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just-french-me-up · 2 years ago

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Heatstroke

Fandom : The Sandman (AO3 link) Pairing : Dreamling (Dream x Hob) Rating : Explicit | 2.1k Tags : Smut, Fluff, Established Relationship, Blatant disregard for the laws of thermodynamics Summary : England is suffering through its second week of a scorching heatwave, and Dream's presence in his flat does nothing to cool Hob down... or does it? "I am not subjected to the Waking World's physics or weather patterns." "Neat trick that. Could use some of that right now, frankly." "Could you now?"

Heat was everywhere. It was the air he breathed, the water from the tap he drank, the sheets he slept on, the walls he tried to find shelter behind. It was under his skin, ever present, unescapable, and Hob felt as though he was going mad from it.

It had been one week of this, sweltering heat sweeping through the south of England, unleashing all of its scorching might, with London at its epicentre. The city had not been built to withstand such temperatures, and Hob's flat was no exception. Closing the blinds and sleeping with the windows open had worked for the first few days, but, insidiously, the heat had filtered in Celsius by Celsius, invading the space until there was no longer any respite from it.

Ever the harbinger of doom, the forecast had announced another week of this, sending London into a frenzy, between those who could afford to retreat north (or better yet, abroad, to more scenic and forgiving shores), and those who didn't have that luxury.

Hob was part of the latter.

Work kept him anchored in the city between lectures and research, the university administration staunchly refusing to trigger their remote learning protocol, citing the poor exam results following the pandemic as their main concern. God forbid they lose their prestigious ranking. At least the faculty's archives provided Hob with a few precious hours of cool air. Such commodity was hard to come by, these days.

At home, Hob had grown used to living in semi-darkness, the blinds permanently closed, only leaving a sliver of light in. He often congratulated himself on having bought a fan one heatwave ago, before the entire stock had been raided by his heat-striken fellowmen. It did little to cool him down, though. Hot air was still hot air, no matter how much velocity it hit you with. He spent his days in nothing but his underwear, moving as little as possible, taking his mind off the heat as best he could.

Nights were almost bearable. When he didn't spend them at the New Inn, Hob would lie on the couch, crushed by the thick atmosphere, listening to this or that book, his body far too hot still to fall asleep yet. He was struggling to follow his latest pick when a deep, familiar voice startled him.

"I was not aware nudity was the latest fashion."

Hob sat up awkwardly, staring at the dark silhouette standing by the bedroom door. God, when he'd told Dream he could waltz in whenever he pleased, he never imagined himself sweaty and practically naked when that happened. Well... not at the onset, at least. In spite of the relative darkness, he could see the quiet smirk tugging at Dream's well-studied, often worshipped lips. Also wait, was he wearing a turtleneck, of all things?!

"It's something of a national trend, at the moment."

Dream took a few steps around the living room, the hem of his coat swaying gracefully against his ankles. Hob could feel himself sweat just imagining the weight of those layers. Morpheus, statuesque as ever, didn't seem the least bit bothered.

"How are you not cooked medium rare, right now?" Hob asked, looking for the faintest hint of a flush on those fair cheekbones of his, finding none. That turtleneck had to be awfully warm around his throat, though, the black, soft-looking fabric clashing deliciously with his skin. If he could just slip a finger underneath... Another kind of heat spread through Hob at the thought, doing nothing to improve the miserable state he was already in.

"I am not subjected to the Waking World's physics or weather patterns."

He said it as though it was barely worth mentioning, boringly mundane, and not easily the most fascinating thing Hob had heard all week. Hell, all year. He relaxed against the back of the couch, observing Dream's slow prowl towards him, suddenly acutely aware of his lack of proper clothing and undignified posture.

"Neat trick that. Could use some of that right now, frankly."

A low hum rose from Dream's throat, a cross between a chuckle and a huff. He was looming over him now, their knees nearly brushing.

"Could you now?"

Whatever clever retort Hob's brain had come up with, it died on his lips as Morpheus' hand ran across his damp scalp, his fingers combing through his hair. His skin was cold, impossibly so, his touch leaving tingling trails behind, making him itch for more. Hob let out a hearty, breathy sigh, leaning into the palm of Dream's hand.

"Fuck, that feels good."

He didn't mean to sound so achingly needy, but it was, by far, the best sensation he'd had all week. He had tried to beat the heat in various (and increasingly desperate) ways, but nothing matched the soft, cold silk of Dream's skin sending shivers down his spine. It felt... clean. Like fresh fallen snow, pristine and undisturbed. Which was a descriptor he could not quite apply to himself, in spite of many daily cold showers.

"I'm disgusting," he groaned, thinking of the sweat no doubt covering Dream's fingers now, a sensation he didn't envy.

"You are human," he countered gently. "You can not pick and choose which laws of your world apply to you or not."

Hob flashed a sly grin.

"Save for one."

"Quite right," Dream conceded, amused.

His fingers were still raking through Hob's hair, providing much needed relief. Running so hot had helped Hob in the past, back when central heating was still but a literal pipe dream in someone's head, but what had felt like a blessing then passed for a curse now. Much like the walls of his flat, he'd been build to keep the heat in.

Dream's fingertips brushed his ear, causing delightful sparks to shoot down his jaw.

"How does it feel, then, getting to choose which principles of physics apply to you?"

He'd meant it as a tease, expecting another one of Dream's huffed chuckle, but the reaction he got was more intense than what he had bargained for. Morpheus' gaze was consuming, to say the least, his pupils almost too wide and eerily dark to pass as human. A hand left his scalp to follow the line of his neck, fingers trailing down his throat like drops of icy rain.

