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cuubism · 4 months ago

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Besieged

E | 5k

a sequel to Trade Secrets - aka knight Hob and slutty prince Dream

Hob has sat in besieged war camps for days waiting for the enemy to strike. He has knelt in forests, unmoving, muscles cramping, waiting hours for a chance to attack. He has laid in a medical cot for weeks while a wound slowly heals.

And yet the greatest test of patience in Hob’s entire life is this treaty negotiation. Not because the discussion is mind-numbingly dull, though it is. Hob would always rather be out killing something, but he can cope. And not because the foreign dignitaries are only barely respectable, casting veiled jibes their way every other sentence. Hob talks too much, but he can hold his tongue when he has to.

No, this is testing Hob’s patience because he’s here as Morpheus’s personal bodyguard, and Morpheus is currently draped over the arm of the foreign king, body pressed close, lips close to his jaw as he speaks directly in his ear.

He never behaves like this when he’s in his own palace. Among his own people he’s stoic and reserved, almost unknowable. And he had been very insistent that his stories about seducing foreign dignitaries had been just that: stories, that his words alone were sufficient to achieve his aims.

Which means he’s doing this just to get under Hob’s skin.

Hob shifts where he stands, back against the wall, surveying the room. He’s supposed to be concentrating on security, but he feels hot, itchy, aggravated. Jealous, he whispers to himself. Morpheus isn’t his to keep. But oh if Hob doesn’t want to slam that foreign king against a wall.

And then push Morpheus up against one for very different reasons.

Morpheus meets his eyes from across the table. His gaze is hot. Challenging. Then he looks away and says, “I must speak with the king in private for a moment.”

Hob takes a step forward, a protest on his tongue. Whatever game he’s playing aside, Morpheus can’t just go off with someone without a guard. Hob’s supposed to ensure his safety.

But Morpheus just flashes another glance at him. His gaze promises terrible things. Wonderful things. And he disappears into a side room, his starry cloak swishing behind him.

The king follows him like a sex-drunk fool. Hob knows the feeling. Perhaps it’s not Morpheus in danger if they go off alone.

Hob waits, chest tight. Jealous. Irritable. Worried. Fucking horny. Morpheus absolutely knows what he’s doing here. I’ll show you, you little slut, Hob thinks, then is immediately horrified by the thought. It’s not untrue, though. Hob’s feelings about Morpheus are… varied, but one of them is definitely the aggressive need to make Morpheus his. Even if he has no right to it.

He’d been able to keep those thoughts in the back of his head, once. But that was before Morpheus had crept into his tent in the middle of the night and told Hob to fuck him like a whore.

It isn’t overly long before Morpheus and the king emerge from their private conference. The king looks whiplashed. Morpheus looks quite pleased with himself indeed. His hair is mussed. His smirking lips are reddened. Looking at him makes Hob feel like he’s swallowed thorns.

“I believe we’ve come to an agreement,” says Morpheus, gaze flickering briefly over to Hob and going dark at whatever he sees on Hob’s face. “Let us sign the treaty. We need not tarry longer.”

Hob doesn’t pay a shred of attention as they review the document and sign it. His grip is flexing on the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his hip, for want of anything better to do with his hands. He forces himself not to fidget. He watches Morpheus, the haughty dignity of him, the close cut of his elegant robes. Hob wants to venerate him like a piece of the heavens. Hob wants to ruin him.

By the time they make their way back to their guest quarters in the palace, he feels like he’s buzzing. Walking at his side with utter nonchalance, Morpheus says, “I do believe that was—”

Hob doesn’t let him finish. He grabs Morpheus’s arm and pulls him through the door to their rooms, then pushes him up against it, fisting a hand in the collar of his robes.

“You,” he growls, and watches Morpheus’s gaze darken, his throat bob as he swallows, “little whore. Is that how you conduct your diplomacy? Sucking off anyone you need a yes from?”

“Did I not tell you those were only stories, my knight?” says Morpheus, each word carefully spoken, but starting to waver.

Instead of answering, Hob kisses him hard.

Morpheus’s head knocks against the door and he moans. Hob bites his lower lip, then swipes his tongue into Morpheus’s mouth. He has no idea if Morpheus actually kissed that foreign dignitary or if it was all another one of his stories, but either way he chases away the taste. Kisses him deep, not letting him breathe. Makes Morpheus’s mouth his.

When he pulls back, Morpheus sucks in a huge breath. Chases his mouth, but Hob presses him back against the door with a hand around his throat, hard enough that Morpheus will be able to feel it when he swallows.

“Did you kneel for him?” Hob asks. He feels quiet now. Alight in the fire of Morpheus’s presence. His prince is so beautiful. His lips are even redder now, and he looks at Hob like Hob could do anything to him and he would like it.

And Hob can never forget that he’s hardly had anything done to him at all.

“I am a prince,” says Morpheus. “I don’t kneel.”

“You want to, though,” Hob murmurs. He frames Morpheus’s face in his hands, thumbs hooked under his jaw. Keeps him still. Tips his head back. Morpheus is breathing hard. His hands find Hob’s belt and he tucks his fingers in, holding on.

Hob kisses his sharp jaw, nips at the skin. “Have you fantasized about it, my prince? The way you fantasized about getting fucked?”

“Yes,” breathes Morpheus. “I—” he breaks off as Hob slips a hand inside his robes to cup him through his— oh. He’s not even wearing anything under those robes.

“You pretty little whore,” Hob breathes, and Morpheus whines. “Go on. Talk.”

“I—” It’s so unusual for Morpheus to struggle with his words. Hob loves it. He takes Morpheus’s hard cock in his grip and tugs him off, slow, teasing. “I never. Could. With anyone. But I thought of you. When I pleasured myself. I—” he shivers— “even before you rescued me. I would see you at court and I wanted.”

“And you always get what you want, don’t you?”

“Not this,” says Morpheus. “You hold the fulfillment of my desires in your hands, Hob.”

“Sure fucking do,” says Hob, and twists his grip around Morpheus so he shudders and moans. “Did you think about kneeling for me?”

He manages to say it casually but he’s so hard in his breeches. Morpheus meets his eyes, and while usually his looks are clever, conniving, now he looks almost innocent. Hob has the upper hand here, and the greater experience. It’s so heady. Fuck him but the thought of being Morpheus’s first still makes Hob feel possessed.

“Yes,” says Morpheus, rutting into Hob’s grip. He braces himself with a hand on Hob’s shoulder for balance and Hob lets him.

“Did you think about how it would feel, choking on my cock? Did you want to be used, darling?”

Morpheus’s pretty face is flushed. His eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering. “Yes. Yes. I wanted to know how it tasted. I do not kneel. I wanted you to make me.”

Sweet Mother Mary. “I think that’s what you deserve after that display tonight.”

Morpheus is shivering against him, still thrusting into his grip. He’s close to coming, Hob can tell. And that’s why he pulls his hand back.

Morpheus collapses against him with a violent whine. “Hob.”

Hob looks down at him, eyebrow raised. “Did you want something?”

Morpheus glares up at him. Hob just smiles sweetly. It’s so fun to rile him up. He steps backward, further in the room, and Morpheus follows as if tied to him. And isn’t that a thought.

“Do you need someone to put you in your place, Morpheus?” Hob asks. No title attached to his name.

Morpheus’s breath catches. “What is my place, then?”

Hob takes him by the shoulders and pushes. Morpheus falls to his knees, breath gushing out of his lungs. He looks up at Hob, eyes hooded, lips parted. Fucking hell. He is a vision.

Hob drags a hand through his hair, pulling his head back. Morpheus goes easily, neck craning. God, he’s desperate for it. Poor thing, closed up in his palace. “You were made for this, weren’t you? You’ve just been waiting for someone to make you kneel.”

“For you,” says Morpheus, breathless. That innocent look again on his face. Waiting for Hob’s direction. Christ, he’s never done this for anyone. More privilege to Hob. He’s done nothing to deserve it, but that’ll hardly stop him from seizing it.

Hob caresses his cheek, swipes his thumb over his bottom lip, over his tongue. “You’re so beautiful, you know?”

“It’s been said,” says Morpheus. Hob chucks him on the cheek. Cheeky little thing.

“Can’t believe no one’s done anything about it,” Hob muses, just to watch Morpheus’s eyes dilate. “The way you walk around the palace in your flimsy robes. How’d they stop themselves?”

“Fear, I expect,” says Morpheus. “Are you not afraid of the consequences of defiling your prince, ser knight?”

“It’s worth the punishment to have you,” says Hob. Is it ever. To have Morpheus on his knees, looking up at him like that? It’d be worth anything.

“Have me then, and don’t tarry,” Morpheus challenges.

Hob seizes his hair again, yanking a gasp from him. With his other hand he undoes his belt, lets it fall to the floor, sword dropping without care, then unties the front of his breeches and takes his hard cock in his hand. Morpheus swallows visibly upon seeing it, going lax in Hob’s grip.

Hob doesn’t say anything else, just gives his cock a few strokes, then nudges the tip past Morpheus’s lips. Morpheus obediently opens his mouth, and Hob draws him forward by his hair, feeding it to him. He struggles to keep steady as the heat of Morpheus’s mouth envelopes him, but he manages.

“Good boy,” he praises, as Morpheus laves at him with the flat of his tongue. Morpheus moans, and Hob pulls him off long enough for him to take a breath, then pushes in again.

This time he goes deep enough that he bumps against the back of Morpheus’s throat, and Morpheus chokes, but doesn’t pull away. He tries to relax his throat, wanting to take all of it, and then Hob himself nearly chokes. “Christ, Morpheus,” he sighs, “you feel incredible.”

Morpheus hums, a pleased, heady sound, bobbing his head on Hob’s cock, pressing the flat of his tongue to the shaft. He’s taking it so well, so hungry for it even in his inexperience. Hob should probably go easy on him. He doesn’t want to go easy on him.

“Still can't believe you've never done this before,” he says. It’s painfully arousing to think of. And Morpheus may not actually know what exactly to do with his mouth, but it’s more than made up for by the fact that he’s letting Hob use him, letting Hob teach him.

“That’s alright,” Hob continues. “You’re so gorgeous like this. I’ll show you how to use that lovely mouth.” He directs Morpheus with a hand in his hair, presses his nose to his pelvis, bids him to close his lips, bob his head, swirl his tongue—like that.

He’s perfect, even in his imperfections. Hob could have him like this forever—but he has other ideas too.

He indulges himself for some time, swimming in the heat of his own arousal, but before Morpheus’s blessed mouth can pull him over the edge, Hob carefully pulls him off. Morpheus looks up at him, a line of spit trailing from his lower lip to the tip of Hob’s cock. He looks hazy and pleased, his eyes half-lidded, hair sticking up from the drag of Hob’s fingers. Morpheus is so serious and put together for outsiders that it’s a blessing to get to see him like this. Unraveled. Losing himself in something he wants, rather than stuck only in something he must do. And for Hob to be that thing he wants is something indeed.

“Come, sweet thing,” Hob says, drawing him to his feet with a careful hand. “You’ve been so, so good. My good boy.”

Morpheus whines, following him on unsteady legs. Hob helps him shuck off his shoes and lays him down on the bed, finally steps out of his own boots and strips off his tunic and shirt so he’s only in his breeches, and follows him, bracketing Morpheus with his body. Morpheus reaches for him, tangles his hands in his hair, and Hob thinks that he must not get much softness like this, if any. Always he is the icy and untouchable prince.

Hob draws open his robes, finally gets a proper look at Morpheus’s body. He’s as beautiful as last time, as beautiful as Hob has remembered and imagined since then. Unmarred, un-used, and waiting for him.

“Do you want to be mine, darling?” Hob asks. Being with Morpheus again has made him bolder. He wants Morpheus for himself. To hold him close. To keep him safe. To be his. Whatever that looks like, when Morpheus is his prince, and Hob is his knight.

“Yes,” Morpheus breathes, shivering as Hob runs his hands up and down his thighs, over his hips. “Yes. I will make you my knight. Mine. I want you with me, I do not care if it is proper.”

He’s breathing hard, worked up, hard and straining. He’s beautiful, Hob wants to give him everything.

“Good,” he says, and kisses Morpheus’s belly. Then his hip, then the crease of his thigh, then the tip of his cock.

Morpheus whines, arching against the sheets. “I want. I want you to fuck me again.”

“In good time.”

“Please,” Morpheus gasps. “Please. I have wanted, feverishly. I tried to replicate it. With toys. But it was not the same. See what you have reduced me to? Begging?”

“You thought of me?” The thought is thrilling. He wishes he could have seen it, watched Morpheus opening himself up, dreaming of Hob’s cock filling him.

“Every night.”

Heady. Hob drags a fingertip between Morpheus’s cheeks. Teasing. “Don’t have to beg. You could have come to me any time.”

“Desperate,” Morpheus groans. “You will think less of me.”

“Never. I just want you. Always.” There’s a problem, though. “I don’t have any oil or anything with me.”

“I do,” says Morpheus. “You will find it among my things.”

Hob laughs, startled and fond. “Came prepared?”

“Came hopeful.”

Hob rolls off the bed and finds the mentioned bottle of oil after digging around in Morpheus’s trunk. His things are terribly disorganized for a prince, which Hob finds unexpectedly charming. He brings it back, finds Morpheus watching him, eyes heavy, gorgeous body sprawled like an offering on the bed.

Hob climbs on top of him, kisses him, gripping his hair. “I want to see your face this time.”

“Yes,” Morpheus breathes. His hands trail over Hob’s face, the scruffy edges of his beard. “My Hob.”

“I told you last time that if I’d known it was your first time I’d have made sure it was right, didn’t I?” Hob says, and waits until Morpheus nods. “Well, that’s what I’m going to do now.”

“Do not be gentle with me,” Morpheus orders.

Hob kisses him, just once, on the lips, and is indeed gentle about it. “It can be rough and right,” he says.

With that he pushes one of the lavish bed’s many pillows under Morpheus’s hips, bends one of his legs up so it’s hooked over Hob’s shoulder, holding him open. Morpheus watches with wide eyes, breath coming quick, his heart pattering when Hob places his hand along his throat to feel his pulse. Everything is still new to him. So many missing pieces to fill in.

Hob dips his fingers in the oil and starts rubbing them over Morpheus’s hole and the soft skin behind his balls. He circles Morpheus’s entrance with a fingertip, and then, caught by Morpheus’s rapt expression and held breath, pushes slowly in.

