Chapter Text
He was born with the Pisces moon
Dim light and honeydew
And I know he’ll never love me
But I can’t let it go
Three weeks went by before Hob saw Dream again.
There was barely an hour that passed where Hob didn’t think of his friend. He wondered often about what ordeal Dream went through while he was away. But most of all, he replayed their last night together – the slip of Dream’s cool hand into his, the way he leaned against Hob’s body on their walk back, the yearning look on Dream’s face when Hob traced his cheek.
It felt like they tipped on the precipice of something more than friendship, but Hob felt foolish even entertaining the possibility.
It was an early Friday night, twilight had not yet set in, and Hob had just gotten out of the shower. He always started his Friday evenings by trying to rinse off the stress of the last week. It only sometimes worked.
He padded around his flat, watering his plants and humming an annoying Tiktok song to himself that was stuck in his head after one of his students had exposed him to it against his will. He had a strict no-Tiktok policy in his classrooms for that very reason.
A familiar rhythm of two firm raps on his door interrupted him.
He opened the door to reveal Dream on the other side, shifting from foot to foot in the first ever display of unease that Hob had seen. He held a bottle of Château Gruaud Larose in one hand, which he offered to Hob by way of greeting.
“My librarian assured me that this was a good vintage.”
Hob dumbly took the wine and stepped aside to let Dream in. His librarian?
To Hob’s shock, Dream leaned down and began unlacing his boots. He pulled them off slowly, then set them in a neat row on an empty spot on a shoe rack. They were followed by his coat, which he shook out once and hung on a free wall hook.
Hob still stood in front of his open door, wine in one hand, gaping.
Dream politely ignored his shock, perched stiffly on the edge of the edge of Hob’s couch, blinking expectantly at the other man.
Hob was supposed to be doing something, he just knew it. But he couldn’t stop staring.
Dream wore a t-shirt. Black (of course), short sleeved, and stretched across his willowy frame in a way that shouldn’t look as sexy as it did. It was just a t-shirt.
But Hob could see his arms. They were as long and graceful as the rest of him, made of sculpted, sylphen lines that reminded him of a marble statue.
Hob cleared his throat and waved the bottle of wine. “Just going to set this up to breathe.” Dream simply nodded once in acknowledgement.
Hob clamored around the kitchen, nearly dropping the crystal decanter at one point. Something was happening. Dream who was (more recently) always shivering and bundled up to his neck in layers and long sleeves, was sitting on his couch in nothing but a t-shirt and unfairly snug skinny jeans, after showing up unannounced on his doorstep. With wine. That his librarian recommended.
Hob didn’t have a single experience to use as a point of reference for this.
Maybe this was Dream’s version of being drinking buddies, Hob mused. But drinking buddies didn’t hold hands while one walked the other home.
He returned to the living room with two glasses and the decanter and set them in easy reach on the oversized antique trunk that acted as his coffee table.
They sat facing each other, Dream still poised on the edge and Hob with one leg tucked underneath him and an arm slung along the back of the couch. He wished he was wearing something besides a stretched out Rolling Stones t-shirt from the ‘70s and sweatpants.
Dream shivered and inclined towards Hob in a kind of slouch that suggested he wasn’t entirely aware of it.
Hob ventured to break the silence. “Once again, I’m very happy to see you, but I’m wondering what’s the reason.”
“No reason,” Dream hastily answered.
Hob chuckled, moving to pour the wine. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe you.”
Dream smiled, somewhat rueful, and took the offered glass of wine. He traced the rim with one long, slim finger, nails all a neat, even length.
His eyes flicked up from the glass, chin tucked. “Do I need another reason than wanting to spend time with a…companion?”
Hob wished his 1889-self was here to see this. He’d keel right over. He realized suddenly that Dream’s usually snow-white cheeks had the slightest tinge of pink. Dream was flustered.
