting to unbalance Nature itself. “I will not leave without you.”
Hob’s breath rate is increasing, pushing into hyperventilating, and his voice is unsteady as a newborn foal’s legs. He sounds almost on the verge of tears and it makes something in Dream’s heart crack. “Please, Dream! I need you to promise me.”
He grits his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. “I will make no such vow.” Dream growls. It is harsh, he knows, but he will also not lie to Hob. Not after everything they’ve been through.
They never got a chance to talk about it, what lay implied between them from their adventure with that soul-swapping curse. Not properly. Not before this case, which pretty much immediately went tits up. Fuck, they should have spoken about it.
Dream adds this to his long ledger of regrets.
When Hob speaks again the words are clearly forced through a rising tide of panic. “I need to know you’ll be safe, that y-”
“Breathe Hob. We don’t need to plan-”
“Promise me!” he sobs. “I need to know you wi-”
That something in Dream breaks.
“I will not leave without my Mate!”
For a moment the only sound in the small room is Hob’s panting, then Dream lets his head fall back; this time it lands on Hob’s shoulder with a dull whump.
“You were right. What you felt during the curse.” Dream closes his eyes. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… we were… we’ve been…”
Hob turns his head, twists his shoulders, as much as possible, until his nose nudges the point of Dream’s ear. “Stupid. We’ve been truly. Amazingly. Stupid.”
#Dreamling Week#Dreamling Week 2024#solarpunk urban fantasy AU#drow druid/sorcerer Dream#half wood-elf bard/gunsmith Hob#Pavonis writes#Dreamling#Dream of the Endless#Hob Gadling
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Lecture
Lecture for Day Five of Dreamling Week
Relationship: Dream/Hob
Rating: Teen
Words: 3614
Warnings: Alcohol Poisoning, Hospitalization
Ao3 Link
Thank you to @zzoomacroom for the beta on this fic!!
It starts with a call.
Hob’s phone buzzes against the nightstand once, twice, thrice before he startles from his slumber. Morpheus’s arm is flung across his chest, fingers digging into his sides as Hob shifts. He leans over, stretching a hand out to pick up his cellphone. Hob chuckles as Morpheus groans and nuzzles his face into his side. He picks up the phone, pressing the far too bright green button on the screen and sets the device against his ear.
“’llo?” He answers, voice gravelly with sleep.
“Hello, is this Mr. Gadling speaking?” a woman’s voice chimes in his ear. There’s background noise, people talking urgently in the distance. Hob frowns.
“This is he.”
“My name is Sarah, I’m a nurse here at St. George’s hospital. Your sons, Robyn Gadling and Orpheus Gadling just arrived here about half an hour ago.”
Hob’s stomach drops. He sits up, heart racing in his chest. One hand reaches out and snags Morpheus’s arm shakily. A million scenarios race through his mind. A car wreck? They’d just gotten their own cars, finally. Did they go for some late-night joyride? Did they sneak out and someone tried to mug them? Or worse, did one of them try to . . . he knows Orpheus had been having a hard time with school and friends lately . . . but surely he wouldn’t have tried . . . he’s been doing better, he said he was doing better? Why weren’t they home? Where did they go? Oh god, is it fatal? Are his boys alive?
There are tears streaming down his face. He’s vaguely aware of Morpheus’s voice calling to him, frantic, his husband’s hand shaking him gently, but worriedly. The nurse’s voice calls out to him. Hob blinks, the world getting clearer as the stuck tears fall. He takes in a shuttering breath.
“Fuck, sorry. Are . . . are they okay? What happened?” he manages, finally. Hob turns to Morpheus, blue pleading eyes meet his. Hob just pulls him closer, tucking his husband’s head under his chin.
“Your one son, Orpheus, is fine. He was drunk still when the ambulance arrived, but not to a degree we were concerned about. He was the one to call 999. Your other son, Robyn, had a blood alcohol content of .38 percent—” Hob’s heart stops “—He’s okay, at the moment, and we predict he’ll be fine after spending the night. It’s a good thing his brother had called us, though. Much higher and it could have been fatal.” He lets out a strangled breath as he holds Morpheus tight. He can feel his husband’s arms wrapped around him equally tight. Hob bets he could hear the nurse from how close they are.
He clears his throat before talking. “Okay . . . okay, thank you. Thank you for calling. We’ll be down there immediately.” Hob hears the nurse say something—probably a farewell of some sort—as he lets his cellphone slip from his hand onto the bed. They both stay there for a moment, Hob’s heart still racing in his chest.
“Hob?” Morpheus’s voice says quietly in the silence of their bedroom. “Would you like me to drive there?”
And it’s then that his brain decides it can’t hold back tears anymore. The image of his son, of his Robyn, lying in a hospital bed, not even eighteen yet, wrecks him. It’s worse knowing just how close it could have been to him lying in a mortuary drawer instead. And Hob would have slept through it all, not knowing that his world had been destroyed. And now his husband, his wonderful, thoughtful and caring husband who hates driving with a passion, offers to drive because he knows Hob would probably get them in an accident if he’d tried to drive right now. And for some reason that just does it.
He sobs into Morpheus’s shoulder both in fear and in relief. He knows he’ll cry more once he gets there, but Orpheus will be there, no doubt terrified as well, as Robyn too, once he comes to and Hob needs to be strong for his boys, so he has to cry now. He cries, body-shaking sobs, as he clings to Morpheus’s form until the tears finally dissipate and his head clears.
Hob sniffles, rubbing his nose and eyes on his arm. Morpheus’s hand finds his face, thumbs delicately wiping away what Hob missed. His husband leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, gentle and sweet, before sliding out of the duvet and walking to the closet to fetch them both clothes.
The drive to the hospital is a blur. Streetlights pass overhead, lighting the car with shades of golden white at random. The streets are wet. Puddles of green and red and yellow lights reflect out of them. Morpheus is behind the wheel. A duffle bag rests on Hob's lap filled with spare clothes for both of their sons along with water bottles and snacks and phone chargers and anything else they may need.
This is how they handle things, Hob’s come to realize. For most days, when life is simply life, Hob relishes in the minutia of it all, of being prepared and making sure things are going where they need to go and doing what they need to do. It’s a reason he enjoys teaching. The quizzes and tests provide an easy sense of accomplishment with checkmarks and rubrics and set results. Morpheus, usually, works on a more whimsical flow with little structure and whims that easily change to fit what he needs in the moment. Oddly enough, it works well between them. And, it seems, when things like this happen and the worry and stress are too much, all the systems Hob’s build for himself, all routines and structures fall away and he’s left floating like a leaf in the wind.
Had it just been him, had Morpheus not been here, he would have gotten to the hospital, one way or another, but his mind would have been left behind. He’d have been frantic, cut loose, running off emotion and stress. Probably would have turned up without a shirt and still in nothing but his boxers. But Morpheus becomes his structure. He becomes a ship in the ocean that he can cling to against the unpredictable rapids. And his husband navigates it with ease, following steps that in hindsight are obvious, but were previously hidden to Hob.
He does not know how he would survive without him.
They must have parked at some point and Morpheus must have wrangled him from the car because he’s currently staring at his husband’s back, the gray duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he guides Hob by hand down the far too bright hallways of the hospital. The air in the white corridors is chilled and despite the fact that it’s two in the morning (he thinks, at least that was when the call came in), the place is alight with people—mainly nurses. Morpheus stops in front of a room and turns to Hob, tears held firmly in, but still glossed over the surface of his eyes.
Fuck. Hob’s heart sinks. He’s been so lost in his own head he hadn’t even asked Morpheus if he was okay. Hob gives his hand a squeeze and musters up something close to a smile while he can because he knows he’s gonna lose it again once they step foot inside this room and he sees Robyn.
“Are you ready?” Morpheus asks him, eyes trailing over him. Hob takes a deep breath in, holds it, then releases it. He does that once more—advice Morpheus had given him after they’d taken Orpheus to the A&E when he’d bumped his head on the school playset pretty badly and Hob proceeded to freak out. Then Hob nods. And Morpheus is opening the door and leading them both in.