Morpheus lets out a rough breath, body tensing and then giving to Hob. Hob works him, in and out, and Morpheus shivers and squirms, but can only move so far when Hob is holding him down with Morpheus’s leg over his shoulder. Morpheus had wanted rough, so Hob doesn’t wait long before pushing in a second finger, which has Morpheus crying out and tensing. Hob soothes him, kissing his jaw, his throat, his sternum, murmurs, “I know you can do it. I know you can take me,” until Morpheus subsides again.

“Your hands,” he whispers. “It— oh! Is so much better than when I do it.”

“That’s the idea,” Hob says. “Going to take care of you, darling.”

Morpheus whines, nodding. “Please.”

“Don’t think of anything else,” Hob says as he works a third finger into him—God he’s tight but so wanting—“I know you’ve always got so much on your mind. Just let it all go. Think about me.”

“I am. Always,” Morpheus pants, back arching. “Always. Thinking of you.”

Every time Morpheus says he’s thinking of him goes straight to Hob’s head, but it’s easier to be assured of it when Morpheus is looking at him like that, when Hob is touching him so deeply.

“Good. Think of me. Look at me.” He withdraws his fingers, fits himself properly between Morpheus’s legs and leans down over him, catching his gaze. “Look at me.”

Morpheus meets his eyes, chest rising in quick, startled breaths. Being able to rile him up so much makes Hob feel undone, he wants Morpheus so badly, and he wants Morpheus to feel good so badly. Wants to be responsible for it. Wants to take care of him.

Hob holds his gaze as he pushes in, fits himself in Morpheus’s body. The tight heat makes him gasp. Fuck, Morpheus feels even better than last time.

“It feels much more intense this time,” Morpheus breathes, echoing his thoughts. His body tenses as he gets used to the space Hob is making inside him. Gradually he relaxes, sinking back onto the bed, wrapping his fingers around the back of Hob’s neck, tangling in his hair.

“No stories this time,” Hob says. “Only you.”

“You enjoyed the story,” Morpheus points out.

“Aye. But I like you without it, too.” The tales Morpheus tells are very compelling, he might have been born to be a storyteller as much as he was a prince, but Hob likes the clever, sweet Morpheus underneath all the tales just as much. More, even.

“I like you,” he continues, starting to move in him, slow, dragging out each thrust in a way he hadn’t when they’d fucked under the premise of Morpheus’s story, “as my prince. As the one I’ve sworn myself to. The one I’d do anything for. The clever, strong, mad creature that you are.”

Morpheus whimpers. “Hob. Please.”

Hob kisses his neck. “I like you when you beg for me, too. And when you decide what you want, and then make sure you get it.”

“Why should I beg when I know you will give me whatever I want either way?” Morpheus asks, breathless.

Hob smiles against his skin. “Because I want you to.” The words make Morpheus whine, and Hob presses down on his body, bending his leg further back. “And you want to do what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Morpheus’s fingers scrabble for grip on his shoulders. “Yes, Hob, please, please.”

“Good boy.”

The sound Morpheus makes when he says that goes straight to Hob’s gut. God, he’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Morpheus, it’s like a hook in every part of his flesh, it’s like the religious fervor that Hob never got from church. He wants, and he can’t believe he’s allowed to have.

Hob could kneel at his feet. Has, in fact. But he so loves when Morpheus is desperate, and that he can let go of the careful trappings of princedom when it’s just them, just in this moment.

“You could command me to do anything you wanted, you know,” he says. “But I’d rather you beg.”

“Please,” Morpheus says immediately, and it’s the most heady thing Hob’s ever heard. “Please, Hob. Please fuck me.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.”

He takes Morpheus's hands and presses them into the bed, holding him down, and plies his whole weight to snap his hips into him. Morpheus wails, grip flexing desperately under Hob’s hands.

“Anyone passing in the hall will hear you,” Hob says into his ear, grinning, as he does it again, finding a brutal pace and keeping it up as Morpheus squirms and cries.

“Good,” Morpheus pants, “good. Let them know— what you do to me.”

“Oh, they’ll know.” He nips along Morpheus’s throat, soothes the skin with his tongue. “They’ll see you all disheveled. My marks on you. Such a stoic, distant prince. No one could imagine that this is what you get up to, that you want to be taken, that you beg for my cock.”

“You will ruin my reputation,” Morpheus gasps, not sounding upset about it at all.

“I think it’d only make them more in awe of you,” Hob says, “though I wouldn’t mind a bit of jealousy.” No, he wouldn’t mind at all the thought of all who see them together wanting Morpheus, and not being able to have him. Knowing that only Hob is allowed to.

He pins Morpheus down harder and fucks him with all the passion and possession inherent in that thought. Morpheus's cries turn into punched out gasps of pleasure, each sound catching roughly in his throat as Hob rocks him. It's the sweetest sound Hob's ever heard, and it's all he can do not to come too quickly when what he wants is to drag it out, give Morpheus as much pleasure as he's able to.

But it's not long before Morpheus pants, "Hob, I'm-- I'm-- oh!" And he comes with a startled cry as if his pleasure was yanked out of him. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, but Hob is delighted to have made him lose control.

“Aw, darling, it was all too much, wasn’t it? You’re still new at it, it’s alright.” He sucks a mark into Morpheus’s throat, slowing momentarily, and Morpheus moans. “You’re still learning, aren’t you, my prince?”

“Hob.” Morpheus hooks his leg tight around Hob’s back, thighs trembling. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” He lets go of Morpheus’s hands—Morpheus immediately clutches at the back of Hob’s neck, digging his fingers in his hair—and starts moving again, relishing in the heat of Morpheus’s body, how lax he is under Hob, going easily with his movement, the quiet whines he makes each time Hob presses in particularly deep. His own arousal builds within him, heat pooling in his groin and thighs, and he chases it in Morpheus’s body, chases it—

He comes with a groan, clutching Morpheus to him, losing himself temporarily in the feeling of it. If only, he thinks, they were like this all the time, the two of them, if only he was always holding Morpheus close in bed, bringing pleasure to him. It can’t be like that, not really, not with Morpheus being a prince—but he can imagine it.

Morpheus whimpers when he pulls out, but Hob kisses him to ease the discomfort of it. And just for the pleasure of doing it. Morpheus in the afterglow kisses lax and soft, so sweet against Hob’s body. No clever storyteller left, this time.

When they separate, Morpheus looks dazed, red mouth parted, fingers twined gently in Hob’s hair. He gazes at Hob for a long moment, and Hob thinks he might be about to say something—but whatever it might have been, he decides against it, instead just petting Hob’s temple.

Hob kisses him once more for good measure, then removes himself to fetch a spare cloth from Morpheus’s things and clean off his belly, after which Morpheus pulls him back to bed with demanding fingers. Hob stays frozen, stunned, as Morpheus pushes himself in against his body, curling in close.

“I’m feeling unsafe in this foreign castle,” he says, not sounding particularly afraid as far as Hob can tell. “Perhaps you will have to guard me from closer quarters tonight.”

Hob laughs incredulously, but obligingly pulls him close. “Of course, love. This country is very hostile, I’m sure. They might even come back to get you to bribe them with more sexual favors.”

Morpheus squeaks indignantly, digging a finger into Hob’s side. But he quickly subsides, pressing his lips indulgently into Hob’s skin.

Hob holds him like that for a time, pressing him close and helping him come back into his body, stroking a firm hand up and down his back. It feels like more of a privilege to hold Morpheus like this than it even was to fuck him. A privilege for Morpheus to want him to stay.

When the room has gone dark, the fireplace burned low in need of tending, he finally asks, “What did you really do, with that king? You made it look like you sucked him off.”

Morpheus chuckles. It’s an endearingly wicked sound. “I threatened him. Made it quite clear what I would do to him if he defied me. Or perhaps…” he pulls himself from his repose, leaning far enough away to look at Hob, eyes dark, dragging a finger along Hob’s lower lip, “what I would have done to him. What my loyal knight might do to him, as soon as I gave him leave.”

“Oh, yeah?” There is something… thrilling, about being Morpheus’s weapon, an extension of the darkest shades of his will.

“Would you do that for me, my Hob?” Morpheus asks, eyes heavy-lidded. “Ply your sword in my name?”

“Already do.” Hob kisses his cheek, mouths over the skin, drags a hand up and down over his bare hip.

“Did you really think I used my mouth on him?” Morpheus asks. “Did you think I would not save it for you?”

Hob swallows hard, but says, “I can never know for sure what you’re thinking.”

“Did it make you jealous, then?” says Morpheus. “Did it… burn in you, to think I would let myself be used by another when I should be yours?”

Oh, it did. Hob leans over him, presses him down to the mattress, murmurs against his lips, “I wanted to cut his throat.”

Morpheus’s breath catches. “I would not have stopped you.”

“Even if it started a war?”

“I want to see you spill blood for me.” He takes one of Hob’s hands, sucks two of Hob’s fingers into his mouth. Then, still with his lips touching Hob’s skin, says, “Next time you bloody yourself at war, come back to my chambers first. I want to see it.”

Hob’s whole body goes still in anticipation at the thought, imagining bringing himself to Morpheus’s fine bedchambers while still dripping blood and grime, sword hanging loose in his grip, exhaustion tugging him down. Morpheus, his lord, his prince, welcoming him in with dark eyes and wanting hands, bloodying his fine fingers as he undoes the buckles on Hob’s armor, undresses him, before indulging him in a much needed bath— or perhaps he would not even want to wait, would drag Hob to his mouth and let Hob coat him in all that he had wrought in his name—

“Perhaps you should come to mine,” he says, voice rough with want. “Perhaps your favorite knight might be in want of some particular comfort, hm?”

Morpheus will do it, too, if Hob dares him. He has before, just for his own satisfaction.

Indeed, Morpheus’s lips curl up in a smirk. “Be careful what you wish for, Hob.”

He slides on top of Hob, settling in his lap, but instead of starting something up again he just lays back down with his head tucked into Hob’s shoulder, now with all of his weight resting on Hob’s body. Hob curls his arms around him.

“Hob?” Morpheus murmurs, at length.

“Yeah, darling?”

“When you go to war… do be careful.”

Careful isn’t really Hob’s fighting style. But something in him stills at Morpheus’s tremulous words. The care in them, and the fear.

“Be careful where you send me,” he says in return. Morpheus may not be king of their realm, but his decisions do have weight. And Hob is sworn to his word.

Morpheus is silent for a long moment, truly thinking about it. He traces his fingertips up the length of Hob’s sword arm, over his shoulder, landing on the side of his neck, beside where his own face rests.

“I will use you well, if you will come back to me,” he finally says.

Hob tangles his fingers in his hair, pets his scalp. He can’t really make that promise, not if he’s to also fill his role as Morpheus’s sword and shield. And Morpheus has never been on a battlefield, doesn’t understand the chaos of it, how even with all his skill and determination, Hob can’t make things turn out right.

But if there’s any true incentive to try, it’s Morpheus resting in his arms.

“I will, love,” he promises. “I’ll come back to you.”

#your saturday morning smut #it only took me a year to write it. don't worry about it #dreamling #my writing #knight hob and prince dream #nsft

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thebitchesterbrothers · 10 months ago

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Dream of the Endless is the prince of a small but wealthy and beautiful country. He’s not the oldest child so the crown will go to his oldest sister Death when his parents are going to die or abdicate one day.

He’s not important enough to rule one day but still too known to live an ordinary life. He grew up sheltered in a golden cage with certain expectations from his parents to live by. So he’s not surprised when one day his parents invite possible suitors for a lucrative wedding.

From Dreams perspective they leave him no choice but to flee from his own birthday party where he’s supposed to be sold off to the highest bidder.

And while his furious parents are busy firing his bodyguards Dream wanders through parts of the capital he’s never seen before.

He’s so high on the feeling of finally feeling free and unobserved for the first time in his entire life that he doesn’t pay close attention to his surroundings when he turns the corner.

Stumbling right into the arms of Hob Gadling.

Hob, who had spent the last ten years traveling and living abroad before returning home to finally settle down, maybe start a family of his own.

Hob, who never really kept track of the drama and scandals of the royal family.

Who doesn’t know that the beautiful - but slightly socially awkward and uptight - man in his arms is the most desired bachelor of his native country. And his prince.

But what he knows is that love at first sight most definitely exists because there’s no way in hell he won’t marry this dream of a man.

Needless to say that Dream spends the next week in Hobs tiny and barely renovated flat above the Inn Hob had recently bought. Half of that time he spends in Hobs embrace, the other half in his lap. Dream refuses to let his new love out of sight, clings to him, afraid Hob might find out about his family heritage and will try to get rid of him, trying not to get in trouble for hiding - and deflowering - the prince.

But eventually, on the eighth day Dream confesses he’s the prince everyone is so desperately looking for. The prince who’s supposed to be married off to a proper and, most importantly, rich spouse.

So on the ninth day Hob and Dream say yes to each other in an old chapel by the river, the only witnesses the priest and a tiny black cat who Dream takes home afterwards.

On the tenth day the royal family finds them and Hob finds out what he’s got himself into.

But looking at his gorgeous husband next to him he decides it’s all worth it if he gets to live the rest of his life side by side with him.

#dreamling #dreamling fanfic #Dreamling fic ideas #hob gadling #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob x dream #morpheus x hob #the sandman #prince!au #prince!dream #commoner!hob #the sandman Netflix #please excuse any grammar mistakes #english isn’t my first language

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gabessquishytum · 3 months ago

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Drug ring leader Dream and undercover agent Hob who's supposed to gather evidence on the mob but instead becomes friends with everyone involved under unusual circumstances (someone catches a bullet for him, someone saves his cat's life, he spends 12 hours stuck in an elevator with someone and they chat the whole time, etc...) and falls in love with the leader.

-🚒

This is amazing. It would be particularly hilarious is Hob gets sent in because he's like, the most hardened and grizzled agent in the entire force. He's a real tough guy with an unspecified dark past, and everyone has total faith that he'll do the job, gather the evidence and bring down the drug ring without a hitch.

Unfortunately Hob also happens to have a big heart - it's just buried under layers of trauma. And it slowly gets revealed as the people working for Dream’s gang are actually nice to him (a whole lot nicer than Hob’s bosses and handlers actually). He gets invited for home cooked meals, game nights, even a freaking book club! Matthew, one of the gang's getaway drivers, fixes up Hob’s car. A lovely accountant called Lucienne who does the money laundering for the gang helps Hob to figure out his pension scheme.

Dream himself is a total sex god, as far as Hob is concerned. For a drug dealer he certainly has a very good taste in clothes (although everything is of course black), and he and the rest of the gang essentially live in a palace. He's beautiful and aristocratic and Hob wants to worship him within about 5 minutes of making his acquaintance.

