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polvillodecanela · 2 days ago

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here's a very, VERY explicit prequel to this little fic where Hob rescues Dream from his repressive home life and they run away together except the prequel is 4x longer

topics include purity culture, virginity, and Dream getting the sexual awakening of a lifetime

The third time Dream meets Hob in the tavern, he goes up to Hob's room at the end of the night.

He was always taught he should save himself for marriage. That access to his body was only to be bestowed upon his husband--the one chosen by his parents, of course.

But Hob doesn't make him feel that way, like his body is some prize, and Dream himself not part of the equation. He makes Dream feel wanted, wholly wanted, whenever he is there. He makes Dream feel... free. Like he belongs wholly to himself.

Dream always wanted to cover himself from the gazes of the suitors his parents brought around. He did not like the way they wanted him. But he likes the way Hob wants him. He likes the way Hob looks at him, like he would ask Dream a question he already knows the answer to just to taste the way Dream says it, like he would bring Dream close and make him know why he should want to be brought close. Dream wants to know why. He wants to feel it, all that Hob can give him.

When Hob offers his hand, Dream takes it. Follows Hob up to the room he's booked above the tavern. He lets Hob undress him, breathing unevenly as Hob's fingers ghost over his skin, undoing buttons, pushing his top off over his shoulders.

Hob's hands frame his throat. He studies Dream hungrily, tracking over his chest, his shoulders, the curve of his waist. Dream feels unpracticed, unrefined both in wanting and being wanted, but maybe Hob's hands, Hob's gaze will sculpt him into a finished being.

"God, you're so beautiful," Hob says, a ragged exhale, and Dream feels himself blush. Made daring by Hob's regard, he sets his hands on Hob's chest, palms flat. Feels the rise and fall of his breathing. Vital. Strong.

He had imagined sex to be sterile. Rote. A mechanical process. That was how it was always framed, for him. But he touches Hob's chest and he feels he can reach in and dig his fingers into the meat of Hob's flesh, join their veins and feel himself become something-- dirtied, but not in the way his mother would frame it, not wrong, but dirtied the way tree roots are, fresh and organic, connected to the earth, clinging to the natural detritus of being alive.

He slips out of his shoes. Then he undoes the ties on Hob's shirt, bids him pull it off over his head. Hob's chest is revealed to him, his broad shoulders, and hair over his sternum and pectoral muscles, which Dream digs his fingers into. He wants to put his mouth on Hob's skin, swallows, throat clicking, as the impulse washes through him. Is that what intimacy is, these strange instincts and desires to touch in ways animal and raw? Dream has barely touched anyone in years beyond formal handshakes with strangers, the occasional uncomfortable hug from his family, and now he's possessed with the feeling that he must put himself all over Hob, must make up for it on every inch of his skin.

Hob puts his hands low on Dream's waist, thumbs brushing under his waistband, kisses Dream's neck, and under his jaw, deep biting possessive kisses like he too could dig under Dream's skin. Dream gasps, heart pattering, heat flooding his belly and between his legs at the wet, sure contact of Hob's mouth. Hob makes his way to the corner of Dream's lips, biting, then claiming his mouth, tongue sweeping inside. Dream is so hot, so tense between his legs now that it almost hurts but he doesn't move away, only tips his head back into Hob's kisses, holds on, shivering, knees unsteady.

Hob undoes the tie at Dream's waist, lets his trousers fall, and Dream steps out of them, now aware suddenly that he is totally bare before Hob. Hob studies him hungrily, hands again low on Dream's hips, thumbs sweeping up and down over the juncture between thigh and pelvis. It makes Dream squirm pleasantly and want to push Hob's hands lower.

Hob backs him up, slowly, until Dream's back is touching the wall, and then Hob kneels before him. Nudges Dream's thighs apart.

"What...?" Dream breathes. Then gasps as Hob takes Dream's thighs in his hands, leans in, and sets his mouth to him.

Dream had imagined much, but not this. Not Hob licking up through his folds, sucking on his clit, only coming closer when Dream starts to tremble, pushing the tip of his tongue inside him.

Dream knows he's woefully under-educated when it comes to sex; he understands the practical mechanics of how his body works, but not all the ways to bring pleasure to it. For once he doesn't rue the lack of knowledge, for it's allowing him to be so pleasantly surprised.

Hob knows more than him, and is setting all that knowledge to making Dream feel good. That feels heady. It feels powerful.