The first thing Hob hears upon entering the room is Orpheus’s raw voice calling for them both. The second is the steady beeping of the heart monitor attached to Robyn. The third is his own voice breaking as he steps closer to the hospital bed.
He stumbles over, feet moving on autopilot, as he collapses at the side of the sturdy bedframe. Robyn’s eyes are shut. There’s an oxygen tube running to his nose and an iv dripping into his arm. His skin shines with sweat, his hair damp, but he’s breathing. And his eyes flutter under his eyelids. And all Hob can feel is the rush of relief as he reaches out and holds his boy’s hand between his own.
Hob rests his head against their clasped hands, head tilted to stare up at his baby boy. There’s anger, brewing beneath all the pain and worry and fear, and Hob knows he’ll need to step away to get the worst of it out before he talks to his sons, but for now, he lets himself float here, in-between emotions where all he needs is his son’s pulse under the tips of his fingers, and to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.
***
“Dad?” Orpheus says, voice hoarse from tears and disuse. His wide eyes follow Hob as his husband collapses beside Robyn’s form. Morpheus’s heart clenches in his chest at the sight, feeling helpless. This is not how either of them saw this night going.
He walks over, kneeling beside Orpheus who sits on one of the hospital room’s chairs. Morpheus takes his son’s hands in his own and speaks. “Orpheus, let us give your dad a moment with Robyn and get you into a fresh set of clothes.” His eyes fall down to the soiled shirt Orpheus wears, smelling of cheap liquor and wet from the rain. His son nods, eyes still glued to where the rest of their family rests, but allows Morpheus to gently guide him up and outside of the room.
They walk in silence for a moment, wandering down the brightly lit hallways until they reach a free bathroom. At this late hour, it’s empty. He closes the door behind them with a quiet sigh before setting the duffel bag onto the sink counter. Orpheus stands, watching with a blank expression that Morpheus catches in the mirror, as he fishes out the set of clothes he’d grabbed for him along with the old grocery bag for Orpheus’s old clothes.
He turns, handing the stack over to his son. Orpheus takes them and quietly locks one of the larger stalls behind him. It’s now, while his husband is away and Orpheus is busy, that Morpheus allows himself a small moment to breathe. He grips the counter with his hands and sags against it, chin to his chest. He cannot cry yet, there is still much to be done, but he allows himself a handful of ragged, gasping breaths, silenced only by the noise of the bathroom fan.
The stall unlocks and Orpheus emerges, eyes red from tears. He walks up, bag in hand and sets it on the counter. Morpheus pulls his son tight against his chest and loses the battle as Orpheus sobs against him. Tears fall down his face. He presses his nose into the top of his son’s head and thanks whatever god is listening that the two of them, despite it all, are safe and alive.
They both stay there, Morpheus rubbing his son’s back, whispering gentle words to him, allowing the tears to fall freely between them both. Time passes until he hears a snot-filled sniff against his chest and he feels Orpheus step back and out of his hold. He lets his arms fall, raising one to wipe his own face clean.
“I’m so sorry, father, I—It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I don’t know how it happened, I swear—”
“It’s okay,” Morpheus says, cradling his son’s face in his hands. “It is okay. Breathe.” Orpheus takes a shuddering breath in as he nods. Morpheus sighs as he leans forward and presses a kiss to his son’s forehead.
“You called for help. You got your brother here in time. I am so proud of you for that,” he whispers against Orpheus’s skin. “We will have a further conversation about this, but for now, all I need to know is this: are you okay?”
Orpheus nods, tears welling up in his eyes once again.
“Good. And are those that you were with okay?”
He sniffs, but nods once more. “After Robyn . . . after he passed out, the others got freaked out, so they either stopped drinking or went back home.”
“Good. That is. Good.” Morpheus prays that no other parents need deal with what they are currently experiencing, but he trusts his son’s judgment. Whatever alcohol was in his system, Orpheus seems level-headed now. He takes a breath. The details of the night are less important at the moment. They all will have a lengthy conversation about this later. The main priority now, however, is ensuring that both of his sons are okay, physically as well as mentally.
He wraps his arms around Orpheus once more, giving him a firm squeeze. “Come. Let us check back on your dad.”
***
Hob sits on the edge of Robyn’s bed when Morpheus and Orpheus return. He turns, eyes raw from tears. He gathers a weak smile onto his face to greet them as they close the door behind them. Orpheus steps forward, but stops, wrapping his arms around himself instead. Hob’s smile falls. He can only imagine how Orpheus is taking all this (now that his brain has come back online to some degree and allows him thought beyond being able to see and feel Robyn). He lifts his arms, spreading them out and Orpheus comes running.
He wraps his arms around his other son, gently rocking him as he holds him close. Orpheus doesn’t cry, not much at least, though Hob suspects he had plenty of time to do so with Morpheus already. He simply sniffles here and there and clings close. Hob meets his husband’s eyes over Orpheus’s shoulder. The room is filled with red eyes and somber tones, the sound of Robyn’s stable and persistent heart-beat and the sniffling noses the only noise.
It’s a few hours later when Robyn opens his eyes. Orpheus lies flat on the bench seating along the window, a thin hospital blanket draped over him. He rests on a pillow Morpheus pulled from his duffel bag—Hob jokingly called him Mary Poppins after pulling that thing out. They sit in chairs dragged closer to the bed, simply watching, Hob’s hand in Morpheus’s.
Hob’s heart skips a beat when brown eyes meet his at 5:09 in the morning. Robyn groans as his eyes flutter open. He stares up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, before gazing around the room. His brows are furrowed and he winces as he moves his head. Then, his son’s eyes find his. They widen, flitting back and forth between him and Morpheus.
“Dad? Father? What—”
Hob jumps out of his chair and is leaning over the bed to wrap his son in a hug (still mindful of any soreness he may have) and prides himself on not immediately breaking down. He hears the creak of the mattress behind him as Morpheus, he assumes, sits on the edge of the bed.
“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Hob whispers into Robyn’s hair, peppering kisses to the top of it as he speaks. “Christ, I’m so happy. I was so worried. Fucking hell, Robyn, never scare me like that again!”
“I didn’t mean to,” Robyn says into Hob’s shirt. He leans back—no longer nearly smothering his son—and sits on the edge closest to him instead. He reaches out and cups Robyn’s cheek, thumb rubbing lightly over the oxygen tube. “Where . . . wait, am I in the hospital?”
“Yeah, yeah you are,” Hob says, glancing over to where Orpheus was laying. Their other son stirs, eyes opening sleepily from the noise. He sees Robyn and quickly sits up, eyes now wide. Hob gives Orpheus a gentle smile before turning back. “You’re lucky you had your brother with you. He’s the one that called 999.”
Robyn’s head snaps to Orpheus with anger. “You called them? What the hell!”
“Robyn!—”
“You were passed out!” Orpheus cries.
“Yeah! Like drunk people are sometimes, I didn’t need to come to the bloody hospital for it!”
“You weren’t responding, I was worried—”
“I thought you had my back!”
“I do!”
“Come on now, boys,” Hob says, looking between the two of them.
“No, you just wanted to get me in trouble with Dad and Father cause you were mad that Eurydice was talking to me the whole night and not you—”
“That is not true!”
“Boys, just stop it!” Hob cries, pushing Robyn back against the bed from where he’d angled himself up to fight with Orpheus.
“It is and you know it! You were jealous that the one person you came to the party for liked me more than you so you wanted to get me in trouble with our dads and so you could look like a hero to Eurydice!”
“Robyn . . .”
“I never should have invited you—”
“Enough.” Morpheus’s voice echoes in the room. Hob turns to see his husband standing in the center of the room, jaw tense, as he slowly looks from Orpheus to Robyn. Hob knows his husband has looks that can kill, but this stare is on another level. Maybe it’s the early morning sun barely peeking through the window, maybe it’s the dimmed hospital lights, but the shadows over his face make him look downright nightmarish.
