#sub Hob

[cuubism]

(from some unfinished scene that was bouncing around in my head, the premise of which was, "confessing your darkest fantasies to each other") bit nsfw, needless to say

--

"God, I had this one--" Hob scrubs a hand through his hair, torn between embarrassment and a buried longing that's still very real-- "after I met you in 1689. This recurring dream that you would just... take me with you."

"With me," Dream says.

"To faerie land, or wherever it was you came from, as I imagined it. You must've lived in some fantastical place, I thought, and life was hardly treating me well then. Would just be for a few months, mind," he adds, before Dream starts getting the idea that he hadn't wanted to live. Hob had always wanted to live. He just needed a break. "A year, maybe. But just... that you would..." he ducks his head, "take care of me. God, the things I'd do then for a loaf of bread, or a warm bed. Things I did do, for lesser men. Would do lot more for you."

"Like what?" asks Dream. His voice is... considering.

Surely Dream, being, well, Dream, won't find it strange? Hell, he's so damn princely, he'll probably just be vain about it. Still Hob takes a steeling gulp of his wine. "Anything you wanted. You were the only one that was kind to me then."

"Barely kind," says Dream.

"Still. When I was really deep in it I-- I used to imagine you'd just keep me there. Like a pet." It should be more embarrassing to admit, but Dream doesn't seem judgmental. And Hob has often found that confessing deep feelings to him is easier than it would be to any other person. "Figured I was just a curiosity to you anyway. In exchange for your kindness I'd have done anything. Knelt at your feet. Let you use me. Kept your cock warm while you conducted your-- your magical affairs of state, or what have you, God I could only imagine what you did with the rest of your time." It still stirs something in him to think of, even with no starving desperation to spur it.

He's still looking down, and hears rather than sees Dream lean forward in his seat, the shift of fabric, the creak of the table as he leans on it, letting himself have real weight. "This fantasy..." Hob looks up to meet his gaze, and the dark intent he finds there nearly knocks him out of his chair. "Is it one you would still care to indulge in?"

"To-- indulge in?" The words are barely choked out, the heat of Dream's gaze brands his throat shut.

Dream looks him up and down slowly. "If I brought you with me to the heart of the Dreaming for an evening," he purrs, "would you truly kneel at the foot of my throne? Let me show you off to guests? Would you..." he leans in closer, his fingers trip up Hob's throat, "submit, and warm my cock like a good pet, while I presided over my kingdom?"

Hob's never beating the monarchist allegations now. He nearly slides off his chair and kneels at Dream's feet right then. God, but Dream is a king like none the earth's ever seen. He's right out of a story.

Heart pattering in his chest, he says, "Would I?" It sounds less a question, more a plea. "Would you let me?"

"Dear Hob." Dream tips his chin up, studies him from under his lashes, thumbs over the corner of his mouth. An evaluation, and a caress. "You need someone to care for you. In my realm you would want for nothing. You would not need to fight, or worry about your next meal. You need only do as I tell you. And I would not steer you wrong."

Hob swallows hard. Dream is too good at this. Why did Hob think it was a good idea to share a fantasy with the King of Fucking Fantasies again?

It was a terrible idea for his sanity.

And a wonderful one, too. For as Dream spins the tale he can see it in the back of his mind, the vague and changeable sense of a dream, the all-consuming weight of Dream in his mouth, Dream's hands in his hair, his low voice above him, all else faded away as is the nature of dreams.

Dream hums in approval, and Hob remembers quite suddenly that he can sense daydreams, too.

Dream digs his hand into his hair, tips his head back just so. "This isn't fair," Hob croaks. "You didn't even share one of your fantasies yet."

"Perhaps I've adopted this as one of mine," Dream muses. He leans in and claims Hob's mouth, tipping his head further back, rises from his chair to lean over him. Hob barely suppresses a whimper. "In fact, I have a delegation from Hell due to arrive in the Dreaming for a negotiation tonight. It promises to be both dull and incredibly infuriating. Would you care to join me, and comfort your king during this trying time?"

"From Hell?" Hob squeaks. But Dream is looking at him with those dark eyes and Hob is helpless to him. Helpless to the pull of that fantasy.

"I will keep you safe," Dream says, a soothing, easy tone that makes Hob want to bend for him just as much as his intensity does. "You need not worry."

Hob's worried for his sanity more than anything else.

But he says, "Okay. All- alright then." He swallows down the lump in his throat that catches at the gleam in Dream's eye. He steels himself. Takes Dream's hand. Kisses it. "Take me to your realm, then, King of Dreams."

[linddzz]

Dom Hob or Dom Morpheus is OUT I am putting my two cents in on:

they're both versatile switches. The difference is that Hob KNOWS this and is comfortable with it. Dream, for all that he is aware of every iteration of fantasy, doesn't seem to comprehend that "bottoming isn't the same as submitting" also applies to him.

And boy is he gonna learn that important difference when Hob scruffs him like a hissing kitten and tells him to SHUSH.

[fallloverfic]

TGCF donghua Season 2, Episode 3 thoughts

Screaming through my tears of happiness. Spoilers under the cut (also book/story spoilers, for folks just coming in from the donghua).

We may only get him for a minute or two BUT I LOVE ALL THE PRECIOUS SECONDS OF YIN YU, MY BELOVED T-T The second he started talking I had to pause to scream adlkjaldaj

I also love how obvious this is. It's a nice way to set up for the audience "yeah, something's fishy here and it's not just He Xuan". I'm just imagining Hua Cheng like taking Yin Yu's bandages off and unrolling his sleeve to properly set the scene for Xie Lian to see the shackle alkdjalj Cause it'd be funny. Yin Yu, tiredly, "Yes, Hua Chengzu, whatever you want, Hua Chengzu..."

They are so cute. I love them so much.

I imagine a bajillion people have said this but this is very funny as a comparison to Beast giving Beauty the library in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Hua Cheng knows what makes his gege happy: a fully stocked armory. Xie Lian's pose is so adorable T-T "I really do" indeeeed. Their back and forth kills me T-T

E-ming, babyyyy T-T gets some sparklies cause it's so happpp cause Xie Lian is noticing it :3333

ALSO E-MING'S CHIRPING???? IT'S SO CUTE????? THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD????

Xie Lian leaning over to pet Hua Cheng's weapon while Hua Cheng is wearing it ends me. Just ends me. Bless them all.

Spider-man Xie Lian was hilarious aldkjalj You think "oh he's not being good at this whole sneaky thing isn't he, Yin Yu is probably like "how long do I pretend I can't tell he's like 10 steps behind me"" and then WOOP SPIDER-XIE LIAN alkdjaldkja

Spider-Lian, Spider-Lian, does whatever a scrap collector god can...

I also love the parallel stuff with Lang Ying and Hua Cheng, setting up for Hua Cheng to later impersonate him. I know part of it is just twigging Xie Lian's memory of Hong-Hong-er, but the first time it happens (with Lang Ying's silhouette after dropping the bandages fading into Hua Cheng's face in the present), I think it's a clear set-up for the later plot of Hua Cheng pretending to be him.

Also Ruoye and Xie Lian being badass: I am always here for it.

Qi Rong getting a second of reference. I'm so excited to see how he's handled, terrible man that he is, love him.

Wind Master was also really funny, "I never want to go on patrols with you ever again!" aldkjaldja He's so mad aldkjaldaj

Wonderful episode. I cried. I screamed (no literally I had to pause and make myself be quiet alkdjaldja). E-Ming's chirping T-T Yin Yu T-T Hualian. So adorable.

Other episode thoughts for season 2 (didn't start till episode 3):

S02E03 (you are here)

S02E04

S02E05

S02E06

S02E07

S02E08

S02E09

S02E10

S02E11

S02E12

[martybaker]

hear me out

dreamling A knight’s tale AU

pretending to be a knight totally sounds like something Hob would do imho

[lenreli]

Day 29 - Boot Licking

[AO3]

“Dream, it was―I was joking,” Hob squeaks as Dream kneels to the floor, and looking up, Dream can see how red Hob is. 

“Even so,” he says, hands touching Hob’s black boots reverently, humming as he thinks about the leather pants and black-and-gold coat, and he considers Hob’s leather gloves as he licks a stripe up the boot, and Hob lets out another high-pitched sound.

“That―Dream―“ Hob is extremely high in octaves as Dream puts down the boot, grabbing the other one to hold delicately, licking up the boot like he did before, a leather tang in his mouth, “fuck,” Hob wheezes, and Dream smirks as Hob grips his hair, the leather gloves a nice texture in his hair as he looks up.

“I am meant to serve humanity, after all,” he says slowly, and he can feel Hob shiver against him, “but perhaps, I would like to serve you most of all.”

Hob lets out a strangled whine as Dream licks up Hob’s boot again, but doesn’t stop once he reaches the top of the boot, biting at a leather-covered shin as he licks up leather pants, feeling Hob shiver and pull at his hair as he does.

[aetheltrythh]

New fic: What Goes into a Dreamcatcher

My new fic is up on AO3: What Goes into a Dreamcatcher.

Word count: 5300.

Tags

Established relationship, Shibari, Merman Dream of the Endless, Fluff and smut, Porn without a plot, Dream has a vulva, Top Hob, Light Dom/sub, Banter, Humour, Feelings

Rating:

Explicit

Summary:

Shibari shenanigans in the Dreaming - Hob has a bit of fun with Dream and his bendy mermaid tail. *** "I am deeply touched by your enthusiasm," Hob replies, mocking him. But only a bit. Mostly, he's being earnest. He’s felt Dream’s enthusiasm in places he hadn’t even known he possessed, and he wouldn’t change it for anything. Dropping to his knee before him so that they see eye to eye, Hob says, "Give me your colour." "Green." "Fine, then I'll make you truly endless." "I am Endless, Hob," Dream replies, a little exasperated. "Just wait and see."

[rain11-fic]

if you're looking at me through the right eyes

☆ E Hualian porn with feelings

☆ 7.1k, English, 1/1

☆ Post-canon, kink discovery, switch!Hualian, light masochism, porn with feelings, aphrodisiacs

Hua Cheng was impulsive, but powerful enough that rash decisions rarely had any consequences. This was not one of those times.

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: there were no secrets in his fingertips

Dreamling (human AU) || Rated E || 7k words || complete

Alternate Universe (human), discussion of prior cheating, age difference (7-10 years), proDom Dream, Dom/sub, sub Hob Gadling, dom Dream, collared Hob, established D/s relationship, Endless family dynamics (only Night and Time are dipshits), Hob and Dream after you might be the answer to the sinner in me, annual Endless family holiday party, Dream's horrifying laughter, Dream is a very jealous and possessive lover, Dream grappling with his feelings, anal plug, extended anal plug use, anal sex, rough sex, rugburn, marking kink, color system, forcing lover's face into their cum, discovering a new kink, minor bit of painplay, extremely fluffy ending, tooth-rotting fluffy ending, ending so sweet it would dissolve if a raccoon tried to wash it in a stream

Sequel to you might be the answer to the sinner in me and you have to read that first or this is like nineteen different kinds of spoilers for that. Also references events in my mona lisa, so helpful to have read that, but not necessary.

The silence was broken as Epithumia–better known as Desire and the sibling who Dream has had the most contentious relationship with as of late–squealed and broke into ecstatic giggles. They flung themselves at Dream, wrapping him in a fierce hug and pressing their violently red lips to his cheek. “There he is,” Desire said as they backed away, hands trailing up to frame Dream's face, comically mushing his cheeks together until his lips puckered like a cartoon goldfish. “There is the brother I love so much. I have missed you.”

Read on AO3

[mallory-x]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Dom/sub, Power Play, Gentle Dom Hob Gadling, Dom Hob Gadling, Sub Dream, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, no beta we die like Jessamy Series: Part 2 of Mal's Dreamling Bingo Fills 2023 Summary:

Inspired by Ferdie’s instagram post where he feeds his dog blueberries - yes I took a wholesome and sweet video and wrote porn based on it. I’m not proud (yes I’m proud) but I’m blaming Ferdie’s voice.

Written for @dreamlingbingo adoptable prompt ‘Saliva’, replacing C5 - Future.

[steelsmanbroaches]

Best Broaching Machines In India - Steelmans Broaches

https://www.steelmans.com/broaching-machines.htm

[cuubism]

I missed my boys. New chapter of bookstore cryptid Dream and coffeeshop owner Hob. E.

-

Dream is reading some bodice ripper again.

Actually he’s on his third romance novel that day, because he reads very fast when he’s into something, sprawled across the couch in the cafe, tongue poking past his lips as he reads. The other books are stacked by the couch, carefully bookmarked and annotated. What the hell is he doing, writing a dissertation on the regency romance genre?

“Want me to get you a few more?” Hob asks, gesturing to the stack of books. “Three wasn’t enough?” They look functionally identical to Hob. Gallant men and elegant swooning women. Some more dressed than others.

Dream takes the chocolate truffles Hob offers him—a new cafe selection—and pops one in his mouth, licking the sugar coating off his thumb. Hob swallows, throat clicking, as he watches. “I need comprehensive notes,” he says.

“For what?”

Dream’s eyes sparkle. “If you wish, you can come with me to get more.”

Hob follows him, still confused, as Dream eats the other truffle in one bite, then stands fluidly and heads for the door.

Across the street, they enter the Library, its cool dusty interior a relief from the summer heat. Sweat prickles on the back of Hob’s neck, but he thinks it’s less the heat outside and more the determined way Dream stalks in front of him. Something is clearly on his mind.

He leads Hob on a winding route back through the stacks, past Dessert Histories and its sister shelf Desert Histories, through Husbandry, through a tiny section on the inside of a doorframe called “thresholds,” and into—

Ah. Erotica.

Frankly Hob’s surprised the Library doesn’t have multiple erotica sections, broken down into its sub—

Dream spins and pushes him up against a shelf.

Hob’s too surprised to do anything but let him, and besides, when Dream looks at him like that, eyes going dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips, Hob is hardly inclined to question it.

