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mind-free-to-rhyme · 7 months

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This is for @mind-free-to-rhyme who requested number 20 on the smutty fic ideas prompt list.

Finally got the inspiration to play in his verse I’ve had in the back of my mind for a while.

Summary: Hob and Dream become fuck buddies even as they despise each other. Dream always ignores Hob after, dropping off the face of the earth for days. Unknown to Hob, it’s because even with all his suppressants, Hob Gadling is the one alpha who always makes Dream go into heat.

Fic: Dreamling, Rated E, A/B/O verse, tw: angry sex.

Hob wakes up slowly, the mellowness of sleep dripping off his skin as he blinks at his surroundings. His bedroom is lit by the greeting morning light, and as he stretches in the luxurious bed and beddings, he already knows what he’ll find.

Or not find.

Dream is gone. His side of the bed is cold, and when Hob scoots over and sighs into the empty pillow, he can smell the memory of last night. The aftertaste of skin and sweat and slick, rich like a good wine on the back of his throat, and under it the unmistakable scent of Dream. Cool, crisp like the first bite of autumn.

He sighs again and closes his eyes, and lets what sleep is left to cling to him. It’s all he can do, really.

Before

Dream de Endless is the most annoying, stuck up bastard Hob has ever met in his life. Hob does not use the word hate lightly, but if it ever did apply to someone, it would be Dream and probably his second grade PE teacher who always made Hob run laps when he knew Hob hated running.

And usually, Hob would have no interaction with Dream. They both run in two different worlds, and Hob’s academic circle would never even touch Dream’s ‘I am an important, filthy rich artist look at me’ circle.

But then Jo had to hook up with Rachel who is best friends with Nuala who is also Matthew’s cousin who is best friends with Lucienne who is Dream’s best friend and agent.

The world is a village, and Hob would love to burn it to the ground.

They keep meeting, him and Dream, and Hob hates it. In his defense, it was Dream who started their animosity. It was a regular Tuesday, and Hob decided to join Rachel and Jo for drinks. Dream was also there with Lucienne.

And look, Hob is not blind. Dream is gorgeous and Hob noticed it from the moment their eyes met, and he must have made it obvious, but Dream is the one who took one look at him, sniffed like he’s just stepped in a turd and ignored Hob all night. And okay, ouch. But also, what the fuck.

Hob wasn’t even being a regular sleazy alpha, he was just surprised, and maybe his scent spiked for a second before he could rein it in. So he thinks Dream’s reaction was completely over the top and annoying.

It’s just gotten worse and worse since then.

Every meeting, Dream looks like he is in pain as soon as his eyes meet Hob’s. Hob’s even caught him pinching his nose when Hob walked into a room, and Hob knows his scent has never been the most alluring, but come on. That’s just rude. Because Dream is rude, and Hob hates him.

(He doesn’t think about the fact that he’s never gotten to feel Dream’s own scent. Hob knows some people use scent blockers, and he thinks it’s fair enough. But he can’t help but hope Dream does it because his own scent sucks. Being petty keeps him happy, so sue him.)

It all comes to a clash when Matthew drags him to an art expo. Hob’s usually not into art, but Matthew is excited because Nuala has her first painting there and Hob thinks a night of looking at pretty and/or weird shit while drinking free champagne is just what he needs after a week of grading papers. End of term is always exhausting, and he is actually quite excited to loosen up.

That is until he walks in and spots Dream.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me?” He groans, maybe a little too loudly by the look an older woman gives him. He shoots her an apologetic smile, and turns towards Dream. It’s only a second, but he catches Dream’s sneer before the bastard turns around and walks away in a tornado of black silk. Of course the bastard is dressed to the nines, leather jacket over what looks to be a floor length dress, and his stupid annoying docs.

“So I take it he’s still getting under your skin?” Matthew says from his left, and Hob scoffs.

“No one is getting under my skin,” Hob grumbles, and ignores Matthew’s pointed look.

“Sure, Hobsie.”

“Don’t you have some paintings to stare at?” Hob snaps, but Matthew doesn’t seem to be affected by his tone, just grinning as he walks away with a bounce in his step. Hob takes a few steadying breaths and thinks about leaving, but he won’t give Dream that satisfaction.

He takes a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and starts mingling around. As he expected, some of the art pieces are weird and he feels a little bit out of his depth, but he does find some things of interest.

A few pieces in the back catch his eyes. Two giant canvases, an explosion of dark charcoal melting into paint. From up close, they look like a swirl of chaos, like Hob could just step into them and get lost forever. But as soon as he steps back, his eyes catch the moments of peace in the chaos. It reminds him of the beautiful religious paintings he always finds in his research books, remade into anarchy.

They are beautiful.