The boys silence themselves, both looking away from anyone. Orpheus, more hurt than anything. Robyn, still pouting in anger. Hob sighs and slumps back down in the chair. The relief he’d felt seeing Robyn looking around quickly fades into frustration and anger, especially after that fight. He rests his head in his hands and takes a moment to breathe before he starts yelling in return.
“Robyn,” Morpheus’s voice calls. “Your blood alcohol content was .38. Anything .4 and higher is potentially fatal. Had your brother not been there or had anyone not called for help tonight, we would be getting a phone call telling us our son was dead rather than just in the hospital.”
Hob lifts his head in time to see Robyn’s eyes widen in fear. He pales as he turns towards Morpheus. His heartbeat on the monitor jumps.
“. . . what.”
“We could have lost you.” Morpheus steps closer, circling to the other side of the bed and takes Robyn’s hands in his own. “We could have lost you,” he whispers.
Tears well in Robyn’s eyes as he turns back towards Hob and Orpheus. Hob takes a breath and nods. “It’s true, love. Tonight was a close call.”
“Oh.” Robyn visibly deflates and lets himself fall back against the pillows. Morpheus lifts a hand and runs it through his son’s hair. The tender act still sends a warm feeling through Hob’s body, despite the grim circumstances.
“You should apologize to your brother,” Hob says, voice low, the adrenaline and fear of the night now fading away. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically.
Robyn nods and turns towards Orpheus who’s still perched on the bench by the window. “I’m sorry, Orpheus. I . . .” Robyn sighs. “Thank you. For saving me. I . . . I shouldn’t have said all that.”
Orpheus looks down, hands in his lap. He fidgets with his fingers and shrugs with a single shoulder. “’s fine.”
“It’s not, though.”
Orpheus just shakes his head, turning to look back out the window instead. Hob sighs quietly. Clearly this night hasn’t just been tiring for him, but for everyone. Not that he’d ever thought otherwise, mind, but it hurts to see his sons like this. He’d been so grateful at how close they’d been when he and Morpheus got together. They’d truly been best friends, it was a miracle.
He stands, glancing between the two boys then turns to Morpheus who still stands beside Robyn, one hand in his own. There’s something to be said for the language that two people can create between each other. He’d always thought it was a bit of a joke when long lasting couples claimed to be able to read each other’s minds or know what the other was thinking from across the room, but after twelve years of marriage and three years of dating before then, Hob believed them.
Morpheus nods to the question on Hob’s face and turns to grab the duffel bag. He pulls out Orpheus’s old clothes and hands them to Hob before sitting back down in one of the chairs. Robyn watches them as Hob steps close and wraps an arm gently around around his son. He gives him a firm kiss to the forehead before stepping back. “It’s late. I’m gonna get Orpheus home. Your father’ll be here and we’ll be back later, I promise. That okay?”
Robyn nods. “Okay.”
Hob smiles and turns towards Orpheus who’s already standing and holds out a hand. He walks closer, his arms crossed over his chest, and Hob pulls him in for a quick side hug before guiding them towards the door. He stops briefly to give Morpheus a kiss on the cheek and whispers a quiet “thanks, love”. Then, they’re out the door. Hob glances back, looking at Robyn connected to all the tubes and wires and Morpheus beside the bed, blue eyes turned towards their son. Robyn’s words, the first words out of his mouth after waking up in the hospital, come back to mind and the anger bubbles back up. He takes a deep breath and closes the door behind them.
#dreamling week#dreamling week 2024#dreamling#hob gadling#dream of the endless#the sandman#ky writes
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#1389 hob gadling#hob gadling#dreamling#the sandman#the sandman text post#happy 635th anniversary to dream and hob! 🥳🥳🥳#dreamling week 2024
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content with splitting hairs [Dreamling Week Day 6 - Monochromatic]
[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]
Title from KMFDM's Spit or Swallow!
E, 5.8k. Hob dresses like how he wants to dress. Morpheus’s wardrobe is so ― dull, suits upon suits in black and white, an insanely boring monochromatic tableau, even his casual clothes are just the most basic black, no frills or patterns, drilled into him by his parents.
-
Morpheus tries to think ― but can’t, with the screaming and guitar riffs coming from the club, with Hob’s hands, covered in dark fingerless gloves as they go under his dress shirt, buttons ripping off along with his suit jacket.
And he doesn’t want to think ― wants to only feel and not overthink as he tends to do as he whines, even with his earlier wariness to enter such a dingy club bathroom, but he can only grab onto Hob’s leather jacket as they kiss, cold metal of a tongue piercing pressing against the top of his mouth, breath tasting of cheap whiskey.
“You came in here wearing this?” Hob asks, disbelieving as the zip of his pants gets pulled down, darkly-lined eyes staring at him and Dream swallows. “Terrible,” there’s a creak of leather as Hob kneels down and his eyes widen, brain stuttering as his dress pants get pulled down, and his cock, newly free, twitches under the other’s stare.
Whatever words he’s means to say come out as a garbled whine as Hob swallows him, cold metal against the underside of cock making him gasp, head thunking against the bathroom stall as he holds onto brown-grey hair, touching near the other’s ears, shells of them full of spiked earrings and he definitely doesn’t think as Hob does a stellar job of redirecting his brain through his dick.
-
Hob dresses like how he wants to dress. Morpheus’s wardrobe is so ― dull, suits upon suits in black and white, an insanely boring monochromatic tableau, even his casual clothes are just the most basic black, no frills or patterns, drilled into him by his parents. No chains or mesh or leather, even though he now lives in his own apartment, far away from his parent’s influence, an adult.
Once, he vaguely remembers the disgusted way his parent’s steered him away from a spiked choker as a teen, saying various disparaging things about the people who wear them, and of course their son won’t have a phase like those degenerates.
He doesn’t mean to spill this to Hob, considering they only just met recently. Morpheus blames the mind-blowing sex, as he worries if he’ll have to leave Hob’s apartment, stuffed full of odds and ends―”wow, if I ever meet your parents, I’m punching them in the face,” Hob says near his chest and he freezes, digesting the words as he settles himself back on Hob’s lap.
“That is a bit much,” he offers tentatively. Hob laughs, the other’s hands trailing up his back, dress shirt loosely covering him.
“I’ve been known to be that,” Hob says with a wriggle of his brows, the eyebrow piercing glinting blue in the light. “Well, no time to waste!” Hob chirps, pulling them up and Morpheus’s breath leaves him as they go to Hob’s bedroom. “Mesh shirt?” Hob glances at him, a hand on his beard as he opens his wardrobe with a flourish.
Morpheus’s eyes widen at the explosion of things in the other’s wardrobe, leather items falling out of the wardrobe as Hob grumbles and puts them back haphazardly, pulling out a black fishnet shirt and putting it against his chest. “How?” He breathes, staring at not only the black and chains, but various colours of all types.
“Bit too much at once, got it,” Hob nods and puts the shirt back, going into his wardrobe and picking up various shirts. “Mainly op shops, or stuff I’ve made myself, or got from others. Stolen.” Hob takes out a black shirt, giving him a critical look before shaking his head and putting it back in. “Ah-hah!” Hob grins as he takes out a long-sleeved black shirt with spikes on one shoulder, as well as leather straps joining the shoulder from either side.
Blinking, he gently takes the shirt, heart beating absurdly fast as he takes off his dress shirt and pulls on the other’s shirt. Looking down at his hands, he touches the spiked shoulder in amazement, the straps crinkling under his hands, and he notices silver along the cuffs, spiky bracelets that are stapled on.
“Well?” Hob asks, rocking back and forth on his chunky platforms, wide grin on his face.
“It’s,” he frowns, having no frame of reference for how ― right he feels, like something’s slotted into place, weight crumbling off of him as he feels the soft black fabric. “Yes.”