“Something on your mind?” he breathes, as Dream’s hands splay over his chest.

“Something,” Dream agrees. “I don’t think I want to pick out another book.”

Hob thinks back to the swooning heroines of Dream’s romance novels. Okay. He gets it. He can play.

He takes Dream by the arms and pushes him up against the shelves in turn. Dream squeaks, but before he can speak Hob’s mouth is on his, claiming. Tipping Dream’s head back. Dream moans, caving back against the shelves. Yes, that’s what he wanted, and he didn’t want to ask for it because he wanted it to be spontaneous and passionate like in his novels. He’s such a silly thing. Hob loves him so.

“Apologies,” Hob breathes, lips brushing Dream’s, as Dream grasps at him with weak fingers. He tries to put on the persona of a character from Dream’s novels. He’s no actor, but he’ll try, for Dream. “I simply couldn’t stop myself. You’re too tempting.”

Dream stares up at him with huge eyes, totally enraptured.

Hob feigns hesitance, stepping back. “I should not—it’s unbecoming, I should protect your virtue—”

Dream grabs his shirt and hauls him back in until their noses are touching. “Perhaps I don’t want you to. Perhaps I want you to take it.”

God he’s hot when he’s hungry like this.

Hob pushes in close to him again, chest to chest, edging in between Dream’s knees. Rolls his hips so Dream can feel that he’s already hard.

“Don’t open that door,” he warns. “I won’t have you let me in and then regret it after.”

“That door has been open to you for a long time,” Dream says. His hands find Hob’s shoulders, his chest heaving. “Were we not to be married?”

Hob fumbles for the thread of the story. “You ended that.”

“I was afraid. Afraid of how much I feel for you.”

“Nothing to fear.” He noses under Dream’s jaw, nips, kisses his neck. Dream shudders. “Am I obliged to marry you, then?”

“No. No obligation. I’m afraid I must have you either way.” He meets Hob’s eyes, lip trembling. “I need you. Even if you walk away from me forever.”

Hob wouldn’t do that. The Hob of this tale wouldn’t either. “Once you let me in I’m never walking away from you.”

He kisses Dream, on the lips this time, plumbing deep in his mouth, just tasting him. Dream moans, and then gasps as Hob gets his hands under his thighs and lifts him, pushing him up against the bookshelf.

Dream wraps his legs around Hob’s waist, skirt rucking up— is that why he’s wearing a bloody skirt today? Was he plotting this all along?

“You clever, naughty thing,” Hob breathes, and Dream smirks, a look that breaks into a gasp as Hob sucks a mark into his throat, fingers bruising on his thighs.

His loose shirt slips over his shoulder as Hob lavishes attention there, kissing his way down his collarbone and to his sternum. Dream’s hips thrust, searching for friction, and Hob rolls up against him, making him cry out.

“Why does something tell me you prepared yourself too?” he breathes, voice going rough just at the thought.

Dream only smiles craftily.

With Dream clinging onto him with arms and legs, Hob manages to reach a hand around and under him, where Dream’s not wearing underwear, pressing lightly. Dream’s tight entrance gives to his fingers, his hole already wet and open. A moan’s wrenched from Hob’s throat. When and where did he even sneak away to do this? In Hob's bathroom at the cafe?

“You’ll be my actual death,” he says.

“Not until after you make love to me.”

Make love. He really is leaning into the romance. It’s sweet when he gets like that. Dream can be so lovely when he’s not too busy being mysterious. (Though Hob can’t kid himself that he doesn’t love the mysteriousness).

“I live to serve you, my love,” Hob says.

Still holding Dream up precariously with one arm, Hob undoes the button and zipper on his jeans and takes himself out. It’s difficult balancing like this, so he only gives himself a few strokes before lining Dream up and, carefully, letting him sink down onto his cock.

“Hob!” Dream cries, throwing his head back, as Hob buries his face in his neck, trying to breathe. It’s so overwhelming to be in him, every time.

“Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?” Hob says once he’s gotten his breath back. “Me inside you?”

“Yes. Yes,” Dream whines. “I need it. I can’t. I can’t live without it.”

Hob’s lost track of whether they’re still doing the story, but it hardly matters. He gets his hands firmly around Dream’s ass and starts bouncing him on his cock. Dream wails, fingers twisting in Hob’s shirt. Hob curses at the feeling of him.

“Feel so good, darling,” he pants. “So good. Perfect.”

Dream whimpers, meeting him halfway as Hob thrusts into him. He pushes deeper, holding on tight to Hob’s shoulders. His back must be absolutely digging into the bookshelves, but he doesn’t complain.

“You really needed this today, huh?” Hob says.

“I wanted it,” Dream says. “So many tempting scenarios in fiction… why not see if I could pull some into fact?”

“No concern about whether it’s possible, huh?” He likes being involved in Dream’s fantasies, though, being in the stories that go on in Dream’s head.

“You’ve made it possible.” Dream smirks, lips dragging over Hob’s cheek.

Yeah, Hob’s really glad now for all the times he’s carried huge pallets of books up and down the stairs for Dream. It’s the only thing granting him the arm strength to do this. Even so, his shoulders will be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it for Dream’s happiness.

Dream tugs his skirt up further so his cock can rub against Hob’s belly, smearing pre over his shirt. His fingers dig into Hob’s shoulders. “Hob,” he pants, as Hob bounces him on a particularly hard thrust, nailing his prostate. “Hob. Hob!”

Hob’s arms shake, more from the fire of being inside him than holding up Dream’s weight. Dream clutching at him, wrapped around him, at Hob’s mercy in this position, blazes warmth through him, sets arousal alight on his skin. He buries his nose in Dream’s throat, inhaling the scent of him, paper and coffee, and it does nothing to ground him. He won’t last much longer.

“Hob, I’m—” Dream cries, and then he comes over Hob’s belly, biting down on Hob’s ear, the closest body part he can reach.

Dream’s body clenching around him sends Hob over the edge, and he groans into Dream’s throat as he spills inside him.

He can feel Dream’s heart hammering under his ribcage, the heaving of his lungs, and loses himself in the rhythm of his body for a few moments.

Dream recovers first, combing his hands through Hob’s hair, nuzzling over his temple. “You will have to marry me now, lover,” he says, in that alluring voice he’d used to tempt Hob into this game. “Else my reputation will be in tatters.”

Hob laughs. Back to the story, is it? “If you stay with me, I’ll give you anything,” he promises.

He carefully disentangles them, helping Dream down. Dream winces as he stretches out his legs, gone stiff from holding his position, and Hob rolls his shoulders, hearing them pop. Yeah, he’ll be feeling that tomorrow, but he doesn’t expect he’ll regret it.

He gets Dream situated by the fireplace--of the Erotica section has a fucking fireplace, though Hob had been way too distracted to clock it before--where there is a scattering of pillows and blankets they could definitely have used instead of the wall. He stretches out with Dream settled between his legs, lying against his chest, massages Dream’s sore hips with his thumbs, while privately aroused at the thought of him being sore, of him feeling it.

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs at length, face still mashed into Hob’s chest. “For indulging me.”

“Don’t thank me. I love being able to fulfill your fantasies.” He kisses the top of Dream’s head, burying his nose in his hair. “I love you.”

Dream taps his fingers over Hob’s heart. “I love you.”

They sit quietly, listening to the crackle of the flames. Finally, Hob says, “So. Does the Erotica section enhance the experience for you? You can feel the resonances or something?”

Dream sighs. “I do not have a psychic connection to the books, Hob.”

“You sure?”

Dream pokes him in the side, but immediately undermines his admonishment by slipping his hand under Hob’s shirt to lay against his side.

“Could put an actual bedroom in the Library,” Hob suggests.

“That would be absurd. It is a bookstore.”

Hob’s never going to win this debate. He’s tried.

“Fine, then,” he concedes. “We’ll just have to keep using mine.”

“And the wall,” Dream says, and then giggles. Hob accepts his fate of lifting more weights. And sore shoulders.

And, of course, a happy Dream, curled up with him by the fire, making it all worth it.

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻

description: y/n is out of club play with an injury, potentially a big one, luckily england felt they could breathe again once they knew their captain hadn't suffered the three letters - but barcelona did not feel so lucky with an el classico around the corner.

smut

minors dni

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lucy bronze x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction do not take any of this seriously !

warnings: swearing, oral, light choking, slightly soft dom lucy, dom lucy, cunnilingus, strap-on fucking, dirty talk, slight cum play (like the smallest fucking bit) fluff, cuteness

smut

minors DNI

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y/n hummed along to the music which played softly from the radio, Narla was swirling through her legs, the dog licking her naked ankles every few minutes to demand a quick pat, which y/n happily did.

She was cooking breakfast, bacon, fried eggs, mushrooms and toast, Lucy's juice was already blended and waiting for when the woman woke up, though y/n didn't mind letting her sleep in.

With it being matchday -1, the team always had a late practice and y/n knew Lucy needed a lay in, her lover having to do a lot of work without her in midfield to bounce off.

Just as y/n plated the food up, two arms wrapped themselves around her waist, the taller girl burying her head into her lover's neck and inhaling the sweet scent.

"Morning baby." y/n hummed softly enjoying the warmth Lucy provided as she snaked a hand into the older woman's hair and scratched at the scalp.

"Always is with you." Lucy murmured, y/n laughing at that as she switched the hob off and turned to face the woman who was grinning.

"You Miss Bronze, are such a sap!" y/n giggled. Lucy chuckled, unable to help herself as she grinned lazily at her lover.

"It's your fault." She denies, before leaning in and placing her lips firmly on y/n's her hands gripping into the curve of her waist as y/n relaxed into the kiss.

A bark broke the two, Narla jumping onto her hind legs to press her paws against Lucy, pushing her away from y/n for a moment before the dog curled around y/n's ankles.

"You little shit!" Lucy grinned at Narla as y/n crouched down and cooed at her, running her hand over the dog. "She's mine Narla." Lucy adds as y/n stands back up.

y/n rolls her eyes at that, grabbing the plates and walking them over to the table while Lucy put Narla's food down, her dog licking her ankles in thanks.

"Yeah know you love me." Lucy scoffs, y/n chuckling as her lover walked over, the woman pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. "How's the knee?" Lucy asks, sitting down next to her lover and running a cautious hand over the injury.

"Okay, only another few weeks and I am back to training." y/n promised, the injury was luckily not the three dreaded letters, but when she went down, both women thought it could be.

Lucy hummed, nodding her head as she began to push food into her mouth, her eyes zoning out as she replayed the injury and tackle in her head, the instant being something she blamed herself for.

Lucy had wondered out of position, having chased a loose ball and when she missed it, y/n covered her position and intercepted a key pass from their opponents.

However, as she pushed the pass out, a player had come flying in, the girl's studs pushing her knee back and dislocating it as y/n went flying back and knocked herself unconscious from slamming her head on the grass.

Lucy hadn't been able to remember a time where her heart hurt as much as it did then, watching her lover crumple to the ground, she was such a shaking mess she was even subbed off, being told to go be with her lover.

Lucy and y/n's relationship wasn't unknown, just private, only anniversary photos and the occasional snapshot of their love had been caught, but in that moment the cameras caught the worry of being in a five year relationship.

Lucy had been there when she woke up, holding her hand and running her fingertips over the skin, but she couldn't look y/n in the eye, and y/n could tell why almost instantly.

Lucy chased after the stray ball, y/n noticing she had left a gap and quickly filling it as she watched with a wince as the Levante player hammered it toward the player y/n had dropped back to mark.

Lucy turned, cursing herself for her mistake but sighing in relief when y/n brought the ball to her feet and passed it out to Ingrid.

But Lucy's relief turned to horror in a moment as she watched the Levante player tackle y/n late, the studs embedding into her knee and pushing it the wrong way.

With the strength of the player's tackle y/n was pushed harshly back, falling and smacking her head against the ground going motionless.

Lucy's stomach lurched as she felt truly sick, not even waiting for the whistle which echoed as she raced, grabbing her girlfriend's hand, holding it as the medics and team swarmed.

Lucy had paled, not even hearing Alexia asking her to move and Keira's response to the captain saying it was no use to try and move the woman.

Alexia made a sign at Jonatan switching for two instead of one. The man sighed but nodded his head, sending another player to warm up as he watched the stretcher be run on.

"Please baby, wake up." Lucy said softly, y/n groaning as the medics looked over to Lucy, understanding the woman was not moving.

The cameras followed every step of Lucy who followed the stretcher, tears being wiped away as she disappeared in the tunnel, heartbreak the only word near enough to describe her look.

"Don't do that." y/n warned her girlfriend as she took their empty plates.

"What?" Lucy asks, following her like a lost puppy as she watches y/n put the plates in the dishwasher.

"Blame yourself for my injury. It wasn't your fault Lucia." y/n promises, sliding onto the counter so she can bring Lucy in-between her legs.

"But if I..." Lucy began but y/n shut her up by pecking her lips. "But..." Lucy tried again, y/n cutting her off with a longer kiss.

"But nothing. It was a bad tackle, that was all." y/n promised Lucy who sighed.

"You just crumbled, your body just sagged, god it was horrid." Lucy denies, wrapping her arms around y/n's waist to pull her closer, y/n's legs automatically curling around Lucy's torso.

"But I'm fine now, I'm on the mend and I am all energised." y/n promises, running her hand through Lucy's hair, pulling it down and around her shoulders.

Lucy sighed her forehead connecting with y/n's as she pressed herself into y/n, inhaling the sweet smell she gave off. Lucy's hands stayed tight around her waist, her finger tips dancing across y/n's back.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you in my shirt?" Lucy asks, an innocent hum coming from her voice.

"You might have mentioned it." y/n nods, a small smile on her face as she lifts her hand, cupping Lucy's face and rubbing her thumb along her cheekbone.

"I love you in my shirt." Lucy tells her, tilting her head so their noses brush. "I love my last name on your back." She continues.

