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It was a day like all the others at The New Inn and Hob Gadlin sat in his usual booth, nursing a beer while grading the papers of his college students. He hasn't had this job for a long time, only a few years, but he enjoyed it. Spending time with young people was enriching for someone like him who never grew tired of adventures.
He looked up at the sound of the door opening and nearly choked on his drink when he recognized the person entering. He'd always been sure it was simply a matter of time until his... acquaintance would show up again, but that didn't reduce the utter relief flooding him.
He'd missed him dearly during the past century.
The man was walking over to him and Hob couldn't help but appreciate how wonderful he looked in that dark coat of his. He was towering over Hob, tall, and perfectly still with his tousled black hair and the alabaster skin that made him look like he'd never seen the light of day.
Just like he'd remembered him.
His face broke into a smile, overjoyed at the sight of the one constant in his life, when his other, the White Horse, had already been taken from him.
"You're late," Hob says, with no hint of accusation in his tone.
"It seems I owe you an apology," the man answers, "I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."
Friends! He'd called him his friend!
Hob was barely able to contain himself, physically fighting his facial muscles not to grin.
His friend sat down in the spare chair, looking at him with an expression that could have been joy, amusement, or something else entirely.
Something softer, sweeter.
"No, listen. I'm sorry. I never meant to insult you the last time we met. When you didn't show up in 1989, I thought it was because you were still mad at me. And when they tore down the old inn, I was afraid I'd never see you again."
His friend shook his head and the little smile vanished, a change that felt like a stab to his own heart. "It was not your fault, but something else entirely. The treatment I gave you was unjustified and I apologize for the grief it caused you. You have already been forgiven, Hob. Perhaps, you spoke the truth back then and confronted me with a matter I wasn't ready to face yet."
So he'd been right after all. The reason they kept meeting up every hundred years wasn't just because the man was curious about his immortality.
It was because he was lonely, too.
"I had no choice," he continued, "I was confronted with matters beyond my control that kept me from meeting you. But I haven't forgotten about it and thought of you every day and every night."
A shiver ran down his spine, giving him goosebumps. He tried to conceal the notion and was relieved to see his friend's eyes staring off into space as if he wasn't quite there. He didn't want him to know how much the words affected him.
Hob frequently wondered where his friend's mind went when he seemed to be stuck in his own head again. His face was blank and yet it contained so much sorrow and emotion that it physically hurt to look at him. Not for the first time in his long life did he wonder whether his friend was about to weep. He often looked like he was on the brink of crying. The fact that his eyes at times looked like a universe was contained inside of them didn't help - did his tears sparkle like distant stars, or did the stars sparkle like tears?
The truth was, Hob felt the same.
He too had thought about his friend constantly, had counted down the days and the nights like he always did when they were once again in the 80s and about to catch up with what had happened over the course of the past hundred years.
The disappointment had been almost too much to bear when no one had come to see him. Not even the bartender's fine whiskey had been able to take his mind off whom he missed the most and whose last words had filled him with so much regret, that he thought he was going to choke on it.
But here he was, sitting across from him in an inn's booth, his pale hand mere centimetres away from his own. He was radiating warmth and familiarity in a world which never seemed to be the same each day he woke up.
Before their fight, he'd sometimes seen his friend in his dreams, wearing the same slight smile he'd greeted him with today. But then he'd disappeared altogether and his dreams had become wild and confusing.
"What's happened?" Hob asked carefully, afraid to scare the man away once more. He didn't think the loss would break him and make him question his oldest decision, but it would be excruciating nonetheless.
A long, comfortable silence settled over them. A waitress came and asked his friend for his order which he politely declined before he returned to the quiet complementation inside his mind. Hob felt like his friend was trying to come up with something to say.
Dream was mesmerizing to watch. Even when he was completely still and silent, his presence was captivating.
Hypnotizing.
The papers he had been grading were long since forgotten and Hob waited, occasionally sipping on his beer in wait of an answer. If immortality had taught him one thing, it was patience. In the meantime, he followed the football match playing on TV by the bar.
"I was captured," his friend begins, slowly and deliberately, each word measured carefully and with a weight to them that immediately settled on Hob's chest. It was so far from what Hob had expected him to say, he found himself listening with his mouth hanging open in shock.