Dream totally knows that Hob is an undercover agent (it was pretty obvious) but he's rather amused by the idea of having a pet agent. The rest of the gang like Hob just fine, even Cori the bodyguard who originally advocated for torturing him "just a little". Hob is basically harmless, and his cat is very very cute. And if the boss likes him...

The boss likes him a lot. Enough to get Hob locked up in his own handcuffs and cuffed to the bed posts in Dream’s bedroom! Which, coincidentally, is exactly where Hob wants to be <3

#🚒 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw drugs

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valiantstarlights · 3 months ago

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I am so sorry you got that really rude message

People are idiots and have no respect

I hope you have a good day with your nokia 3310 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Love your works and posts. YOU ARE THE BEST

😭 Thank you so much! 🙇‍♀️🥰

I hope you have a wonderful day, anon 😊💐

As a treat, here's a little something from The Bodyguard AU I'm writing for @teejaystumbles. It's a conversation between Dream and Death. Enjoy! ✨

"There is no problem with the job itself. It's just another security job for just another artist. Someone called Bob Golding?"

"(coughs and sputters) Hob Gadling? Desire wants you to be the bodyguard of Hob Gadling??"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Do I know-- (deep inhale) Dream. My favorite brother. Are you seriously asking me if I know Hob Gadling?"

"I take it that he's a well-known artist, then?"

"(bright, merry laughter) Are you serious? No, that was a rhetorical question. Of course you're serious. Yes, Hob Gadling is a well-known artist. Some would say he's already bigger than Ed Sheeran."

"I don't know who that is."

"No. Adele?"

"...Is she the one Despair likes?"

"Yes! Thank goodness for Despair. Oh my god. Dream! Hob is the one I like. Like, he's literally my favorite singer ever. I've been a fan of his ever since his debut six years ago. I can't believe you don't know him."

#ask and you shall receive #breaking news: nice people get nice things #teejaystumbles #the bodyguard au #dreamling #the sandman #my writing

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dsudis · 1 year ago

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I hope this isn't weird, but you posted that and my brain threw this up for you:

Dream only listens with half an ear at what Hob is saying down the line, especially once he picks out "I'll come down but," and ignores the rest. He can pay whatever bonus is needed, and throw in some more.

Hob is, surprisingly, worth keeping. It's not just the skills but the fact that he seems to have, for a lack of a better word, a way with Orpheus. An understanding. With everyone else his son is difficult, he's Dream's after all, but he gets on well with Hob. It's a strange relief he hasn't felt in so long he might never have experienced it to know, for once, that when the weekend man is sick and Desire is making sure to harangue him and make up some reason Dream is needed immediately there is someone he can call. Someone reliable.

Which is why he feels almost nauseous with what feels like a betrayal he has only half a right to when he finally gets back to the house and gets his foot on the stairway and realizes the child's laughter he's hearing doesn't belong to Orpheus at all. Rare as it is, he knows his son. He takes the steps up two at a time and collides inelegantly with the doorframe, like a cat misjudging a corner, to peer into his son's room to see something so extraordinary it feels like a dream.

There's an unknown boy on the rug, building something complicated with Orpheus as if he spent every Saturday helping him erect a mishmash of Lego and Duplo and wooden blocks balanced on the belly of a stuffed once-white rabbit. Orpheus, who has prompted more calls and teacher's notes about the importance of sharing than Dream can count, and is now smiling while telling a fantastical story that seems to fascinate the other child. The one that looks just like Hob Gadling, who is watching them with a soft warmth in his face Dream has never seen, mastering a trick Dream can't get the hang of: being present but not intrusive as his son plays.

There's a rush of something, in his ears and his chest, warm and familiar and unwanted. He'd felt it last when Calliope had first held Orpheus and looked down at him, pink and roughly formed. He hasn't seen it since, much less felt it. He remembers, all over again, the way he does when Orpheus pushes his curls behind his ears in a mirror perfect imitation of his mother, who he can barely remember, because she'd left. She had not looked back. Hob is paid to be here.

"Mr. Gadling," Dream says, and pointedly does not waver at the vague and quickly hidden surprise on Hob's face at the address. "You may go now, I no longer require your services," he finishes, hardening his heart at the boys' pleas to be allowed to play, just for five minutes longer. "For today you mean?" Hob says, too calm, and Dream hears himself say "Clearly," without realizing he'd made a decision. He feels, strangely, that he doesn't regret it.

[Because he's gonna fall in love ho ho ho]

😍😍😍

#yes please #this #dreamling #the sandman #bodyguard hob #modern single dads au

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lenreli · 10 months ago

Text

endless pawns playing a fixed game

Explicit, 7.8k, Dream/Hob. Reacher-inspired AU with an ex-spy Hob and mafia kid Dream!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

[AO3]

When Hob took the Endless family bodyguard position, it was mainly for the paycheck. And also a lack of breaking kneecaps for collecting debts, which he does feel some way about. More that it’s a waste of his considerable skill, but nonetheless.

Recent hushed rumours around the estate have made the Endless bosses more paranoid for their well-being, so he’s gathered in his time at the vast place.

The bosses are ― well, efficient mob, and just generally terrible people, as evidenced by shouting matches featuring Night or Time, which surely can’t be their real names―

Then again, with their children’s names, with the many different aged children also getting into screaming matches with the parents, Hob considers his lack of family a blessing, in cases like this.

The kids, with all sorts of D-name, are varied, and from what he gathered, either orphans gathered up for some good PR, or due to some twisted sense of actually wanting a family. Or maybe they were from people and former mob bosses the parents killed and raised, which would be an impressive sort of fucked up. The kids are mostly a non-issue for him as he does his job, and usually walks past a few of them throughout his days―

He’s used to seeing Death’s much-too-kind smile, to Destiny being cloistered up in the library, to Desire’s comings and goings at all hours, and surely he must’ve seen Dream somewhere before that night of the attempted poisoning.

As he looks around the room as some poor schmuck is taken, screaming and pleading, he catches blue eyes and is momentarily stunned. As Desire talks to Dream, Hob gathers that stoic, pale man mainly lives around the art quarters ― which would explain why Hob only briefly remembers him. Plus, the art quarters are very dark and moody, and this is probably the first time he’s seen Dream in actual good light, arms crossed as he talks quietly with Desire.

As he stares at the cut of Dream’s suit, the blue eyes stare at him for a moment, and Hob catalogues the minute expressions of annoyance as Dream talks with Desire. He definitely knows those blue eyes, have felt them following him since he arrived at the estate, a background awareness of everything else, and Hob considers Dream’s pink, plush lips, low voice begging and screaming, pale skin splashed with―

“Gadling!” His boss calls and he looks over, Dusk folding her arms and giving him an unimpressed look, “you’re needed.”

Blinking, he puts his hands into the pockets of his pants, “what about Cori?” He’s pretty sure Cori actually gets off on the torture in his job, and he’d hate to take that from him.

“Who the fuck knows. Hence, you,” Dusk drawls, and she gives him an extra glare for good measure, eyes narrowing as she looks between him and Dream. Hob nods and suppresses a smirk, thinking of how cute it is that she thinks her disapproval, or even some don’t fuck who you work for would stop him.

If there’s something Hob likes about his job, it’s that there’s always plots under schemes to uncover, always people to kill ― and now, Dream’s blue eyes staring at him occasionally, like they’re drawn to him. And maybe when Hob feels like a pointless one night stand, he gets a pale twink with dark hair and bites into his neck, replacing the high whines with Dream’s deep voice, the coarse black hair he tugs with the soft-looking spikes of Dream’s hair. Just for a bit of fun.

Hob’s always one for looking for the bright things in life, especially after getting out of his former job.

The point is, his life is pretty good, potential firing squad due to some light treason notwithstanding.

Sometimes the goons of the estate think that the Endless kids should learn how to defend themselves, which would be good, he’s sure, if said goons weren’t such idiots when it comes to teaching them. And today they’ve managed to drag a scowling Dream out of his art quarters, which is why he’s actually witnessing their poor attempts at teaching today.

“Are you going to keep judging, or are you going to give a few pointers?” The big man frowns at him. Hob blinks and crosses his arms, leaning more on the wall as he glances at Dream, hair ruffled and scowling.

“I’m not the teaching type,” he says with a shrug, and the goon scowls, no doubt angry at Hob as he barks orders at Dream, who looks just as impressed as Hob does with him.

The subpar teaching makes for good entertainment, and Hob briefly considers maybe giving Dream private lessons. Or maybe not so private, if only for the good screaming and whining to be echoed throughout the grounds.

At last, the goon gives up with a huff, and Hob stares at the bruise on Dream’s cheek, the colour matching the other’s lips as Dream straightens out his ratty black clothes, small specks of blue paint on the bottom of Dream’s shirt.

Dream looks at him, stepping closer, absurdly plush mouth opening―and a phone rings. Dream frowns and takes out a flip phone, answering it curtly, then shortly leaving.

A week after that, something is wrong. Dream has been one for Wednesday meetings with his sister in the library, and nothing. Only Death, looking faintly worried.

Then a ransom call comes in, and Hob only gets that Dream’s been kidnapped before he holds his anger tightly, the Endless parents not even worried as the modulated voice lists their demands. Many of the fellow security and goons give him skittish looks, who have been wordlessly ribbing him for taking a liking to Dream.

Hob says nothing to the Endless parents as he leaves the room, ringing up some of his contacts to get something, and quickly ― before he decides they need some persuasion.

In the end, it takes seven days for him to find out that Burgess, another mob boss, recently hooked up electricity to an abandoned building, the night before the ransom call. Hob briefly considers going to Fawney Rig, where Burgess’s own mansion is, then considers after, once Dream is back at the estate.

For all the heightened security that the Endless parents put in, they’re remarkably unconcerned that their own son is kidnapped, whether out of neglect, or simply because of the people around working on it, Hob is unclear about. And, well, if they didn’t give him his income, he’d consider adding more bodies to the one’s he’s already planning on.

When he tells security of his plans, they offer to give him some goons as ‘back-up’ and Hob bites back a scoff. “I can handle it myself,” he frowns, glaring at the man until he steps back, nodding sharply.

The plan is to go through the abandoned building and kill everyone that’s not Dream. A simple one, but it’s never failed him yet.

Hob is almost offended at the front door, when he goes in to see five rent-a-thugs, nothing approaching a challenge as he methodically makes his way through them. With two already dead, he uses the body of one as a shield, gunshots ringing out, but soon silenced by one of his daggers through the shooter’s heart.

The other two go down with more daggers thrown, and once he’s collected and cleaned them off with fabric from the cheap suits of the men, he puts them away and sighs.

Unsurprisingly, the other rooms are easy enough to go through, finally finding Dream tied up on a chair, with two men near the door, guns raised at him. Hob puts on a disarming smile, putting his hands up. “I’m going to be nice, and tell you how you die,” he says, smiling brightly. Then men are shaking, guns rattling quietly in their grips. “You,” he nods to the man on his right, “are going to try and shoot me, and then I’m going to go after your buddy here and kill him with a clean knife to the heart. Then I’m going to take it out of his body and throw it into your heart, and you’ll both be dead before you hit the ground.”

The men seem even more freaked out, sharing scared looks ― but this isn’t about them. Maybe he wanted to show off, just a little bit, for the captive audience. Dream’s blue eyes are wide, mouth gagged with black fabric― and the man on his right moves, and it goes like he said, pulling out his dagger and cleaning it off the dead man’s body before stowing it away.

“Hello, Dream,” the other man’s eyes go even wider, a muffled sound going through the gag as he walks up to him, leaning over the chair to cut loose the ropes holding Dream. “We haven’t met yet officially, but you can call me Hob,” he smiles as he rips off the gag, then goes to the ropes around Dream’s legs, cutting them off as he stands up. Dream also gets up, face even more pale ― and Hob’s brows furrow as he touches the corner of Dream’s mouth, where a bruise is. “Maybe I should’ve tortured them more,” he remarks.

“Thank you,” Dream croaks, eyes a dark, deep blue and Hob hums, stepping away as he rubs his thumb, still feeling the soft skin under it.

“Let’s get you back home, Endless.” Hob gives Dream a once-over, finding nothing out of place with the black suit, or the way Dream’s holding himself.

“Is it just you?” Dream asks as they step outside of the room, and Dream stops, looking at the bodies lining the rooms as they go through each one. Dream always takes a moment to stop, looking at the various bodies, wide eyes leaving them to look at him ― and his clean suit, not a speck of blood on him.

“I was offered back-up, but they’d just get in the way,” he says with a shrug. Dream nods as they exit the building, and Hob opens the back car door, then stops Dream from getting in. “Burgess met you, didn’t he? Probably to gloat, he seems like the type of asshole to do that,” Dream steps back and nods as Hob leans on the car door. “Do you expressly order for me to kill him for you, or do I have to do it without it?”

Dream’s mouth moves, opening and shutting before something hard settles over Dream’s expression, “you can kill him,” Dream says, voice breathless and Hob nods. Moving out of the way, he gets in on the other side as Dream slides in, looking at the dark screen between them and Mervyn, the driver, starts the car.

Dream still looks shocked, wide-eyed and flushed cheeks, and Hob considers the effects of kidnapping, which are never good. Or maybe it was all the dead bodies, especially considering Dream maybe doesn’t have much experience with that.

Hob watches as Dream takes deep breaths, suit jacket being thrown off, then shoes joining them, and Hob tilts his head, looking at pale collarbones, sweaty and glistening as Dream undoes the top buttons of the shirt, black a contrast to the white of his skin. “I need you,” Dream says roughly, eyes mostly black, and Hob blinks as Dream pulls him closer by his collar, “to fuck me,” Dream states before kissing him, biting into his lips. Or maybe, Hob thinks nonsensically, grabbing onto Dream’s waist as the other man slides into his lap.

Hob blinks, eyebrows raised, “no complaints here, just as long as you don’t regret it,” he breathes, fingers sliding up under a black shirt, and he watches as Dream shivers, bony limbs pushing him down onto the backseat.

“Definitely not,” Dream says sharply, cold hands tearing open his blazer, then waistcoat and shirt, and Dream pauses as his blazer is thrown off, eyes zeroed in on the bracers around his biceps ― and the daggers in them. There’s a huff as Dream takes them off, then the bracers and his waistcoat and shirt, and there’s another huff as Dream stares at the harness around his shoulders, the guns on them. “Hob.”

Suppressing a smile, he shrugs as he toes his pointed shoes off, Dream still on his lap as he watches Hob pull out a tiny syringe, then a few small daggers and puts them on his other weapons on the floor.