"You should hurry up and make it permanent then." y/n whispers cheekily, her lips brushing over Lucy's as she wonders whose resolve will break first.

"Patience baby. Patience." Lucy hums, before swiping forward and taking y/n's plump bottom lip in between her teeth, tugging as she bites down on the skin, needing the groaning reaction she receives.

Lucy pulls her lover closer, the two finally meeting in a heated kiss which both seemed determined to dominate, however, Lucy's hand raised, enclosing around her lover's neck and y/n instantly let her have all the control.

Lucy's tongue wrapped around her own, her hand squeezing y/n's throat just slightly before Lucy's lips pressed along her jaw and she bit at y/n's earlobe.

"Either I eat you out here, or I fuck you in the bedroom." Lucy all but groans out into y/n's ear, Lucy pulling her away from the counter slightly so y/n can rest on her bucking hips, Lucy sighing at the grinding friction she was creating.

"Bedroom." y/n gasps out and Lucy grins and moves back toward the bedroom, she places her lover down on the bed and moves upward.

The two meet in a deep kiss, Lucy quickly taking control when her hands bury themselves into y/n's hair, tugging the woman's head back to expose her neck.

Lucy kisses downward, nipping at the skin where y/n's collarbone and shoulder meet, the woman gasping out as Lucy fixes her top back onto her frame once happy with her marks.

"Knee okay baby?" Lucy asks as she fixes a pillow underneath y/n's bad knee.

"Fine. Don't worry about it." y/n whines out needily and Lucy can't help the dark chuckle which slips from her throat.

Ever since the injury, Lucy had tried to be less rough in bed though it did nothing to limit her dominance, she simply found other ways to keep y/n in line.

"So needy for me, aren't you baby?" Lucy asks her. "So needy to have me use you." She continues, her voice dropping to mock her lover.

"Please." y/n gasped, having no issue with begging for Lucy.

"Okay. Okay." Lucy nods, shuffling down so she was level with y/n's thighs, resting on her elbows.

y/n watched with baited breath as Lucy slowly kissed down her thighs, nipping at the skin when she felt like it, y/n gasping at every scrape of her teeth.

Lucy grinned as y/n's breath picked up, her hand trying to reach down to tangle in Lucy's hair, but y/n's hand is caught by Lucy's the woman pinning it to the mattress.

"No touching." Lucy whispered, blowing air onto the soaked fabric which covered y/n's aching pussy.

Ever so lightly, Lucy pulled the wet fabric down y/n's legs and threw them behind her, deciding they were a problem for later as she licked a stripe up.

y/n let out a gasp of relief as Lucy began to lick faster, as if tasting her was more in her brain then pleasuring her. Finally, Lucy's tongue circled her clit and y/n let out a moan.

"Luce." y/n whispered as Lucy repeated the action. The woman sat up briefly, tying her hair back as she stared at her lover.

The woman had a hand in her own hair, eyes filled with pleading as she tried to moved her hips, Lucy's eyes were dark, almost predatorial as she looked down at her shirt on her lover.

"I can't wait til I can fuck you from behind again. See our name on your back." Lucy says lowly, her voice gruff with arousal.

At the use of 'our' when talking about her name y/n moaned, unashamed of how aroused the word made her. Lucy grinned, moving down and wrapping her arms around y/n's hips, pulling her closer.

y/n groaned as Lucy licked again, her tongue flat as she swallowed the juices which smeared her lips as she licked once more.

"Could die between these legs." Lucy groaned before she pushed forward and darted her tongue into y/n's hole, the woman groaning and Lucy pushed her head closer, pressure pushing down on y/n's clit.

"Lucy." y/n moaned, having to bring her hands onto her head so she didn't touch her, because Lucy would stop if y/n disobeyed the rules.

Lucy's hand moved as her tongue continued pushing between y/n's walls, her thumb coming up to rub quick and harsh circles against y/n's clit.

y/n moaned out, her back arching as Lucy's actions became quicker and rougher, the woman groaning out when the snap in her stomach came quicker than expected, her orgasm pushing through her.

Lucy's hand stopped but her tongue didn't returning to it's lapping motion while she cleared the orgasm from y/n's pussy, groaning at her taste and going back once more to continue her motions.

Only when y/n was gasping weakly, begging for a moment from her over-stimulation did Lucy pull away, a smug grin on her face when she saw the state of her lover.

y/n's head was covered in a light sheen of sweat, her hair messed completely at the orgasm, her plump lips parted as she panted out as Lucy stepped away, only to step back over her moments later.

"One more for me, my good good girl." Lucy hummed, she moved down the strap between her legs pushing against y/n's sensitive clit which made her jolt.

Lucy moved forward, lips connect with y/n's as she pushed in, gasping as the pull on her own clit hit her. Her tongue swept through y/n's mouth, gagging her moan which tried to escape as Lucy eased into her thrusts.

"That's it, taking me so well." Lucy groans, her leg hooking over y/n's good one and putting the rest of her pressure on her knee and forearms which were either side of y/n's head.

Lucy's thrusts picked up, the strap hitting a perfect spot on them both as she continued to push into y/n's insides. Lucy moved her arm, pulling y/n's good leg around her waist.

Her thrusts sped up, y/n letting out constant moans which made Lucy bury her head into y/n's neck so she could groan as she chased her own high.

"Feels so good." y/n whined, hands clawing down Lucy's back, not thinking about the mess it would leave as her nails dug into the skin.

"Who makes you feel like this?" Lucy gasped out, her teeth pulling at y/n's earlobe.

"You do Luce." y/n moaned out, the slapping sounds which echoed from the thrusts becoming louder as Lucy somehow sped up.

"What are you?" Lucy asks.

"Yours. Only yours." y/n moans, knowing exactly what Lucy wanted to hear.

Lucy's breath halted for a moment, a sign she was close and y/n moved her hips up slightly to meet Lucy's which caused the woman to moan into y/n's ear.

"Can I?" y/n whined, knowing her asking for permission would push her lover over the edge.

"Cum." Lucy demanded, groaning as she did so, leaning down to bite into y/n's shoulder as the woman's back arched and she let out a breath as she orgasmed.

Lucy slowed her thrusts, not stopping for another minute as she rode out her high, ignoring the over-stimulated whines coming from her girlfriend.

Slowly Lucy pulled out, fingers dipping into her own pussy to scoop up her orgasm and pushing it into y/n's oversensitive hole.

y/n groaned and Lucy couldn't help but smirk as she watched y/n catch her breath again. Lucy unclipped the strap from her hips, moving to rest next to y/n as she let out a breath of content, throwing the wet strap on the bed.

"We're going to have the wash the sheets." y/n sighed out as Lucy pressed a loving and soft kiss against her lips.

"In a minute, just lay with me." Lucy said softly and y/n smiled, moving her head onto Lucy's hot shoulder.

"Always." y/n sighed out and Lucy moved down to bring y/n closer.

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y/n and Mapi sat side by side, the two both out due to injuries as they look out on the Barcelona game currently happening. It was twenty minutes in and they were two goals up, curtesy of Aitana and Caroline.

The two friends were sat happily chatting, Aleixa who was next to y/n chiming in every so often as they talked. y/n was enjoying the warmth from the Barcelona evening.

Her beige cargo trousers kept her warmth while her arms were out due to the 'Bronze' Barcelona shirt she wore on her body, many people taking photos when they saw the woman able to WAG her lover.

As the clock ticked over, y/n watched as Lucy raced down the wing, Real hardly standing a chance against her as she defended with skill.

Lucy sent the ball through to Keira, switching through and receiving the ball back which she sent Caroline's way, the player getting her head on it as the keeper just pushed it wide for a corner.

Mapi and y/n groaned, both sitting back down with a sigh as Alexia chuckled at their child-like behaviour, the two pouting for the friend as Salma raised her hand to take the corner.

y/n watches as Salma sends the ball in, Lucy at the back post un-marked as she jumped and the ball flew in. y/n screamed in excitement as she clapped for her lover, the woman laughing as the team swarmed her.

Lucy pulled away from her team, looking for her lover as she raised her hands in a love heart shape, one which y/n did back causing the crowd to go crazy.

El Classico's were always something else, but for Barcelona to be three goals up before half time and missing their captain, a key defender and a key midfielder was a special game.

And suddenly for the fans things were so much better, because they had seen a y/n and Lucy interaction, which in game was a rare thing to truly see.

The game restarted, Lucy quickly blocking run from Del Castillo, she passed it to Ingrid, Del Castillo turning to run at the player, but Ingrid sent a ball through her legs and back to Lucy, who then did the same back to Ingrid.

"I would kill myself." y/n says as she and Mapi begin to giggle at their partners playing with her.

"She has been mothered." Mapi agrees which makes Alexia snort.

"By our girls as well." y/n says with a smile and Mapi pretends to wipe a tear as Lucy sends a ball into the box, Ona smashing it into the goal.

"VAMOS ONA!" Mapi shouts, y/n cheering for their young friend for scoring in her first classico.

y/n clapped excitedly, grinning at the sight of her girlfriend running back, the woman running a hand over her hair as she grins at Ona, the two high fiving.

"She's so hot." y/n sighs without thinking and Mapi snorts teasing her with mocking kisses.

y/n laughs shoving Mapi away as the whistle blows, y/n grinning as she and Mapi move down the stadium, the former trying to move as quick as possible.

Mapi and y/n part the latter quickly rushing into the Barcelona corridor, grinning at the sigh of her girlfriend leaning against the locker room wall waiting for her.

"You just had to score a goal when I wasn't on the pitch." y/n says, a jokingly hard looking in her eyes as Lucy chuckles, pulling her closer.

"Hmm, had to give my WAG a good game to watch." Lucy says quietly, leaning down to press a soft kiss against y/n's lips.

y/n chuckles against the kiss, pulling away to lift the hem of Lucy's shirt, the woman tensing slightly so the line in her abs was carved out in her toned stomach more.

"That's all the show I need." y/n teased, her hand running over them before dropping Lucy's shirt. "Keep that down though, don't want any more clips of you for people to thirst over." y/n adds.

Lucy smiles, a sense of pride always rushing through her when y/n got jealous, she pulled the woman in close to her chest, hands wrapping around her waist to keep her close.

"They're yours baby, those people thirst over something that's yours." Lucy promises and y/n chuckles leaning up to press a longer kiss against Lucy's lips, the woman running her tongue over y/n's mouth in the hopes of deepening the kiss.

"No." y/n says as she pulls away, Lucy huffing as her hands move down and squeeze at y/n's ass. "Lucy, go get ready for the second half." y/n laughs.

"But I want to stay here and kiss you." Lucy huffs like a child.

"After." y/n chuckles, leaning up to kiss her girlfriend again before turning, as she does Lucy's hand darts out slapping her butt with a wicked sound. "Lucia!" y/n calls but she is just answered with a laugh as Lucy walks into the locker room.

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It was the 87th minutes, Barcelona now 6-0 up, Lucy sneaking another assist and a clearance off the line which made the crowd scream her name for the next few minutes.

Vicky was on the edge of the box, sending the ball in as y/n watched Lucy run in, jumping and heading the ball into the bottom right corner as she slid on the ground slightly as she landed.

y/n covered her mouth as she shouted, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her as the fans erupted around her, Lucy's name being screamed amongst the crowd.

The game ended soon after, the songs echoing the stadium as Mapi and y/n moved to the side-lines, waiting for their team to finish signing auto-graphs.

Lucy finished quickly and raced toward y/n, the woman giggling as Lucy swept her up and spun her, the sudden shout of excited fan screams echoing.

"Scored 2 just for you." Lucy told her, putting y/n down and couching. "Up you get." Lucy says.

"Lucy your knee." y/n tries but the huff from her makes y/n aware she will not give up.

y/n sighed and climbed onto Lucy's back, the woman standing back up and gripping the underneath of y/n's thighs as she fixed her onto her back.

"Riding Lucy Bronze, a familiar happening." y/n muttered and Lucy snorted.

"God I can't wait until your knee is better." Lucy states as she walks them over to the team talk.

y/n listened to her manager's congratulations, head resting against Lucy's, pressing occasional kisses to Lucy's hair as the group congratulated her as no doubt player of the match.

The group eventually trudged off, waving one last time to the remaining fans, Lucy eventually let y/n clamber off her back once they arrived at the locker room, all the girls already inside and celebrating.

y/n was sure there would be a small party tonight, and she smiled at Lucy as she planned for her own celebrations beforehand.

"Shower quick." y/n tells her pecking her lips and Lucy raised a brow.

"Why?" She asks.

"Wanna celebrate my girl before we go out." y/n whispers against her lips and Lucy was through the locker room faster than she had been all game.

y/n heard the cheers of the team and smiled, assuming they were cheering for Lucy's work during the game, however as Keira walked out five minutes later with a smirk, y/n assumed she had been wrong.

"Maybe cut those nails." Keira tells her with a smirk, just as Mapi came out and made a claw with her hand, making a hiss as Lucy - now showered exited behind her.

"Someone gets scratchy in bed." Mapi winked at y/n.

"And they're about to get worse. See you guys in three hours." Lucy says, before picking up y/n and rushing off making her laugh.

"Gross." Mapi says wrinkling her nose.

"Try rooming next to them on England camp." Keira says, causing Aitana to snort and fall into Keira laughing as the English woman shivers.

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END

a little late after Valentines but I tried my best 😔😔

let me know what you think! xx

- Queenie xx

[darkfemininenergy]

LET’S PLAY THAT GAME ━ ethan landry

pairing: gf!ethan x fem!reader

warning: smut, ghostface phone call, dom!ethan, sub!reader, fingering, rough sex, choking, ropes, spit kink, fingers sucking, dirty talk, gloves kink.

author’s note: english is not my first language, and also my first time writing smut so i hope it’ll be good. if you have any request, let me know !