“Fuck yeah!” Hob shouts and Morpheus feels himself smile, out of control with the rightness that settles within him. Then Hob leans in to kiss him, hands framing his face and he shivers, falling into the other’s mouth easily as they make their way to Hob’s bed, messy and unmade. “Also, you look unbearably sexy in my clothes,” Hob purrs and he whines, tugging off the other’s leather jacket, the mesh shirt underneath as they continue to kiss, getting more deep and heated.
-
“Stolen?” He says once his brain boots back up, hands on Hob’s thighs as they rest, the other’s bed messed up even more as he rests on Hob’s chest.
“Mainly when I was younger. Now I’m a responsible adult,” Hob says, kissing his hair and going down to his temple. “Mostly,” Hob amends. Morpheus hums and touches Hob’s nipple, the piercing on it taking his attention. “Morpheus,” he hums, fascinated by the silver ring ― until Hob pokes him on his shoulder and he blinks, looking up at Hob’s face. “I have to get ready for work soon.”
Morpheus freezes, climbing off of Hob, the air cold after the heat of the other’s body, “then, I should―”
Hob rolls his eyes and pokes his forehead. “You’re staying right here for now. I just want to,” Hob looks around and pulls on his leather jacket, getting a pocket watch from an inside pocket and Morpheus blinks at it, confused as Hob goes back into his wardrobe, looking at various items and throwing them onto the bed near him. “This one’s definitely you,” Hob mumbles, pulling out a black and frilly shirt, joining the rest of the items, including ripped jeans and some spiky chokers and bracelets.
Staring down at the items, he picks up the shirt, black and flowy as more clothes pile up, silver chains and mesh shirts. “What are these for?”
Hob doesn’t answer, looking through a drawer in his wardrobe to pull more items out, throwing them on the bed. Then, once he looks at the pile, he looks around again, eventually going under his bed to look for something as Morpheus watches in confusion. “These are for you!” Hob chirps once he emerges with a black duffel, artfully ripped to reveal black lining, sides covered with studs as he puts the clothes and jewellery into it.
“You can’t just―” Morpheus protests, eyes wide at the amount.
“Sure I can. Have you seen that?” Hob points at his wardrobe, still overflowing with clothes, “I rarely, or never have worn these anyway. Plus they’ll be there for you to wear!” Morpheus gapes, eyes filling with tears as he swallows back the emotions as the duffel is zipped up and presented to him. “Phone,” Hob makes a grabby motion and Morpheus complies, finding his phone along with pants, which he puts on as Hob puts in his number.
“You can’t be serious,” Morpheus says as he holds onto the duffel, still in disbelief at the weight that’s inside. For him. And outside the bedroom window, he can see the sun starting to come out.
Hob smiles and pulls him in by his pants for a kiss, deep and filthy as a hand returns his phone to his pocket. “Like a grave.”
-
“This feels like a bit much,” he mutters to himself, even with his normal suit, the normal shined shoes ― and the spiked choker around his neck. For work. He could almost feel his parent’s aneurysm at the thought. “Hob?”
Hob, next to him, gives him a slow, lingering look in between bites of yoghurt and muesli. “Maybe a bracelet too?” Dream shakes his head, which stops as a finger goes under the choker, “working on a Saturday? Really? What kind of Hell do you work at?” Dream tries to reply, but he can only shiver as the finger drags, nail edge pricking into his throat, “no, I know it’s pretty bad, I didn’t need an answer for that.”
Hob’s finger leaves his throat and Dream scrambles his thoughts together as Hob eats more of his breakfast as Dream looks at his watch. “Where do you even work, anyway?” He asks, somehow not catching it with all the time they’ve been spending together. Though, they have mostly been preoccupied.
“Uni teacher,” Hob says with a shrug, and Dream gives him an incredulous look, “I’ll even give you my campus and you can sit on one of my lectures yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“I wasn’t―it’s just very surprising, what with,” he gestures to Hob’s form, which at the moment is only bright pink boxers. “I will, very soon,” he promises, already working out how he can get a free weekday.
“I’m used to it, though I usually tone it down some while at my job. Not that I don’t think there’d be a problem, but it’s usually with the other teacher’s where those kinds of judgments appear, and I’d rather not deal with that,” Hob explains.
-
Dream is nervous as he walks into work, going through the whole floor of people who work under him, expecting ― gasps, mean comments, but all he can see is some people just doing a double take as he goes into his office. Throughout the day as he emails clients and goes through his day, no comments or nothing, and soon enough he feels comfortable in the choker, fear dwindling and being replaced by an odd sort of confidence.
Throughout the day, he tries to make sense of this new feeling, so alien ― and wondering if Hob was right, and maybe he should’ve worn one of the spiked bracelets that Hob gave him. Or even the new pointed boots he recently bought, black and leather, patterned with skulls and flowers.
He only places the confidence in how happy and sure he looks after Matthew, one of his assistants, goes “nice necklace.” Dream starts, not expecting the compliment, or how pleased it makes him feel. Lucienne, next to Matthew, gives him a look.
“Thank you,” he says with a tiny smile, feeling even more sure of himself as Lucienne raises her eyebrows in shock.
“It does look very good on you,” Lucienne concedes, measures of can we move on in her tone. Matthew gives him a look, which Dream doesn’t react to.
“I know,” he says quietly, the confidence leaving him temporarily. “However, we must discuss next steps for next week.”
“Must we,” Matthew mimics sarcastically, Lucienne ignoring him as she launches into her report.
-
Morpheus follows the campus signage carefully, checking to make sure it’s right with the message Hob sent him. Matthew gaped at him for half a day after explaining that yes, I will be taking one of those days off earlier in the week.
Matthew started a rumour that maybe their boss got replaced by a pod-person right after.
And now he follows people into the room Hob said he would be teaching at, one of those big lecture rooms with ascending seats. Sitting near the door at the front, he almost doesn’t catch Hob, talking with his TA apparently, gestures wide and facing away from him as the TA grins.
Squinting, Morpheus scrutinises the other’s boots, obviously steel-plated on the front, then pale grey jeans. The leather jacket Hob wears is more red and plain, and from what he can see, the numerous spikes that Hob wore in his ears are replaced by alternating gold and silver studs.
Hob and his TA separate, Hob going up to his desk and putting something on the screen behind him. Now that Hob’s turned around, he sees that the first earring in Hob’s ear is tiny skulls. “We’re ready to begin, it seems!” Hob talks, voice projecting through the room as he stares at the back ― with Morpheus able to tell when the other man spots him by the bright grin, and he gives a small wave.
“Alright! So―” Hob claps his hands as the TA moves to the laptop on the desk, numerous rings clinking together on Hob’s fingers as he launches into his lecture. Tearing his eyes away from the shining jewellery, he stares at the KMFDM t-shirt Hob has on instead, only half-listening as he takes in this Hob, very much toned down from the spikes and metal chains he had on his pants.
It’s as Hob starts talking about 15th Century clothes, Morpheus notices the silver still shining in the other’s mouth, and he tries to not lead his thoughts down the path of Hob’s tongue ring in a public setting.
Before he knows it, the class ends, people leaving and Hob picking up his things, and talking with his TA before sidling up to him. “You’re here!”
Morpheus blinks at the blinding smile, “I did say I would come,” he frowns and Hob’s grin widens as he’s pulled out of his seat.
“I dunno, people say that, but then others don’t, so,” Hob says with a shrug, linking their arms together as they walk down hallways, eventually reaching a door that says Robert Gadling. “Thoughts?” Hob asks as they go into his office, the other man locking the door and putting the blind down.
“I liked the bit about the ruffs,” Morpheus offers. Hob gives him a look, and Morpheus curses his pale skin for the way his face heats as Hob’s hands grab his own.
“Liar. You weren’t paying attention to the lecture,” Hob grins, and he swallows a sound at the warmth of the other’s hand, contrasted with the cold silver and gold of his rings.