“A syringe?” Dream asks, leaning closer to look.

“Lethal poison,” he says, sitting up to sit against the car side, his hands going under Dream’s shirts to take it off, pale skin and pink nipples, and he nibbles up Dream’s neck, restraining himself from drawing blood as Dream whimpers. “This too, plus another, but you’ll have to take my pants off for that,” he whispers into Dream’s ear as he tugs the hair tie off his wrist, throwing it onto his pile of weapons.

Dream makes a sound, cold hands getting warmer as they tug at Hob’s pants, “a hair tie?” The other man asks incredulously, belt being taken off to join the rest of the weapons as Dream takes a moment to stare at the line of tiny daggers lining the inside of the belt.

“The hair tie can also turn into barbed wire,” he offers with a smirk, “and not that, I forgot about those,” he shrugs, arousal a constant, pleasant buzz with how Dream is sitting on him. Dream mutters something, words incomprehensible as Dream sits up to tug his pants off, the underwear, knives strapped with harnesses on his thighs thrown with everything else, and Dream’s look of annoyance makes Hob bite back a laugh.

“Is that all? Anything else?” Dream hisses, and Hob does actually smirk as Dream tugs at his chest hair. Hob hums and touches the crotch of the other’s pants, feeling a wet spot already as he unbuttons them, clearly not as turned off by all the weapons.

“Not today,” he says. Tugging Dream closer by the zip of his pants, there’s a broken sound as they kiss filthily, and Hob’s already addicted to the feel of Dream’s smooth skin as his nails scratch down thighs, Dream’s lower clothes soon joining the rest. “I’m not taking you raw,” he drawls, smiling as Dream tugs his hair and pulls back with a huff.

Dream mutters some more and reaches for the back of the passenger seat, revealing a compartment filled with small packets of lube and condoms. Desire, probably, Hob’s mind supplies as he takes some of the lube and a condom. “I thought this would involve more fucking, not all these―” Dream’s complaint turns into a moan as Hob pushes a finger inside Dream, and his cock twitches at the thought of going inside that warm heat as he bites at the other’s jaw.

Dream pants, breath harsh near his ear as fingers grip his chest hair and he adds another finger, twisting and stretching the walls around them. “Hard or soft?” He asks, free hand digging into and trailing up Dream’s spine, feeling him shiver and shake as Dream clenches around his fingers.

“Now,” is the desperate order, and Hob pulls Dream by the hair into a forceful kiss, making those pink lips even redder as he takes out his fingers and prepares his cock, lube and condom cool compared to the burning heat of Dream on top of him. Hob groans as he enters the tight heat, Dream shuddering and squeezing around him, and Dream cries out, a hand coming down from his hair to dig into the stubble of his jaw. “Yes,” Dream breathes, twitching.

Hob takes a deep breath, smelling blood and sweat on Dream’s neck as he gets used to the feeling, a part of him wanting to drive in, but also Dream was just kidnapped, so he tries to have a modicum of care as he bottoms out, nails digging into Dream’s waist as they adjust. The tenuous self-control frays as Dream wriggles on top of him, licking into his mouth as Dream grinds down onto his cock.

“Stop being such a pussy and fuck me,” Dream croaks ― and there’s a gasp as Hob’s free hand circles Dream’s neck, nails digging into the other’s esophagus until Dream coughs, eyes wide and dick leaking onto Hob’s stomach.

“With the way you’re acting, no,” he frowns as Dream continues to cough, eventually nodding frantically as Dream’s hand pulls the one away from the other’s throat.

Dream licks his lips, a bit of terror in his eyes that makes Hob’s sharp anger lessen. “Please,” Dream whispers, eyes still overtaken with black, a thin ring of deep blue as the car passes a pot-hole, jostling them and Dream wails. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Better,” he breathes, tugging Dream’s hair roughly as he guides the other man up and down his cock, feeling tight walls slowly loosen up as Dream is impaled on him. Dream tries to say something, but Hob shifts him and only a cry comes out as he hits the other’s prostate, and Hob nibbles at the blossoming bruise on Dream’s throat in the shape of his hand.

Dream sobs and claws at his chest, at his shoulder as they fuck, as his tempo rises ― and Dream comes with a sob, squeezing his cock tightly and pulling an orgasm out of him.

Checking all his weapons are where they’re meant to be, he puts on his clothes as Dream frowns, glaring at him on the backseat. “Now, I have to report to security, and you’ll probably have to deal with your family, so. See you around, Dream,” he says with a lazy fingered salute as he hops out of the car. “Mervyn,” he says with a smile and a nod towards the driver. Mervyn gives him the middle finger as he leaves.

The security briefing is, well, brief. Mainly because he doesn’t reveal the people who kidnapped Dream. So that he can go after them himself, but that’s splitting hairs. There’s a cacophony of sound, and there’s a done-up Dream, looking only a tiny bit ruffled as he’s surrounded by all his siblings as they talk at him. Dream catches his eye and sends him a desperate get me out of here look, and Hob only shrugs, leaning against the wall as Death and Delirium move on to hugging Dream, only quickly though.

Dream scowls, bruises on his neck hidden by layers of collars and black as he steps into Hob’s space once the room has cleared out and the siblings have dispersed. “Will you join me? To my room,” Hob raises an eyebrow and Dream looks away, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, “for protection, after my ordeal.”

Hob frowns, Dream looking so exhausted now, and he nods, following after Dream into the labyrinth of the mansion until they end up at a room near the art quarters, opening into a red and black bedroom. Hob watches as Dream sheds off his clothes, marks and bruises ― mainly from him, bright against his skin as Dream goes into the bathroom. Hob closes the bedroom door as Dream fills the bath in his en suite, eventually hopping in with a weary sigh.

There’s only the sound of a ticking clock, a far-off, muffled television as Dream curls up in the bath, eventually hopping out after at least an hour. Hob’s heart aches, which he ignores as Dream pulls a fluffy black towel around himself. “Hob,” Dream whispers, voice rusty as Dream dries himself off, getting into a ratty black shirt and pants. “Will you stay? Until I fall asleep?”

Dream looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, drained and tired, at how vulnerable Dream is, and he wants to make sure that no-one else ever sees that look, as much as he wants to make it even worse. However, he did say, he would deal with Dream’s captors, and he thinks of the soft touch of the other’s skin, the fiery determination, even after being rescued.

His heart, which he long thought dead, twists at the other’s exhaustion, and the decision is simple.

“Of course.”

Going through the information gathered on Fawney Rig, Hob may actually have a bit of a challenge, so he decides to take his time working out angles, and what he plans to do. Especially when he discovers that the kidnapping wasn’t the first time he’s interacted with Dream, and those haven’t been good either. Nothing as overt as kidnapping, but enough of a pattern to make Hob think of the many ways to flay an old man alive.

Afterwards, Dream asks him to his room more. Sometimes for just peace of mind, apparently. And other times for sex, which isn’t trouble at all, and Hob is happy with the way things are going in life, even as he deals with rising amounts of plots against the Endless family with no clear mastermind, much to his frustration.

However, there’s always time for some fun, this time with Dream pushing him against his bedroom door and kneeling down, hands quickly taking him out and Hob gasps at the hot mouth around his dick, sucking him to hardness. Groaning, Hob grabs onto soft dark hair as Dream pushes his hips against the door.

“What, no undressing me first?” He says, and Dream stops to give him a withered look, clearly not in the mood to deal with his many weapons. Hob barks out a laugh as Dream licks him.

Dream moans, long black lashes fluttering as Hob fills up in his mouth, the other’s nails digging into the harnesses under his pants, daggers cold against his skin as Dream licks and sucks.

“You may want to move those hands,” he breathes, tugging the other’s black hair, “daggers.” Dream gives him a tired look and pulls off him, teeth lightly grazing the top of his cock, annoyance showing even more as Dream tugs down his pants to reveal the harness and taking off the daggers.

There’s a huff as Dream’s mouth returns, one of Dream’s hands going underneath his shirt to tug at his chest hair, and the pleasure fizzles steadily, unwilling to look away from the other man.

Even just looking at Dream in this position is enough to make his arousal build, spiraling at how much Dream obviously enjoys it. “So pretty,” he whispers, and Dream shivers around him, lashes fluttering and Hob smirks as Dream’s hips move, grinding into air. “Taking me so well,” he says, a hand trailing down to touch Dream’s jaw, going down to a pale throat as Dream moans and swallows around him. “Knew you’d be good with lips like these.”

Dream whimpers as his hand goes up to pink lips, split around his cock, a thumb pressing inside the warm heat. There’s a cry, blue eyes shiny and tears sticking to the edge of long lashes.

His orgasm is a slow thing, helped along as he tugs Dream by his hair, making him choke and swallow around him desperately as he comes. Dream coughs, covering his mouth as he swallows the white fluid. “Was that necessary?” Dream asks, voice rough and fucked, and Hob meets on the floor with a smirk.

“No, it was just fun,” he says with a grin, making Dream gasp as he tugs black hair roughly. Pulling him in for a messy kiss, licking some off of Dream's puffy lips as Dream whimpers. His other hand goes to black skinny jeans, swiftly undoing them―and Hob raises his eyebrows, leaning back as Dream’s face reddens. “Was it the praise or the way I used you?”

Dream’s face burns even more as his hand feels a softening cock, come coating his fingers as he takes his hand out.

A different day, and Hob’s spent hours between Dream’s sheets, wringing out orgasms until he’s had his fill, the night air cool on his skin as he sits up on the bed, a warm lamp and moonlight showing their clothes strewn about the room. He at least tries to sit up, with a skinny arm going around his waist, and there’s a groan as Hob puts some of his daggers back into their harnesses. “Cuddly, are you?” He asks.

“No,” Dream groans, muffled against his skin as the other man curls around him, a thumb going under one of his thigh harnesses as bright blue eyes peek at him. “Surely there’s better things to do than whatever you’re planning.”

“Like making you come even more?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he finds his syringe of poison, putting it into place. Dream huffs, pouting as Hob moves off the bed to sheathe even more of his weapons before haphazardly putting on his pants, afterglow settling in his veins.

“I could read to you,” Dream says, pride in his tone and Hob blinks, baffled as he turns to look back at Dream. “I have been told I have a good reading voice,” Dream explains as he picks up a book from his nightstand. Hob considers ― and Dream does have a good voice, and Hob did work very hard today with his own side project of dealing with Burgess.

Hob crosses his arms and waits, although, “well, Prince of Stories?” Hob says sarcastically, and Dream blinks, shock on his face before it quickly becomes blank, Dream flipping through to the start of the book, a bookmark kept in place near the end of it.

“Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen. In Carcosa,” Dream begins, words deep and resounding, and vaguely familiar.

“Horror?” He says with a grin, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. Dream’s eyebrow twitches.

“It’s what I’ve been reading,” is offered primly. Dream clears his throat and pulls the sheets over himself, eyes focused on the page in front of him intently. “Strange is the night where black stars rise. And strange moons circle through the skies But stranger still, is Lost Carcosa―”

Hob frowns as he walks towards the art quarters, knowing that Dream would be there, since he’s not in his room. While the mansion has many cameras, there are none in Dream’s art areas or their rooms ― and not that he’d care for them, but it’s handy, especially with what he wants to talk to Dream about. Sighing, he enters the art room, finding Dream mixing paint near a canvas. “Anything you want to tell me?”

Dream turns around and blinks, paintbrush in his hand dripping black paint. “About?”

“Like another attempt on your parent’s life, which I only found out about after I left your room,” he says slowly, walking closer to Dream.

“What are you implying?” Dream asks, shock giving away to an offended glare as the paintbrush gets put down. Hob doesn’t say anything, just watches as Dream glares at him, and continues―until a tiny tic, Dream looking away momentarily.

“You knew,” he drawls as he grabs the other’s jaw, forcing blue eyes to look at him as Dream tries to look away again. “Why?”

“You have some gall to accuse me,” Dream breathes, trying to push his hand away and failing as Hob digs his nails into Dream’s jaw. There’s a brief look of terror from Dream as his fingers go down a pale throat, beginning to cut air from his windpipe. “It wasn’t,” Dream gasps, voice high, “I did want to spend more time with you, but also.”

“Again. Why?” He asks as he lets go, letting Dream wheeze and take some deep breaths.

“They want to send Delirium off,” Dream mutters, “and we―my sibling and I, don’t want that.”

Hob nods, rumours and attempts coalescing into a clear picture, “that’s all? They want to send her away?”

“Among other things,” Dream says quietly, giving him a wide-eyed look, “you can’t tell anyone.”

Hob crosses his arms as he tilts his head, “I don’t know. I do enjoy the money.”

“Once they’re ― nothing will change with that, I swear,” Dream says, almost pleading, “just a change in who runs things.”

Sighing, Hob steps back as he pats Dream’s cheek, a brief flash of fear crossing the other’s face. And, well, he did briefly consider killing the parents himself for the way they acted with Dream’s kidnapping. “As long I get my money, do what you want,” he says curtly as he leaves.

A day later, and Dream freezes once he enters his bedroom. “Hob, I thought you’d be…” Dream trails off as Hob smiles, waiting for the other man to come closer.

“Maybe I wanted to reward you for being so honest with me,” he says, holding his hands out ― which Dream takes warily as he pulls Dream on top of him. The other man looks confused and apprehensive, even as they share biting kisses. “A gift,” he breathes, smiling as Dream’s hands go under his shirt ― and stops, the hands leaving to pat over his thighs and chest.

“Why do you have no weapons,” Dream says flatly, patting his thighs like he expects them to suddenly materialise from where Hob stashed them in the en suite. Hob resists rolling his eyes, bringing Dream in for another kiss, licking into the other’s mouth as their clothes are shed. The arousal builds slowly as he grabs Dream’s hip, stroking up and down as Dream gets his lube.

“No,” he whispers, and Dream lets out a sound as Hob takes the lube from Dream, coating his fingers in it ― and Dream makes another sound as Hob puts the finger in himself, feeling odd after so many years. “Like this,” he says into Dream’s lips, watching Dream’s eyes widen, mouth dropping as Hob puts another finger in, stretching himself.

“You―what,” Dream chokes, thin hands gabbing his waist tightly as Dream stares down as Hob puts another finger in, stretch sliding from weird to pleasurable as he brushes his prostate, gasping at the jolt of it.

“A gift,” he whispers, looking up through his lashes as he finishes prepping himself ― and putting a condom on Dream’s red, leaking dick. There’s a whimper from Dream, hands fluttering up and down his chest as Dream breeches him. “And a punishment,” Hob says with a grin as Dream bottoms out, and he shivers through the pleasure, nails digging into Dream’s jaw to force those blue eyes to look at him.