His friend, captured? He remembered the small demonstration of power when Constantine had bothered them and wondered how that was even possible.
"And held in captivity for over a century."
"What? By whom?"
Again, it took a while for him to answer.
He didn't fidget, he never did, but Hob felt the way he was turning the words over in his head, trying to find the right ones to say. Sympathy overtook him as he watched his friend struggle to form sentences stemming from anguish.
Without thinking of the implications, he gingerly reached out for his hand.
It was warm and smooth, a stark contrast to the man's cold sorrow. Hob squeezed it lightly, and there, for a second, he saw the hint of a smile again.
"Centuries ago, you asked me whether I was a devil. The answer is No. I am no devil. But I am no human, either. I am Dream of the Endless. You may know me as Morpheus, the King of Dreams. But mine are the nightmares as well, and I was born when life first came into existence."
Hob knew his friend well enough to realize he wasn't joking, but that didn't mean he knew how to reply.
"The woman who accompanied me that day in 1389 was my sister, Death. We overheard you speaking to your friends and when I deemed your choice a mistake, it was her who encouraged me to approach you. She was the one who gave you the gift of immortality, not me. Or rather, she denied you her own."
"Depends on the point of view, I guess," Hob said with a smile. "I haven't changed my mind yet."
His friend- Morpheus, mirrored it, albeit more subtle. "I knew you wouldn't."
"You know, in hindsight you being the Sandman makes perfect sense."
Dream frowned at the name but didn't interrupt him, silently urging the man to go on.
"The sand you used against Constantine should have given it away."
It was an odd feeling, being able to put a name on the man who had been in his life for well over six hundred years.
Morpheus.
He rolled the name over in his mind, contemplating whether he was supposed to call him Dream of the Endless, instead.
Would he be fine with Morpheus? Or just Dream, maybe? The last bit sounded like a title, anyway. Friends don't use titles.
"I was captured by an occultist named Roderick Burgess. He summoned me in error in hopes of my sister giving new life to his fallen son. My identity was insignificant to him. He remained stubborn in his demand for me to bestow immortality, youth and wealth upon him." He looked up, his eyes twinkling again. This time the stars looked like real tears. "None of these gifts were mine to give nor his to receive."
"But he didn't listen."
Dream, he decides to call him Dream now because it feels more natural than Morpheus and because it was the first name he'd introduced himself with, nods in reply.
They remained at the inn, watching the other patrons and the football match until Hob started shifting in his seat. His beer had long since been emptied. His students' papers could wait.
"Would you like to join me on a walk?"
Dream arched an eyebrow at him but agreed. They paid and left, stepping out together into the setting sun.
A gust of wind sent Dream's long coat billowing out behind him. For a split second, Hob stopped and looked at his friend in awe. He had always been beautiful in his own sense, but the way the golden light caused his skin to glow in contrast to his dark hair robbed him of every coherent thought.
Dream was gorgeous.
The caw of a bird pulled him out of his reverie as a raven landed on Dream's shoulder.
"Hob, this is Matthew, my companion. He used to be mortal like you, in his old life as a human. Matthew, may I introduce you to my friend Hob?"
The raven cawed again and Hob couldn't help but laugh at the way Dream's face twisted into an offended frown. "Yes, Matthew, I do have friends."
Hob nodded, giggling over the fact that his mysterious friend was pouting over a bird's insult no one else but him could hear. "He really does."
Dream looked at Matthew in triumph, at which the bird cawed again. Hob watched their interaction with fascination, hanging on to Dream's every word and gesture.
"Please inform Lucienne that I will be staying with my old friend for the moment. I wouldn't want to concern her."
Matthew blinked at him, then spread his wings and took off.
Hob tried to watch him fly away, but from one moment to another, the bird had vanished from the colourful sky without a trace.
Even after all this time, the world was still filled with wonder.
Their conversation soon came to a halt again.
Usually, Hob would tell him about the past century, his losses and triumphs and all that, but in the face of what his friend had gone through, it felt inappropriate to talk about himself.
Besides, he couldn't imagine that Dream spoke to many people in the first place, let alone communicate his feelings.