He leans back further against the wall as Hob keeps opening him up on his tongue, drinking in his fluids, his beard scratching Dream's inner thighs. Dream feels so wet, he must be drenching him. The thought makes him moan and dig his fingers into Hob's hair.

Hob lifts one of Dream's legs over his shoulder, gets in deeper, craning his neck back. Dream shakes, holding tight for balance, soft noises pulled from him by Hob's tongue. Hob's mouth has found the brightest point of heat between his legs and stoked it higher. There is another, throbbing heat deep within him, heavier with each stroke of Hob's tongue, and he hopes, he hopes, Hob will touch it soon, too.

Hob grips his hip in one hand, fingertips pressing in tight enough to leave bruises, gets his other hand up to play with Dream's folds, dragging through his slick, as he moves to suck again on his clit. Dream digs the heel of his bent leg into Hob's back, swaying, shaking, wanting to close his legs over Hob's hand and equally, spread them wider for more. Then he feels Hob's fingertip at his entrance, and Hob pushes gently, but relentless into him.

Dream cries out, clutching tighter at him, body thrown into confusion over the tumble of sensations, Hob's tongue still on that sensitive nub and his beard rubbing Dream's inner thighs and now his hands, the slight pinch and pressure of his finger entering him and then the wash of heat and slick as Hob moves, stroking him from the inside.

"That's it, darling," Hob murmurs, breath hot against Dream's skin. "God, you taste so good. You feel so good. You're perfect. Is that good for you?"

"Yes," Dream breathes. "Yes, yes--" he breaks off in a jagged cry as Hob's finger catches on a spot in him that lights his belly up and makes his legs shake, and then-- oh! The tension heavy between his legs and hot in his belly crests and releases in a rush. Heat flushes his throat, his chest, his cunt spasms around Hob's finger, over and over again.

Breathing hard, he opens his eyes, having not realized he closed them, and looks down. He finds Hob, kneeling, face wet with Dream's spend, finger still buried in his cunt, looking at him with reverence. He thinks he ought to feel shame for finding himself in such a position. But there is no shame.

He touches Hob's mouth, where his own spend glistens. Knows the hair between his legs is just as sticky. He looks at it with wonder. He has brought himself off in his own bed before, most recently to thoughts of Hob, but it was not like this. It was never so full-bodied, leaving him shaking inside and out.

His legs tremble and give out, and Hob just barely gets himself untangled quickly enough to catch him and help him down to the floor. Dream giggles, high and woozy and feeling loose and warm in every limb. He can feel the echo of Hob's hands on and in him. He feels wet and messy and he never wants it to end, he never wants to go back to being his other self, never wants to put his shell back on.

He leans his head against Hob's, and feels the curl of Hob's smile against his cheek. Hob doesn't ask him whether it was good. He surely can tell how Dream feels. He pets Dream's hair, and lets Dream's curl into him, holds him close as his heart rate slows.

"You are," Dream says, when he's gotten his voice back, "wonderful."

Hob laughs. "Oh, darling. We are just getting started."

"Oh?"

Hob, of course, has not reached completion yet. Dream doesn't know what his plans are in that regard, but he's curious to see what happens next.

He reaches between them to cup Hob through his breeches, and Hob sucks in a breath through his teeth. He's very hard, straining against the laces, and Dream wants to touch, wants to see.

"Go on," Hob says, low and breathy.

Dream undoes the ties, and takes him out. Holds Hob's cock in his palm.

It is lovely, thick and slightly curved, soft to the touch and beading with pre-come, his balls hanging heavy below. Just looking at it, between Hob's strong thighs, makes him shiver, his cunt clenching involuntarily. Dream had understood the basic mechanics of penetrative sex before this, the basic structure of bodies, but he's never actually seen a man's penis before. And certainly not one that's aroused.

He stares at Hob's. He is meant to fit that inside him?

"You are really stroking my ego right now," Hob says, laughing. "Do you like what you see?"

Dream does. Still. "I don't know if I can take you."

Hob makes a choked sound. "God. Keep talking like that. But don't worry. It's okay if you can't take it. But I bet you can. You're capable of more than you know. Not just in this."

"You like the idea that I could not take you?" Dream asks. Fantasies given voice are so new to him. He's intrigued.

"No. I want you to be able to. But I like the idea that it challenges you, that," he breathes out, heavy and wet, "that, you have to work and stretch your body to fit me. Just a bit. That it's not so easy. But it's worth it."