YOU’D COME HOME from the gym an hour ago, the only classes you had were this morning and you were grateful to have the whole afternoon off for once. you'd had lunch with mindy at noon and then decided to take her home, since the ghostface attacks had hit new york, following the 4 survivors of woodsboro, you didn't want the young meeks martin to go home alone, even in the middle of the day, who knows what might happen, especially when you knew who her uncle was.

now you were in your kitchen after a nice shower, in the background as sound of « how to get away with murder », one of your favorite tv shows, mindy found it quite ironic since you were in a law major.

you were cooking dinner quietly after a bit of studying, standing in front of the hob, dressed in a short, tight-fitting black top and gray shorts, your phone at your side as you wrote to the young meeks martin, who was confiding in you about her feelings for anika.

and that's when your phone began to vibrate, thinking it was mindy, a slight smile appeared on your lips before you grabbed your phone, but this smile slowly disappeared in your face due to what appeared on your screen: unkown caller.

a bad feeling began to take hold of you as, paranoid as you were, you looked around you at the knives just inches from you, spotting the largest of them.

you then answered the phone, adrenalin coursing through your body.

- hello ?

the sound of the oil against the frying pan camouflaged the sound of your series in the living room, as you added spices, waiting for an answer from your interlocutor, the wait was heavy.

- hello, y/n, replied the deep, gravelly, modulated voice.

ghostface.

a shiver ran down your spine, and your body froze, paralyzed as you realized the obvious: you were part of the group of friends of the survivors of the 2022 attacks.

you turned off the gas, stopped cooking. And clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

- well, go ahead, i’m wainting for the “what's your favorite scary movie ?” part.

you tried not to show any signs of fear, but inside you were terrified, imagining yourself already dead on your kitchen floor, but you knew you didn't have time to think about it and passed your index finger between the various knives on the rack in front of you, leaning slightly over the worktop.

the only response you got was a little laugh of amusement, mixed with a hint of sadism, from the killer, and it made your blood run cold.

- you're a bold one, aren't you? now, i think that i'm really going to enjoy this.

- fuck you.

-but you're also a very pretty one... he said with a seductive tone, too bad that i have to correct that filthy mouth of yours, he finished with a voice full of brutality, as if your insult had made him angry.

his change of mood startled you, and you immediately straightened up, then nervously tapped the surface of your kitchen with your freshly manicured nails.

- what do you want ? you asked, trying not to show how scared your voice sounded.

he hums slowly, as if he's thinking, and you can feel the goosebumps on your skin.

- that's a good question... what do i want... ? i want to play a game.

your heart was starting to race, so without thinking any further, you grabbed the largest knife and suddenly turned around with dynamism, all your senses now activated.

- do you want to play a game, y/n ? the modulated voice asked you.

- go to hell, i’m not going to play any of your sick game, you replied brutally.

- you look cute with that knife, tell me, what are you going to do with it, sweetheart ? stab me ? he teased.

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice and it drived you insane as well as the pet name, your grip on your knife was starting to tighten.

- where are you, asshole ? you spat hatefully.

you started to look from left to right, if anyone else could see you through your window, they'd think you were crazy to get so agitated, you leaned over to look towards the right exit which led to the hallway of your apartment, before returning to the kitchen which overlooked your living room.

you put your phone on the worktop behind your hob not far from your fridge, and activated the speakerphone to leave the call and type in the police number before he even answered.

- oh i wouldn't try to call the police if i were you, y/n, it'd be a real shame for mindy and anika to pay the consequences of your stupid actions.

your fingers stopped typing on your screen, not only because of the threat, but also because a detail had caught your attention, how did he know i was going to call the police ?

- h-how.... you began before cutting yourself off, can you see me?

he was sniggering again, and you were really beginning to hate that horribly creepy sound. you swallowed that awful lump in your throat that prevented you from speaking properly and waited for an answer.

- of course i can see you. i must admit that you look good in those, a little bit short though, does your boyfriend know you carry around in your apartment like that, y/n ?

panic-stricken, you hung up, and what a grave mistake you'd made, dropping your phone onto the wooden surface, you clutched the edge of it as if your body were threatening to collapse and you were looking for something to lean on. but then you pulled yourself together and grabbed your phone, never letting go of the knife you'd armed yourself with.

you moved towards the large window in your living room and pulled back the curtain slightly to see if anyone was outside watching you, since your kitchen was connected to the living room and, above all, open, with no door separating them.

but you couldn't see anything suspicious, only the horrible traffic jams of the city that never sleeps and people minding their own business down your street. you weren't the least bit reassured, certainly not, you had no idea where he could see you and you were terrified of it.

then you let out a groan of surprise when your phone started vibrating in your hand again, except this time it wasn't a call but a notification from an unknown number, it was a video.

your hands began to shake as you huffed and puffed to regain your composure, naively hoping to regain an ounce of control over the situation. once you'd opened your phone and clicked on the video, you saw mindy and anika on it, kissing on a sofa, the video had been taken from outside through your window and you pursed your lower lip, anxious, but starting to get angry that ghostface wasn't just threatening you, but also your friends, after everything mindy already endured because of that stupid mask.

and then, another call, again. you stared at your screen for a few seconds, looked around your living room and swallowed, grabbed your tv remote to turn it off, a silence falling over every room in the apartment when you finally accepted the call as you peered into every corner of the room, your stomach burning with fear.

- hang up again and i'll rip their heads off and send them in a box at your door ! shouted the killer menacingly and violently.

the violence of his threat burned your eyes, but you were able to swallow back your tears. you were sure he could feel your panic through the phone.

- not them, don't hurt them, s-stop it, i’ll do anything, i-i promise, you cried, afraid that something might happen to your friends.

- good girl, you see how easy things are going when you start obeying ? his voice softened, but you could still hear the amusement in it that told you he loved what was happening, that he loved scaring you.

despite the fear, the nickname he'd used triggered a reaction you'd never have suspected: a wave of heat spread through your body, even between your legs, and you suddenly felt ashamed.

- now, let's play that game. have you ever heard of hot and cold ?

you simply nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind your ears, knife still sharp in hand.

- words, pretty girl.

another heat wave.

- y-yeah, yes, i have.

- perfect. you want to know where i am, right ? then come and find me. go on.

you frowned, apprehensive about the objective behind this game, especially apprehensive about the moment when you were going to meet him.

- and then, if i find you, what will happen ?

- find me and you'll see, answered mischievously ghostface.

a new silence, neither of you speaking, the silence was heavy for you. you took two steps forward, and turned to look behind you again, the fact of not knowing where he was disturbed you and increased your degree of fear.

- are you scared, sweet thing ? he continued to mock, knowing he had the upper hand.

- shut the fuck up motherfucker, you're gonna pay for all of this, you grumbled in between.

- oh, really? i’m waiting then, he sneered, and you were willing to bet he was smiling.

his words only provoked you and you walked out of the living room, realizing that he couldn't be there, you were surprised to realize that you actually started looking for him, now angry at the way he was openly mocking you. you opened the bathroom door, peering in after turning on the light.

- cold.

you immediately left the room, closed the door and stepped into the corridor, which this time led to your bedroom. but before you got close to it, your steps slowed down, as you became more reluctant to head towards this part of the apartment, what if he was inside ?

- why are you slowing down ? maybe I'm inside.

- fuck it, you muttered.

you continued to hold your knife, getting ready to use it, when you arrived at the door to your room and opened it, you went in, and looked all around, near your desk, in the nooks and crannies, then your gaze fell back on your wardrobe, which was closed.

- are you in there ? you asked, your breath catching.

you heard his breathing through the phone become more erratic, and that's all you could hear as you held it to your ear.

- open it.

without further hesitation, you grabbed both wrists of your wardrobe and suddenly opened them, brandishing your knife in your face the next second.

but surprisingly, he wasn't there, so you straightened up and let your arm fall back down your body, then brought the phone up to your ear to hear your interlocutor, who seemed to love playing with your mind and emotions. he started laughing again, and the more he did it, the more it annoyed you than it frightened you now.

- no, i'm not there sweetheart, i was just messing with you.

- asshole, wanting to play a game without even knowing how to play it, you laughed bittersweetly.

you could sense that he wasn't happy with your answer, maybe even angry, but in any case, he didn't show it and decided to restart the game.

- you're getting colder, keep looking.

since you'd gone in the opposite direction and weren't getting any closer, you decided to return to the area you'd been in when you received the bloody call, retracing your steps, finding yourself in the hallway where your bathroom was once again.

- you're still cold.

you sighed in annoyance, but kept on walking, and when you passed the bathroom door you'd already looked in.

- warm, he warned you, and his husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

the further you went, the more your heart pounded to the point where that was all you could hear now. now you were back in your living room, you couldn't make any sense of the situation, you must have misunderstood his directions, he couldn't be there.

- you're getting warmer, good, very good sweetheart, you're almost there.

and yet, the praise almost made you blush again, you felt butterflies in your stomach and snapped inwardly as you remembered who you were on the phone with.

slightly frustrated by the flirtatious tone, you began to hold your knife out in front of you, preparing yourself better in case you found him.

as well as being frustrated, you were in total bewilderment, you had no idea where he could be, he kept messing with your head and he was very good at it.

he definitely wasn't in the kitchen, nor in the living room, not even towards the entrance, since you'd glanced around.

- keep looking, y/n, it'd be a shame if i find you first, wouldn't it ? tormented ghostface.

you held back from insulting him once more, avoided the living room areas you'd already looked at, and moved towards the only corridor on the opposite side of the apartment where you hadn't glanced.

and to do this, you had to pass through the corridor to your left leading to the front door, when you passed this door, and moved into the unlit corridor where in one of the doors lay your washing machine and other belongings, he spoke again.

- you don't want to turn colder again, don't you ? now, turn around.

paranoid, you thought he was right behind you, so you quickly turned around and took a big step back, the knife right in front of you, your arm raised, and you let out an expletive when you couldn't see anyone again. He was definitely playing with your mind and you'd had enough. You could feel the frustration heating your blood.

you made the choice not to pay any more attention to your footsteps, beginning to believe that he had lied to you and wasn't even near you, that this was just to scare you.

- warm.

but then you stopped, and that's how you noticed you were near the entrance hall. no, it couldn't be.

you headed in that direction, advancing slowly, cold sweat beginning to take refuge on your forehead.

- warmer.

shit. shit. shit.

you noticed the cupboard embedded in the wall a metre from the landing, and realized he was probably here. I'd have heard him, the kitchen's right next door. you had no idea what was going on.

- very very warm, he whispered.

your trembling hand came to rest on the wrist of the hall cupboard, hesitantly, you didn't open it immediately, feeling your breathing quicken.

in a split second, you brought your other hand to the cabinet and jerked it open. but nothing, absolutely nothing.

- fucking bastard, you growled.

you sighed, and slammed the wardrobe doors shut, the sound echoing throughout the apartment after this act of anger and you could hear him laughing in your ear.

pissed off, you returned to the kitchen to the very same spot where you had decided to call the police, still holding your weapon in your hand which was now on the kitchen counter facing the living room.

- now you're boiling.

you held your phone so tightly in your hand that you could have crushed it. you didn't know whether your hands were shaking with fear or anger, or both.

- i’m done with that shit, you growled again, if you want me, come and get me.

- want you in which way, darling ? don't get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it's an important distinction to make before we proceed.

- w-what ?

and just then, you saw a shadow with a very tall figure forming right in front of you.

you immediately dropped your phone from your hands, about to turn and brandish your knife to stab him, but a large gloved hand pressed against your mouth and an imposing body slammed you against the surface.

your scream was then muffled by the hand over your mouth, and your knife was snatched from your other hand, panic instantly seizing you after your weapon was snatched from you, you tried to fight back by reaching behind him with your hands, but his free hand had no trouble grabbing both your wrists and pinning them behind your back.

- i told you it'd be a shame if i find you first, he said mockingly.

the tears in your eyes blurred your vision, you kept squirming in all directions and your screams kept choking against your attacker's glove. then you felt them, your hands bound by ropes.

ropes that burned your wrists, he had to take his hand away from his mouth to bind your hands, and you couldn't control the rhythm of your breathing.

- no no no no no, you protested, naively trying to free yourself from the ropes.

just then, you felt his hips push you against the counter again and his hand slid down your back to force you against the surface, bended you over, he towered over you.

- p-please, please let me go, you tried not to let the tears roll down your cheeks, but your voice betrayed your fear.

- where's that attitude you were giving me earlier, hm ?

- i-i’m sorry, you let your forehead hit the cold surface of the counter, your eyes closed.

- you look so good like that, he murmured under his breath, bended over, begging for me, better than i have imagined.

a new complaint came from the back of your throat, and you started to struggle again, unconsciously moving your hips to push him away. then you felt something against you, something hard, then you heard him growl.

your mouth fell open in astonishment, you must surely have heard wrong, you thought. then you continued to rub your hips against him, your two bodies pressed together, and suddenly his left hand grabbed your hip to immobilize you.

an amused smile spread across your lips, contradicting the tears in your eyes.

- does this turn you on ? do i'm turning you on mr. ghostface ? you said in a playful tone.

- shut up, i'm gonna fuck that attitude out of you, spat the killer.

a groan threatened to leave your mouth but you managed to control it, feeling all wet after rubbing yourself against him and his modulated voice making you feel things you shouldn't feel.

a moan threatened to leave your mouth but you managed to control it, you felt all wet after rubbing yourself against him and his modulated voice made you feel things you shouldn't feel.

quickly, he removed your shorts followed by your underwear, leaving you almost naked apart from your black top, your wet intimacy exposed to the cool apartment air sending a shiver down your spine and forcing you to squeeze your thighs together.