Did immortal entities have feelings like humans? Probably, otherwise, he wouldn't have seemed so happy to see him. And upset, too, when he had mentioned his captivity.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hob asked eventually when they were wandering through a park overgrown with fragrant bushes. The sun had set by now, replaced by the first stars and the moon peeking through a nearly opaque cloud.
For a few seconds, he thought Dream was going to decline his offer. Then, he slowly opened and closed his mouth as if the memory was too painful to be put into words.
"They did not hurt me," he began, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as if he needed them close for comfort, "Not directly. My absence caused my realm to decay, but the repair was manageable once I had retrieved my tools."
Hob had no idea what he was talking about but he didn't want to interrupt. It was rare enough that his friend talked about himself. Hell, until today, he hadn't even known his name or who he was.
"But they killed my old companion. Matthew's predecessor, Jessamy. She died right before my eyes, trying to rescue me. I could not save her."
Hob winced in sympathy. He too knew what loss felt like. There had been plenty of time for him to learn.
Placing his hand on Dream's shoulder, he awkwardly rubbed slow circles across the dark fabric. Dream eyed him with wariness for a second, before continuing.
"They left her blood on my cage for days out of fear I was going to punish them for it. Only when they realized I was unable to unleash my vengeance upon them from within the binding circle, did they remove her blood and innards."
"I'm sorry." Hob meant it. "Are you doing alright now?"
"I am, yes. After decades of mind-numbing tedium, I was able to escape a couple of months ago. More important matters required my attention first, but meeting you was a relief, Hob Gadling."
"The pleasure's all mine, Dream of the Endless."
The corners of Dream's mouth twitched again, a motion that caused Hob's heart to skip a beat in his chest. Seeing his friend overcome with grief and sorrow had hurt more than he liked to admit.
"Well, would you like to come in for dinner?" Hob asked, wringing his hands as he hopefully awaited his friend's answer. "If you even eat, that is, since you're an immortal being and all that-"
"You're immortal yourself," Dream inquired, the small smirk barely visible in the shadows cast by the street lamp's yellow light.
"Yes, I know, but I am human."
Dream regarded him with mild amusement before he reached for Hob's hand. "With the right person, I would."
As he unlocked the front door and entered the hallway, Dream's words echoed like a mantra inside his head.
Did he just try to flirt with him?
Dream, as it turned out, was no big help in the kitchen. He had the likeness of a lost kitten in the way he sat in his kitchen chair, the coat still wrapped around him while he watched Hob dice vegetables with wide eyes.
"Have you ever cooked before?" Hob asked if only to interrupt his staring. Dream has never been one to initiate small-talk and while the atmosphere wasn't awkward, there was still so much Hob wanted to learn about his oldest friend before he was going to disappear for another century.
Dream shook his head, never taking his eyes off the bell peppers. "No. I have watched people cook in their dreams since they have learned to use fire, though."
"Seems like it hasn't lost its charm yet," Hob said, amused by his child-like fascination.
"Everyone has their unique way to do it."
Watching Dream try to eat a taco without losing his dignity was pure entertainment and it would have been a lie to say that Hob didn't enjoy every second of it. Scraps of food were littered all over the table while the taco shell broke further apart with each bite he took.
Apart from Dream's lack of experience concerning tacos, Hob has already learned three things this evening: First of all, immortal entities did eat. Dream even mentioned that his sister, Death, did it regularly. Secondly, his friend's heat tolerance was ridiculous. Hob physically cringed when he saw the amount of hot jalapeño sauce he poured on his food. The third, and perhaps the rawest realisation, was something else entirely.
Hob wasn't stupid. He'd lived and loved more than the average person, far more than any mortal could dream of. He knew the signs, knew what love felt like.
And this was it.
Every time Dream smiled or looked at him, his heart seemed to swell in his chest until he was afraid it might burst. He wanted to touch him so badly; to run a hand through his hair, stroke his cheeks, caress his lips...
And Dream appeared interested, too, unless he was completely misreading the signs. Their fingers were intertwined again, resting on the wooden table between their plates while Hob forced himself to give an account of interesting events of the past century. Dream listened intently, never once mentioning their joint hands or the stolen gazes at his lips.