He stares at them for a long time, and when he finally moves, his gaze falls on Dream again. He is staring at Hob, a small frown between his elegant eyebrows, lips parted in something akin to soft surprise. It vanishes as soon as he sees Hob watching him, the familiar disinterest Hob’s gotten used to making any softness vanish. He turns back to a woman he was talking to and ignores Hob completely.

Hob throws back his drink in one gulp, and pushes back his irritation. He will not let Dream ruin his night.

Half an hour later, he finds Matthew gushing over Nuala’s works, and enjoys a pleasing conversation with them both. He drinks more champagne, and he is happily buzzed and he’s forgotten all about Dream. He also has to pee, and Nuala points him up the stairs for the bathroom.

He is more buzzed than he thinks because as soon as he finds himself on the empty second floor, he’s forgotten which door Nuala said is the bathroom. He tries a few different ones, but they’re locked, so he keeps on walking and finally finds a half open door at the end of the hallway.

It is not the bathroom.

It is an office space. And to make it worse, it is also occupied by the leading cause of Hob’s irritation.

“Oh for fuck’s—“ he sighs, and Dream’s eyes narrow in a glare.

“Can’t you read? This is a private office.”

Hob feels his irritation spike up like an angry thorn in the back of his throat. “There’s no plaque on the door, asshole.”

Dream just lifts his chin, looking all kinds of haughty. “It is still private.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m one of the artists on show tonight, I am allowed.”

“Is that why you’re hiding up here like a troll?”

Dream’s nostrils flare in anger. Hob has the sudden, surprising thought that it makes him look devastatingly handsome, and he pushes that particularly annoying thought to the back of his mind immediately.

“A troll?!” Hob just shrugs at Dream’s spluttering. “Says the man stalking me.”

“Excuse me, I was not stalking. I was also invited to this shindig.”

“It is not a shindig. It is the Academy of Arts’ most prestigious showing, you uncultured twat.”

Hob rolls his eyes, and it just makes Dream’s anger spike harder. For a moment, Hob catches the edge of a new scent, something cool, like the break of ice under his molars. It’s barely there, but it is enough to make his pulse skip a beat.

Thankfully, his anger at Dream is enough to help distract him.

“I may be uncultured, but at least I’m not a snobby bitch about it.”

“Oh yes,” Dream drawls, his blue eyes sparkling in a glare. “It is so much better to act superior without a leg to stand on. How’s that going for you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Hob shoots back, a grin more like a show of teeth. Dream’s jaw works silently for a moment, and Hob does not think it makes the lines of his face look even more beautiful.

“You may leave now,” he says, sniffing haughtily like Hob is a rather unseeming gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe, and Hob just glares back.

“I’ll leave whenever I want.”

Dream growls, and takes an angry step forward. “Why do you always insist on being so— so aggravating?”

“I’m aggravating? You’re the one who always acts like someone stuck a pole up your ass,” Hob snaps back. “I am literally just minding my own business here, you prick.”

“Of course, you just happen to always be around, like a happy little alpha puppy.”

“Oh trust me, baby. If I were a happy little alpha puppy, you would not be walking straight by now.”

Hob has no idea where that came from. Okay, that is a lie, he knows exactly where that came from. The snarl in Dream’s tone, the little curl of his lip, and the spike of that goddamn scent again.

Dream’s inhale is sharp as a whip in the sudden silence, and Hob just holds his ground. He expects Dream to walk out, to maybe even yell at him. He would probably deserve it.

What Dream does is tilt his head and laugh. It is sharp, just like the curl of his lips, just like the spike of his scent. He leans back on the desk, crosses his legs. The dress slips, and Hob notices the slit on the side for the first time.

“Arrogant through and through,” Dream drawls, sounding unimpressed. “You are such an alpha.” The word is spoken like an insult, but it’s there again, that scent. The smell of crisp winter air hitting the back of his throat, the edge of something sweet and crisp under it all.

Hob grins. “Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.”

Blue eyes narrow, and Dream’s fingers twitch against the edge of the desk where his hands grip it. When he takes a breath, his mouth parts on the slow exhale and fuck, Hob can’t help himself, he takes a step forward.

He stops immediately, ashamed at his reaction. He may hate Dream, but it is a shitty thing to do, to assume like that. He opens his mouth for an apology, but Dream just lifts his chin with a hum, mouth curled in a challenge.

Hob doesn’t know how it happens, but his mouth is suddenly on Dream’s.

It is not a kiss, not even close. Dream’s lips part on a growl, his teeth catching Hob’s bottom lip like he plans to rip Hob’s soul out of his body and Hob goes willingly. He pushes into the onslaught, grips Dream’s hips and pulls him close, feeling incredibly smug when Dream’s legs part for him.

Dream makes a shocked noise, a moan that slides into a whine when Hob’s thumbs dig into his bony hips then lower to grip his thighs. His left foot hooks around Hob’s leg, the heel of his boot digging painfully into the soft parts behind Hob’s knee even as he kisses Hob like he is so angry about it.