“Fucking you? A punishment?” Dream asks, expression flummoxed, then quickly turning into determination and cockiness as Dream holds him down. The rhythm builds quickly, sometimes brushing against that bundle of nerves and bringing Hob closer to orgasm ― and Dream looks quietly smug, blue eyes dark as Hob clenches around him.

Hob blinks, watching as Dream fucks into him, nails scratching marks into his waist as Dream gets closer to coming ― and when Dream exits him, he puts his hand around the other’s cock. Dream cries out, orgasm stopped in place by his hand. “I think I need another orgasm. You, however.”

Dream’s eyes widen, pink mouth gaping, cockiness forgotten, “but I. No. Hob,” Dream pleads, “Hob, please.”

Smiling at how he can feel Dream’s cock twitch and jerk in his hand, he deems the orgasm stopped ― and uses his other hand to control Dream by the hips, guiding him in. Dream cries out, body collapsing on top of him as Hob guides the other’s cock, oversensitivity making it pleasure-painful as his cock eventually starts to fill again, and there’s only the sound of slapping skin, his moans and Dream’s pleading as his next orgasm arrives slowly.

By then, he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm once more, who continues to beg into his neck.

His third orgasm is erring on the side of painful and dry, but he enjoys it anyway as Dream lets out a broken wail as his own orgasm is stopped, Dream’s body shaking above him, and he can feel tears on his neck. “Do you think you’ve learnt yet?” He asks breathlessly, smiling as Dream nods against his neck. “I’m not entirely sure you have, considering that stunt you pulled.”

His fourth orgasm is entirely dry, the oversensitivity making him grit his teeth as his walls clench around Dream’s throbbing cock. Dream at this point is completely incoherent, only the suggestions of begging are almost discernible beneath broken sounds.

It’s after he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm for the seventh time, does he take Dream out, who is a collapsed, shivery mess on top of him. As he gets up from the bed, Dream blindly reaches for him, eventually gripping onto one of his biceps. “Hob,” Dream croaks, blue eyes watery and puffy, black eyeliner running.

“Behave, and I might let you come,” Hob purrs, pulling Dream in for a filthy kiss by his hair, and then leaving to put everything on in the en suite.

Next day, the soreness is pushed away with painkillers ― and the way Dream stares at him, eyes pleading and suit askew at a meeting for the family. Hob listens on with half an ear, mostly looking outside the window as he feels Dream’s gaze on him.

“Oi!” A voice hisses next to him, and Hob turns around to see Matthew ― and a cut-off, decaying finger in a ziplock bag. “Hold this.”

Sighing, he gets out his leather gloves, putting them on before handling that, turning it around to look at a tag also in the bag, only making out a vague Choron, “more dirty work?”

“Trash, actually,” Matthew says as he picks up a drink. Hob gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it, I just wanted a bit of space.”

Hob goes to say something, but catches Dream’s intense stare across the way ― the way Dream’s lips have parted as they hand at his hands. “Ever wonder how they lived with that?” He asks idly, shaking the bag and bringing it up to his eye level, Dream’s gaze pinned on his hands.

Matthew chuckles, and there’s a gulp and sigh as Matthew drinks more of the middling beer usually on offer for such a fancy place as this, “badly, probably. Can’t imagine jerking off with a missing finger, poor fuck,” Matthew says with a laugh. Hob smirks, and the rest of the meeting passes uneventfully, and Hob watches as Dream squirms in his seat, heavy gaze resting on him all the while.

Meeting adjourned, Hob’s unsurprised with how fast Dream appears next to him ― although, the way Dream grabs hold of his lapels and pushes him against the corridor wall is a bit of a surprise, considering the cameras as they share heated kisses. “What brought this on?” He asks, gloved hands holding onto the other’s jaw, watching as Dream shivers, body pressing against him.

“Hob, you know why,” Dream says, tone almost desperate as he pushes his face into Hob’s hand. “Please.”

Humming, his hand trails down the other’s torso, feeling Dream press even closer as he reaches Dream’s clothed cock, his other hand going to tug Dream’s head to the side as he bites into the marks hiding under Dream’s collar. Arousal flares as Dream whimpers, squirming against him as he opens the other’s pants, leather-clad hand stroking Dream’s leaking cock.

“Yes,” Dream gasps, a pale hand gripping the back of his neck as he strokes Dream, almost no friction from pre-come getting onto the leather. “More,” Dream breathes and Hob looks up, catching sight of a goon staring at them.

“Think this is good enough for now, don’t you think?” He smirks, keeping eye contact with the shocked goon as his hand in Dream’s hair ghosts down his back to slide under Dream’s shirt, feeling him shiver and cry out. The goon seems to move out of his stupor and walks out of sight, Hob tracking him as he bites further up Dream’s neck. “After all, the only reason I’m not fucking you at this moment, is if I’m not sure if you deserve it.”

Dream lets out a pathetic sound, clutching him tighter he presses against the slit of Dream’s cock, making the other man shiver. “It won’t―that won’t happen again,” Dream pants.

Hob sighs, twisting his wrist as Dream moans, hands scrabbling desperately over his torso as it takes only a few more strokes until Dream comes. There’s a loud cry, Dream going boneless as his other hand goes to Dream’s front to pinch at pink nipples hidden under the black dress shirt. “Next time, I won’t be as nice,” he says, hand moving out of―

Until Dream grabs his wrist, and his cock, neglected, throbs as Dream licks his come off the black leather, eyes an intense dark blue as they look at him.

“Needy, aren’t you?” He rasps, Dream’s eyes fluttering shut as he continues to lick the his gloved hands, and Hob moans as Dream grabs his cock. Dream undoes his belt and zipper as his thumb presses Dream’s bottom lip, black glove and pink lips making his cock twitch before Dream gets his own hands on it, stroking it in a frenzied rush as Dream bites at his fingers, licking the palm of his hand as Hob comes with a groan.

Dream has asked him to be around his art room, looking haunted ― and Hob gets the impression he’s there for more emotional support again, which. He’s a bit out of practice with, but for Dream usually just requires being in the area, so he’s sitting in one of the plush chairs and reading a book, while Dream mixes paints and glares daggers at a canvas.

There’s a sigh, and a clatter as brushes get put down, “why do you let them do that?” Dream asks, apropos of nothing and Hob blinks, attention dragged away from his book to Dream.

“Let who do what?” He crosses his legs, placing the book down the side of the chair.

“I heard some guards talking about you. They don’t know about you.” Dream clarifies, eyes narrow as they stare at him.

“They don’t matter. And I like to operate so that people under-estimate me,” he shrugs, putting his face on his hands. “Art not co-operating today?”

Dream scowls and glares once again at the canvas, then stands up and comes over to him, hands gripping his thighs. “I read about you ― or what wasn’t heavily redacted. What did you do?”

Hob’s brows raise, and he huffs, gently pushing Dream away with his foot ― and Dream lets out a sound, blue eyes darkening as they stare at his pointed shoes. That’s always an option, Hob considers as he guides Dream onto the floor, shoe on Dream’s shoulder. Cocking his head, he thinks that Dream kneeling for him might be one of his favourite things. “A light disagreement with a former employer, nothing interesting,” he breathes.

“It said you’re to be executed on sight, from the MI6, that wasn’t redacted,” Dream scowls, trying to hold onto getting his answers. Hob hums, smirking as he puts his other leg in between Dream’s, lightly pressing onto the other’s crotch, and Dream gasps.

“The disagreement wasn’t so light, then,” he amends, feeling Dream’s cock fill under his shoe as Dream grabs onto his shin, nails digging into him.

“Hob,” Dream growls, staring up at him with blue eyes swallowed by black ― and Hob’s other shoe taps against Dream’s cheek, trailing to the other’s jaw and pulling his face up, legs loosely crossed as he does.

“Dream,” he mimics, feeling Dream shiver as he grinds his shoe into a hard cock. Hob blinks, resting his head on his hand, watching as Dream holds onto his ankles. “While you’re down there, there’s better things to do than talk about ancient history,” Hob drawls ― and Dream shivers, arching into the shoe on his groin ― and the point of the other shoe presses into Dream’s pink mouth.

“I―I don’t,” Dream whines, muffled by his shoe as he’s given him a wide-eyed look, surprise as Dream grabs onto the shoe near his mouth. There’s a whimper as Hob continues to press onto Dream’s cock, making the other man shudder and curl in on him, Dream’s nose brushing against his other shoe, cheeks flushing red.

“You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he purrs, own arousal making his dick hard in his pants, and he grins as Dream moans, blue eyes glazed over as they look at him, mouth open. “Look at that,” he breathes, leaning over to grip Dream’s hair, Dream following along obediently. “Now,” he guides Dream’s face to his other shoe, still grinding into Dream’s cock as the other man whimpers. “Be a good boy and lick.”

Dream lets out a whimper, staring up at him, then to his shoe, blinking ― and there's a frisson of pleasure coiling inside at seeing a tentative lick on the top of it, blue eyes fluttering closed. There’s a broken, surprised noise as Dream kisses his shoe, hands moving to grip underneath as kisses and licks get laved upon it.

Having been roughly involved in the BDSM scene, but again. Disagreements, and yet he’s delighted to see how easily Dream falls into subspace, feeling the scrape of teeth through leather as Dream bites at the point of the shoe, sucking it and Hob shivers, dick throbbing as he watches. Licking his lips, he lifts the one on Dream’s crotch, and Dream whines, staring at him imploringly. “If you want to come, you’ll have to work for it.”

Reclining back in the chair and resting his fingers on his cheek, Dream takes a few deep breaths, blinking up at him. Dream moves forward, a hand coming to grip the ankle of the shoe that was grinding into him ― and he lets out a pleased sound as Dream starts to press against his shoe, chest arching into his leg as Dream moves up and down.

“Beautiful,” he praises, stroking Dream’s red cheek as he whines and grounds up against him, licking the top of his other shoe, and there’s only the sound of their breathing, and Dream’s whining, with leather creaking as Dream works himself towards orgasm.

Dream comes with a cry, hiding his face into Hob’s shoe as he pants, weight falling onto Hob’s legs as Dream stares up at him.

A week later, Hob enters Dream’s room, who reacts with ― embarrassment, blue eyes looking away as Dream’s face starts to redden. “What?” Dream asks, voice gruff and giving him a death glare.

“I’m going to visit a mutual friend today,” he says dryly, and Dream, hunched over a desk with a notebook, tenses as Hob pulls a gun out of the holster under his suit jacket. Refraining from rolling his eyes, he grabs the barrel of the gun, butt facing Dream as he walks up to the other man, other hand in his pants. “Remember, whose men I had to deal with to free you?”

Dream’s eyes widen, looking between the gun and his face as Hob leans against the desk. “Why now?”

“Had to make a plan, at least a bit of an effort regarding some things,” he shrugs, and now Dream looks more confused, closing his notebook. “As for this,” he rattles the gun, thumb moving to the side of it to show the shining gleam of it, “a kiss? For luck,” he says with a grin.

The other man scoffs, staring down at the barrel, “why? You don’t need it,” Dream mutters, glancing between the gun and him for a few moments. Hob raises his brows, and Dream’s lips purse before he moves forward, lips pressing onto the barrel of the gun. There’s a clack of teeth against steel as Dream grabs onto his hand, eyes dark as they stare up at him.

A pink tongue presses against the barrel and Hob takes a breath, feeling himself get half-hard as Dream pulls him down, breath almost mingling over the top of the gun― And Hob takes the gun away, putting it back in its holster, Dream’s stare heavy and Hob forces his mind back on track, that’s not filled with Dream’s delicious cries and warm skin. “Later,” he manages, voice rough as he steps back, and eventually out of the room.

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dream of the endless #hob gadling #writing #not sfw #oh my amoral baby of a fic i care you so much #the second part is pretty much almost done and so #a bouquet of knives

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valeriianz · 1 year ago

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Mr. Gadling's Bodyguard | Dream x Hob | 6k | M

CW: gun violence, blood and injury, humor, action, brief mention of kidnap and torture, flirting, banter, enemies to lovers

for @levionok and their art here inspired by The Hitman's Bodyguard! and of course i wrote that kiss haha. thank you!

--------

“We’re done. You’re on your own!”

“Good!” Hob wheezes, gripping the railing and peering down, watching Dream all but run down the stairs. “I don’t need you! I’ve always been fine on my own!”

“You won’t last one hour without me!” Dream says loudly, losing all composure, all dignity. “You’ll be dead in a minute!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re about as useful as a condom in a convent.”

That brings back the memory of early this morning, trapped in a van with a dozen nuns and Hob giddily riling Dream up, clapping and singing along in his ear.

“Eat my ass!” Dream shouts, echoing off the walls, cracked with emotion Dream has never heard his own voice make.

A bark of laughter shoots through the air, making Dream’s skin prickle, followed by a matter-of-factly:

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

Dream is so angry he can’t even fathom Hob’s inane response.

“Suck it!” Dream screams as he finally makes it to the bottom floor. He’s never shouted like this before. In and outside of work, he is known for his calm, composure, his poise and self-assuredness. The entire time he’s been with Hob, Dream has become more and more unhinged. His influence worming its way under Dream’s skin, his fortitude. Hob makes him fucking crazy and he… hates him. He hates Hob.

“How can I suck it if I’m busy eating your ass?!” Hob shouts. Dream feels heat explode all the way to his hairline. Suddenly realizing in his single-minded need to distance himself, how Hob’s usual quick, snappy retorts, sound a lot like… flirting.

Like crude, disturbing coquetry.

Of all the fucking ways to react to getting punched in the face—

Dream does not have the time or patience to think too hard about that.

“Fuck you!” Dream shouts, his voice pitched and his eyes prickling despite the ridiculousness of Hob’s back-talk. He finally pushes the double doors open into the very busy square.

[Ao3!]

#hob x dream #dreamling #the sandman #hitman's bodyguard au #this is pure self-indulgence #the pacing feels everywhere but i had a blast writing it #my writing

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gildedoak · 5 months ago

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Pride Weeks 2 and 3! (I have so many ideas going on at once OMG)

Week 2 is Prince Kadou and Evemer from “A Taste of Gold and Iron” by Alexandra Rowland. Beautiful story with royal/bodyguard trope. One day I will draw Prince Kadou in ALL the gorgeous clothes.

Week 3 is another favorite ship - Delloso de la Rue and KP Hob from Dimension 20’s “A Court of Fey and Flowers.” I was a feral creature during that season. The outfits and the drama - just FAB. (I often think about Rue making owl noises when they’re frustrated, similar to what Stolas and Octavia make.)