Hob does challenge him, every time they meet. But Dream never feels that Hob will push him, make him go beyond what he is comfortable with. It's because of this that Dream consistently wants to push himself.

He imagines Hob pushing inside him, and feels himself grow wetter, his body caught in a spiral of heat once again.

"I want to try," he says. But he wants to touch Hob, too. He gives an experimental stroke of Hob's cock, pumping up and down, cups Hob's balls in his other hand, tugs lightly, curiously. Hob curses and tucks his head down, forehead pressed to Dream's shoulder.

Dream likes this reaction, and keeps at what he's doing. He enjoys the weight of Hob in his hand, how when he gets the rhythm right, Hob jerks and shudders against him, fingers gripping tight on Dream's hips. Hob thrusts into his hand, and just watching the animal movement of his body makes Dream have to swallow hard to clear his mouth, makes him hyper aware of how his kneeling position spreads his cunt open below him.

"God, your hands look so pretty holding my cock," Hob breathes.

They do. Dream's hands are not small, exactly, but his fingers are slim and make a wonderful contrast against the girth of Hob's cock. He feels this must be one of the places he was meant to be.

"Won't last long looking at you, though," Hob warns.

Tempting though it is to see Hob brought to pleasure at his hands, Dream does want more. "What do we do now, then?" he asks.

Hob gets his arms around him and stands, scooping Dream up. Dream squeaks, clutching at him, as Hob carries him over to the bed and lays him down, watching him with hooded eyes as he steps out of his boots and strips off his breeches, standing bare before Dream.

Dream studies his body hungrily. His cock, standing hard and proud, his strong thighs, the breadth of his shoulders, the slight softness in his belly that gives him a satisfying solidity. Dream feels sharp and thin by comparison but it is not unpleasant. He likes the thought of how much power Hob could exert on him.

Dream holds out a hand to him.

Hob comes to him, settling on the bed between his legs. He runs his hands up and down Dream's thighs, parting them, bending his knees up. Dream's heart pounds in his throat, shivery at the touch of his hands, at the exposure of being spread open, the potential of Hob between his thighs.

"You're utterly perfect," Hob says, sounding wrecked. Dream makes a low whimper. "God, darling. What a privilege."

Dream feels the privilege is his, to have Hob's regard and desire and care, but he likes the thought of being desired, too, of being cherished. That Hob takes this moment as seriously as Dream does--not as the fundamental change he'd once been taught virginity was, but as a moment he feels he's chosen, something given to himself, a breaking down of the fences put up around him.

Hob runs his fingers through Dream's folds, where it's wet and sensitive. "Should be getting open now," he murmurs, and slips a finger into him. It goes easily, and Dream whines. Hob works his finger in and out, then slips in a second one, and Dream cries out at the added pressure. It feels good though, and the look on Hob's face, hunger and reverence, is even better.

"Please, Hob," Dream says. "Fuck me."

Hob groans. "You'll be my death."

He settles himself between Dream's legs, hovering over him, braced on his arms by Dream's sides. This sets their faces in line, and so Hob leans down to kiss him, deep, longing, licking into Dream's mouth, sucking on his tongue. Kissing Hob is so much more addicting than Dream had ever thought kissing could be. He makes Dream want to take in the most delicious way. Makes him feel needed.

Hob breaks their kiss, saliva drawing between their lips, breathing hard against Dream's mouth. His eyes speak his need, and he needn't voice it but does anyway. "Dream. Need you."

Dream wraps his arms around Hob's shoulders. Smiles up at him.

Hob shifts his hips, works a hand between them to line himself up. The head of his cock presses to Dream's cunt, delicious blunt pressure that makes Dream whimper. Hob slips in gradually, holding himself steady above Dream's body, and Dream works on his breathing, shivery and unsteady as Hob pushes in deeper, deeper, splitting him open and lighting him up all at once.

Dream had-- he had not known it could feel good. He had been told it might hurt, except somehow with Hob he had always known it wouldn't. He'd trusted Hob in that. Still he had not expected being fucked to bring him much pleasure, he had wanted it because he liked the idea of it, and because he was curious, and because he wanted Hob to want him and to make Hob feel good.

He hadn't expected to have a hoarse cry wrenched bodily from his throat as Hob sinks all the way in, to clutch at Hob's shoulders and wrap shaking legs around Hob's waist, toes curling, trembling all over because he's so full. Hob is inside him, and the bodily knowledge of it makes his cunt clench involuntarily, wet and aching, and he whimpers as he's held open by Hob.