“Of course you don’t,” Hob said with a wide smile, insides uncoiling. He knew all the beats to this dance. He leaned closer into Dream’s space and was rewarded with a fresh whiff of rain and garden. He ruffled a casual hand through his hair and dropped it back on the couch. Right near Dream’s knee.
Dream took in a small breath, lips parting like he was about to say something. He glanced at Hob from under thick lashes and swallowed hard. Then his free hand crawled toward Hob’s.
He met Dream halfway, sliding their fingers together like in the restaurant, heart already pounding again.
Dream squared his shoulders and tipped his head back to watch Hob. He’d made some kind of decision, that much was clear.
“I want to watch Mary Poppins.”
Hob blinked at him once, twice, three times. What? What, what, what. He couldn’t stop the deep laugh that bubbled up. He threw his head back, laughing until tears crowded his eyes and his stomach ached.
When he finally looked back, Dream was shifting uncomfortably, as tense as ever, looking like a bird about to take wing.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Hob rushed to assure him. “But that’s the absolute last thing I ever expected you to say.”
Dream’s frame loosened. “What did you expect me to say?”
“I don’t know, I never know what you’re going to say.” He chuckled again, was warmed by Dream’s answering breath of a laugh.
He stared at Dream for what felt like a full minute. Fuck it. Hold nothing back, that’s what he’d promised Dream.
He set his wine down on an end table and exchanged it for the TV remote.
“Come on,” he said, propping his feet on the trunk and shifting around on the couch until he faced the TV.
Dream looked lost, eyes wide and unblinking. His gaze traveled over his shoulder to the now bright light of the TV.
“Come here,” Hob said softer, tugging on their linked hands.
Dream let himself be pulled further onto the couch, let Hob draw him closer.
Slowly, as Hob flipped through various streaming platforms to find Mary Poppins, Dream relaxed a fraction at a time, like he was consciously letting tension out of each region of his body.
He ended up cradled against Hob’s chest, with Hob’s muscled arm wrapped lightly across his middle, hip to hip. Hob thought he heard a soft noise escape Dream, barely more than a sigh.
Hob was, for lack of a better term, freaking the fuck out.
He had a godlike immortal entity in his arms, wine nearby, comfy on the couch, while he looked for Mary fucking Poppins. Like they just did this all the time. Like this was normal. His drinking buddies theory was out the window and smashed flat on the pavement.
If he turned his head one fraction to the left, his lips would brush against Dream’s hair. He could already feel the wild strands tickling his chin. He wanted to bury his face in it.
He finally found the blasted movie on Disney+ (Ugh). He ignored the opening credits in favor of breathing in Dream’s scent, trying not to think about how he could probably count his ribs from touch alone. Dream told Hob he didn’t need to eat, so how did he get that way? It seemed he’d been starved of something besides food.
Dream sighed again and drew his legs up to nestle them against Hob’s, pressing himself even further into the other man’s chest. Dream was one good wiggle away from being into Hob’s lap.
“You’re very warm.”
Hob would have missed his words, nearly buried under the first lines of dialogue, if it wasn’t for the way Dream’s voice rumbled through him like the remnants of a distant thunderstorm.
“Ah, now I see what you’re doing here,” Hob teased.
Dream shifted almost imperceptibly in his arms. “Not the only reason.”
Hob screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to focus. Never in all his fantasies did he include snuggling on his couch with Dream while they watched a movie. What in all that is holy was Dream doing here right now? What did he want from Hob?
He wasn’t sure what would do him in first, the delicate fold of Dream’s bony frame against his own or his curiosity.
“Why are we watching Mary Poppins?” He turned his head to mumble it against Dream’s hair, surprised by how soft the stiff strands were. He was rewarded with a hitch of Dream’s chest.
“My sister recommended it.”
This could not get weirder. “You have a sister?”
“I have many siblings. Destiny, Despair, Death – “
Hob cut in, unable to stop himself. “Death?”
Dream turned his head towards Hob until he could see Dream’s sharp profile against the TV screen. “Yes, Death. She was the one who recommended this.”