Looking down, he focuses on the ring designs, mainly plain. Or a gold one with blue sapphires. “You still have your tongue ring,” he whispers―then gasps, Hob kissing him, a filthy press of said tongue ring to the inside of his mouth, and he can only whine as the kiss ends, arousal swirling hot.
“Too much work to keep it out. Leave it out for half a day and the skin’s already growing over the hole for it, very annoying,” Hob replies, brown of his eyes swallowed by black. The other’s hands make a slow path up his arms, shoulders, neck, one eventually holding his jaw while the other goes into his hair.
Morpheus swallows, cock hardening at Hob’s full attention, at the way fingers stroke his hair, “I see.”
There’s another kiss, sweet and rough, Hob tugging at his lips and he shivers, skin sparking as the hand on his jaw moves to grip the back of his neck as Morpheus holds onto Hob’s leather jacket. He can only whimper as the hand on his neck pulls him down, ending the kiss ― and he can feel Hob’s desk against his head as he stares up. “Morpheus,” the other’s arousal, covered with denim, presses against his jaw, “can you be good and quiet for me?”
“Yes,” he rasps, voice thin and breathy as a finger traces his lips, own dick aching in his pants as he frantically unbuckles the black belt in front of him, unzipping jeans, mouth already watering.
-
Morpheus scrutinises himself in the mirror. At the pointed black boots, the straight-leg leather pants and long-sleeved dark red shirt, with a lace shirt over it, sleeves flaring out. And on top of that, a harness going around his waist and shoulders, silver spikes on the shoulders. Pursing his lips, Morpheus gives himself a look and searches for his wayward boyfriend, eventually finding Hob on the balcony of his apartment, cigarette in his mouth. “Too much?”
Hob blinks and looks over, eyes raking over him, “of course not,’ Hob shrugs, holding ringed fingers out and Morpheus huffs at the way Hob stares at him.
“It feels a bit,” he bites his lips as Hob finishes his smoke, crushing it beneath his spiked boots before putting it in the bin, “mismatched.”
At this, Hob stands up and twirls him inside the apartment, smelling of smoke as they kiss, “babe, literally most of my friends do that. I’m just more for this style because the other one’s don’t feel as me,” Hob gestures to his leather jacket and black fishnet shirt, along with black jeans that are more rips and slashed, the insides lined with fishnet. “Plus, you look very hot.”
Morpheus rolls his eyes as he considers Hob’s words, putting his hands on Hob’s hips, “you’re very biased.”
Hob nods his head, “biased. But also right,” Hob says with a grin, then pulls out a stick of eyeliner from an inside jacket pocket, and Morpheus follows the other’s directions as it’s placed on him. “Feel you'd like the more pointed eyeliner, but I’m not good at that. Good thing we’re meeting my friend’s, who’d be better with teaching you that,” Hob mutters between applying it.
Eyeliner applied, Morpheus huffs, watching as Hob applies the black liner to his own eyes, the brown of Hob’s eyes becoming more arresting. “Are you sure we can’t stay in for a bit more?” He asks, hands slipping under the other’s mesh shirt, and he makes a happy sound at the feeling of course hair under his fingers.
“Tempting, but no,” Hob says, a hand coming up to his cheek and Morpheus leans into the hand, enjoying the feeling of cold rings and hot skin.
Morpheus pouts as Hob lets go, the hand going to intertwine with his instead.
-
The double take Hob does when Morpheus emerges from the train bathroom with one of Hob’s friends makes him want to preen, with all of them practically fighting over to teach him how to do a winged look. Hob opens his mouth, “if you’re thinking of leaving just because your boyfriend is hot,” next to him a darker-skinned person dressed in a lace black dress and white fishnet tights, Charlie, threatens and Hob’s mouth clicks shut.
“But Charlie,” Hob gestures to him, hands reaching out to pull him onto the other’s lap, expression shocked and reverent, “look!”
“Dude,” Angel, the one who was teaching him about eyeliner earlier, and dressed in full frilly gothic lolita, complete with pigtails, sits down next to Charlie, “you just got here. Plus, isn’t this the one that bewitched you with his drab clothes before? Is Hob doing this to you?” She asks and Morpheus flushes under the attention, picking at his lace sleeve.
“He’s not forcing me,” he says, “I never wanted to be,” a pause, “drab. And Hob has been invaluable to help me discover what I like,” he mumbles and Hob nods against his chest, arms comfortable around his waist, leather jacket thrown over the back of his chair. Charlie and Angel nod, expressions sympathetic.
“I get that,” Angel twists her hair, black with purple streaks, “well, I’m happy for you!”
Charlie, texting someone on their phone nods and Morpheus relaxes, stretching out on Hob’s lap, and Hob makes a choked noise as he wriggles so he can touch Hob’s thigh through the fishnet of his pants.
Hob whines into his chest, and he tries not to pay attention to the hardness he can feel against him ― because ― well, mainly to make Hob squirm a bit. And because Hob’s friends are interesting, and nice. “I like your friends,” he states and Hob muffles another sound against his chest, something like I’m glad.
Angel shakes her head, “we like you too! Though we’re still missing someone before we go back to that club.”
-
They barely make it inside Hob’s door before he’s pushed against it, hands going under his shirt as Hob bites into his mouth. Shivering, he takes off Hob’s jacket and gets his own hands under the other’s shirt, bucking into the leg in the middle of his own. “Finally,” Hob hisses against his mouth, and Morpheus gasps at ringed fingers going inside his pants, leather hot and sticky from the club’s heat ― and now, his hard cock which Hob strokes.
“Not even making it to the sofa?” He chokes out, grabbing onto the grey hair at the other’s temples as Hob continues to stroke him, thumb stroking his slit and he groans, head hitting the door. Which makes Hob go for his throat, biting over already healing marks and pressing him more against the wood.
“You were teasing,” Hob accuses, free hand pulling him forward, making him as the other hand traces his hole.
Morpheus whines, leaning into the hand stroking him as the other one leaves, probably to go the lube in Hob’s jeans, “don’t be ridiculous,” he says, batting his lashes and Hob huffs, lubed fingers returning to his hole, one finger slowly making its way in.
Moaning, he can only hold on, grounding against Hob’s fingers, other hand scrabbling for purchase on door behind him as another finger enters him. Hob hums into his throat, stubble scratching the sensitive skin and Morpheus lets out a keen as the hand stroking his cock leaves to grab his hip.
“Now who’s being the te―” his sentence doesn’t finish as Hob lifts him up, eyes black as they stare up at him, and Morpheus can only blink and catch the breath that leaves him as he’s put onto the sofa, layers of boots and clothes being taken off as they kiss, Hob’s fingers going back inside him once they’re both naked.
Holding onto Hob’s hair, he arches into the fingers, insides burning at the way Hob’s fingers, still with their rings on, feel almost inside him, markedly different from the hot-cold way of holding his cock. “Had to restrain myself from fingering you in front of the club,” Hob states and Morpheus shivers, the image too much for him to think on, cock twitching.
Morpheus can only keen, holding onto Hob’s shoulder, mind shorting out as Hob continues, fingers being added and pressing insistently upon his prostate, “come on, I’ve been wanting you like this forever it seems like,” Hob mutters into his cheek.
The pleasure, the pressure is constant and maddening and Morpheus cries out, tears eventually streaming out of his eyes, and he can almost the carefully applied eyeliner start to run.
“There we go, so beautiful and wrecked,” Hob praises, fingers crooking and twisting incessantly, and his orgasm seems to almost come second to the pleasure, the feel of rings he can feel, to Hob’s quiet praise.
-
Morpheus is staring at the invoices he needs to look over in his email when it hits him.
I want to quit, he thinks with intent, because this job was yet another thing his parent’s herded, moulded him into, because it’s good money and a respectable job, when Morpheus ― can’t even remember what he does, the only bright spots at work being Lucienne and Matthew. Every day as droll as the wardrobe he’s been getting rid of, only keeping at least one suit and one pair of black pants and shirt as he fills his wardrobe with things he wants to wear.