It is a bit of a challenge to take him, as he'd expected, but as Hob had said, Dream's body knows what to do, relaxes into being had, finds space he didn't know he could make and carves it open for Hob's body. Don't let yourself be taken, don't let yourself be brought down, he's been told over and over, but this feels anything but degrading. He is taking Hob into himself, holding Hob within him, an act of care and generosity, and knowing now, too, the pleasure it can bring him as well, Dream feels he is making out very well indeed.

Now Hob is trembling with the effort of staying still while Dream adjusts. "God," he says, voice choked, "you feel so good, love."

"You said I could do it," Dream says.

"And you have, good boy."

A shiver runs all through Dream's body at the words. Hob always tells him he is good, tells him he is good and right for choosing himself, for choosing his own pleasure, tells him he is perfect just as he is. No one has ever said that to him before. And he hadn't believed it at first, but now, with Hob, he feels it.

"Hob," he says, voice thin, "please."

"Should be the one begging you," Hob says. But he starts to move, slowly at first, a slick slide in Dream's body, each thrust pulling a moan from Dream's throat. He clutches to Hob's shoulder with one hand, the other buried in Hob's hair, holding on as Hob rocks him. Hob kisses Dream's neck, sucking in marks that will surely show later, breath hot and wet as he pants against Dream's skin. Dream wants them to show. He wants all of this to show on his body like a tattoo, wants to mar his skin with his own choices.

Perhaps he may be using Hob to rebel, just a little, but somehow he doesn't think Hob will mind.

He holds on, breathless, as Hob moves faster, chasing his need in Dream's body. Not making love, though Dream does feel cared for. Fucking him. Hard. Fast. Rocking the bed under them, shaking Dream's whole body. Dream is falling into senseless obsession with how it feels, to take all of Hob's need, the power of him between Dream's thighs, the pressure in his cunt, the heat building again in his belly, Hob's panting breaths and moans. Dream closes his eyes, hears himself making mindless sounds, cries and whimpers, gasping punched-out breaths. He feels shaken out of focus, and hot, and craving, more alive than he's ever felt.

Hob rolls onto his back, settles Dream on his hips. This dislodges Dream from him, and he whines, bereft, until Hob helps lift him, and Dream has the pleasure of sinking down on him again.

It's deeper this way, and Dream cries out as their hips come flush. Hob caresses his sides. He's out of breath, sweat glinting along his throat and chest, but his gaze is adoring. Dream likes this view. He likes being exposed. He likes being seen.

"Do you like what you see?" he asks, and Hob laughs.

"Oh darling, you know I do." He holds Dream's hips gently in his hands. "Go on. Take your pleasure."

It does feel pleasurable this way. Deep. Thorough. Dream rocks his hips experimentally, and Hob groans.

"That's it, love, keep going."

Dream keeps going. Lifts himself up, thighs shaking, then sinks down again. Does it again. And again. Until he's found a rhythm, rocking down onto Hob, then bouncing, faster, in his lap, Hob's hands on his hips helping him along. He whines as Hob scrapes his insides, fills him up so pleasurably, again, again, again.

He finds himself panting on each thrust, letting out involuntary cries of ah! ah! as Hob gazes at him adoringly. Dream tips his head back. Lets go. Rides Hob with abandon, taking moment after moment of pleasure from his cock.

His climax sweeps through him unexpectedly. He cries out, clutching at Hob's hands, cunt spasming around Hob almost painfully. Hob groans, hips jerking up into him, and comes. His hot spend floods through Dream's insides, and Dream cries out again at the feeling. It's good. It's so good. Hob is in him, Hob has left something in him, made himself a part of him, an indelible mark that Dream will always know was there. It can't be taken away. He knows, he knows, he shouldn't put a prize on virginity, but now it is Hob's, and it is his, and no one can undo that, no one else can have it, no matter how much they crave it. Dream gets to have it. Dream gets to give it to whom he chooses.

"Easy, darling," Hob says, as Dream keeps panting above him. "You with me?"

Dream collapses onto him, Hob's soft cock slipping out. Dream whines at the sudden emptiness, but it's made up for by Hob's lips against his temple as Dream lies on him, catching his breath.

When he's caught up to himself, when things are no longer spinning, he lifts his head, and kisses Hob. Sinks into the touch, Hob's hands on his hips, the wetness still between them, Hob's spend dripping from him, their naked bodies still pressed together. He's never felt more messy and ruined. He's never felt more embodied.