Okay. Alright. Cool. This could get weirder. Death, who apparently was also a godlike entity, had told her brother to watch Mary Poppins. Hob wasn’t going to touch this one without at least two weeks to absorb it and two fingers of whisky in his blood.
“No more unbearable knowledge about the universe for the rest of the night,” Hob muttered into Dream’s hair.
Dream shifted closer again. Any further and it was going to become a problem for Hob. A hard, throbbing problem.
He tossed back the rest of his wine in one gulp and set his glass down. Maybe he could distract himself.
He sunk his now free hand into Dream’s thick hair, gently scratching against his scalp. Dream let out a soft, deep hum from the back of his throat.
Nope, this was worse. So much worse. Hob couldn’t help but do it another time, winding locks around his fingers until Dream hummed once more. The sound was addicting. That looming problem had officially half-arrived.
This was obscene. Mary Poppins and those kids and that stupid chimney sweep man were dancing around on screen and all Hob could think about was pushing Dream down into the couch and kissing him until his lungs burned.
Dream didn’t say a single thing for the rest of the movie. Didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, didn’t move again. He barely even blinked. Hob knew because he wasn’t paying a single speck of attention to the screen.
They finished the movie like that, Dream zeroed in on the screen, Hob focused on Dream, feeling like he was in some kind of horny purgatory.
Hob clicked off the TV, shifted enough to catch Dream’s expression in profile. “Did you like it?”
“My sister misremembered the line,” he said, with a pleased half-smile.
Another typical non-answer.
“Are all films this fantastical? It was…different from the nature of the human world.”
Apparently, this was Dream’s first ever movie. Hob wondered what other firsts he could claim from the man. Tried to banish the thought. Failed.
“Not at all. Some are realistic and serious.”
Dream cocked his head. “Realistic for you, perhaps. This was not unlike a dream.”
Hob looked at the screen like the movie was still there. “That was more like your reality?”
Dream nodded once. He looked lost in thought, intrigued. “I think…I would enjoy more films of this nature.”
Hob chuckled. “We can watch Beauty and the Beast next time. I think you’d like that one too.”
Dream’s lips parted, his lashes fluttered like he was contemplating his next words. “Film was inspired by a dream, you know.” He sounded almost proud.
Hob laughed again. “You can’t help it, can you? Like with William Shakespeare. He had dreams, wished to inspire dreams, and you couldn’t keep away.”
Dream’s answering silence was like a question mark scrawled into the space between them.
“You’re drawn to the dreams of humans, into their dreams,” Hob continues, his pretense of asking questions abandoned.
Dream let out a little huff, of impatience perhaps, or a scoff. “I am their dreams, and their dreams are me.”
Hob’s head spun a little, trying to wrap his mind again around the concept of Dream as a non-human entity, as a collection of something so abstract and ephemeral. He turned towards Dream, pulling away enough to face him squarely.
Dream let out a low sound of discontent at the loss of contact. He studied Hob’s face in a way he found familiar. Looking at him like he was an automaton Dream could take apart, like a knot he could unwind.
“What about me, then?” Hob said with a little laugh to cover his insecurity.
Dream’s brow crinkled in a shall furrow. His eyes locked onto Hob’s, their color deep blue in the soft wash of late twilight.
“I’ve never had a dream, not a real one, not the kind you’re drawn to. I’m a simple man. Why do you keep coming back?”
Dream’s face hovered inches from his own now. Hob could feel each breath against his face; it wasn’t warm like a human’s – it was the fresh chill after a rainfall. People speak of falling into one’s eyes, but with Dream, Hob felt more like he was flying, up up up into the cosmos. Those depths certainly sparkled with the vast eternity of space and stars.
Dream’s lips parted, petal pink and slightly chapped. “All humans have dreams. What do you truly dream of, Hob Gadling?”
“You already know the answer.” It was a soft brush against Dream’s mouth. “I dream of you.”