- uh uh, none of that, open those legs for me, he said, slapping one of your thighs.

aware of the extent of your desire between your legs, you spread them slowly and slightly, enough for him to slip his hand in.

his fingers began to tease your crotch, you were about to open your mouth to express your desire, but closed it when his fingers moved to brush over her clit. you breathed deeply and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers gently beginning to knead at your clit and press against your entrance.

you took a shaky breath, clenching down around the finger gently as it was pushed in up to the second knuckle.

you moaned happily, your hips pressing forward. your hips swayed further as he began to move his fingers slowly. his fingers moved in and out of her slowly. then he gently curled them as he moved them, smiling at the cry he drew from you. his thumb gently massaged your clit, and you arched your back silently asking for more.

- you like that, huh ?

you nodded positively, moaning softly, your lip still between your teeth.

- come on, what did i told you earlier, sweetheart ?

words.

- f-fuck, y-yes.

- yes what ? while curling his fingers inside of you.

- yes, yes i-i like that.

he was starting to pick up his pace, you could hear his breathing jerking in turn, getting harder and harder by the pretty sounds you were making and the way you were moving your hips against him. although he'd been using a fairly gentle rhythm, now he was thrusting his fingers into you harder and harder, going even deeper.

causing moans that you could no longer control, especially when he added another finger, unconsciously, you closed your legs once more against the sensation that invaded you, but his other hand forced you to keep them spread for him.

even if you wanted to deny him access to your legs by closing them, you couldn't, his grip was too strong for you to move, it would probably leave a mark later.

when his fingers reached that spot inside you, you tilted your head back, eyes closed. he took advantage of your position to lean towards you, so that his fingers were deep inside you, and your belly was completely pressed into the countertop surface, as were your hips.

he grabbed your jaw to force you to open your eyes and tilt your head back even further, causing you to arch your back even more to the point of slight pain, and with your hands tied behind your back, it wasn't easy, so when you did, you fell into the big, intimidating black eyes of his mask.

but the idea of him fucking you in his ghostface costume, mask and gloves made you wetter, it was so wrong.

you gave him those doe eyes, and he swore he could have cum right now just from the look you were giving him. you half-opened your mouth as if to let out another moan, but nothing came out.

his thumb moved to your lower lip, his hand still gripping your jaw. his other hand continued to penetrate you roughly, but you still wanted more. he could read the desire on your face, in your eyes.

- what's the matter, pretty girl ? do you want my cock instead ?

you nod eagerly.

- please, i w-want it so bad.

the position you were in meant you couldn't breathe properly, your back arched, your head back as you stared into the big black eyes of the ghost mask.

his thumb pressed your clitoris just right, in a delicious way that brought back that exquisite sensation in your lower belly. but suddenly he withdrew his hand, feeling you suddenly empty, you let out a whine.

but he quickly silenced you by pushing the two fingers inside you into your mouth, his other hand controlling your movements through your jaw and forcing you to take his fingers covered in your juices.

- that's it, taste yourself, take those fingers right down your throat, whispered ghostface.

you felt your taste on his two fingers deposited on your tongue, you closed your mouth to suck greedily on his fingers that he pushed deep into your throat, creating new tears in the corner of your eyes and causing you a gag that seemed to satisfy him.

his fingers were so deep in your throat that your saliva was starting to drip down the corner of your mouth.

His hand that held your jaw withdrew from it, you felt the trace of the fabric of his gloves burn your jaw in the absence of his hand, then just after, you heard the sound of a belt unbuckling just behind you.

claiming only his fingers or his cock inside of you again, you moved your hips back, and felt the brutal material of his jeans, and then, from his underwear, you could especially feel his erection that was right against your ass.

you tried to speak, but with his fingers in your throat and the taste of your wetness on your tongue, those sounds were muffled, but you knew he'd heard you because he pushed his fingers even deeper into your mouth, making you feel a little dizzy.

as he let out a muffled moan against the movement of your hips against him, he in turn thrust against you, feeling your clitoris swell with excitement.

then, a few seconds later, unexpectedly, without any warning from him, you felt his tip right in front of your entrance and quickly, he penetrated you brutally, knocking the wind out of your lungs, causing you to scream due to the impact.

- did i go in too fast ? he laughed, tilting his head to one side, his voice still modified by the modulator.

he started to thrust in and out of you at a pace that made you see stars. his fingers left your throat, and you took a deep breath of air, you were suffocating, and yet his index finger remained between your mouth and your teeth, understanding what he wanted you to do, you bit the material of his glove, allowing him to slide his hand out, removing his glove for him, letting go of the glove in your mouth, you could then observe his hand.

large and covered with veins. You could almost recognize his hand. Your pussy was throbbing and the harsh thrusts didn't help.

suddenly, his hand grabbed the back of your neck and tilted you forward, pushing your chest against the surface where you rested your cheek. it felt so good, you could hear him growling behind you and your whole body wanted to submit to him. his thrusts pushed your belly against the counter, his hips slammed into your buttocks.

for support, he grabbed the ropes he'd tightened around your hands, still holding your neck to make sure you didn't move, you were his to fuck.

you tried to straighten up, but his grip prevented you, so you tried to look over your shoulder, and just seeing him fucking you could make you cum on the spot, his tall figure, the mask, him dominating you.

the erotic sound of his cock thrusting into you filled the room and mingled with your moans and grunts.

- harder, please fuck me harder, you begged, letting your forehead fall back against the counter, eyes closed.

- you want me to fuck you harder ? he said playfully, fine then, i’ll fuck you harder.

he did as you asked, but first by slowing down his thrusts, you then let out some moans as you arched your back, but then he thrust more brutally, deeper into you, all the while being fast. you opened your mouth in pleasure, before going back to biting your lip.

his bare hand grabs your waist and uses it as leverage to thrust into you, leaving you little or no time to adjust as he drives deep into you.

he pulls you back, using his grip on your wrists as your pussy tightens around his cock under his thrusts.

after a few more strokes that made you feel disoriented to the point where it was hard to keep your eyes open. a small noise near you caught your attention, you reopened your eyes breathing hard, and noticed the ghostface mask right next to you, he'd just pulled it off. your eyes widened in astonishment.

- taking it so well, hm whore ? he said in a taunting tone, the modulator was off, god, you feel amazing, he moaned.

and you recognized that voice.

- e-ethan ?

you couldn't see him, but he was smiling and pounding into you, his curly hair falling back on his forehead with a little sweat on his temples.

without you expecting it, his hand on the back of your neck slid down your throat to pull you back to his torso, your hands tied behind your back making the position slightly uncomfortable, but when you let your head fall below his shoulder to look up at him, you forgot the discomfort.

you couldn't believe it, ethan, the shy, dorky guy you were so close to.

- hi baby, surprised ? he smirked devilishly.

- i- you tried to speak, but another of his blows triggered a soft moan.

he laughed again, his eyes never leaving your face, watching as your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened in pleasure. he tightened his hand around your neck enough to reduce the air passing through to your lungs, and again he felt you tighten around him.

- look at you, what a little slut. you look so pretty with my hand around your throat.

wanting to look at him, you opened your eyes again, your eyes met and you noticed how dark his gaze was as I'd never seen it before. his hand on your hip began to rub your clit deliciously while he was thrusting in you.

he leaned over and placed his lips against yours to kiss you passionately, not giving you a chance to breathe, you kissed him back without hesitation, which made him smile.

when the kiss ended and you parted, you looked up at him again, his hand still around your neck. you let out at surprised gasp when he forced you to bend over once more, removing his hand from your throat to move it into your hair, which he grabbed to pull you back.

you found yourself in the same position as before, your back curved and your head tilted back. you could see him, but instead of the ghostface mask, you saw ethan's angelic face, who wasn't actually so angelic.

his grip on your hair made you groan, and you'd never have suspected this dominance from mindy's number one suspect.

- open your mouth.

damn.

you opened your mouth as he asked, tongue out, with a doe eyed gaze that made him growl. he leaned closer and spat into your mouth.

- swallow it.

and you did. you swallowed without replying under his eager gaze. you stuck out your tongue to prove it, god, you were sure you looked so dirty like that. his gloveless hand found its way to your cheek, and he patted it before caressing it with a delicacy that contradicted the brutality of his strokes that made you stammer.

- that’s it. you’re being very good baby.

the praise pushed you to give him a fucked up smile. the more time passed, the more you felt that knock in your lower belly. you were close,and ethan could feel it too by the way you tightened around him.

- s-shit, e-ethan, i’m close.

- i know, baby, cum for me.

with his hand pulling your hair tighter so he could get a better view of your face to see you cum, before long, you were cumming and felt your legs trembling under the intensity, and when you came, you let out the prettiest sound without worrying whether your neighbors heard you or not.

he let go of your hair, and both his hands bestially gripped your hips, he was close too, you felt overstimulated but you knew he was going to cum soon so you

let him use you. he muttered "fuck" under his breath, and cummed as he sank deep inside you, stopping his thrusts to stay deep inside you. he tilted his head back, his adam's apple perfectly visible and you didn't have to look at him to know he must be incredibly beautiful like that.

[gabessquishytum]

Hi! I love fat!hob posts and I was so hoping for more. I love the idea of Hob being self conscious and insecure, only for Dream to be Into It. Could chubby Hob fall for Dream (whom he doesn't know yet) at a BDSM club? The hot top with that Voice and that Glare, who could have any number of svelte, wiry partners - plus, you know, physical tropes with come with subbing - would never be into someone larger and hairier. Dream, of course, notices Hob in the club and totally finger-crooks him over.

Fat Hob is everything to me, I'm so glad you also enjoy him!!! Fat sub Hob is such a wonderful idea!!

See, Hob is trying to love his body. It's something that he really wants for himself, and he figured that the kink club would be a good place to start. It's anonymous, there are rules and regulations regarding the patrons behaviour, and there's also the option of being mostly naked. Hob has high hopes!

It's pretty tough when he gets there, however. He's wearing his favourite pink booty shorts and nothing else, and it's kind of scary to be there with his tummy out and his rolls on display. The other club attendees seem very confident, and although Hob spots a few larger bodied people in the crowd, he still feels... inferior. He sits in a corner and thinks that maybe he'll give it 10 minutes and then go home. At least he can say that he tried!

But then he feels someone looking at him. There's a man standing across the room, and he appears to be wearing nothing except a long black coat and some big leather boots. His eyes are bright blue and he's definitely gazing at Hob like... like he's something delicious. Hob follows the crooked finger like he's in a daze, approaching the slim, commanding man. He drops to his knees without even thinking about whether his stomach looks okay.

Dream is besotted with the cute, soft man who knelt for him at the kink club without even having to be asked. He thinks that Hob is the most stunning creature on earth, and he's dying to worship those soft thighs and that precious tummy. He'll gladly show Hob that he has no reason to feel insecure - he's perfection. Dream will just have to gently dom him until he agrees <3

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: crawling back to you

Series: the sinner in me

Dreamling (human AU: proDom!Dream/sub!Hob) || Rated E || in progress

Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, past relationship(s), complicated relationships, age difference, cheating, unknown/potential mistaken identities, proDom!Dream, sub!Hob, BDSM, dom/sub, D/s, angst, but with a happy ending

Dream wants… so much. Too much. He wants to come up behind Hob and wrap his arms around his waist and hold him close. He wants to whisper in his ear that it is okay, that Dream still wants him, that he can come back. He wants to tell him how much he misses him and beg him to leave with him, leave the estate, leave his marriage, leave the country, leave the hemisphere.  Dream wants to grab Hob’s hair in his fist and pull his head back until he drops to his knees, then put a very specific ball gag in his mouth and remind him that the Prince of Stories never did release him from his service as Knight. Fuck.

Read on AO3

[hardly-an-escape]

what's in a name? | Dream/Hob | 9300 words | rated E

this is my submission for @designtheendless's 3K commission giveaway: a Dreamling fic based on their fanart above!

tags: alternate universe - human, photographer Hob Gadling, artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, model Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, strangers to lovers, snowed in, only one bed, light dom/sub, oral sex, face fucking, anal fingering, anal sex, anonymous sex, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, and Hob is no less of a horny little weasel, brief Princess Bride references, alcohol consumption, impulsive decision making, callous disregard for the geography of northern California, they go from 0-60 because they’re both nuts, neither of them are in a great place but they do make each other better rather than worse

Hob is on an ill-fated road trip through California. He’s making his way slowly down the coast toward Los Angeles when, trapped by a snowstorm in a small town near Mount Shasta, he meets a mysterious stranger in a diner. They share a night of anonymous passion – but when the sun rises, Hob finds that he can’t just leave the stranger behind…

this story developed partially from Picture Perfect, one of my Fluffbruary 2024 fills. I also incorporated some of designtheendless's other suggested image prompts, so do make sure you check their original post! and thank you so much for extending the deadline, it meant I had time to get my CHBB fic submitted before pivoting to finish this... and even so I'm still barely getting it done in time just because of who I am as a person :D

Hob leans forward over the steering wheel, brows furrowed as he peers through the driving snow at the street ahead. The windshield wipers are going like mad; he’s seen a plow or two out, but they seem to barely be making a dent, so traffic has slowed to a crawl. Which is, frankly, for the best, since the weather is bad enough that only a true nutter would be out in it at all.

Well… nobody’s ever accused Hob of being sane.

His GPS instructs him to take the next right and informs him that his destination will then be on his right. He can just make out the neon sign through the thick flakes: Townhouse Motel. “Vacancy,” it says below the old-timey script, blinking on and off. In the distance, the sun is just beginning to settle behind some mountains that he’s sure would be beautiful if they weren’t hidden behind such inclement weather.

He pulls in the driveway. The lot is nearly empty, so he parks right next to the office door and jams his winter cap on his head before hurrying through the flurries.

The bored teenager behind the front desk barely looks up from the reality show playing on her tablet as she runs Hob’s credit card and gives him his door key – an actual, physical key. Room 1389. He decides it’s not worth it to ask why the room number has four digits when the motel has maybe a dozen rooms total.

He does ask if there’s somewhere nearby to get a bite to eat and a drink.

“There’s a diner across the street and down a block,” the teenager says, “but they don’t serve booze.” Then, finally looking up, perhaps seeing the bags under his eyes and his generally downtrodden demeanor, she relents. “There’s a liquor store about two blocks past that. You can bring stuff back to your room, I guess. It’s not like anybody is going to ask questions around here.”