Of course, there’s always the logistics of quitting to consider too, especially with the recent amount of the money being used to buy pretty clothes, and what he would do after, but he feels confident in knowing what he wants now, though working towards this may be more of a choice then what shirts to get.
“You okay there, boss?” Matthew asks, putting a cup of black coffee near his hand, and he nods distantly.
“If I did something crazy, would you and Lucienne follow me?” The words tumble out and Morpheus can’t find it to regret them as Matthew considers, scratching his chin.
“Just say the word, boss-man,” Matthe settles on, giving him a two-fingered salute.
“I… just thought of it, so I may need more thinking over,” he pauses, frowning. “Perhaps you and Lucienne can help,” Matthew grins and Morpheus scoffs, taking a gulp of the hot coffee. “Not right now, but eventually.”
“Fuck yeah! Consider it done!”
-
A month later and Morpheus once again stares at himself in the mirror, this time focusing on doing the winged eyeliner that Angel’s constantly gave him tips for. There’s a groan as Hob shambled in from bed, chest pressing against his back as arms go around his waist. “Fancy,” Hob says, voice thick and dark with sleep and Morpheus swallows, letting Hob nibble at his neck and collarbones as Hob’s hands go up the V of the shirt, frilly and flowing.
“I’m quitting,” he announces ― and that makes Hob’s head snap up, blinking awake.
“Fuck. Really?” Hob gapes, settling back onto his shoulder as he nods, Hob squeezing him tightly as he stares at his black pants, red ribbon running up the sides of it.
“I’ve already worked things out with Lucienne and Matthew for something new that we’re going to do, with artists and ― still figuring out the logistics, but it’ll be fun.”
Hob sighs and there’s a nip to his ear as they sway slightly, which Morpheus swats to stop, since he still has to do his other eye. “Look at you, getting so confident and sure of yourself. Hope you don’t forget the plebes like me once you become a famous auteur or whatever.”
“Don’t be absurd. This is all because of you,” he says, brows furrowing as he precisely does his other eye, then puts the eyeliner into the black coat hanging nearby before turning around to face Hob, who looks amazed. “You helped me figure out what I want,” he breathes, cupping the other’s face, thumbs caressing brown-grey stubble gently. “And you’re a part of that.”
Hob’s eyes are wide and shiny, a sound wrenched out of him as they kiss, which Morpheus easily falls into, and he shivers at the hands going up under his shirt, scratching up his back roughly that he’s sure he’ll feel it while at the last day of his job.
“Pick me up once I text you?” Hob should be clear all day, considering it’s a Saturday.
-
“You don’t need to wait around, Matthew,” he says quietly as they rest on the glass wall of their former workplace. Matthew scoffs.
“I’ve only heard like, two things about this boyfriend of yours, of course I’m gonna see what this guy’s like,” Matthew scowls. Morpheus huffs and looks at the omw ;) from Hob, smiling at the text. “If he gets you to look like that at your phone, he’s gotta be something.”
“He is,” he says, and there’s only silence between them, people and cars moving around them.
“Shame Luce won’t see this, maybe I’ll,” Matthew gets out his own phone and Morpheus rolls his eyes, looking for any sign of Hob’s car.
A motorbike parks in front of the building, which he doesn’t pay any attention to ― until the helmet of the driver comes off, and Morpheus takes a moment, not recognising Hob. Gaping, his mind stutters at the sight as Hob turns off the bike, taking his helmet off and putting it on the handlebars, black fingerless gloves poking out as Hob gives a small wave and a smile.
“That’s him?!” Matthew screeches, but Morpheus doesn’t pay attention, insides hot at the sight of Hob straddling the bike as he walks closer in a daze, Matthew following behind, talking and gesturing to his phone.
“You have a bike?” He croaks, and Hob grins, putting an arm on the handlebars, other hand coming to pull him in by his coat, kiss filthy and indecent for such a public area, and Morpheus resists the urge to just―”how?”
“It’s been in the shop for a while,” Hob says, pierced tongue licking the top of his mouth and he swallows a whine. Blinking, Morpheus rests his heated face on the leather of Hob’s shoulder, feeling him turn his head, with his free hand going around his waist. “And who’s this?”
“Yo, hi, uh, I’m Matthew, man, dude,” Matthew babbles and Morpheus groans, feeling Hob’s grin in the way he’s holding himself.
“Matthew! Nice to meet you finally! I’m Robert Gadling, but you can just call me Hob. I hear you’ve been keeping this one here sane while at that hellhole.”
Matthew squeaks, “that’s news to me ― good news, but I’m glad! Boss man here has gotten out of his shell lately and y’know―”
Morpheus groans and straightens up, “we have to go Hob, now,” both Hob and Matthew open their mouths, “I will give you Matthew’s number so you can talk, but we must leave. Now,” he reiterates through gritted teeth. Mainly because Hob on a motorbike ― and the combined chatter of his boyfriend and Matthew would make it a week before they’d leave the front of his old work.
Hob gives a what can you do? expression to Matthew, who laughs as Hob pulls out another helmet from the motorbike seat behind him. Hob gives him a kiss as the helmet is put on him, hands framing his face before the lock slides into place under his chin. “The boss has spoken,” Hob says, eyebrows wiggling as he sits behind Hob, feeling the other’s arm move as he puts on his own helmet. “Ready?”
“Of course,” he scowls as squeezes Hob tighter, Matthew ― still with his phone in front of him, probably recording this for Lucienne ― waves at them as Hob starts the bike, vibrations as hot and pleasant as Hob in front of him as they leave.
-
As soon as the rumble of the bike stops, their helmets taken off and stowed away, Morpheus corners Hob against the bike, kissing him deeply, hands going up to touch the stubble of the other’s face. “Knew you’d like it,” Hob breathes between them, the kickstand of the bike flipping to balance the bike as Morpheus pushes him more onto it.
Hob chuckles breathily as he nibbles down the other’s neck, the sweat and and musk delicious and salty as his hands go under Hob’s shirt, trailing up chest hair until he flicks at pierced nipples. Hob groans, arching into him as they rut into each other, the pleasure fizzling inside.
There’s more laughter ― than Hob pushes him away, which Morpheus whines at, grabbing onto Hob’s jeans as he goes in for another kiss. “Alright, I’m not doing this in the car park,” Hob says and Morpheus scowls, Hob grabbing his coat to pull them inside the apartment complex. Considering the stairways up to Hob’s flat, he manages to push Hob against the walls for more kissing and petting as they make their way.
“You didn’t tell me you have a motorbike,” he accuses as they get into Hob’s flat, and Morpheus holds back his desire until they reach Hob’s room, the messiness familiar as pushes his boyfriend onto the bed.
Hob grins, settling under him, “I wanted to surprise you.” Groaning, Morpheus leans down, hands scratching through soft black hair as Hob shivers under him. “Especially with your surprise announcement today, and how sexy you are,” Hob’s hands go under the V of his shirt.
“Consider me surprised,” he pouts as he takes off Hob’s jacket and shirt, biting down the other’s neck until he can lick at the silver nipple rings, causing Hob to whine and shudder.
“And really hot for it,” Hob says between moans, eyes sparkling as he glares up at him, mind too full of the motorbike he could feel under him, Hob’s body a solid heat to hold onto as he tugs off his clothes and the other’s belt and leather pants, though he grumbles as he unzips the leather boots keeping them from fully coming off.
Hob laughs, eyes bright as Dream leans in to kiss him deeply, brain replaying the rumble of the engine under him, biting at Hob’s tongue ring as he pushes Hob’s legs together, hard cock jutting up as Hob gasps. Morpheus stares at the crease between Hob’s legs, the body hair as he guides his own red cock to the crease, feeling Hob’s fingers dig into his hips, scratching around as they end up digging into his arse.
There’s a whine from Hob as his cock fucks the channel between the other’s thighs, coarse hair getting wet from the pre-come. “Yes, right there,” Hob moans, moving slightly to meet his cock, his nails digging into Hob’s thigh as they share a messy kiss. “Come on,” Hob whispers, dark eyes staring into him and it only takes a few more thrusts until Morpheus orgasms with a shiver, white come coating Hob’s thighs, all the way up to his chest.