They melted into each other, no way of knowing who closed the distance first. Hob slotted his lips against Dream’s small mouth, those lips still lush and full and a little cool.
They moved slowly at first, like Hob had imagined when he’d thought of this, and somehow nothing like it at all. He’d expected stillness, perhaps something curt and almost passionless. But Dream’s unhurried movements were firm, unyielding, a cold burn in their own right. His lips felt like the certainty of time moving forward, of the inevitability of sleep pulling in a tired mind, of the existence of the universe.
Dream’s hands traced Hob’s jaw, splayed along his neck, their coolness almost startling against his hot skin. Hob slid one hand back into Dream’s wild, tousled hair, and this time, gently tugged, pulling him in closer, angling his head to slip his tongue into Dream’s mouth.
Dream made a sharp sound in the back of his throat and then – oh. His mouth was suddenly gone, nipping and biting down Hob’s jaw to his throat, his grip gone from careful and firm to nearly bruising.
Hob tugged again, harder this time, desperate to draw out more sounds. And that was all it took – Dream was pushing Hob back hard against the couch, still sucking a bruise into his neck, and swung a leg over, climbing right into his lap.
Hob let out a surprised noise of his own, almost a groan, as Dream’s weight settled over his hips, heavier than he expected. Dream grabbed his shirt in giant fistfuls as he found Hob’s mouth again. His kisses turned demanding, hungry. Like Dream was starving for it.
Hob wanted his hands on Dream’s skin, free of clothes. His fingers curled under the hem of Dream’s shirt, ready to ask.
Dream placed one hand over Hob’s to hold him still, who looked up at the other man with a question.
“Where I was,” Dream began, voice unsteady, “I was…exposed. Fully.”
Hob stiffened with a sharp breath, immediately catching his meaning. “They took your clothes?”
Dream nodded once, gaze dropping like he was almost ashamed and the look of it ached deeply in Hob’s chest. His chest flooded with bright fury at whatever Dream had been through, at whomever had done it to him. If they were still alive, Hob would hunt them down and end them himself.
Dream’s expression grew uncertain. “But I still want…” His fingers twitched over Hob’s like he was conflicted.
“I have an idea,” Hob said, giving him one gentle kiss before he slid his hands under Dream’s long, reedy thighs. “Can I try something?”
“I trust you,” Dream whispered, strangely earnest. The meaning was clear: he trusted Hob with this, but he trusted Hob with everything else as well.
In one smooth motion Hob hitched Dream closer to his core and stood up. Dream immediately locked his ankles behind Hob, legs tightening on his flanks, arms curled possessively around his neck. He fit against Hob’s body with a sense of precision that took his breath away.
Hob surged up to kiss him again, refusing to part as he walked them into his bedroom. With one hand, he yanked back his comforter and then gently set Dream down on the bed, who watched Hob with open interest, propped up on his elbows, gaze turning even darker as Hob stripped down to his boxers.
Hob lifted one edge of the comforter and Dream immediately caught on, raising a hand to halt him. To Hob’s amazement, he swiftly pulled his t-shirt off and shimmied out of his pants.
Hob sucked in a strangled breath when he realized Dream wasn’t wearing a single scrap of anything underneath.
Hob only had a second to drink in the elegant lines of Dream’s shivering body; he had no interest in prolonging Dream’s exposure for his own sake, especially as the other man’s features started to sharpen with discomfort.
Dream let Hob lift him to the center of the bed and crawl over, caging him in with his body. Hob wasn’t a particularly large man – average height, average build – but over the fragile frame of Dream like this, he felt like a shield.
He pulled the blanket over them, cocooning their bodies under its comfortable weight, leaving only their heads out.
Dream dropped his head back on the pillow to trace Hob’s face again with cool fingers. Hob wasn’t really worried about overheating, Dream’s body sucked warmth out of him like a chill autumn night.