That, Hob thinks as he heads back outside and moves his rental car a little closer to his door, is obvious. There’s a general air of neglect clinging to the motel, and indeed to the whole street, from what he can see: the buildings are a little more weatherbeaten than can be plausibly explained by a cute vintage aesthetic, and at least one storefront seems to be permanently boarded up. The recession has clearly hit Northern California just as hard as it has the rest of the United States.

What a time to be playing tourist. What a time to be – well, he won’t think about that right now.

His room is clean, at least. Someone, at some point in time, has made a half-hearted attempt to decorate it with a seaside theme. The bedlinens are various shades of blue, rather than your typical beigey-white. There’s an unfortunate painting of a mermaid hanging over the outdated television, and a slightly less unfortunate painting of a lighthouse above the bed. The bathroom wallpaper has little seashells on it.

Hob leaves his camera bag on the desk and his duffel on the end of the bed, grabs his wallet, turns his collar up against the cold, and heads back out into the snowy evening.

The diner is, as promised, only a short walk down the street, but Hob is shivering by the time he gets there. The wind cuts right through him – silly British man that he is, he thought California would be warm, even in winter. He hadn’t really reckoned with unpredictable mountain weather, or with the cold front that was chasing him down through the southern end of the Cascades. The weatherman on the radio had been calling it “freakish.”

A little bell tinkles merrily when he pushes open the door. A waitress calls out a greeting, tells him to sit wherever he likes and she’ll be right with him. There’s only one other person in the diner, a slender man dressed all in black who is hunched over a cup of coffee at the counter. He glances up and immediately back down as Hob stomps the snow off his boots and takes an empty booth far enough away from the front door that he won’t feel the rush of cold air if anyone else comes in.

The waitress bustles over, bringing him a cup of coffee without even asking. Hob wraps his fingers around it gratefully. He doesn’t normally drink coffee this late, but it’s been the kind of day that calls for it: so cold, so uncomfortable and distressing, that the sturdy ceramic mug is exactly what he wants. The bitter note of slightly burnt coffee is tempered by the cheap, artificially flavored vanilla creamer he only ever uses at this kind of greasy spoon diner. He breathes deep and feels something inside him start to thaw.

When the waitress comes back with a menu, he warms up even more. She is middle-aged and comfortable, nice and no-nonsense, the sort of person with an indeterminate American accent who could have come from anywhere: Illinois, or Florida, or five minutes down the road. She recommends the olive burger with fries, and a side of fried pickles, because they’re the best in the county, and then her excitement simply bubbles over.

“I’m just so darn tickled to have two Brits here in the same night!” she enthuses. “Oh gosh, is that okay? Can I call you Brits or is that rude?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Hob laughs. “Two of us, eh? That is a coincidence.”

“I know, right? Okay hon, lemme just get your order in and I’ll be back to warm up your coffee in a sec.”

She bustles away again, and Hob looks curiously at the man at the counter. He must have heard her comment, but he hasn’t turned around, or indeed acknowledged Hob in any way since he came in. He shrugs mentally and turns away to look out the window at the thickly swirling snow. It’s dark enough now that streetlights have come on, casting cones of light in which the flakes dance like a very slow sodium-tinted tornado.

He wishes he had a book. Or a crossword puzzle, or one of those packets of crayons they give to kids at restaurants. Something to keep his hands occupied and his mind off of everything that was threatening to consume it, off of the last few days, off of her –

Then the man from the counter slides into the booth across from him.

“Hello,” Hob says.

“Hello,” the stranger says. His voice is surprisingly deep and resonant, coming from his slim frame, and he looks to be in his late twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Hob. He is very pale. His dark hair is sticking up rather wildly and his eyes are a cold, clear blue that reminds Hob of the way the sky had looked this morning, before the clouds had descended.

“Who are you, then? Aside from a fellow Brit?” asks Hob.

“No one of consequence.” He’s lugging around a small backpack, which now rests on the bench beside him.

“I must know,” Hob says in a very bad Inigo Montoya accent.

“Get used to disappointment,” the stranger says with a smirk, and Hob laughs.

“Oh, we’re going to get along just fine,” he says, holding his hand out across the table. “My name’s Hob, yes that’s my real name, and yes, it is a long story.”

The stranger shakes his hand briefly. His palm is warm from cupping his coffee cup, but the tips of his fingers are cold. “Pleased to meet you, Hob.”

“And do you have a name, stranger?”

“I do. Several, in fact.”

“Any of them for public consumption?”

The stranger shrugs. “Will you forgive me if I maintain a certain level of mystery?”

Hob shrugs too. “That’s your lookout, mate. No skin off my nose.”

They chat. About the weather, and how odd it is, and how different to England. About books – the stranger appears to be a voracious reader, and Hob had loaded up an old iPod with audiobooks in preparation for a lot of driving, which sparks a lively debate on the merits of printed books vs reading aloud. In the midst of this, Hob’s food arrives, and he is derailed momentarily from the conversation by an overwhelming need to unhinge his jaw and stuff as many chips into his gob as humanly possible. The stranger watches in amusement.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hob says, muffled by his burger. “Been driving pretty much all day and I didn’t really want to stop, so…”

He’s suddenly self-conscious, very aware that the man sitting across from him is slender and willowy and dressed all in black, and that he himself is very much… not that. Dressed for comfort and warmth in slightly baggy jeans and a flannel shirt and his puffy jacket balled up on the bench beside him. But the stranger seems unbothered, simply smiling slightly and snagging a fried pickle off the plate between them, which Hob had invited him to share moments after it had arrived.

They are good; crispy and salty and uniquely American. Hob is certainly prepared to believe they’re the best in the county.

“So are you staying here in town, or is that shrouded in mystery as well?” he asks, once he’s slowed down a bit.

“I’ve been staying in a cabin up the mountain, a little way out of town. With my family.” He said the word family as though it is faintly dirty. “One of my siblings thought it would be good for us to get away together. But I have found it… trying.”

“Up the mountain, eh? Are you going to be able to get back in this?”

Hob tips his head toward the window. It is very dark now, and the snow is falling more thickly and wildly than ever. A crease appears between the stranger’s eyebrows.

“To be honest, I had not thought that far ahead.”

“Do you have much experience driving in the snow?”

To Hob’s surprise, the stranger actually blushes, just a gentle stain of pink across his cheekbones. “I… walked.”

“You walked?”

The waitress, stopping by the table to warm up their coffees, echos Hob’s surprise.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “In this? How are you fixing to get home?”

“I was planning to walk back,” the stranger says with some asperity. “But I admit I was not anticipating this kind of weather.”

“Let me check on the roads for you,” the waitress says kindly. “Which cabin did you say you’re at? My brother-in-law lives up that way, I’ll give him a call. I’m sure we can find you a ride.”

She goes back behind the counter and picks up the phone.

“I’m happy to give you a ride,” Hob says quietly. “If she thinks it’s safe.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“‘S okay. I want to.”

“Bill? It’s Jan. I have a question for you,” says the waitress.

Hob realizes, suddenly and with some surprise, that it is quite true, that he is not just being polite: he does want to help this mysterious stranger, who talks like a 19th-century Byronic hero and dresses like a college goth. His stomach is doing the tiniest little swoop every time they make eye contact, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

The waitress calls over to him.

“You got four wheel drive, hon?”

Hob thinks about the little Honda Civic in the motel parking lot. Thinks about mountain roads and snow. Shakes his head no.

Scraps of the waitress’s conversation float across the diner and Hob takes another bite of his burger.

“– well they’re foreign, Bill, they don’t –”

He snickers just a little; can’t help himself, really, because the waitress is just so kind and helpful and also clearly more than a little bit befuddled by their presence in her diner. These two Brits, total strangers, so unalike one another – and yet here they are, sharing a booth and a plate of fried pickles, five thousand miles and change away from home. He exchanges a look of camaraderie with the stranger and eats some more chips. They’re good too.

“– and tomorrow? What’s the overnight –”

After another minute or two the waitress thanks her brother-in-law and hangs up the phone. Her face is serious when she comes back to their table.

“Well, boys,” she says, “I don’t think anyone is going anywhere tonight. Bill says it’s pretty bad up there, and only getting worse. The plows aren’t even going out yet on account of the snow’s still coming down so hard, it doesn’t make sense to try and clear anything. You going to be able to find a place to stay?” she asks the stranger.

He looks at Hob. “Did you mention a motel?”

“Yeah, the Townhouse?” Hob says, and the waitress nods along. “I don’t know for sure if there are rooms available, but it didn’t look like the parking was full.”

“Probably not, this time of year,” interjects the waitress. “It’s a fine place, and Paulie can certainly use the business. I’ll bring your checks by in a minute, guys.”

She leaves them again. Her sensible sneakers squeak against the floor tiles as she walks.

“Thank you again for your offer of a ride,” the stranger says quietly. “That was very kind of you.”

“Course. I’m just sorry you won’t be able to get home tonight,” Hob says.

“It is my own fault. I should not have behaved so impulsively. But my siblings…” The man frowns. “As I said, they can be difficult. I would have done something regrettable, had I remained in the house.”

Hob waves a hand. “Ah, it happens to the best of us. Especially around family. You should hear some of the fights I’ve had with my sister, we can scream the paint off the walls when we get going.”

“Indeed,” the man says darkly.

“I’m glad you did come to town, though. It’s been kind of nice,” Hob says tentatively. “Having someone to talk to tonight.”

“Indeed,” his stranger repeats. But this time one corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “It seems to have worked out in my favor.”

Hob smiles back. “So, are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun, eh?” Hob glances down at his own hands, folded on the table, back at the stranger. “Is that what this is?”

The stranger smirks. He leans forward and plucks another fried pickle from the plate. He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue just a little bit farther than necessary to pop the slice into his mouth. He chews, and smirks some more, and gives Hob an unmistakable up-and-down appraising glance, and underneath the table he presses one ankle against Hob’s instep.

Oh. Hob feels a surprising but not unfamiliar spike of arousal in his gut. So that’s where this is heading – has been heading, since he pushed open the door and the stranger had glanced up at him. Had he blushed, when his eyes met Hob’s? Or is he applying more detail to that brief interaction after the fact, now that he thinks he knows what his stranger is thinking?

And when had the man become his stranger?

“I see,” he says, and presses back against the bony ankle under the table.

Ten minutes later, they’ve settled their bills – his stranger had apparently eaten a club sandwich before Hob had arrived, and he’s weirdly relieved that the man has consumed something more substantial than coffee this evening – and are gearing up to head back into the cold. Hob is zipping up his coat when he realizes the other man appears to have only a thick black hoodie and a knit beanie (also black, of course). He glances out the window, where it’s still snowing pretty hard, and raises an eyebrow.

“You going to be okay in just that?”

“You said it is only a couple of blocks? I will be fine. I tend not to feel the cold. And,” he adds defensively, “when I originally walked down the weather was not quite so… inclement.”

“If you say so,” Hob says as he opens the door. The waitress calls out a good night and he waves to her over his stranger’s shoulder. Wonders, just for a moment, what she thinks of the fact that they’re leaving together, or if she will ever think of them again at all. They step out into the snowy evening. “The girl at the motel said there’s a liquor store down the street. Mind detouring there? I was thinking of picking up some whiskey, or something. Something to keep a man warm.”

The man chuckles and they head down the street. It’s not until they’re away from the diner windows that he takes Hob by the elbow and gently draws him just outside the circle of a street lamp.

“Surely,” he says, voice low, stepping into Hob’s space, “there are many ways for a man to… keep warm.”

And he kisses him.

His lips are warm and dry, a little chapped. It’s a simple kiss, a chaste one, just their lips touching and the barest pressure of the stranger’s belly and chest pressed against Hob’s, swathed in layers of winter gear. It lasts for a heartbeat, two, and then the man steps back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Oh?” says Hob, giddily. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Obviously,” responds his stranger.

“Well, I don’t know, mate,” says Hob as they make their way down the street. He resists the urge to link their arms together. “Maybe you play footsie with every guy you meet in random diners in Northern California.”

“Perhaps.”

The liquor store is a brief respite from the wind and the snow. Hob selects a mid-range bottle of whiskey and they trudge back to his motel room. The snowflakes and the streetlights and the swirling wind make everything feel more than a little bit surreal, like something out of a dream or a fairy tale. The two of them could be adventurers, explorers, wading through an arctic wasteland in search of shelter. The mountain looms behind them, dark and mysterious, like a great castle or some monstrous beast.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” asks his stranger, kicking off his boots dropping his backpack by the desk. “I’m afraid I did get rather sweaty, hiking down earlier. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up.” His gaze, beneath his long eyelashes, feels heavy and significant.

“Go right ahead.” Hob gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to nip down to the lobby and get a bit of ice.” He retrieves the ice bucket from the desk, brushing close to his stranger as he does. The brief contact jolts him back to the real world. They’re not in the arctic waste; this handsome, ethereal man is here, in his motel room. He is pulling off his somewhat sodden hoodie and draping it over the back of the chair, and sniffing dubiously at the sweater he wears underneath it. He is real.

Hob waits until he hears the shower turn on to slip out the door.

Although he has his moments of cluelessness, Hob is not a stupid man. He knows where this is going. He recognizes the signs, the coy little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past two hours, and no, he’s not a stupid man, but if he were a better one he might be able to resist the temptation of falling into bed with a beautiful stranger who won’t even share his name.

But there’s something about this man. Hob wants him. Already can’t resist him. Wants to wrap him up and keep him warm and kiss his collarbones and, yes, wants to fuck him, wants to feel him shudder and moan and wants to watch his cheeks flush and his head fall back in ecstasy. He hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time, and now it’s come out of nowhere to slam into him and hook into his gut, this wanting.

He throws a few scoops of ice from the machine in the motel lobby into the bucket and goes back to the room.