Gasping, he brings a hand around the other’s cock, thick and twitching as he strokes it, unable to look away as one of Hob’s joins his. The other’s black fingerless gloves getting wet and sticky as they jerk Hob off to completion, arching into their joined hands as Hob lets out a strangled whine, more come joining the mess on Hob’s chest.
-
Morpheus wasn’t sure about what brought him to this club specifically, aside from the banality of his job. His life. Another late night and the club’s neon sight lit up The White Horse, which he’s seen on the way home, people in various leather and gothic outfits out the front.
“Whiskey shot, cheap. Please,” a voice says next to him and Morpheus turns, seeing a man in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, chains on the side of them. The man looks at him, eyes dark brown ― and lined, making them even more and Morpheus looks away in shock. “And another, for this one,” the man says and Morpheus gapes as a shot gets put in front of him.
“That’s not necessary,” he watches as the man leans on the bar and downs his shot, insides burning even without the alcohol as the man looks at him.
“Have you seen yourself? It’s necessary,” the man leans in, a hot line at his side and Morpheus tries not to blush too easily ― though, knowing his skin, it’s very obvious as the man puts the shot into his hand, callused fingers brushing against his and Morpheus swallows, licking his lips as he sees black fingerless gloves on the other man. “How’d they let you in anyway?”
“I am not sure,” he replies and the man giggles, face close enough and smelling of whiskey that Morpheus leans away to down his shot, brain stuttering at the touches, at how he can see grey in the man’s beard and temples. “I wanted something different from,” he blurts, putting his tingling fingers into his pants pockets so he doesn’t reach out to see if the man’s beard is as soft as it looks. “My life.”
The man nods, leaning against his arm and Morpheus tries not to squirm as the man stares at him, tilting his head. “If you want to do something different, then go all out,” the man smirks, leaning closer to him ― and Morpheus feels even hotter as the man obviously stares at lips ― then raises an eyebrow almost in challenge.
[Fin]
#dc#the sandman#dreamling#dreamling fanfic#dream x hob#hob x dream#hob x morpheus#dreamling week#dreamling week 2024#writing#not sfw#feat goth hob!#and a dream so repressed he's not even goth 😱#he gets better though#very indulgent to me. a goth
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Like Real People Do Chapter 1: Sweet dreams, 'til sunbeams find you
Like Real People Do | Dream of the Endless (Morpheus)/Hob Gadling Part II of Stranger Ways | 6.5k
Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, Relationship Negotiation, Communication, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless|Morpheus, Tenderness, Food as a Metaphor for Love, The Dreaming Realm, Eldritch Dream of the Endless|Morpheus
Darling, just put your sweet lips on my lips
We should just kiss, like real people do
Getting together is just the start of the story.
Any relationship takes work, and Hob isn't about to back down. Come hell or high water, nothing is going to stop him being there for Dream.
He probably should have guessed how very literal that was going to turn out to be.
On Ao3
This also fills @mr-sadman Dreamling Week prompt Day 5 - Lecture
#the sandman#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#dream x hob#pella writes#dreamling week 2024#dreamling week
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A Symphony of Hearts (Dreamling, AO3)
Rating: Teen & Up | Status: Complete | Chapters 2/2 | Words: 4.3K
Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Age Difference, Age gap relationship, Orpheus is 22 and Eurydice is 31, Hob is 47, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Mommy, there are some shenanigans going on here, please mind the tags, Crack Treated Seriously, Orpheus POV
Summary:
Maybe it wasn't the best idea for Orpheus to try to pawn off his girlfriend's ex-boyfriend onto his dad, but Orpheus Endless has had worse ideas in his life. It'll all work out. Somehow.
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Another unhinged fic of mine based off an ask by @gabessquishytum 💖 Now with a second part! The second chapter also fills the prompt "Finger Food" for Day 4 of @mr-sadman's Dreamling Week.
#dreamling#dreamling week#dreamling week 2024#hob x morpheus#dream x hob#the sandman fanfic#seiya writes#seiya writes dreamling
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Thinking about Dream and Hob again!! It's dreamling week so my previous posts are getting attention and that has reinstated my feelings about them. Therefor, lil ficlet I'm making up as I go because they are very sweet
-
A week after meeting his mysterious stranger for the first time in far too long, Hob is still giddy with happiness. His students see it, he knows, and it's impacting how well his lectures go, but he can't bring himself to care.
His thoughts keep drifting to that smile, the damn smile that erased any and all resentment he may have felt for being stood up in 1989.
So naturally, his dreams have drifted in a more positive, if dark and mysterious, direction. He dreams of his stranger almost every night, whether he remembers it or not. The times he does remember lighten his step for hours on end, contentment buzzing in his heart every time he remembers that his stranger said they would meet again soon.
And meet again soon they do, although not how Hob envisioned it.
He had picked up lucid dreaming quite a while ago, so any dreams he had tended to be a reflection of whatever he had thought about before bed. This time is no different.
The bed underneath him is warm and soft, the stranger in his arms relaxed and smiling. They're both still dressed, unlike some other dreams Hob has had, but he's content with that. The closeness is enough, more than enough.
Conversation isn't particularly prevalent in these dreams, the man and the miracle happy in the quiet moments they carve out for themselves. The few sentences they do exchange are ones Hob treasures more than the life he so cherishes. This time is no different.
Really, Hob should've caught on sooner.
Brown eyes gaze into diamond that had softened into coal, and his stranger spoke.
"You still do not know my name, Hob Gadling."
Hob tilts his head.
"No. You've always seemed a bit beyond names." He smiles, a similar tug pulling at his dear stranger's lips.
"Dream." The man murmurs, a vulnerability Hob hasn't seen before painting the words with light. Confused, Hob chuckles.
"Yes, I'm quite aware I'm dreaming."
His stranger shakes his head.
"My name, Hob."
Hob blinks.
Then narrows his eyes and sits up.
"Wait, I'm dreaming. So did my brain just... make up a name for you? I mean, it fits, but it's not real, is it?" His confusion only amplifies when he sees the amusement in his stranger's - Dream's? - eyes. "What?"
"There is no such thing as 'just a dream', Hob. This isn't imaginary, I'd have thought you knew that by now."
Before Hob can formulate a response, Dream leans up and presses their mouths together gently.
The smile he gives Hob is so fond that his heart hurts. What hurts more, however, is the sound of his alarm as it jerks him from his slumber.
Needless to say, the next time Hob Gadling will dream of his Dream, he will have very many questions.
#let me know what you think#I haven't written these two in a while so I have no clue if it's as in character as I think it is#but anyway this is my contribution#I hope you enjoyed#dreamhob#dreamling#hob gadling#dream of the endless#dream x hob#dreamling week 2024#the sandman#fic post#fluff#tooth rotting fluff#this was so much fun#short but sweet
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Canon Divergence
A White Blank Page by Cheshyr (Words: 4,370)
Warning: Self-Esteem Issues
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Hob Gadling messed up, and he just wants Dream to forgive him. But first he has to convince Dream that he did, in fact, mess up.
Canon Divergence
my love is thine to teach by Avelera (Words: 4,454)
Warning: none
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
When Hob spots Dream of the Endless in the front row of his survey course on 20th c. history, he could perhaps be forgiven for assuming it was out of curiosity, to study his new human boyfriend while Hob went about his weirdo human life, or maybe as part of some kinky student-teacher roleplay thing.
Canon Divergence
Make Me Immortal With A Kiss by WyvernQuill (Words: 8,611)
Warning: Angst with a Happy Ending
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s perhaps the biggest mistake of all his 500 years on God’s green earth. But in that strange, treacle-slow moment on the wet street with the rain falling around him, with His Stranger’s arm shaking under his fingers - God, has he ever even laid hands on him before? Hob can’t recall - it seems like the only obvious course of action. Hob grabs him by the lapels of his black coat and drags him into a desperate, needy kiss.