#my art #traditional media #traditional art #a taste of gold and iron #kadou mahisti #Kadou Evemer #ruehob #acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #dimension 20 acofaf #delloso de la rue #kp hob #happy pride 🌈

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teejaystumbles · 2 years ago

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Angry voices pull him from a dreamless sleep.

"But this is the home of Robert Gadling."

"Not anymore it isn't! He didn't show up for two months, left no message, paid no rent! I waited for three weeks out of the goodness of my heart, sir, but after that I had to rent the rooms out again! I ain't made of money, sir! He can't have them back! The house is full!"

Hob opens his eyes and is confused by the strange perspective. His stranger's face hovers above him and he can see the ceiling of his apartment house. He feels strangely weightless and realises with mortification that his stranger is carrying him in his arms. And is apparently engaged in a verbal spat with his landlord. His dark eyes sparkle dangerously and he growls:

"You will find room or I will..."

Hob decides this is his cue.

"Sorry? Can I, err, get a word in?"

Hob gives his surprised stranger an awkward smile and his indignant landlord a little wave.

"Sorry dear, could you...put me down, please?"

His stranger frowns as if reluctant to release Hob (and it does make his stomach swoop fiercely) but finally sets him down after several seconds.

Hob quickly brushes himself off in an attempt to appear less undignified, barefoot and half-clothed in only trousers and shirt and gives his landlord his most charming smile.

"I'm so sorry. I got hit over the head and forgot my name and all and they put me in the sanatorium until I recovered my memory. My... acquaintance here got me out only today and brought me to my latest address. I got hit by a spell of dizziness on the way. Head is still a bit tender, you know?"

He laughs apologetically. "Anyway, so sorry to bother you. I will pay you the lost three weeks of rent, of course, once I've settled in somewhere new. Have a good day, sir."

He grabs his stranger's sleeve and pulls him quickly out the door. He follows him with a bewildered expression.

"Hob..."

"Not here."

Hob stalks on until they're a few streets away and steps into an empty alley. Only then does he realise that he is still holding onto his stranger's sleeve. He hastily let's go and mumbles an apology.

"Sorry. I...thank you. For getting me out of Burgess' house. And bringing me to my... well, my former lodgings. But I, I..." He looks around quickly.

"I'm concerned Burgess' men may still be watching this place. In case you showed up, probably. I didn't tell him anything about you, mind, but-"

"I know." the stranger interrupts him gently. Hob finally looks at him. His friend (and had he imagined him call him friend back before falling asleep?) still looks exhausted. There are deep shadows under his eyes and his posture is one Hob isn't used to see on him, stooped and almost timid. He is still beautiful. Hob blushes and looks back down at his bare feet. No shoes, no coat. Alright. First things first. He takes a deep breath and clenches his fist.

"I'll be fine from here. I don't want to keep you unnecessarily. I have a stash of money hidden away in case of emergency and provided the old goat hasn't caught wind of that, too, I'll be all set to start anew in a day or two."

His stranger seems to droop even further.

"You want me to leave?"

Hob's head shoots up, eyes wide.

"What? No! That is, I only thought I'd have taken up enough of your time already! It's...not been a hundred years, right?" He tries for a laugh but it falls flat and his friend's face looks pained. He tries again, unable to keep the truth out of his words.

"Listen, I... I'm sorry. For calling you lonely. For wanting to force you to admit to being f-... I...I..." He falters, unsure what he wants to say. "I am very grateful. That you would still come to my rescue despite all that. You can name any price, I will gladly pay it."

His stranger stares wide-eyed at him and frowns.

"There is no price, Hob Gadling." His face turns softer and he quietly adds: "I only did... what any friend would do..."

This time he has not imagined it, Hob is sure. He feels the blush rise on his cheeks again and smiles despite himself.

"Then thank you, again, for your help, my friend."

His stranger gives him a small smile back and takes a step closer. Hob has to lift his head a bit to meet his eyes.

"Have you got taller since we last met?"

His friend smirks. "I am always exactly as tall as I want to be. Hob."

"Oh. So the fact that you're towering over me right now...that's intentional?"

His voice is playful but his stranger's face grows concerned. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Hob laughs. "What, you? Nah. I find it charming. It's almost like you want to be big enough to protect me. Err..." He realises too late what he's said and wonders if he should take it back but his friend is smiling again.

"Perhaps."

Hob knows he's definitely blushing now and there is no way his stranger doesn't see it. He clears his throat and shuffles his feet, which makes him again aware of his lack of shoes.

"Right. I... would love to get dressed, actually. Do you... want to accompany me? See if my hidden stash is still there? You can protect me from any of Burgess' men, should they be looking for me, since you're apparently already in the mood for that?"

It is cheeky and presumptuous, but his stranger only hums deeply, like a purr, a sound that goes straight to Hob's groin and he shifts from one foot to the other awkwardly.

"Yes. If you will allow me... I would guard you until you have regained your footing, Hob Gadling."

Hob swallows and manages a nod. "I... would be glad. My friend."

continues here: Part 3

also on AO3 now

1889 drabble

Continuing from this post

~ Time goes by faster after that. Burgess grants him a few days to get his bearings and strength back.

Hob gets a room - with barred windows, but with a bed, a bath and food and drink. He takes full advantage of everything Burgess offers, if only to make him think him a grateful fool. Better the man thinks his will broken, Hob muses. It will make playing him a lot easier. And so he puts on a meak demeanor and shows respect, as if he's afraid to go back to the cellar. He is, but not as much as he lets Burgess believe - or so he tells himself. The first nights in a bed in over a month have him dreaming repeatedly about Burgess with a dozen arms, every one carrying a knife, coming for him from all sides, cutting out parts of him, labeling them after careful inspection while he chokes on his blood. Every night he jolts awake with a scream and lies awake for the rest of the night, terrified.

"My Lord. Don't you think it is time to check on..."

"Lucienne." he warns, but she huffs and continues brusquely: "With all due respect, sir, I believe whatever it is your... acquaintance and you have argued about, you will not like the fact that his dreams are-"

"ENOUGH!" Thunder rolls through the throne room as the Dream Lord rises to a fearsome height to tower over his librarian.

"Must I forbid you from touching his books? Or will you stop speaking about this like I ordered you?" Dream seethes. Lucienne stares back at him in defiance. She clutches a book to her chest. He grabs at it.

"Give that to me. You will not talk about him to me again, have I made myself clear?"

She releases the book and Dream pulls it from her hands and throws it behind himself onto the steps of his throne.

"Yes, my lord." Lucienne grits her teeth and stalks out without his leave. He lets her go.

The book has fallen open on its latest page onto the steps and Dream gives it a dark look, contemplating setting it on fire. Destroying a dreamer's book would be equal to erasing part of their memory, though, and so he holds himself back. Despite himself he steps closer to the book and a few words catch his eye.

be safe

Dream frowns and finally picks up the linen-bound tome and reads the latest dream thoughts of Hob Gadling.

I can endure. I can endure anything as long as you are safe. Please be safe. I don't care if you'll never see me as more than a peasant, but I can't bear to think of what they'd do to you if they catch you.

I'm running. I've been running towards you all my life. Is it still far? How much farther must I go? Where are you? If I stop he'll catch me. If I stop he'll cut me open. I don't know what to tell him. I've told him all I know, all I've learned over the centuries, but I haven't told him about you. He wants to know more. He wants to cut the secret out of me. The knifes are everywhere, they reflect in his eyes when he asks me how I am not dead yet, again, again, and I say I don't know. I am running. If I reach you, will he catch you, too? Don't let me reach you then. Don't let him catch you. I can endure.

Dream's hand shakes and he almost drops the book. He grabs it tightly and flicks back through the pages quickly. Dream after dream, nightmares really, have Hob running and falling, terror and pain spilling from his words. And interspersed with them, again and again, are pleas addressed to Dream (he knows, even without his name), but not for his help, no, but for his safety, to not fall into the same trap as Hob.

You can be hurt, or captured.

Dream has sunk to the stairs while reading and the light in the throne room has gone dim and reddish. He closes the book with a thud and stares at the golden thread stitched across its cover.

Robert Gadling - Dream Journal 1889-present

Dream presses his lips into a tight line and puts the book into his coat. Then he rises and steps towards a small side door, opening it to the library (he is impatient and so the library is right behind this door at this moment). His librarian is nowhere to be seen but he speaks into the library anyway, knowing she will hear it.

"Lucienne. I..." he searches for words but can't bring himself to voice an apology. "I acknowledge that your concern towards a certain dreamer seems justified. I will attend to the matter in the waking world. Please send Jessamy if there is any urgent business."

He doesn't wait for an answer and steps back into his throne room. He pulls out his pouch and pours sand into the air to form a portal.

I can endure. Please be safe.

He pulls on his helmet and steps through the portal with clenched fists.

#the thought of Dream arguing with the landlord is so hilarious to me hes such a helpless goof sometimes #also there is Hob as a bodyguard out there but have you considered Dream as Hob's protector? he would love that #can you imagine? hob with a giant panther curling protectively around him? it's an image to draw DAMN #own writing #1889 drabble #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction

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unpredictable-probabilities · 2 months ago

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The Dangers of Dreaming || Chapter 1: Guarded

Summary:

It's Hob's first day at his new job in Endless Media, and he struggles to find footing in being acquainted with the aloof Morpheus Endless.

Meanwhile, important people in the company are at odds with Morpheus, and someone is unhappy enough to have taken drastic measures.

Note:

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 3,701

Square/Prompt: A1 - HItman | @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Corporate, Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59305672/chapters/151250908

———

“Hello,” Hob greeted the only other person in the conference room he just entered.

“Oh hi! Are you the new bodyguard?” the young man asked, gesturing to Hob's uniform that's identical to his.

“That’s me,” Hob nodded, taking a seat at the table as he was instructed to by the security guard who led him here.

“Matthew Raven,” the dark-haired lad held out a hand and grinned. “Been a guard here since last year, but it’s only now I’ve been assigned as Sir Morpheus’ personal bodyguard. It's my first day, too.”

Hob shook his hand. “Hob Gadling, from White Horse Securities. I'm supposed to report to Mervyn Gardner?”

“Yeah he's with Sir Morpheus right now, but he's giving us a briefing later.”

“Ah, okay,” Hob nodded and leaned back in his swivel chair, looking around at the polished walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. “So what's Sir Morpheus like? Is he friendly?”

Matthew's smile faltered for a second. “Um…”

The doors opened and a man with sandy hair walked in, followed by someone wearing a crisp black suit which contrasted sharply with his fair skin.

“Robert Gadling?” the sandy-haired man asked him.

“Just Hob, sir,” Hob nodded and smiled in greeting.

“It's him, Sir Mervyn,” Matthew confirmed.

“Right, then. Both of you, let's go,” the man—Mervyn—gestured at them to stand up.

“I thought there was gonna be a briefing?” Matthew asked, straightening in his seat.

“Later. Boss was just called to a meeting. Come on,” he waved with more impatience.

Matthew scrambled to his feet and Hob followed.

They walked down the corridor past different offices, with Matthew and Hob in front of Morpheus Endless, and Mervyn behind him.

Hob almost told Mervyn that he didn't know the way to wherever the meeting was supposed to be, but he realised that their arrangement was deliberate; he and Matthew were the new guards, and they wouldn't be trusted to walk behind Morpheus where he wouldn't see them if they decided to harm him. So Hob remained quiet and just followed Matthew since he seemed to know where to go.

He expected to wait outside, but Mervyn motioned for him and Matthew to follow Morpheus into a bigger conference room than the one they’d been in.

A few men and women were already seated at the table, at the head of which was a man who Hob recognized from the news and advertisements, Vasilis Endless, Morpheus’ father. To his left was an elderly man who had a perpetual scowl on his face that only got sharper when Morpheus sat at his father’s right.

Other bodyguards were present too, presumably working for Vasilis and the frowning man, based on their proximity to them even as the guards stood by the far wall. No doubt they also signed NDAs like Hob did and were prohibited to speak of anything they hear in meetings like this one.

Hob took his place between Mervyn and Matthew by the wall behind Morpheus, and they all remained silent as a few more people piled in and the discussions began.

Hob had never been to a corporate meeting before, and there were more passive-aggressive remarks and less productivity than he expected from people in crisp suits. The whole thing probably only lasted an hour, but it certainly felt longer, and by the end of it Morpheus was in a bad mood as they made their way to his office.

Hob still walked in front of him beside Matthew, but he didn’t need to see his face to sense the tension in their little group. Mervyn seemed more serious, which Hob didn’t think was even possible, and Matthew had lost all of his enthusiastic energy from earlier.

Matthew opened the door to Morpheus’ office, and Mervyn motioned for Matthew and Hob to follow when Morpheus reached his desk. Mervyn closed the door behind him, and the three of them stood silently by the wall, with Mervyn nearest the door.

Morpheus had just sat down with a barely audible sigh when a knock sounded.

Morpheus glanced up at the door with a glare, then a voice spoke from outside.

“Morpheus?” said a muffled female voice. “Are you in there?”

Morpheus visibly relaxed, the crease on his forehead disappearing. “Lucienne. Come in.” He gestured for Mervyn to open the door.

A woman in a white shirt and purple vest walked in, nodding and smiling to Merv.

“Your guards are in here, I see,” she said lightly to Morpheus as she sat in the chair in front of his desk.

“Mother insisted,” Morpheus muttered with distaste. “You’re aware that if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have guards at all.”

“It’s just a precaution, especially after what happened…” she trailed off when Morpheus gave her a sharp look. “Okay,” she raised her hands in surrender. “I just came here to tell you that we should form the writing team soon for that movie you’re working on. I compiled a list of our most promising writers for the genre you want,” she placed a folder on the desk.

Morpheus took a breath. “They moved up the deadline by a year. I pushed back at the meeting earlier, but the board wouldn’t listen.”

“What?” Lucienne said in surprise. “But that means we only have two years to make it! Do they know how hard it is to animate a two-hour film?”

“Roderick insisted,” Morpheus said the name with venom. “He said that there are rumours of other studios releasing similar genres in three years, and we have to get ahead of them to maximise the profits. You know that miser only thinks with his purse. Father, as usual, let the board decide.”

Lucienne shook her head in disappointment. “Well, it’s a good thing that you got appointed Vice President instead of Roderick. You have the authority to implement some changes if it’s really necessary.”

Morpheus only hummed in response.

Lucienne sighed. “How can I help? How’s the story going?”