He’s kicked off his boots, unwrapped one of the shitty plastic cups, and poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey by the time he hears the shower shut off. There’s the usual shuffling noise of towels, a brief blast of the cheap hair dryer mounted to the wall. Then the door opens and the stranger emerges, and Hob is slammed from the real world right back into a surreal dream.

The man is even more beautiful without his clothes on: Hob would compare him to an elf or a fairy prince, but he’s too busy choking slightly on the spit that’s suddenly flooding his mouth at the sight of long, slim limbs, a narrow waist, and a temptingly well-defined Adonis belt that disappears under the cheap motel towel wound around his hips.

There’s a long moment of silent eye contact. Hob’s leaning up against the desk, cup cradled in one hand. His face heats as he watches his stranger’s eyes travel slowly down the length of his body and back up, pursing his lips slightly. His mouth is very pink, with the kind of full bottom lip that’s made for nibbling on, and the rest of his skin is as pale and smooth as… well, as snow, with just a touch of redness from the heat of the shower spreading across his chest.

Hob downs half of his whiskey without even thinking about it. He can’t look away. He can’t think, can’t even blink. He’s afraid that if he does, this vision will disappear and it’ll just be him, alone, a saddish man alone in a motel room with a bottle of booze and a bag of expensive camera equipment, and then who knows what will happen?

His stranger gives him one of those tiny half-smiles, suggestive, not quite a leer, and stalks across the room toward him.

He widens his legs and his stranger steps in to stand between his feet. He takes Hob’s drink out of his hand and tosses back the last swallow of whiskey before setting the plastic cup aside. Then he hooks one finger into the collar of Hob’s flannel shirt and pulls him into a kiss. His mouth is a study in contrasts: warm from the whiskey and cool from the ice, soft tongue and sharp teeth. They sink briefly, gently, into Hob’s bottom lip, and Hob pulls the man close against his chest and returns the favor.

The kiss is turning wet and messy when the man pulls back far enough to start fumbling with Hob’s shirt buttons. He’s pulled the tails of the shirt out of Hob’s jeans and has it about halfway unbuttoned when a phone starts ringing.

It’s not the room phone – it’s coming from a pocket of the man’s backpack.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck. “We are busy.”

The phone rings three times; four times. The stranger has finished with Hob’s shirt and is pulling the tee beneath it out of the waistband of his jeans by the time it finally stops.

His fingers are toying with Hob’s belt buckle and ghosting over the seam of his fly when it rings again.

The stranger groans audibly.

“Do you think,” Hob says with the carefully deliberate cadence of the very turned on, “that your family might be worried about you?”

“I do not care,” his stranger grumbles, and sinks gracefully to his knees.

Eventually the phone stops ringing again.

He’s worked Hob’s belt and fly open and is nuzzling into the opening of his jeans, nosing at the base of Hob’s cock through his underwear and Hob is panting, his stranger’s hot breath so close to where Hob wants him most – when the phone rings a third time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snarls the stranger, and stands.

He fishes a slightly battered-looking BlackBerry out of an outside pocket of his backpack and stabs at the call answer button.

“What.”

He turns away, so all Hob can see is the furious, stiff line of his stranger’s back. He can’t hear the other half of the conversation, and he doesn’t think he wants to; every fibre of the man’s body radiates anger and discomfort and perhaps a little bit of shame. Hob adjusts himself discreetly, rezips his jeans, and tiptoes over to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Obviously I am alive. I am fine.” A pause. “I took a walk.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, I know what time it is. No, I am assured that the roads were too bad to make it back to the cabin. I am in a motel room in…” He looks over to Hob. “What is the name of this place?”

Hob supplies the name of the motel, and that of the town as well, just for good measure. The man relays the information into the phone. There is another long pause.

“That is none of your business. Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you speak to me like that again I will hang up the phone.”

There is another, longer pause, during which the stranger’s face grows progressively redder. He is very deliberately not looking at Hob.

“No. I said no. I will arrange for my own transportation in the morning. I –”

The person on the other end of the phone must say something truly outrageous, because his strangers eyes bug out in a way that looks almost uncomfortable.

“Do the entirety of the known universe a favor and crawl back into whatever slime hole you emerged from and leave me alone,” he hisses. “Goodbye.”

Hob can’t quite muffle a snort at this crowning line. Siblings.

His stranger hangs up the phone with a vicious jab of a button and slams it down on the desk; then seems to reconsider, retrieves it, and shuts it off entirely before throwing it into his backpack. He sighs, a surprisingly tired sound.

“I will have another drink, if you don’t mind,” he says. “And then I would like it very much if you would fuck me. Please.”

Hob’s cock, which had been feeling distinctly neglected, gives a twitch.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says. “Are you –”

The stranger waves a dismissive hand. “I am quite sober enough to have sex with you. And I could easily afford my own room, if that’s a concern. I am here because I want to be.”

“Glad to hear it, but that actually isn’t what I was going to ask,” Hob says mildly.

“Oh,” the man says. A faint blush rises on his cheekbones. He scoops up the whiskey bottle and uncorks it, taking an unceremonious swig. The towel hangs dangerously low around his hips. “What were you going to ask?”

His stranger pauses with the whiskey bottle against his lips. Hob watches the long line of his neck work once, twice, as he swallows, and figures he may as well put his cards on the table.

“I was going to ask if latex condoms are okay. For when I fuck you into the mattress in a minute here.”

The man clears his throat. “Oh,” he says again. “Yes. Latex is fine.”

“Good. Anything you don’t like? Hard boundaries?”

He pauses. “I do not enjoy being choked. Or having my hands restrained in any way. But I like… I like it a little bit rough. It feels good. To be used.”

Hob leans back on one elbow. “Is that what you want me to do? Use you?”

“Yes.”

The word drops into the quiet room like a handful of snow might drop off a tree branch – soft and muffled and sending the same delicious shiver down Hob’s spine.

“I can do that.” Oh, yes. Hob can use this beautiful man, if he is offering himself up to be used. “C’mere, then.”

His stranger walks slowly across the room to where Hob is half-reclining on the bed, feet still planted on the floor. He kneels between Hob’s legs and runs his hands slowly up and down his thighs from knee to hip. “And you?” he asks. “Your boundaries?”

Hob considers. “I’m with you on choking, not a fan,” he says. “I’m not big on pain, generally, but I can give it to other people, if they need it.”

“Alright.” His hands are still rubbing up and down Hob’s thighs, a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. When he speaks again his voice is thick. “Would you consider the preliminary negotiations to be concluded now?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your mouth than spout off like a horny nineteenth century robber baron?” Hob counters.

His stranger smiles, a proper smile that crinkles the corners of his blue eyes, and unzips the fly of Hob’s jeans.

In short order he’s pulled them open and pushed Hob’s boxers down just enough that he can get his cock out. He’s not quite hard, not yet, but he gets there quickly between his stranger’s gentle, surprisingly soft hands and the way he immediately buries his nose in Hob’s pubic hair and breathes deeply as he looks up through his eyelashes.

Then he opens his mouth, and wraps his tongue around the head of Hob’s cock, and Hob’s brain makes a noise like radio static.

Oh, he is good at this. Unfairly good. Supernaturally good. He teases Hob for long, long minutes, working up and down his shaft with light touches of just his lips and tongue, ducking down now and then to mouth gently at his balls, until Hob is twitching and swearing and straining, perched on the edge of the bed. When he finally has mercy and takes Hob’s cock fully into his mouth, it is barely a relief. He is so wet, so hot, and he sinks down on Hob with no resistance, no trace of a gag reflex. Before he can stop himself, Hob’s hips jerk forward that final fraction, and suddenly his stranger’s nose is brushing his pubic bone and his throat is contracting around the head of Hob’s cock.

He’s expecting the man to pull back, to splutter in indignation, but instead he makes an encouraging noise and squeezes Hob’s thigh before folding his hands almost primly in his lap.

“Fuck,” Hob mutters. He makes an experimental shallow thrust into the tight, wet heat of his stranger’s mouth. “Really?”

His stranger can’t nod, not with Hob’s prick in his mouth, but he moans. Hob feels it vibrate all along the length of his shaft and has to stifle a whimper of his own. He sinks one hand into the soft riot of the man’s hair, still a little damp from the shower, and cradles the back of his skull. The bone feels sweet and finely formed in his hand.

“You want me to fuck your pretty face?” he asks, soft and just a tiny bit mean. “Yeah? That’s what your mouth is good for, isn’t it?”

He thrusts again, in and out, and the stranger’s eyes roll back a little in his head, so he does it again, and again. Soon he really is fucking his face, not too hard but deep, fingers tightening in his stranger’s hair as his eyes fall nearly shut, narrowing to crystalline blue crescents.

Hob pulls back briefly to let his stranger breathe. Runs his thumb along his bottom lip, dripping with spit, before he pushes back in. He doesn’t stop until he can feel the first tendrils of orgasm beckoning to him; but as tempting as it is to keep going, to empty himself into this perfect mouth, he’s made a promise. And Hob is a man of his word, so he pulls the man off his cock by the scruff of his neck. He makes an obscene noise as he goes, and another thing string of saliva dribbles from his puffy mouth. His eyes are slightly glassy as he looks up at Hob.

“Get up on the bed, baby,” Hob orders gently.

When the man stands up the towel is just barely clinging to his narrow hips, and his erection is stiff and straining against the terrycloth. He’s so hard, Hob thinks wonderingly, just from having Hob’s cock in his mouth for a few minutes, and his own prick throbs in sympathy.

“Hands and knees,” Hob says, and the man crawls up on the bed. The towel falls away as he goes, languid but obedient, so that he’s entirely naked when Hob positions himself behind him. The contrast between Hob’s clothes and the other man’s nudity is delicious – Hob’s rough denim against the man’s soft thighs, Hob’s hairy wrists poking out from worn flannel as he runs his fingernails along sharply elegant shoulder blades.

He allows himself one long, gentle caress, from the nape of his stranger’s neck down to the shallow dimples in the small of his back, before he grabs at the man’s buttocks and unceremoniously spreads him open.

His hole looks surprisingly loose and relaxed already. Hob runs the pad of one thumb over it.

“Were you prepping yourself in the shower?” he asks, delighted. He presses gently and the furl of muscle gives, just a little, pink and fluttering.

“Hng,” says his stranger, shuddering. “Yes. I thought – I thought about your hands. Oh. I liked the thought that you were just outside the door. While I had my fingers inside myself.”

“Impatient little minx,” Hob says fondly. He kisses one of the lovely knobs of his stranger’s spine and pinches his backside for good measure before pulling away. “Stay here.”

He has to dig down to the bottom of his duffel bag in order to find the box of condoms and the little travel sized bottle of lube. He’d felt a little self-conscious when he’d packed them back in his flat in London – like he was presuming something – but then again he had been preparing for a supposedly romantic road trip with his girlfriend.

He’s glad, now, that he has them.

His stranger has remained on his knees, pitched forward to rest on his elbows, face pressed into a pillow and cock hanging heavy between his legs.

“Good boy,” Hob praises, and runs his hand along the man’s flank. “Beautiful. Oh, darling, I’m going to make you feel so good. And then you’re going to make me feel so good, aren’t you? You already have,” Hob coos, drizzling lube directly onto his arsehole. “And I know you’re going to keep being a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Before the man can answer, Hob slips a finger inside him, right up to the first knuckle. He’s rewarded with a whimper and the feeling of his stranger pushing back against him, silently begging for more.

And then not so silently. “More,” moans the stranger. “Fuck. More, please.”

Hob strokes his finger in and out, petting the velvet inside his stranger.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll get more.”

He tries to spend as much time torturing his stranger with his fingers as his stranger had spent torturing him with his mouth, but by the second finger he finds his resolve dissolving like so many snowflakes on warm skin. The man is making such wanton sounds, and his knees skid wider and wider on the slippery motel bedspread, opening him inexorably to Hob’s hungry eyes and questing hands.

“Oh. Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he moans. No more well-crafted phrases or erudite words; the only thing dropping from that perfect mouth are noises, guttural and breathy by turns, only half-muffled by the pillow his face is smashed into.

“Please,” he begs, “please, in me, I – please, I need –”

Hob obliges.

He’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life as he shoves his jeans down around his thighs and rolls the condom on. He has to do it one-handed, clumsily, because some frantic corner of his brain is convinced that if he lets go of the stranger’s hip then the man will disappear, between one blink and the next, and this whole night will turn out to have been some snowblind fever dream.

But his stranger stays where Hob has put him, desperate and writhing, begging for Hob’s cock, and when he finally pins the man down to the mattress and pushes into him, that first hard thrust is enough to silence both of them.

The room is utterly still for a heartbeat, and then another, and then one more, until Hob pulls out in order to thrust in again and his stranger wails and then Hob is fucking into him in earnest, fucking him hard, until the sound of their skin slapping together almost drowns out the sounds his stranger is making beneath him.

Almost.

His stranger moans and pants, and Hob answers him, thrust for thrust and moan for moan, Yes and Ah and Christ and Fuck, fuck me, use me, yes. He grips his stranger by the hips, so hard that his fingers leave little white divots behind when he shifts his grip, so hard that he worries he might leave bruises, and still the man pushes back against him and begs for more.

He comes, when he finally comes, untouched, rutting gracelessly against the mattress. Hob stills, grits his teeth, not wanting to overwhelm the other man as he seizes in pleasure, but his stranger continues to move against him, if anything even more desperate, even in the throes of orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “don’t, oh God, fuck me through it, don’t stop –”

So Hob hauls him up and pushes him down, one hand on his waist and one shoving his chest down into the mattress as the man’s hands scrabble at the sheets and he sobs and Hob pistons into him until he empties himself, until his prick is oversensitive and his stranger is twitching around and beneath him, and the room is finally quiet.