When he let his mind drift, Hob pictured his friend spread out below him, his bed hair looking like he'd been properly fucked before they'd even started.
Dream shot him a look and for a brief, terrifying second, Hob's heart fell.
Was he able to read minds? Would he get up and leave, shocked by the mental image?
He let go of Dream's hand, ready to apologize, when suddenly, his friend was kneeling by his side. Gentle hands cupped his cheeks, carefully guiding him down and towards his lips.
Is this really happening?
As if to answer Hob's unspoken question, Dream pulled him closer, deepening the kiss while his arms wandered down towards his hips and wrapped around them.
Blood was pooling in his groin, fuelled by the sensation of the other's body pressing up against his own. Hob caught his breath for a second, watching his friend for any signs of discomfort. When he found none, he let his own fantasies take over.
Dream's back slammed against the fridge as Hob pinned him against the furniture by his wrists.
"Don't hesitate to tell me to stop," he gasped. Dream nodded eagerly, grinding his hips against Hob's.
It felt so surreal to finally be doing this.
For centuries, their conversations had barely reached beyond polite conversation and now they were here, in his kitchen, doing this.
Life was fucking amazing.
He explored Dream's jawline, sucking on the skin and grazing it with his teeth, which earned him a strangled gasp.
"You like it when I do that?" Dream nodded frantically in response and Hob thought his knees were going to give out below him. "Good, because this is what I've been wanting to do all day."
He undid the buttons of Dream's coat, silently asking for permission to take it off. When he gave it to him, Hob wasted no time and hastily discarded the garment.
Dream's body was lean and sinewy, dressed in a simple black t-shirt and matching skinny jeans.
Heat pulsed through his groin when he saw the other's member straining against the confinements of his trousers.
"Please," Dream pleaded, his strange, usually so calm voice now full of emotion. It was barely above a whisper.
With anyone else, Hob might have decided to make them beg for it until they fell apart in his hands.
Another time, maybe, if they were ever going to do this again. But not today.
His lips moved towards Dream's neck, peppering him in little kisses while he slid his hands below his shirt. Dream moaned and reached for Hob's own, only for his hands to be pressed against the fridge door once more.
"Stay," Hob commanded, and the King of Dreams obliged.
He was watching Hob through half-lidded eyes, fingers flexing and fighting for composure.
It was so satisfying to see his friend come undone from nothing but Hob unclasping his belt. Dream moaned again, louder this time when he finally pulled down his trousers.
Hob went down on his knees, love and adoration plain on his face. He'd never wanted to suck off somebody else so badly. It would be an honour for him, really. He paused, waiting for permission to go on, and received it in the form of Dream bucking up against him.
Deciding to show some mercy, he slowly engulfed the other's member with his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and pressing up against the bottom with his tongue.
Dream made a noise at the back of his throat that could have been a whine, except that it sounded like somebody had recorded it from across the milky way. It was eerie, otherwordly, and indescribably hot.
Hob sucked, bobbing his head up and down the length of his shaft. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore his own need while his friend was nearing his climax above him. If he kept going like this, he'd be falling apart in a matter of minutes.
But he didn't want this to end just yet.
Pulling off with saliva and pre-cum still dripping from his lips, he stroked Dream's thighs. "Let's take this to the bedroom, shall we?"
Dream merely nodded, then let out a yelp as Hob easily lifted the taller man up in his arms, heedless of the mess they'd left behind in the kitchen.
If there was one thing that was hotter than Dream pressed up against his fridge, it was Dream in his bed.
His cheeks and lips were flushed red, his hair even more unruly than usual. His member was hard and leaking against his stomach, desperate for any kind of stimulation.
Hob hurried to shimmy out of his own clothes, then undid the lacings of Dream's boots and slid them off.
Doc Martens, huh, he paused to think, the singular clear thought on his mind. Staying true to the edgy look.
He crawled onto the bed and opened the bedside drawer to retrieve a bottle of lube and condoms. Dream was watching him, impatiently digging his long fingers into the sheets.
"Is this okay?" Hob asked breathlessly, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he slid the condom on.
Dream nodded immediately, eyes dark with desire. Now, they really looked like the midnight sky.