“The draft is almost finished,” Morpheus brought out a tablet and looked at the screen, scrolling until he reached a certain part of what he was reading. “I only need to figure out how to wrap up the princess’ arc.”

“And the two suitors?”

“They become good friends with each other and the princess.”

“And what did the producers think?” Lucienne asked carefully.

Morpheus wrinkled his nose. “They want the princess to marry one of the suitors at the end, which would defeat the entire purpose of her arc.”

“That's not surprising,” Lucienne said with resignation. “According to our data, our target market prefers grand weddings by the end.”

“That's because that's all they've known,” Morpheus said. “I'm trying to show representation—” his eyes darted to his guards for only a second, but Hob caught it. He let out a breath. “The story doesn't need a wedding. They only want a wedding scene because of the profits. As if the company would fall into destitution if we show the slightest variation in our stories,” he muttered.

“Whatever you decide on, I'm sure it would be in the story’s best interest. And if you ever need any help, you know you can always ask me,” Lucienne gently reminded him.

“Thank you, Lucienne.” The corners of Morpheus’ mouth lifted in what might have been a smile.

Lucienne reached out to Morpheus' hand on the desk and gave it a comforting pat before standing up. “I'll get back to work now. Call me if you need me.”

“Of course,” Morpheus nodded.

Lucienne walked over the door which Mervyn opened for her, and she gave another polite nod to all three of them before exiting.

Morpheus leaned back in his chair and looked at his tablet with a frown.

Hob cleared his throat. “Sir Morpheus, if I may suggest something?”

Blue eyes looked directly at him, and for a second Hob felt pinned to the spot under that gaze.

Mervyn and Matthew were looking at him too with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Maybe guards didn't usually speak to Morpheus. Oh well, he couldn't take back his words now.

“About what?” Morpheus asked.

“Your story,” Hob gestured to the tablet. “I'd seen plenty of films from Endless Media, and as a longtime viewer, maybe I can offer some perspective,” he gave a friendly smile. He knew that it wasn't part of his job description to be friends with Morpheus, but it would certainly make his job easier if they were.

Morpheus leaned forward on his table and looked at him curiously. “Very well. What do you have in mind?”

“You said you wanted to show representation, right?”

Morpheus' shoulders tensed at that, and Hob quickly continued to explain his idea.

“You said the two suitors become friends by the end, so you can show them growing closer as the story progresses. That way, the young boys in the audience would see that it's okay to have close relationships with other boys. And you can write it vaguely enough that it's still believable when one of them marries the princess by the end. You still get to write the representation, and the producers would get the ending they want,” Hob said.

A crease formed between Morpheus’ eyebrows, and he took a breath before speaking. “Robert, is it? Let me clarify. Are you suggesting I write queerbaiting in my story?”

“Well, I…” Hob looked at his companions. Mervyn's face had its usual frown, though there might be a disappointed downturn on his mouth now. Matthew was looking away from him as if hoping to avoid association. “I wouldn't exactly call it that,” he looked at Morpheus again. Hob had expected that he would find it a convenient solution, media companies did that sort of thing all the time.

Morpheus closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking at him again. “Get out,” he said curtly. “All of you. You can guard me just as well from outside the door.”

Hob scrambled for an apology. “Sir, I was just trying to help—”

“Now. Robert Gadling.” Morpheus' blue eyes were icy cold, and the tone of his voice left no room for argument.

“Yes, sir,” Mervyn opened the door and stepped aside, waiting for Matthew and Hob to exit first.

Matthew walked out the doorway, his head hung low in shame as if he was the one who had made a mistake.

Hob glanced one more time at Morpheus, but the stony expression in the gaze that met him made any further explanations die in his throat.

He simply nodded in apology and followed Matthew outside.

—

The man sitting at the table outside a café stared thoughtfully at the building across the street, sunlight reflecting off his dark sunglasses and blond hair. His ice cream cone was beginning to melt.

Multiple guards were posted at every door, and each door had a metal detector and a police dog sniffing at anyone who walked by. Endless Media’s level of security was just what he would have expected from a multimillion-dollar company; no doubt that there were CCTV cameras inside that covered every inch of the place, including the sidewalk outside. He wouldn't be able to get within three feet of the building without being seen.

His phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at it and saw the contact name R on the screen.

He switched his ice cream cone to his other hand and picked up his phone.

“Hey, Rody,” he answered, casually glancing around to make sure that there still weren't any people nearby.

“Are you outside? I've got your money, just give me a few minutes. There was a sudden meeting and I have to wait for everyone to return to their offices before I leave the building.”

“I told you, you could have just transferred the money to my account,” the man leaned back in his chair and swung a leg over his knee. “That kind of stress is bad for men your age.”

“I can't risk such a large amount being traced back to me!” Roderick hissed. “You're sure I'll get my money's worth?”

“It hurts that you doubt me.” The man licked the ice cream that was beginning to drip down the cone. “Don’t worry, your pretty Vice President will be dead before our agreed deadline.”

Even through the phone, the man could sense Roderick Burgess' irritated glare. “Don't start. That brat’s just lucky he's the son of the owner. I deserve the Vice President position.”

“Sure you do, Rody,” the man drawled.

“Don't call me that,” Roderick snapped. “They increased the security around him now, three guards instead of the standard two. I imagine I'm paying you enough for that not to be a problem.”

“No problem here, Ricky. I already got rid of one bodyguard, didn't I? I can get rid of the rest.”

—

“Sorry,” Hob said sheepishly, standing outside the door with Mervyn to his right and Matthew to his left. “He just looked so upset and I wanted to help.”

“Kissing up to Sir Morpheus isn't gonna work,” Mervyn said gruffly. “Don't make your life harder.”

“He isn't like most of the board members,” Matthew added. “The others would have liked your suggestion, but not him.”

Hob fell quiet and thought back to the meeting. “They did seem to disagree with him a lot. They favoured that Burgess bloke more.”

Matthew nodded. “The argument was much worse two weeks ago, even us security guards who were out in the hall heard the yelling. Some of the board members wanted Sir Roderick to be Vice President after Sir Morpheus’ older brother left the position, but Sir Morpheus threatened to resign too if that happened. From what it sounded like, the investors insisted that Sir Morpheus be the VP instead.”

“Of course they did,” Mervyn grumbled. “He's the most creative mind on the team. If he did leave, whatever company he goes to would have a huge advantage over this one.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice, and Hob felt even more curious about Morpheus. “I bet he woulda done it too. Resigned. Sir Morpheus doesn't make empty threats.”

“He demanded to be Vice President in exchange for him not resigning?” Hob asked.

“I don't think so,” Matthew frowned thoughtfully. “He just didn't want Sir Roderick to have that job.”

“Yeah, I doubt he wanted that for himself,” Mervyn added.

“What do you mean?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows.

“You saw him in there,” Mervyn jerked his head towards the door. “Did that look like a man who got his dream job?”

Hob glanced at the door, remembering how Morpheus seemed to be in a bad mood the entire day, only worsened by the meeting and Hob’s poorly thought-out suggestion.

“I think it's good that he's the Vice President now,” Matthew said. “If anyone can improve things around here, he can. I've heard he's the one who cares the most about the work they do here. Him and Miss Lucienne.”

Mervyn made a grunt that could have been a noise of agreement or acknowledgement, still staring straight ahead.

They fell into silence after that, with Matthew beginning to shift restlessly on his feet as the minutes ticked by.

Then the door opened and Matthew startled, straightening his posture.

“We're going to Fiddler's Green,” Morpheus told Mervyn as he closed the door behind him. He began walking down the hallway without another glance at them.

“Parking lot,” Mervyn told Matthew as he gestured for them to start walking.

They all took their positions around Morpheus, and Matthew led them to the parking lot.

—

Mervyn drove the car smoothly through the light traffic. Hob was sitting beside him in the passenger seat, while Matthew was seated beside Morpheus in the back.

Morpheus had told Mervyn to turn off the radio, and the only sound was the scratching of his pencil on the sketchpad that he began working on as soon as they got in the car.

Hob took that time to memorise the roads they passed by on their way from the office. If he ever got promoted and trusted to drive for Morpheus, he should be familiar with the directions to places nearby.

“The castle looks too intimidating for the princess’ family,” Matthew suddenly said.

Hob looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Matthew was leaning towards Morpheus and looking down at the sketchpad.

Morpheus glanced at Matthew, and the young man jumped backwards in his seat.

“S-Sorry, sir!” Matthew paled. “I was just thinking out loud. Forget I said anything!”

Morpheus looked down at his sketch and back at Matthew. “Too intimidating? What exactly do you mean?” he asked curiously, his voice even.

Matthew stared at him uncertainly, but when Morpheus just quietly waited for him to continue, Matthew cleared his throat and spoke. “I was stationed outside Miss Lucienne’s office last week, and I heard you tell her that the royal family is seen as benevolent, and that the princess had a cheerful personality. The castle in the sketch looks too dark and gloomy. Sir,” he hurriedly added.

Morpheus looked down at his sketch with a thoughtful frown, the silence stretching long enough for Matthew to nervously start speaking again.

“Sorry sir, I didn't mean to meddle,” he fidgeted in his seat.

Morpheus shook his head. “No, you're quite right. I used various references for this castle, and I suppose I leaned in too much on the darker colours. As someone who writes stories to be presented to the public, it is my responsibility to be open to constructive criticism and suggestions. Even if some suggestions turn out to be rather distasteful,” he said pointedly, the turning of the sketchpad's page seeming loud in the silence of the car.

Hob shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry about earlier, Sir Morpheus.” He turned in his seat to face him. “I really meant no offence. It won't happen again.”

Morpheus gave a resigned sigh before gracefully waving a hand in dismissal. “It's no matter. I’m used to heterosexual people proposing such ignorant ideas. It is more rampant in the industry than you would imagine.”

“Oh, that's… too bad,” Hob said, unsure of what to say. “I'm not, though. Heterosexual, I mean.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow.

Hob shrugged. “Yeah. Been into blokes and ladies alike since I was a lad. It would have been nice to see representation while I was growing up. So I admire you for what you're trying to do, sir,” he said sincerely.

Morpheus looked mildly surprised. “You… admire me?”

“I do,” Hob smiled. “You fought tooth and nail in that meeting, and you're not compromising the story you really want to tell.”

Morpheus frowned thoughtfully, and he slowly nodded. “As you say, I also wish I had seen more representation growing up. So I am trying to do that now for others. I believe I can accurately write a developing romantic relationship between two men for the film, even if I may not be in a similar situation at present.”

“Oh, you're… um, unattached,” Hob said in mild surprise. The man was remarkably handsome, after all. “Nothing wrong with that. That's… good. I'm not with anyone either.”

Morpheus blinked, looking at him quizzically. “Robert. Just to be clear. I know I'm not technically your boss since you don't report to me and I'm not paying you, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm not really looking for any—”

“No, no,” Hob’s face was suddenly burning and he could feel his eyes widen in panic. “I'm not… asking.” Dear god, how did he keep fumbling in conversation with this man? “I just meant, it's all… good.”

Matthew was looking out the window but Hob could see that he was trying very hard to hold in his laughter. Mervyn actually let out a snicker, the usual frown on his face replaced by an expression of amusement as he kept his eyes on the road.

Morpheus stared at him and nodded. “Alright. Good. Um… thank you.”

Hob nodded and quickly turned back around to face the windshield, his ears still warm. He realised his hands had been clenched on the seatbelt strap over his shoulder, and he made a conscious effort to let go.

He could see in the side mirror that Matthew had his lips pursed in his continued efforts to hide a smile, and Mervyn wasn't even bothering to hide his. Hob had been wondering if the gruff man ever smiled; well he had his answer now, at such an embarrassing cost.

Hob heard the soft scratching of Morpheus' pencil against paper once more, and he was quite happy to let it be the only sound in the car from now on.

He gave his head a little shake to clear it. He was here for work. Nothing else.

—

“What’s wrong, Ricky? You haven't touched your pie.” The blond man took a bite of chocolate cake from his fork. His client had chosen a table inside the café, the old man was too paranoid to be seen outside.

“You’re supposed to be a businessman,” Roderick said quietly and with more than a little irritation. “My colleagues would never call me that.”

The blond man grinned. “Maybe they should. You look like a Ricky,” he pointed at the old man with his fork.

Roderick's face looked like he just ate a lemon. “The amount we agreed on is in there,” he nodded to the briefcase sitting on the other chair. “Why can't you handle the job? With such a hefty downpayment I would have expected the services of The Corinthian himself.”

“I already told you my eye got injured last time.” That bodyguard got him good before he shot her into a coma. “Why do you think I'm wearing these sunglasses indoors? It's like you don't even care about my health, Ricky,” he said with hurt in his voice.

Roderick glared so much that his eyes started twitching.

“Don't stress yourself out,” the blond man said, spearing another piece of cake with his fork and leaning back in his chair. “The Immortal is already in position. He can kill your VP just as dead as I can.”

———

Note:

Part of their conversation in the car--where Hob mentions that he's single like Morpheus, and Morpheus thinks Hob is trying to ask him out--is based on a similar dialogue exchange between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes from the first episode of BBC's Sherlock.

Thank you so much to @patchyegg87 for helping me brainstorm this fic, and for coming up with the titles for the story and the first chapter!

I hope you liked it! I'd love to see your thoughts in the comments <3

———

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

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gabessquishytum · 11 months ago

Note

Question for today -- can you go out for a blind date, then walk away inadvertently dating a mobster?

Hob did not want to go on this blind date, but his friends keep insisting that be get back out there after his most recent heart break. So here Hob is, sitting in this atmospheric Italian restaurant, waiting for whichever hedge fund guy Joanna set him up with (best hob can hope is Joanna hasn't fucked this guy, like the last 2. No to Constantine castoffs....🤢)

Douche Dude is late (or not coming), so to pass the time, Hob chats up the handsome man next to him at the bar,,regaling him with stories of his students and past blind dates. Hob is actually chuffed when he gets the obviously taciturn man to smile (it's a small smile, but it's there and true.). Hob could swear he knows the man from somewhere, he just can't remember where.

When it becomes obvious that his date isn't coming, Hob prepares to go home, a little sadly (even if the guy was a knob, no one likes to be stood up.). Before he can even get his coat on, Hob's bar friend asks if he wants to have dinner.

Hob is charmed by his quiet nature (and looks) and his joke about how it's a good thing his blind date didn't show up, and how now he doesn't have to have the guy killed. 🙄 🤭😇 Hob laughs and figures he just doesn't know his new friend well enough to get his sardonic "joke" expression.