Dream tugged Hob down with an impatient hand around the back of his neck, sealing their lips together. His hands roamed, greedily grasping and squeezing every inch of exposed skin, pressing them together as tightly as possible. His legs fell open, pulling Hob into the cradle of his hips, and they rolled against each other at the same time.
With nothing but the thin cotton of Hob’s boxers between them, the friction drew a sharp gasp from Dream at the same time Hob moaned. He’d never expected Dream to be like this – ravenous and desperate. Almost pleading in his intensity, his nails raking up Hob’s back as if he dug hard enough he could sink them in like claws.
Hob set his lips to Dream’s jaw, nibbling and biting along every inch as the other man arched into his touch, exposing the snowy column of his neck. His skin tasted like power. Like he smelled, of rain and green things.
Every bite drew a quiet moan from Dream as Hob traveled down over the sharp ridge of his collarbone, licking in the hollow of each rib, dragging searing lips over the taut lines of his stomach.
He could do this for hours, just sucking deep bruises into Dream’s pearly skin, watching them spread like poison in cream. He wondered how long the marks would last, certain they’d be gone before long.
Hob spoke into the shadow of Dream’s throat. “What do you want?” He would take anything Dream was willing to give. And this was enough for him, just pressed along the length of his body, devouring his marble skin with Dream’s panting and his quiet sounds.
“Anything,” Hob added. “I’ll give you anything.” He would. He would give Dream anything he asked for.
“You, I want you,” Dream gasped, rocking his hips into Hob’s again. “I want you inside.”
Hob’s mind blanked. He must have frozen because Dream went still and tense beneath him. Hob looked up to see Dream’s lips narrowed in a nervous slash.
Dream’s throat bobbed. “Unless you don’t –“
Hob cut him off with a bruising kiss. “Yes,” he murmured into Dream’s mouth. “My god, yes. Please.”
An impish smile played around Dream’s lips. “I’m no god, Hob Gadling.”
“But I can still worship you,” Hob breathed, his lips traveling down Dream’s throat again. He shifted to one side just enough to reach down Dream’s body, their legs still tangled.
Dream’s length, heated by Hob’s body, was like warm silk in his hand. Bigger than he expected, and nestled in a thatch of wiry hair. He passed his thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of moisture there and Dream rewarded him with a choking gasp.
He was so much more sensitive than Hob ever anticipated, and deliciously responsive.
He worked his hand up and down until Dream bucked against him with every stroke.
“Hob,” he said in something approaching a whine. “Give me what I asked for.”
Needy, demanding little thing, Hob thought fondly. He didn’t dare say it out loud, not yet, although he was almost certain he could get away with it.
“One second darling,” Hob said, rolling away to grab lube out of his bedside drawer. He slicked his fingers up and snaked his hand between Dream’s legs again, tracing the rim of his hole with one fingertip.
He captured Dream’s mouth and swallowed the next moan down as he gently sank a finger in, starting shallow. Dream was impossibly tight and warm here; it would take a while to properly ready him. But Hob was in no rush; he was relishing every second of this.
Their kisses turned filthy. Dream’s tongue surged into Hob’s mouth, jaws wide until they were just licking into each other, smeared with spit and heat. All the while, Hob worked Dream open, searching for that spot that he’s certain would make Dream see stars.
When he brushed against it, the firm, bunched nub unmistakable under his fingertips, Dream gasped high and loud. The sound went to Hob’s head like fine wine on an empty stomach.
“Has anyone ever touched you here before?” Hob had to know.
“No,” Dream moaned in response. “No one but you.”
“Fuck,” Hob growled.
“That’s the idea,” Dream choked out, still managing to sound as haughty as ever, even with two of Hob’s fingers buried inside him.
“Sly bastard,” Hob said, seeking out the dip behind the angle of Dream’s jaw. He was rewarded with another choked moan. He sucked another hard mark into the skin, like if he made it deep enough, he could claim Dream as his own.
He slipped in a third finger and continued to scissor Dream open, taking care only to bump against his prostate every few thrusts; he didn’t want to rush into a premature finale.