"Got you to come twice," Hob says, grinning, as they press their foreheads together. "Next time I'll make it three."

Dream laughs. "You will spoil me."

"God, I hope so." He strokes his hands up the backs of Dream's thighs. Touches, just briefly, where his own spend slips from Dream's body.

"I've never been one to make much of virginity," he says. "Bit ridiculous, in my opinion. But. I can't lie. God do I like being your first."

"You like the thought of setting my standards," Dream says. "Of leaving your trace on me." Or maybe it is just Dream who likes these thoughts. His own fantasies are beginning to unspool from his tangled mind as he lets himself reach for them.

Hob hums in agreement.

Eventually Dream slides down to lie beside him. Hob turns onto his side, head pillowed on his arm, gazing at him.

"So, first time for so many things," he says. His smile is fond. "What was your favorite?"

"I'm supposed to have just one?"

Hob laughs. "One at a time, then."

Dream considers. "I like being naked with you," he finally says, and Hob's face softens in surprise. "I feel... like myself, that way. Like I don't have to hide. It feels so natural."

Hob strokes his fingers up and down over Dream's bare hip. Dream likes the feeling of it, Hob's touch, nothing between them, nothing to cover up the truth of him.

"You're beautiful like that," Hob says.

Dream curls inward, presses his face to Hob's chest. Not to hide, but to be close. Hob drags his fingers through his hair, catching in the tangles, pets his cheek, the line of his neck, his back. If Dream had his way, he would stay right here forever, cradled in Hob's arms.

He knows he cannot, not tonight. He will have to re-clothe himself, put back on his skin, return home-- but not for another few moments. For these few moments, he can be with Hob, quiet, beloved, free.

At home, Dream paces his bedroom, restless. The peace that had settled in his bones as he'd lain with Hob has retreated again to the edges of his being. He feels like a caged creature, something given a long-craved gift only to have it snatched away again.

Someday. Someday he will figure his way out of here. For now he collapses onto his bed in his sleep clothes, wishing desperately that Hob were there, or rather, that he were with Hob. And not here.

He needs Hob. He's gotten a taste, and he's become ravenous. Insatiable. He's had Hob, he's been had, and still he wants more.

And he doesn't feel bad about it. Not at all.

He slips his hand in his pants. He had not gotten his mouth on Hob, as he had craved in the moment. So he imagines it now.

Meeting Hob again, and Hob bringing him up to his room. Dream falling to his knees before him. Hob's hard cock at eye level. Hob's hand light on his jaw. Open your mouth, darling. Dream doing so, obediently. Hob laying his cock on Dream's tongue. Dream tasting it, holding the heft of it in his mouth, feeling the shape within him, bobbing his head, taking Hob down. Hob saying, that's it, love. His cock bumping the back of Dream's throat, Dream hollowing his cheeks, learning as he goes, bringing him pleasure with the warmth of his mouth. Hob's grip tight in his hair. His hips thrusting up powerfully into Dream.

Dream touches himself, fingers moving fast over his oversensitive clit, cunt spasming painfully at the images that run through his mind. Hob's powerful body, and how it would feel for him to come in Dream's mouth, his soft gasp above Dream's head, his spend flooding onto Dream's tongue. How Hob would sink down with him after, bring him close, cradle him, saying, You're beautiful, you're perfect. My sweet starving boy, I'm so glad you're full.

Dream comes with a groan, legs drawing in at the sharp ache of it. That was probably too much, he was already too sensitive, but he feels insatiable now, he still wants Hob.

He wants Hob always. He wants Hob's naked body pressed up against him. He wants to go to sleep with Hob's cock in him and wake up with Hob already rolling him through a gentle, surprised climax. Hob has opened this door in him, and Dream cannot bear to close it.

He feels bright and full-bodied and alive, and his bedroom is a dim prison.

He has to get out. He has to find a way out. He's thought it before, but never has he wanted it so badly, never felt like he might claw his own body apart if he can't.

But. Now he has Hob. Will Hob help him?

He has never had someone who might help him. His siblings have kept his secret, diverted attention from him so he can meet Hob, but they would not have the wherewithal to rebel in such an open and consequential way. Nor had Dream, before this.

He finds he's caring less and less about the consequences. Finds them, for the first time in his life, vastly outweighed by what he wants.

Perhaps Hob will help him. Dream thinks he might. But even if he does not, Dream must act. That is paramount.

He wants to be with Hob. But he needs to be free.

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