Hob smiled at him and spread lube across his member. He moved on to Dream's hole, carefully stretching him with one finger before adding others. Dream was writhing below him, his head thrown back in quiet pleasure safe for little keens and moans.
Once he deemed him properly stretched, he carefully guided the tip of his shaft to the other's entrance and inhaled deeply. Hob was about to ask for consent again when Dream spoke up. His voice was so much deeper than he'd remembered it.
"Just fuck me already."
As if he could say No to that.
He thrust into his friend's warm, tight hole, earning him a series of gasps. Dream's back was arching off the sheets and his hands tangled in Hob's hair, dragging him down for a forceful kiss that was all tongue and teeth.
Hob repositioned and when he thrust again, Dream was screaming.
He thought he was going to cum that very second. Through sheer willpower, he pulled himself together, forcing his body to keep going. Sweat was trickling down his temples, soaking into his hairline. His thrusts were becoming more frantic. Long legs wrapped around him, pushing him closer.
Dream came first.
Hob felt it in the way his muscle tightened around him, then their chests were covered in thick white ropes of semen. Dream's face was a sight of utter bliss as he lay there below him, riding out the last waves of his orgasm with his eyes rolled back into his skull.
It was too much to bear, and when Hob thrust into him again, he came with a loud cry. Endorphins flooded his veins as his body went limp. He pulled out and quickly discarded the condom, only to let himself fall into the sheets beside his friend.
"That was incredible," he breathed, still coming down from his high and bathing in the content bliss that followed afterwards.
Dream hummed in reply. Their fingers were intertwined once more, clinging to each other as if their mutual touch was the only thing keeping them grounded. Dream kissed every digit, his soft lips sending pleasant shivers down his spine.
They smiled at each other, revelling in the other's presence.
When Hob felt grounded enough to get uncomfortable from the drying semen sticking to his skin, he got up and guided Dream to the shower with him.
The process was short and efficient, but Hob's heart melted when his friend- or lover? - still took the time to place gentle kisses on his lips and forehead as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
They finished washing up and changed into Hob's pyjamas before cuddling up below a pile of blankets.
Hob was gone within seconds.
The only thing he remembers crossing his mind before drifting off to sleep was the faint wonder whether Dream would be able to sleep, too.
He was startled by dark, reflective eyes staring straight at him.
A cat, moving almost unnoticeable in the black of the night, was sitting in the tall grass, watching him from afar.
Hob moved closer, feet padding across the meadow that was both pleasantly warm and refreshingly moist at the same time.
Looking up at the night sky, he saw unknown constellations scattered across the horizon. Celestial landscapes going on for miles, fading into eternity when his human eyes were unable to perceive the sheer depth of the universe stretching out above.
The cat meowed softly and for some reason, Hob knew exactly who he was.
"Hello, friend."
Dream's shape dissipated, before manifesting once more in the shape Hob was accustomed to. Alabaster skin was glowing in the pale moonlight and his hair was gently swaying like the tall grass around them.
He looked at Hob and his eyes were still black. Instead of a pupil, a singular bright star gleamed in them like a supernova trapped in the void.
He was heartbreakingly beautiful, even when his body seemed to morphe into the surrounding darkness, creating a strange picture of a humanoid figure. He was like a spectre in a dream.
He is Dream, Hob reminded himself, an odd sense of pride filling his chest.
They were cuddling below the stars, watching them travel across the firmament in joint formation. Occasionally, a shooting star would join them, there and gone again in a matter of seconds.
Time seemed to rush past them and after what felt like no more than an hour, morning dawned in the East, announcing a new day in its vivid hues of pink, orange and blue.
Hob felt himself slip away.
It was not a bad feeling. He was safe and loved.
Dream pressed another kiss to his head, brushing his hair with his fingers and lightly massaging his scalp.
"This dream is over," he whispered.
Hob was back in his bed, snuggled up to a man with tousled black hair and pale skin who had been his life-long companion through days of sunshine and darkest night.
"Good morning," called the same voice he'd heard in his dream. Hob beamed and inhaled his lover's scent which reminded him of lavender, milk and honey.
"Good morning, Dream."