“Hob, enough” Dream whined. “Please,” he said in a tone that edged on begging.
Never in all his many, many years, did Hob think he’d have the most gorgeous godlike creature that certainly ever existed underneath him, hot around his fingers and begging for his cock. It was enough to kill a man.
“Okay,” Hob soothed him, kissing across Dream’s sharp cheekbones. “I just don’t want it to hurt.”
“I am not opposed to pain,” Dream murmured in a tone that suggested perhaps he welcomed it instead.
Hob drew back, one eyebrow cocked. He eyed the purple marks littering Dream’s skin. “Clearly.”
Dream licked the pout of his lower lip, refused to look away.
“But not with this, love. I refuse to let this hurt.”
The look Dream fixed on him was honey-sweet, his eyes glinting with uncharted constellations.
Hob crawled out of his boxers, feeling extra awkward trapped under the blanket like this, and reached for the lube again. He bit back a shudder as he coated his so-far untouched length, having done nothing but press against the jut of Dream’s hip. He crawled back over Dream’s body, hooked hands behind his knees and pressed them to Dream’s chest to work a pillow under his hips. He bent easily, with the limberness of a dancer.
The tip of his cock bumped against Dream’s softened, spread entrance and they both sucked a breath in.
Hob grazed Dream’s lips as he spoke. “Have you considered, darling, that I am taking my time not just for your benefit.”
Dream’s eyes were a question.
“You must know,” Hob murmured, beginning to push in. He dropped lingering kisses along Dream’s jaw between words. “I adore you. I’ve wanted this for centuries.” He pressed again, breaching Dream’s puckered ring, drawing a soft, short moan from the other man.
“Wanted you for centuries,” he added, bucking into Dream with short, gentle thrusts, until their hips were flush. He paused, steadying himself. His forehead dropped against Dream’s for a second as they stilled, just breathing into the same space.
Finally, he started moving and god, was it more than anything Hob could ever ask for. Dream was perfectly tight and hot around him, his head dropped back on the pillow and mouth open, gasps and soft moans escaping with every motion until Hob felt dizzy. His marble-cool arms clung to Hob like a vice, so much stronger than he expected.
“I didn’t know,” Dream admitted, panting with each word.
“I dreamed about you often,” Hob confessed, a little confused.
“When I first started to care what you thought of me, I didn’t want to know. I stayed away from them.”
Hob wasn’t offended. What was a man to a god, even an immortal one?
“You didn’t want to, or you were afraid to?”
Dream growled softly, a kind of warning, but it carried no real threat. Hob nipped his throat and thrust hard and it turned into a whine.
“How could I do anything but want you,” Hob said. “You perfect, gorgeous creature.”
Dream blinked at him, eyes once again impossibly dark and shimmering with the cosmos. If he didn’t know better, Hob would say he looked awed.
“I’m always going to want you.” Hob kissed him again, sweetly, and soft in contrast with the movement of the rest of him, and when he pulled away, he swore he caught something sad and dark flit across Dream’s face.
He slowed, studying Dream carefully as he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Dream shook his head once, his characteristic single sweep from one side to the other. Silvered tears glittered on his lashes. “Ask me again. Later.”
Hob kissed him again by way of agreement. Dream cupped the back of his neck to keep him there.
They moved in silence for several minutes, nothing but the exchange of their lips, Dream’s breathy sounds, and Hob’s moans when Dream clenched down on him.
“I’m so close,” he warned Dream.
“Take me with you,” Dream responded, halfway between a request and a command.
Hob snaked his arm between them and took Dream in hand, eliciting a low groan as he tightened his fist.
He tugged in time with his thrusts. Dream’s thin frame shook harder every second, his head thrown back, eye lashes fluttering. The moonlight from the window and the soft warmth of the bedside lamp pooled and mingled on his skin, rendering it in shades of silver and gold. Just like his sand. Just like the stars that sparked in his eyes when he opened them to watch.