Or: Hob kisses His Stranger in 1889, and does nothing but regret it for the next 133 years.
See below for more recommendations!
Canon Divergence
can’t promise forever (but i’m working on it) by furiosophie (Words: 8,339)
Warning: None
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
I have read Twilight," Morpheus says some months later and Hob nearly spits out his sandwich.
Canon Divergence
Question a good thing by sb_essebi (Words: 821)
Warning: None
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
That’s when the shots started flowing. On Desire’s dime. Which, Hob doesn’t know where that money comes from, or if it disappeared as soon as the drawer of the cash register clicked shut, but he wasn’t about to turn down free shots - mostly because he had forgotten they were in his own pub in the first place…
In which Dream gets Hob drunk, Desire shows up, Hob has a Very Important ontological question and Dream is a vain, vain creature.
Canon Divergence
Lavender, Valerian and Poppies by Moreta (Words: 16,133)
Warning: Supernatural bondage, BDSM, Consensual Non-Consent
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Hob Gadling is trying to dip his toes into the occult after he lost everything. Dream of the Endless decides to invite himself into the process and "help", and before too long finds out that there is something to being in the binding circle.
Canon Divergence
Presume Not by kittleimp (Word: 7,705)
Warning: Hallucinations, Panic Attacks, Coping With Trauma By Going Into A Coma Is Valid Right
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Captivity provides Dream with a great deal of time to consider his existence, especially as it relates to that of one Robert "Hob" Gadling. He admits some things to himself in the confinement of his prison that he would never have considered outside of it. It is harder to mend something broken than it is to create something new.
Post Canon
A Token of Affection by Tea_EarlGrey (Words: 5,130)
Warning: none
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
There's a jumper in the back of Hob's closet that's not meant to be worn.
Post The Kindly Ones
New Year, New You? by Konstadt (Words: 6,808)
Warning: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Pairings: Daniel!Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Hob orients himself to his new life on New Year's Eve, and meets someone he did not expect at a party. He'd gone through this scenario a hundred times in his mind, casual meetings turning into something more like they used to be, but now when the new Dream Lord was standing in front of him, familiar and foreign in turn, he didn't know what to say but he knew what he felt. Maybe they had both changed far less than circumstances would imply. Daniel decided that the dreamer's holiday held the right significance to reintroduce himself, and make a few demands.
Canon Divergence
Give me your hands, if we be friends by musesofaninsomniac (Word: 4,235)
Warning: none
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
“Well, of course you would bloody think that, we both know exactly how fond you are of Shakespeare,��� their professor snaps, two spots of color rising high on his cheeks.
Robin’s mouth drops open; around her, she can hear the class start to mutter, a few of them shifting to catch each other’s eyes, because well, that sounds—well, it sounds a lot like the professor is—
“Uhm,” Aisling tilts her head back to mutter. “Did that sound like the professor is…jealous? Of Shakespeare, somehow?”
Or, Hob and Dream somehow, improbably, get their shit together in front of Hob’s unsuspecting senior history class.
Canon Divergence
Birdsong (Rumor Has It) by fakeTRex (Words: 7,624)
Warning: none
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Hob has a strange week, Matthew has a big beak (figuratively speaking), and Dream causes a stir. The secrets fly fast and furious -- pun intended.
Canon Divergence
Coffee & Flowers by starsniper (Word: 2,180)
Warning: none
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
A cup of coffee has multiple meanings. Dream overthinks everything, as per usual.
Canon Divergence
The Story Teller by apocryphal (Word: 21,096)
Warning: Age Regression/De-Aging
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Hob takes in a breath for patience. “Fine. What’s the P-L-O-T device, and how did it get us from ancient cthulhu to—” He waggles his fingers over Dream, who is still sucking contentedly on his blanket. “—calamari?”
Canon Divergence
sharpening the axe by illuminetic (Words: 11,917)
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Warning: Light Sadism, Light Masochism, Dom/sub, Sexual Fantasy
“You were trying to discourage me… from propositioning you?” Dream repeats, bewildered.
Hob sighs, and spreads out his hands. “I think we need a little background, here.”
Basically, my 1489-Hob-made-himself-look-unfuckable-on-purpose magnum opus. Inspired by the great Tumblr Hob fuckability debates of 2022.
Canon Divergence — Dream is not fishbowled
Putting Out Fire With Gasoline by notallsandmen (notallmaenads) (Words: 20,297)
Warning: The Love Is Requited They’re Just Idiots, Angst with a Happy Ending
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
“You are late. I thought it was impolite to keep friends waiting?”
“We’re not friends. We’re not… anything. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
Dream does not get fishbowled and does turn up for the 1989 meeting, only to find that Hob does not appear. Hob has not been not captured or detained; he just stands him up. Or — what if Hob was a little less of a forgiving, patient cinnamon roll, and a little bit more of an salty bitch and went: ”You abandon me in the 1889, I will ghost you in 1989.”
Canon Divergence
Special Lecture: Fashion In England During The Second Millennium. Lecturer R. Gadling. 7 PM. by crimandclove (Words: 4,801)
Warning: None
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
After forgetting to find help for his lecture, Hob ropes an unassuming Dream into modeling for him. The lecture becomes educational in several ways.
Canon Divergence
To the Victor by Anonymous (Words: 24,532)
Warning: Extremely Dubious, Spanking, Anal Sex, Dom/sub
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Dream had thought he would do anything to be free of his cage, to be released from a century trapped in glass and exact his revenge on Roderick Burgess. He had thought so when the immortal hedonist Hob Gadling came down to the cellar with a sledgehammer and a deal, and he still had to think it was worth it, even if he would be wearing this debt for a very long time. “You will come to me when I ask, whenever I ask,” Hob had said. “I’m a fair man. I won’t keep you from your duties. What’s a few hours here and there to the King of the Dreaming?” What Dream had not fully understood was that he would be paying for his freedom on his back.
Human AU
endless pawns playing a fixed game by vectacular (Words: 18,850)
Warning: Consensual but not safe or sane
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
When Hob took the Endless family bodyguard position, it was mainly for the paycheck. And also a lack of breaking kneecaps for collecting debts, which he does feel some way about. More that it’s a waste of his considerable skill, but nonetheless.
Soulmates AU
hear my soul speak by Anonymous (Words: 2,746)
Warning: none
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
The hard part about being immortal is that it's hard to form really close relationships with anyone. Makes sense, then, that in a world where people share dreams with their soulmate from the moment they meet, Hob would be the only person who's been dreaming alone all his life.
(Well, as alone as can be, when he spends every night in a wonderful dreamland, with stretched out fields and magical villages and a beautiful castle looming out over him.)
Human AU
Radio Silence by Moorishflower (Words: 17,151 )
Warning: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, parasocial relationships, Light Angst, Isolation
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Ten years ago, the world ended all at once. It ended in flour. In rye. In the sound of pancake mix being opened in the morning, and the beep of the rice cooker, and the scent of fresh bread. And on the afternoon of June 13th, 2013, former novelist Dream Endeles finds a still-working portable radio and intercepts a distress call.
Kids Fics
Wish by cuubism (Words: 2,404)
Warning: Unhinged parental behavior
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Johanna's seen a lot of shit, but a magical baby trapped in a birdcage is a new one. Even more unfortunately, she knows the parent of said baby, though she doesn't realize it until he shows up, ready for vengeance.
Matthew's POV Fics
Mr. Normal by softestpunk (Words: 659)
Warning: None
Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Matthew's accepted by now that no one ever tells him anything. But couldn't someone have warned him about Hob Gadling?
#dreamling fic#dreamling fanfic#hob gadling#dream of the endless#dailydreamling#masterpost#ao3 fanfic#hobmurphy#fic rec#DailyDreamling Fic Recs#dream x hob#dream of the endless x hob gadling#master post#daniel x hob#Dreamling Week 2024#dreamling week
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