“You,” Dream says, nails digging into Hob’s skull. “Are so annoying.”

Hob laughs and pushes his hips forward. Dream gasps, the obvious bulge under his dress so very hard to hide.

“You don’t seem to mind, baby.”

Dream pulls back, eyes narrowed, a fiery anger in them that Hob wants to lap up. Before Dream can open his mouth to most probably give Hob a scathing remark, Hob pulls back. Dream’s eyes widen for a moment before he is twisted around, hipbones hitting the edge of the desk. If it hurts, Dream doesn’t acknowledge it, just lets out a low growl in the back of his throat.

“I do mind,” Dream says, ass pushing into Hob’s crotch. Hob has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his breath under control at the heat against his already full cock. “Because so far all you’ve done is be all words and no show.”

Hob pushes at Dream’s dress and slides his hand over the curve of his ass, nails scratching over pale skin. Dream gasps, chest rattling with a gasp when Hob touches deeper.

“Gods,” Hob says, feels his own growl vibrate everywhere they’re pressed close. “Look at, you fucking wet already.”

Because Dream is wet, Hob’s fingers sliding over the thick, warm slick of him, the fluttering of Dream’s hole. Dream pushes back against his hand with an annoyed whine.

“No underwear, huh?” Hob asks cheekily, mouth pressed to Dream’s nape.

“Ruins the lines of the outfit,” Dream says, biting back a gasp when Hob just toys with the rim of his muscles, thumb circling over and over. “I would not expect your unfashionable ass to understand.”

Hob can’t help it, he laughs. It is just like Dream to be a prissy bitch about fashion when Hob is this close to fingering him. For a second, he wants to keep teasing Dream, wants to see how high he can make Dream whine just from this, but then Dream arches in his arms, left hand coming up and over his head to dig into Hob’s hair.

“Is that all you’ve got, Gadling?” he spits through gritted teeth and it’s all it takes. Hob’s free hand slides over Dream’s lower belly to keep him still, and his fingers dig into the waiting heat, two at a time.

Dream’s whole body tightens like the most beautiful violin before a moan rips out of his throat. Under his palm, Hob can feel the shaky flutter of Dream’s belly, the useless breath he takes. He pulls out his fingers slowly before pushing them back in as hard as he can, does it over and over and over again.

It feels so good, the heat of Dream around him, the perfect tightening of his hole, and Hob is already so hard himself by the time he adds another finger.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of slick, and Dream’s gasping, needy breaths. Hob presses his forehead to the back of Dream’s neck, right over the pointy bumps of his spine and when he inhales, the scent is like a burst of winter all around them. He can’t help his own moan, the aroma like nothing he’s even felt before, like the burst of ozone before a lightning strike to his bones.

Dream is shaking in his arms, back arched beautifully as he pushes against Hob’s fingers, and when Hob looks down he is mesmerized by the shiny, wet slide of his fingers inside that inviting hole. Dream is so, so wet, slick dripping down Hob’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” Hob says, his own voice a breathless rip from his throat. Dream’s nails dig into his skull, pulling at his hair until his scalp bursts with pain. Hob just laughs and curls his fingers inside of Dream, and feels Dream’s entire body shudder. “Feeling self conscious, baby?”

Dream gasps, hole fluttering around Hob’s fingers.

“Just wondering when the fuck are you gonna make me come? Or—“ another half bitten moan. “Or is teenage fingering the best you can do?”

It’s a fucking challenge. And yet, it works. Hob slides his free hand down the trembling muscles of Dream’s belly, and pulls at the satin until his fingers curl over the perfect length of Dream’s cock. He is smaller than Hob, expectedly, but his cock is hot and soft like velvet and fits in his palm perfectly.

It’s exactly what Dream wanted, apparent by the way his moan cracks in the pit of his chest, the spike of that scent, a burst of cool light in Hob’s nose. Dream trembles in the circle of Hob’s arms, and Hob has to grit his teeth so he won’t stick his nose right over Dream’s scent glands and lick at all that hot skin.

He works Dream harder, a frantic edge to his movement, fingers fucking into his hole quickly to the disjointed rhythm of his hand on his cock. It doesn’t take long before Dream drops his head, bumps of his spine starkly visible, body shaking with a sudden, trembling exhale as he comes all over Hob’s hands, come and slick dripping down his skin.

It takes all of Hob’s self control to not come right there in his own trousers just from the onslaught on his senses.

He keeps fingering Dream though, slow little thrusts of his hand, just enough to keep Dream on that edge. It stops when Dream suddenly growls and pulls away, blue eyes like a snow storm in the night when he twists them around.

Hob’s ass hits the desk with a loud thump, Dream’s mouth on his in a biting, vicious kiss that pulls the breath from him.