Dinner was fun - Dream, as he introduced himself, didn't really like his job and considered himself more of an artist, but the business was a family thing. What can you do?! And things didn't get weird until the end, when (what had to be well after the restaurant should have closed and by a time that Hob & Dream should have been chased out by), Dream got up from his seat and all the rest of the people, scattered at all the other tables, got up as well.

Dream didn't even seem to notice, and when Hob goggled at him, Dream waved it off with a "pay them no mind," and helped Hob with his coat. Then he asked Hob out for another date. Even with the 20 guys flanking him now, Hob liked Dream and said yes to a 2nd date.

It isn't until Hob is almost in his bed that he realizes he just made a date with the most wanted crime boss in the state.

Ah, I love Hob being a cute lil himbo and not realising what's happening until later. Of course there's so much drama that could happen in this relationship, but also so much comedy potential.

Like Dream being introduced to Jo and Hob’s other friends. He's trying very hard to be normal (the bodyguards have been told to "blend in"... they're trying their best, okay). Answering questions like "Yes I am a very normal citizen doing normal things". Jo pulls Hob aside and is like "your boyfriend is a mobster, isn't he?" And Hob is kind of mad that Jo worked it out way quicker than he did.

And Dream starts accompanying Hob to social occasions at his job. Weird little faculty parties and shows that the theatre kids are putting on for charity. Dream obviously sticks out like a sore thumb but everyone is gushing about Hob’s "nice young man". So polite! And he made such a generous donation!

Hob finds it both lovely and hilarious. He knows that Dream is dangerous and has probably done terrible things, buuuut. He's pretty cute, isn't he? And good with kids. Hob is kind of smitten with him.

Which is good. Because Dream is not prepared to let his charming civilian boyfriend go without a fight <3

#the sandman #dreamling

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valiantstarlights · 1 year ago

Text

[Fae!Dream and Vampire!Hob AU]

For @gabessquishytum and wing anon 🖤 I've had this in my notes for a couple of weeks, but now seems to be a good time to share it. 😊

Fun fact, this was inspired by these lines from Baby, It's Cold Outside: "I wish I knew how / (Your eyes are like starlight now) / To break this spell"

Don't ask. The weather was 30°C+ outside when I typed this up. 😂

CW: the tiniest amount of spice, and Dream and Hob being insane about each other as usual.

Fae!Dream runs away from home in the middle of winter and ends up on the wrong side of the forest. He has never been here before. The trails are winding and changes directions when he isn't looking, and the trees are indifferent to his plight, refusing to point him towards the fae side of the forest. 'We are too sleepy,' they say. 'Fuck off.'

Soon, though, he comes upon a castle, and he can see that there's light inside. Snow is already falling pretty hard by then, and Dream is so desperate for warmth and shelter that he knocks on the imposing front doors.

It takes a while for someone to answer, but Dream waits. It's a huge castle. He's about to knock again when the door opens and a handsome vampire peeks his head out. When he sees Dream, shivering and hunched over, lips almost blue, he hurriedly opens the door wide and ushers him in.

Dream enters the castle. Despite everything he has learned in his long, long life.

He knows he has to tread carefully. It's common knowledge that fae and vampires don't get along. But he also knows how important inviting someone inside is to vampires, and he doesn't exactly have a choice. He has two options, and they are: 100 percent chance of freezing to death on one hand, and 50 percent chance of being murdered by a vampire on the other.

Although...now that he's looking, he thinks the vampire looks nice, actually. He's currently talking about getting Dream warmed up in front of a fire and getting him some soup, then apologizing right after because there won't be garlic in the soup.

Dream thinks his voice sounds lovely.

The vampire keeps his promises. Soon, Dream is warm in front of a fireplace, eating creamy vegetable soup. The vampire talks about how he made the soup, and Dream can tell that he's just as nervous as having a fae in his home. But Dream senses no falsehood in his words or in his manners.

Dream is so fucking charmed by him that he (unthinkingly) asks him his name. And then realizes his mistake one second later when the vampire's open features shutter close and his muscles tense.

"My name is Dream," Dream offers. He knows he should not give his name. Not his true one, anyway. And yet he does.

If the vampire's goal is to hurt him, he does not need Dream's true name for that. Dream is still weak from running and escaping his bodyguards. If the vampire wants to hurt him, he'll be too weak to fight back.

"Sure," the vampire says, and...yeah, he's right to be suspicious. 'Dream' isn't exactly one of the top 100 baby names for male fae babies. Lord and Lady Endless knew what they were doing when they named their children. "You can call me Hob."

Hob.

His name doesn't taste like a lie, but Dream knows it's not his real name. It's fine. He likes 'Hob.'

"Thank you for offering me shelter," Dream says. He knows he shouldn't show gratitude or else it will bite him in the ass in the future. He does so anyway. "I was running away from home."

He knows he is under no obligation to speak the truth in its purest form. He has learned how to mislead and twist his words in a way that is still true, but volunteers less information. He does so anyway.

Hob is looking at him intensely, like he is also trying to figure Dream out. "May I ask why?"

And so the whole story falls out of Dream's mouth. It's the first time he has ever talked to anyone about how he is being treated at home, but Hob is respectful and lets him talk. Hob is nice and pours him a glass of water when his voice become hoarse.

Hob is lovely because when Dream starts to break down in the end, telling him all about the entire business with the Burgesses, he takes out a handkerchief and wipes Dream's tears away himself.

"I'm so sorry about everything that has ever happened to you," Hob says in the end, when Dream realizes that he is on Hob's lap, being held. It feels nice. He wants to snuggle up further, but his manners prevent him from doing so. "But I'm glad you've left them for good."

That makes Dream pause, and he shakes his head. "I have not. Technically, I am still under their protection." He looks outside to see heavy snowflakes still drifting down, and an occasional wind gusting through. "I still have to go home."

Hob looks out the window and then back to him incredulously. "In this weather?"

"I have to," Dream insists. "If not..."

"If not?"

Dream looks down at his lap. At Hob's handkerchief that was somehow now in his hands. It's a pretty cream color with the initials R.G. embroidered on the corner. Dream does not think what the initials mean because he doesn't want to pry. Hob's true name is his business alone. But he likes the handkerchief. Perhaps he can keep it as a souvenir of his time at the castle of the handsome vampire. It would be his most prized possession. He will not draw attention to it so Hob will forget to ask him to return it. "If not," Dream says, "I will die before the season turns."

Hob inhales sharply, and then he's clasping Dream's arms. "Is that a fae thing?"

Dream nods miserably. It's how they lost Destruction. And how Dream will be lost, if he doesn't get back. He hopes Death will take care of Jessamy for him.

"Is there no loophole for that?" Hob asks, looking frantic. "There must be something. Like...I don't know, like a transfer of protection?"

Hob must be a very young vampire for him not to know the rules. But Dream knows the rules by heart, and all the loopholes as well, from hundreds of years trying to bend them. And the only way...

"Oh."

"Oh?" Hob echoes. "Is there a way to save you after all?"

There is, but--

He could not possibly--

"I have to leave," Dream announces, and regretfully gets off of Hob's lap and starts walking away.

"What? Why?" Hob asks, standing up himself and following him. "Do you have to go on a quest for some item or something? Stay the night. There's literally a blizzard--"

"I cannot!" Dream shouts.

Hob, shocked by Dream's outburst, holds his hands up peaceably. "Alright," he says gently. "May I ask why?"

Dream bites his lip and says nothing.

"Tell me," Hob begs. "Please. I want to help."

Dream shakes his head. Nobody wants to help. Randall had tried to trap him against his will. Alexander was too afraid of his father and brother to help Dream escape and had only pointed him deeper into their house. Dream almost didn't make it.

Hob exhales. Not out of impatience, but out of a decision reached. "Look," he says, hands still open in a gesture of peace. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I really do want to help you. I know a thing or two about being trapped in a situation I do not want to be in, and I wouldn't want anyone else to experience that. So...I would like you to know my name."

Dream gapes at him. A vampire willingly giving his own true name to a fae? It's practically unheard of. It's a trick. It's--

Hob takes a deep breath and says, "My name is Robert Gadling."

'R.G.' The handkerchief is his. Dream's fingers tingle at this new information.

There is a change that happens, when someone tells a fae their true name voluntarily, knowing exactly what they're getting into. It's a different kind of change than when their name is tricked out from them.

If their name is tricked out of them, a thin string, only visible to the fae, connects the being to the fae they gave their name to, as a sign of possession.

But when someone tells a fae their true name the way Hob--Robert Gadling, just did, they will look more real to the fae. More tangible.

And a more tangible Robert Gadling, a kind and handsome vampire who would open his doors to a fae, feed them, keep them warm, and want to help them save their life? All the while smelling of nothing but sincerity?

"Tell me," Hob, Robert, says again. "I want to help you."

Dream suddenly hungers for him. And his sudden yearning to make Hob his is not conducive to the conversation. "You--"

"Please," he says. "Unless there's something preventing you to? More of your fae rules?" He looks contemplatively at the space between them. "Do I have to kneel?"

No. Yes. Lie and make him kneel.

"If I stay," Dream says faintly, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his conscious consent, "my parents' protection will slowly pass to my current host."

Hob looks alarmed at that, probably wondering how many hours it has been since Dream has arrived. "How slowly?"

"A week at most."

The answer, of course, is much more complicated than that. In the case of the Burgesses, Dream still has his parents' protection at the end of Day 5, when he finally escaped. In Unity Kincaid's case, she was so in love with Desire that it only took a day for her parents' protection to fade.

But with the way things are going between him and Hob, and with how fast Dream is prone to falling in love, his parents' protection will most likely fade after three days. At most.

"So stay," Hob says, as if it were that simple. He is still so young. He doesn't know what he is offering. "If you haven't noticed yet, the castle is entirely empty, aside from the castle's spirit itself. It takes care of itself and was kind enough to open its doors for me when I rose from the dead. And if it can offer me, a no-good vampire who used to be a highwayman, a home, then who am I to not offer you my protection as well?"

'Highwayman' is a term that cannot be more than 300 years old. Dream is robbing the cradle.

"I am saying," Dream says slowly, "that if you are to offer me your protection, once my parents' protection has faded, you would be considered my husband. The fae will consider us married."

Hob blinks. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,'" Dream cannot help but say mockingly. "That is why I must leave."

But Hob just gestures to the windows helplessly, begging him to see sense at the sight of the howling winds that are thankfully muffled by the thick castle walls. "In this weather?"

"I must."

"A night."

"What?"

"Stay for the night," Hob begs. "The weather might be better tomorrow. And if so, I will give you my thickest coat and help you get back to fae land myself. If...if you are afraid of me, I will stay here in the study, and you may choose any room you'd like to stay in for the night."

Dream stares at him, and ignores the way his body is pleasantly tingling all over, but especially between his legs.

Faes are not good. They are greedy creatures who will take the entire dish when presented with a bite.

And in the face of Robert Gadling's kindness and consideration...

Dream walks up to Hob and grabs him by the collar of his dressing gown. If Hob is willing to give him a coat, then Dream will steal all his clothes for himself as well. If Hob is willing to offer him his protection, then Dream will cast his own on him and name him husband without bothering to wait for his parents' protection to fade. If Hob has shown him kindness for an hour, Dream will want him for the rest of their life.

"Kiss me," he says. Demands. Begs. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that if Hob does not kiss him, he will cry.

Hob looks baffled. "What...will that accomplish, exactly? If I may ask?"

Dream groans in frustration and stamps his feet. "I will be kissed," he says. "I will know what you taste like, and you will know mine. Our lips will be thoroughly acquainted and we will feel our tongues push wetly against each other. Is that not enough of an accomplishment for you?"

"Sounds like you want more than just a kiss, your highness," Hob says, but his gaze and his voice are lower now, which is exactly what Dream wants.

"I am not a prince," Dream tells him honestly. Always with honesty. "But I do want more than just a kiss from you. With the generosity you have shown me, with you telling me your name, if you do not kiss me, I will simply waste away and perish."

"Well, we can't have that," Hob says. "Not after I just saved you from freezing to death."

"No, we cannot," Dream agrees. "So kiss me, Robert Gadling." His true name on Dream's tongue tastes like sunlight. "Kiss me and protect me and make me yours right now."

Hob's eyes are dancing as he brushes a lock of hair away from Dream's face and tucks it behind his ear. "You're a greedy little fae, aren't you?"

"And you are still not kissing me, you stubborn vampire."

"I can't believe this is how my evening turned out," Hob chuckles, and touches their foreheads together. "I must have gone insane the moment I saw you. I would normally offer to court someone first before the topic of marriage can even be considered."

Dream pecks Hob's dimpled chin, impatient. He has a slight stubble that would feel wonderful against Dream's thighs. "I am not human. Or another vampire. I am a fae. And if you do not kiss me right now, I will go out in that snowstorm and--"

"Alright, you sweet impatient thing," Hob says, "No need for such threats." And finally dips his head down to touch their lips chastely.

Dream would have none of that, however, and surges upwards, intent on devouring him. Their sharp canines clack against each other, but it does not deter them.

"Are we insane?" Hob asks when Dream has to take a breath. It's so unfair that Dream has to breathe when Hob does not. "To do this right after we just met? Tell me truly."

"Yes," Dream answers honestly. "I do not know of anyone who consummated their coming together as one on the very day they met."

"Consummating, hm?" Hob's thumb presses against his hipbone when he pulls Dream closer to him. "We can do that."

"Yes," Dream agrees. "Right now. Please. Everything."

And Hob does just that.

His parents' protection fades even before Hob could fuck him, but he's too preoccupied by the feeling of Hob's stubble on his thighs to notice.

In the morning, Hob presents him with the most beautiful obsidian ring he has ever seen, and Dream immediately says yes before Hob could even ask the question.

"For the record," Hob says one night after they finished fucking in the library, "I was fully intending on lending you all my thick coats that first night. You looked so cold I was hesitant to even take off your clothes."

Dream snuggles up to him and drapes one leg over Hob's deliciously hairy thighs. "That would not have worked," he says, certain. "I would have simply taken off all my clothes and accepted nothing from you except your most translucent nightgowns to cover my nakedness."

"You will seduce a vampire? Didn't you tell me that our kind do not get along?"

Dream bites him gently on the shoulder with his smaller fangs.

"I would not seduce a vampire," he says haughtily. "I have met some before, and found none of them pleasing. It is you I would seduce. The man I have decided would be mine forever as my husband."

Hob kisses his forehead, and Dream could feel the foolish smile on his lips. "Who is a vampire."

"Shush, Robert Gadling," he says, unable to stop himself from smiling as well.

#fae dream and vampire hob AU #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs

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