"At present?" Dream's voice was a low murmur. Hob could almost feel the warmth of his breath against his ear although Morpheus over him, his back straight. "Exquisite."

Hob's adam's apple bobbed at the brush of his fingers. He did not fully understand how Endless' senses worked, but he could bet everything he owned that Morpheus could actually feel his heartbeat through his skin, his heart wreaking havoc in his chest. His lack of proper clothing left him exposed, the effect of Dream's ministrations painfully obvious, preternatural abilities or not.

"You are quite warm," Dream pointed out, as though he was only now realising the extent of Hob's predicament.

"So that you're choosing to feel."

It was hard to fight the edge in his voice between the cold caresses exploring his shoulders and Dream's almost predatory gaze. His only garment was getting too uncomfortably tight, his erection pressing against the fabric with yet more torturous heat.

"Touching you would hardly feel the same if I shielded myself from it."

Exquisite, he had called it. Touching him felt exquisite, even like this. Hob could hardly fathom it.

"So I am the sun-soaked rock you cold-blooded beauty like to lie against for warmth," he quipped, smirking up at him.

"In a way, perhaps."

Dream's hands reached his torso, sending more shivers through him on the way down. Hob could feel his throat go dry as Dream lowered himself on his knees in a fluid motion, his pupils wild through his lashes. A hand trailed up Hob's thigh, tremors following in all of his leg. He did not expect the gasp that escaped him when Dream wrapped his fingers around his cock through his boxers. The cold felt odd, at first, though far from unpleasant. Quickly, Hob found himself wanting it more. The clash between his burning skin and Dream's was intoxicating, making his hips roll at the touch.

"I thought you liked touching me," he groaned, frustrated by the pesky, unbearable barrier between them.

Dream merely smiled, that fucking cheeky smile he'd given him in 1789, and Hob's hips bucked of their own volition. Fuck that perfect face of his, God! To add insult to injury, Dream's thumb brushed light circles against the head of his cock, drawing a hiss out of him, his cock aching for more.

"Dream."

His attempt at being firm melted into something more pleading, but Hob was past caring. He needed and he wanted and he was not above begging. Mercifully, Morpheus pulled down his boxers, exposing him hard and sensitive to his cold breath. A strangled moan rolled out of him as Dream lapped at the throbbing tip, the ice on his tongue on the verge of burning, but ultimately divine.

"Fuck!"

Hob threw his head back, reclining fully against the sofa, his body trembling from the heat, Morpheus' mouth and the pleasure rushing through him. The surreal combinaison of sensations was making him dizzy in the heavenliest way possible. By the time Morpheus had him in his mouth, his hand stroking the base of his cock, Hob was moaning mindlessly at the ceiling, his hand tangled in Dream's hair.

"Fuck, you feel so good, love."

He could barely focus on words half of the time, babbling praises, stretching his back to accommodate the surge of pleasure threatening to undo him. He could not remember what he'd said after a while, but Dream hummed around his cock with such sinful wantonness Hob felt blood rush to his cheek.

"Don't stop," he panted heavily. "Don't stop, you're going to make me come."

Dream dragged his tongue along his length, drawing relentless swirls around the head of his cock. Hob grabbed the arm of the sofa, holding onto it for dear life. Morpheus' cool breath against his oversensitive skin caught him off guard. Dream's eyes were black now, bottomless pools of stars calling for him to jump and drown in them. When he spoke, his voice purring and sultry, Hob could hear it as close as if he'd spoken right next to his ear.

"I want you warm on my tongue, Hob Gadling."

Fuck! The words were barely gone that Dream wrapped his lips around the tip, his eyes still staring into Hob's as he teased it with a pointed tongue. Overwhelmed, Hob spilled with a gruff shout, tension stretching all of his muscles taut, before his body sank into the sofa, boneless and breathless. He could feel the stifling pressure of heat in his lungs, exertion weighing his body down even more than before. The cold press of Dream's body came to alleviate the ache as he leant against Hob, a hand against his mad, immortal heart.

"Never died of a heatstroke before," Hob chuckled hoarsely, his voice nothing but a prolonged wheeze.

"This is quite a serious accusation."

He did feign offense really well, that one.

"I think you tried your best."

Hob wrapped a heavy, lazy arm around Dream's waist, seeking skin under all those layers.

"Wouldn't mind you trying again," he added, his brain still floating hazily inside his skull. Dream pressed his forehead against his, bringing him some relief. "I could get you out of all that bloody fabric, for a start."

"Perhaps you will. I am told the Waking World will suffer another week of this," Dream said, pointing his chin at the nearest window. "I would hate to withhold any helpful assistance from you."

"I'm sure you would."

They held each other in comfortable silence, Hob slowly catching his breath.

"Sleep is notoriously difficult for humans during such times," Dream said after a while. "It makes for strange dreams. Or no dreams at all."

"It's been a struggle for a few days, yeah."

Hob slowly furrowed his brows, replaying Dream's words in his head. A stupid grin then stretched his lips, pushing against his cheeks.

"Is this your way of telling me I've not been visiting often enough?"

"I would not word it in such terms."

He gave Dream's hip a light squeeze. Did he posh himself up on purpose to visit him?

"I missed you too."

The proud git would not say it, but the way he leant heavier on Hob spoke louder than words, anyway.

"So, would it please you, other... visits? Should the weather continue to interfere with your sleep?"

Hob did not have the heart to tell him those were called "date", in this day and age, although he suspected Dream would sooner disappear for a millennium rather than 'wording it this way'.

"Yes. It would, shitty sleep or not. Although I admit I do enjoy your blatant disregard for the laws of thermodynamics."

"I thought you might."

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