It snatched Hob’s breath away, the ethereal beauty of this man, coming undone underneath him, his noises devolving into uncontrolled whimpers and high-pitched cries. Hob was positive Dream’s clenched fingers were leaving long bruises around his biceps.
With one final cry, Dream gasped, “Hob,” and a violent shudder coursed through his body as he spilled hot and thick across Hob’s fist.
Hob was less than a breath behind him. The sound of his name on Dream’s tongue ripped his orgasm right out. He uttered a strangled moan as he pumped into Dream, working his hips in shallow movements to carry them both through the remnants of it.
He moved to pull out and Dream’s arms tightened.
“Stay here,” he whispered. “Just for a minute.” He pulled Hob down until his weight threatened to crush Dream.
“Can you even breathe like this?”
“Well enough,” Dream assured him. He sounded nearly euphoric. Entranced.
Hob couldn’t tear his gaze away. Glossy-eyed, lips like crushed velvet, pink high on his cheeks – Dream was unbearably beautiful. Fierce affection swept through him, almost unbearable. He sought the tender spot behind the angle of Dream’s sharp jaw, mouthing over it until Dream sighed with pleasure again.
Dream turned his head. “Kiss me, please.”
“I never expected sex to turn you into such a kitten,” Hob teased.
Dreamed stiffened below him for a second until Hob covered his lips with his own. To think all it took was a good kiss to get him to relax. Hob felt like he was in some kind of fucked up version of Sleeping Beauty.
He was fully soft at this point, and cum was beginning to spill out. It was already tacky and cool between their chests.
“I’ll be right back darling.” Hob pecked Dream’s forehead when he grumbled a displeased sound.
He cleaned them up with a warm towel, taking care never to pull the blanket off Dream. Back in bed, he gathered Dream into his arms and rolled them until they were on their sides, front to front, as much of his limbs draped over Dream as possible. He’d deduced from some obvious hints that Dream liked the weight. He seemed to need it.
He burrowed into Hob’s chest with a soft sigh that felt like melting sugar on Hob’s tongue.
Hob drifted off in the drowsy silence.
Dream broke the quiet. “You built a pub for me,” he said, tone almost accusing.
Hob sighed. No use in hiding it. “Yeah, that I did. Just in case you decided to come back in another hundred years. And if that pub didn’t make it to 2089, I’d just build over the rubble of my last venture. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to do that, would it?”
Dream tilted his head, scrutinizing Hob with an unfamiliar look in his eyes. If Hob had to guess, he seemed faintly pleased and almost shy.
“I always intended to return to you. My absence hurt me just as much.”
The words knit together some deep, lingering wound inside Hob. He chucked, feeling weightless. “Like I said before, I never know what to expect with you.”
Dream was still looking at him with that unfamiliar expression. He added with twitching lips, “And I with you.”
Hob found it hard to believe that he, a mere man, could keep this nearly infinite, immortal entity surprised. But Dream had no reason to lie. Not about this.
Dream dropped his head back down to Hob’s skin again. “Someday,” he started, “Someday I will tell you about what happened. When I was gone.”
Hob raked a gentle hand through Dream’s even more tangled hair, earning him a soft sigh. “Take your time.”
They lapsed back into comfortable silence. Dream was nearly warm in his arms, felt nearly human.
After a while, Hob’s eyes drooped, his whole body growing heavy. But he fought exhaustion valiantly. Their night couldn’t be over so soon.
“Sleep, Hob,” Dream urged him, one hand splayed against his chest.
“Don’t wanna,” Hob protested. He didn’t want to let this end. Dream spoke like he expected to see Hob soon, but he didn’t know if this particular intimacy would ever happen again.
“I will be with you in the Dreaming.” The soothing rumble of his voice spread through Hob like a soporific.
On the last edge of awareness, he caught Dream’s final words.
“Sleep, my beloved.”
He slept. He dreamed.