“That good, huh?”

Dream pulls away and glares, and before Hob can make another snappy comment, he falls to his knees. Hob would be lying if he didn’t say he stops thinking for a moment, any and all blood he had immediately sliding down to his groin.

Dream, the bastard, just smirks up like he knows. Hob wants to bite that smug look off his face, but all he can do is grip the edge of the desk as Dream’s long fingers push at his clothes without any sense of finesse. He bites at his bottom lip to keep a gasp in when Dream frees his cock from his underwear.

“I expected you to be bigger,” Dream says, and Hob splutters an indignant, “Oi!” but doesn’t get to say anything more before Dream just takes him into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps because Dream doesn’t even give him a warning before he swallows down his entire length, throat opening up beautifully. Hob’s legs twitch on a moan, and Dream just glares at him before his hands dig into his thighs to keep him still.

When Dream pulls back with a gasping inhale, he looks so fucking smug but for once, Hob can’t necessarily fault him. He holds Hob’s gaze as he licks up his cocks, the slide of his tongue like a hot brand. Hob whimpers and Dream’s lips twitch into a smirk, before he slowly sucks at the flushed tip of Hob’s cock.

When he takes Hob down again, the heat of his mouth is so good. Dream bobs his head up and down, sucking at every upstroke, his tongue lapping greedily at Hob’s length. Hob’s already breathing harder, has been since Dream dropped to his knees, and it doesn’t help that Dream is ridiculously good at this.

“That fucking mouth of yours,” he says, and Dream’s right hand grips the base of his cock, right over the telltale bump of his knot. “I was sure you were good at this.”

Dream pulls back, teeth grazing right over the underside of Hob’s cock and Hob is convinced it is on purpose. He still likes it.

“I will fucking bite your cock off,” Dream warns, and Hob just rolls his eyes because as much as Dream is glaring at him, he still sucks Hob back down. He is more vicious about it though, throat opening out every time he goes down, humming deep and it’s enough to make Hob’s body thrumm with arousal.

He would be ashamed of how hard and quick he comes, but Dream’s slick is still drying in his hand, the room permeated with the scent of his omega arousal, so he is not feeling too bothered about it.

He tries to warn Dream, but Dream just licks at his cock and opens his mouth wider. When Hob comes, Dream swallows it all down like a man dying of thirst and Hob has to close his eyes so he won’t say something stupid.

Dream laps at his softening cock through all of the aftershocks, mouthing at the bump of his knot until Hob has to twitch his body away, overwhelmed in the best way possible.

Dream stands up like an elegant cat, not looking at all like someone who spent the last ten minutes on his knees eating cock. There’s a flush on his skin though, like cherry blossoms against a white sky, and his lips are shiny, wet with spit.

Hob tries not to think how beautiful he looks.

“So,” Hob starts, trying for casual even as he’s still half melted over the desk, cock still out.

“Shut up,” Dream says, eyes rolling with disinterest. He pats his dress down primly, and then makes a face. When Hob looks down, he notices the wet spot on the edge of the silk. “I’m sending you the dry cleaning bill. This is a Prada.”

“Good to know,” Hob says, and when Dream just glances up at him he continues, “That you’re still a fucking prick even after a good shag.”

“Is this what you call good?” Dream says, his left eyebrow quirking in the most annoying, unimpressed way. Hob’s eyes narrow into a glare, but Dream just shakes his head. “Yes, yes. I know. Fucking prick.”

He gives Hob one last once over before he turns around. He doesn’t slam the door, but for some reason Hob wished he did. Hob stares at the closed door for a long time before he finally shakes his head with annoyance and gets himself in check.

“Dude,” Matthew says when Hob finally finds him. “Where the hell where you?”

“Surprising detour,” Hob says, and before Matthew can ask for details he pats him on the back. “I’m off. Not feeling too well, and need an early night.”

Matthew looks worried, but he does not push because Matthew is a good friend.

An hour later, after Hob’s scrubbed the stench of Dream off his skin, he sits in bed for a long time just staring at the ceiling and decidedly not thinking about Dream.

He manages to not think about Dream for two whole days until he has to go out for drinks with Jo and Matthew. He knows Dream is also invited, and he tries not to think about the fact that once a day, his body remembers the way Dream’s body felt around him, the way Dream’s eyes shone when he had Hob’s cock in his mouth

He makes it to the pub with a weird, fluttering feeling right in his belly.

Dream doesn’t show up.

When Hob finally asks, Matthew shrugs.

“He said something came up,” he says easily. “You know that man usually has ten different plates spinning.”

Hob doesn’t know because he doesn’t know Dream. He clings to that though and decides he will keep it that way. It is better like that.

Knowing Dream seems to only cause him issues, after all.

#omfg #I love this #thank you #needed this #so freaking hot #thank you again my dear #the sandman #dreamling

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