Then Hob takes the condom off, knots it and tosses it towards the wastebasket. He rolls them both away from the wet spot with only middling success, but he’s too tired to care. He shucks the rest of his clothes off. He is boneless and spent, and his stranger is inserting himself relentlessly into Hob’s personal space. They lie there for a long, long moment, sweaty and panting, until their breathing starts to even out and the desperate closeness has receded into normal cuddling. Hob presses a kiss to his stranger’s sweaty temple and marvels at his luck.

“I realize I neglected to ask you why you find yourself in Northern California,” his stranger says, tucked against Hob’s side, voice drowsy and hoarse. “Do you care to share?”

“It’s a long story,” Hob says. “I was – well, I am – on a road trip. With my, ah. With my girlfriend. Well. Ex-girlfriend, now. Actually.”

His stranger tenses slightly, and Hob doesn’t blame him; he knows how it must sound. “It sounds like there is a story there?” the man says, almost tentative.

“Yeah, we… we came over together, about two weeks ago. We flew into Seattle, were planning this whole big trip, right down the coast and all the way to Los Angeles. See the redwoods, do some wine tastings, the whole bit. I’m a photographer, I was thinking I could turn the whole trip into a photo essay, maybe even a book.” He sighs. “Then she heard about this yoga retreat, ashram sort of place. Bit culty, I don’t really go in for all that, but she absolutely had to check it out, so we did. Two days later, out of the blue, she tells me our chakras are misaligned and gives me the boot. Turns out Guru Todd Thingummy, who ran the retreat center, was very aligned with her chakras. As well as other, less… metaphysical things.”

There’s a sound from the vicinity of Hob’s armpit that he realizes with delight is a snort. The snort blossoms into a chuckle, and then his stranger is laughing, a frankly horrible honking sort of laugh, shaking in Hob’s arms with it, and Hob laughs along.

“I’m sorry,” his stranger gasps. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t laugh at you. It’s just… Guru Todd.”

“I know!” Hob snickers. “You can picture him, right? White boy dreadlocks and a fucking… shell necklace. Utter tosser.”

“I feel like I’ve probably met someone almost exactly like him, truly.” Eventually his stranger’s horrible laugh subsides. He shifts against Hob, playing idly with his chest hair, curling it around one finger. “In a way, I am also escaping a recent ex. She was the first person I dated after some… difficult experiences I had about a year ago. But in the end I was far more invested in the relationship than she, and she became. Uncomfortable. With my ardor.”

“She’s a bloody idiot then,” Hob says automatically, and his stranger looks up, startled.

“Do you think so?”

Hob briefly considers backpedaling. Don’t come off like a madman, he thinks to himself. Not when he’s finally talking to you. But there’s no hope for him. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’d say your ardor is my favorite thing about you so far.” He lets one hand drift down and gives his stranger’s arse a cheeky squeeze, and is rewarded with a squeak and another snort.

“You are kind to say so,” the man says, and interrupts himself with a yawn.

“It’s true. I… I’m really glad I met you,” Hob says honestly. Too honestly. He can’t help himself; the man is just so beautiful, mouth kissed red and limbs loose, fucked out and soft everywhere he’d been hard and prickly before.

Hob still doesn’t know his name.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” the man says softly.

Hob snuggles them both down into the lumpy motel pillows and pulls the blanket up firmly around their shoulders. The wind blows outside, he reaches up to switch off the lamp, and they fall asleep.

He wakes in the night and stumbles to the bathroom to take a piss. When he comes back, his stranger has starfished out and is taking up a full two-thirds of the bed, sleeping like a stone. Hob manages to reinsert himself into the remaining third and then simply lies there for a long few minutes, looking at the other man.

The skies must have cleared, at least a little, because there’s a few strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds. The pale light turns his stranger into marble, a work of art; he practically glows against the blue sheets. Hob’s fingers itch for his camera.

“You’re going to fuck me up,” he whispers. “I’m going to wake up next to you and never want to leave, and it’s going to fuck me up so bad.”

The sleeping man does not respond, of course; doesn’t even stir. Hob lies there, and gazes at him, until he slips back into sleep himself.

When he wakes again it’s fully morning. The sun is that peculiar thin shade of blue that you get on very cold mornings, but when Hob peeks out the window, the sky is clear and the snowplows have clearly been out making the rounds. He tries to tamp down a sudden feeling of disappointment.

He gets a drink of water, and when he returns to bed his stranger is stirring. First one blue eye opens, then the other.

“Morning,” Hob says.

The man hums and stretches luxuriously, rolling from his belly to his back. The sheets fall down around his hips, revealing one elegant hipbone and a tempting glimpse of dark curls. His pale skin practically glows against the blue sheets in the morning light.

“Enjoying the view?” his stranger asks, and his voice is rough with sleep and slightly hoarse.

“You could say that,” Hob says. He puts one knee on the bed, reaches out to run a hand lightly down the long, lean line of the man’s thigh. “God, you’re… you are so beautiful.”

“Come here to me,” the man says, beckoning to Hob.

Hob ducks his head and kisses up the ladder of the man’s ribs, takes one pert nipple gently between his teeth.

“Can I take your picture?” he says suddenly. “Not in a creepy way. I can even keep your face out of it if you like, I just… there’s something about you, in this light.”

“I don’t mind,” the man says.

Hob’s heart leaps.

A few minutes later, he’s gotten his camera out and adjusted. The room is so quiet, so still, that each click of the shutter sounds almost sacrilegious. He shoots in black and white. He thinks the sheets will show dark, almost black, and the man’s skin will show light and luminous against them. His stranger poses like a dream, languid and biddable, moving here and there on the bed, wherever Hob arranges him.

“You’ve done this before,” Hob accuses. He’s kneeling above the other man, shooting straight down, and his stranger has one arm thrown over his face so only one eye is visible. “Posed, I mean. You know how to move for a camera.”

“I have,” the stranger admits. “Mostly for life drawing classes, though I imagine the principle is more or less the same.”

“Incredible. Are you an artist, then?”

“I suppose.”

Hob tugs the sheet a little lower, so that it’s just barely covering the stranger’s prick, which has plumped up a little – whether from the attention of Hob himself or of the camera, he’s not sure, but it’s one of the sexiest things Hob’s ever seen. The neat patch of dark hair blending into the dark sheet. The gentle swell beneath it. His mouth waters.

“You suppose?”

“I find it difficult to call myself an artist. To claim that title. But I make art. If that is the same thing.”

“Hmm. I reckon so.”

Hob pulls the sheet another fraction of an inch lower. He can feel himself getting distracted. The itch he’d felt to photograph the beautiful stranger, now mostly satisfied, has transformed into an altogether different kind of impulse. He takes one more shot, barely paying attention to the framing. Catches himself licking his lips.

“Hob.”

“Yeah?”

“Put the camera down.”

He hastens to obey.

He’d pulled his boxers back on at some point last night, but they do little to hide his arousal as he slides under the sheets and slots himself in behind his stranger, rubbing his nose in the riotous bedhead and kissing his neck as the man tilts his head to one side to give him better access.

“I like how you say my name,” Hob murmurs. He grinds against his stranger’s narrow arse and reaches around to make a loose fist around his hardening cock. “You’re really not going to tell me yours, are you?”

“Mine?”

“Your name.”

“I –” The man’s breath hitches as Hob tightens his grip, stroking slowly up and down. “I haven’t – decided yet.”

“Well,” Hob says against the smooth skin between his ear and his shoulder. “Let me know what you decide.”

They writhe together under the sheets for a few minutes, until they’re both fully hard, until Hob’s chest is slightly tacky with sweat where it’s rubbing against the stranger’s sharp shoulder blades. He’s grunting, underwear pulled down, making quick little thrusts in the crease of the other man’s thigh, sticky and warm and so good.

“Fuck me again,” his stranger says. “Please.”

“Don’t be a madman,” Hob chides. “You’ll be so sore.”

But he doesn’t say no. And he slides a finger between the man’s arse cheeks and pets over his hole, still a little loose from the night before.

The stranger twists his neck around to look Hob in the eye. “I don’t care. I want you,” he says. “I want to feel it.”

And Hob tries his best to be a good person, he really does, but when confronted with this bald-faced desire he is only, after all, a man. So he mumbles Fuck, okay, yeah, okay against his stranger’s shoulder, and tears himself away to retrieve the lube and a condom. He fingers him open, as slowly and as carefully as he can bring himself to do it, and rolls the condom on, and he fucks him again. Face to face, this time; one knee hooked over his elbow, and long arms clinging to him like a drowning man, and panting, open-mouthed kisses that are as much simply breathing the other’s breath as they are real kisses.

The stranger comes first, his beautiful face screwed up in ecstasy, and Hob follows him over the edge mere seconds later.

The other man falls back into a doze almost immediately, drifting off as soon as Hob has disposed of the condom and wiped them down with a handful of tissues, but Hob is buzzing with too much energy to lie back down. He cleans himself up, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth quickly, before dressing quietly and creeping down to the motel lobby to look for breakfast.

There’s a coffee machine, a few muffins – prepackaged, not fresh – and a rather sad fruit bowl with some mealy-looking apples. He assembles what he can and shoves some creamers and sugar packets in his jacket pocket. He asks the bored teenager at the front desk (a different one than the night before, although bearing a distinct family resemblance) about the weather report, and learns that although it’s supposed to stay cold, no more precipitation is in the forecast. Then he goes back to the room.

His stranger stirs again at the rush of cold air when Hob lets himself back into the room.

“I come bearing provisions,” he says, setting the coffees on the bedside table and dropping the rest of his meager bounty in the man’s lap.

“Foraging for our survival?” he asks dryly.

“Something like that. It’s slim pickings out there, I’m afraid. But hey –” he picks up a muffin and wiggles it “– chocolate chip!”

His stranger snorts and mutters something about being spoiled.

Hob is very careful not to say anything about how he’d like to spoil this man very much, actually, for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond that, because Hob has so longed for someone to care for, and because this man so obviously needs it. Hob eats his muffin, and very carefully does not say anything reckless or emotional.

They finish their motel snacks, and drink their coffees (Hob’s with a little creamer and one sugar; the stranger’s with no cream and an absurd amount of sugar). And eventually Hob broaches the subject that’s obviously hovering between them.

“So,” he says. “What do you want to do now? I’m still up to give you a ride to your cabin, if that’s what you want. The roads are supposed to be cleared by now.”

“I suppose I should,” the stranger says, fiddling with his styrofoam cup, not meeting Hob’s eyes. “I did tell my sibling that I would return in the morning.”

“Okay.” Hob clears his throat. “Alright then. Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes them another hour to leave the room. Hob showers, and then his stranger decides he needs to rinse off as well, and then there’s a frustrating search for car keys that turn out to have been kicked or dropped halfway under a bedside table at some point the night before.

Then the stranger stops Hob in the doorway with a hand on his elbow and kisses him, long and slow and wordless, before they step out into the brilliant snowy sparkle of the late morning.

The drive is very quiet. The stranger directs Hob out of town and along a rather steep road that winds up the thickly forested mountainside. It’s certainly not a road that Hob would have wanted to drive in last night’s weather, and even with clear skies and plowed roads he takes it slow, acutely aware of the grip of the rental car’s tires on the snowy highway.

Only one time does the stranger wince and shift uncomfortably when Hob cannot avoid a bump in the road. Hob smiles, and swallows his smile, and deliberately wrenches his mind away from the vivid memories of just why his stranger might be wincing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

His stranger is silent, except for when he briefly tells Hob when and where to turn. The farther they drive up the mountain, the stiffer he becomes, until he’s gripping the seat with white knuckles and his mouth is one firm line.

Hob doesn’t think it’s the wintry roads that are making him so tense.

They pull over, eventually, at the base of a long driveway. Through the trees Hob can see a large house – not really a cabin by any stretch of the imagination, but built of logs, and with a wisp of woodsmoke floating up from a picturesque brick chimney. They both gaze up at it through the trees. Hob puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.

“Well, here we are,” he says.

“Indeed,” his stranger says, and his voice sounds tense and slightly strangled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Hob waits for him to open the door and walk away.

The man does not move.

A minute stretches by, and another, and another, and still his stranger has not opened the car door.

Hob dares to hope.

“Come with me,” he says suddenly.

His stranger looks up, startled.

“I mean it. Come with me. Go get your stuff and we’ll just. Drive away. Go down the coast, find somewhere it’s actually warm. Or don’t even get your stuff,” he adds hurriedly, aware that his voice is sounding increasingly unhinged. “Say the word and I’ll just turn the car around. We’ll go. Anywhere you want, just… come with me.”

The man looks at Hob with an unreadable expression for a long moment. “You know nothing about me,” he says finally.

“I know I like you. A lot,” Hob says. “I know last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, maybe one of the best nights of my whole life. I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. So, I’m asking. Come with me.”

“I haven’t even told you my name,” says his stranger. “I could be a serial killer.”

“You could be, yeah. But I don’t think you are. I think… I think you just want someone to want you.” Hob reaches across the gear shift and briefly touches his stranger on the cheek. The man’s eyes flutter closed and Hob doesn’t think he’s imagining the way he leans ever-so-slightly into the gentle touch before he looks down. “I want you.”

There’s another long silence, punctuated only by an occasional call from the chickadees flitting through the trees.

“My name is Morpheus,” he says to his hands, clenched in his lap. “But some people call me Dream. People – people close to me. Call me Dream.”

Hob smiles. “Can I call you Dream, then?”

Dream nods. “Let’s go,” he says. Hob’s smile widens.

“Want to get anything from inside?” he asks.

“No. I think not,” Dream says. All of a sudden it’s like the tight strings of his body are loosened: he leans back in his seat, crosses his ankles, looking relaxed for the first time since they’d gotten out of bed. He lolls his head to one side and peeks at Hob and his face looks fey and happy in the afternoon light. “I believe I have everything I need for now.”

Happiness wells up in Hob’s chest, a rushing feeling like a mountain spring swollen by melting snow. He puts the car in gear and reaches over to take Dream’s hand.

“Right then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

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