#connect4

[xxjessabugxx]

This was also really fun to play the much bigger version of connect four outside #connect4 #fun #sunflowersofsanborn #sunflowers #loveit #life #love

[tj-dragonblade]

[Connect 4 FIC] Shift to Overdrive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 2664 Tags: human AU, rich guy Dream, mechanic Hob, the garage doesn't feature in this one though, sartorial appreciation, oral sex, glass sex toy, anticipation, might count as edging?, nobody's coming just yet, hair pulling, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, Sandman Connect4 2024

Notes: For the @Sandman-Connect4 prompt Willpower - I started this in July while I was finishing Every Nerve Alive; Dream had a LOT of fantasies but this one in particular decided it wanted fulfilling and the Connect4 prompt gave me the perfect excuse to finish it. 🎉 Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest. Previously in the series, in case AO3 is down: Customer Service With Every Nerve Alive Loyalty Rewards Program

Summary: His beautiful mechanic in a bespoke suit is a tempting vision indeed and Dream is impatient on the limo ride home

On AO3

Dream gazes at Hob in his spread-legged sprawl on the seat across from him in the back of the limousine, and he wants.

It has been nearly three months since he waltzed his way into Matthew's Motor Repairs and seduced his beautiful mechanic, three months which have seen them coming together again and again. Their first dinner date had gone splendidly; Hob was indeed just as stunning dressed for a Michelin-starred restaurant as decked out in the grime of his garage and Dream had been more than ready to bend over for him again. His body had not been, however, in light of the use Hob had made of him the day before; Hob had instead sucked him off in the men's room after dinner, which was its own sort of filthy delight.

They have met up again and again, sometimes with no sex involved, but most often ending the date in Dream's bed. Hob has even begun to stay the night, which Dream finds both terrifying and delightful, but mostly convenient. He has restrained himself from lavishing gifts upon Hob at every turn, wary of putting him off, of being too much, but he cannot control the impulse entirely to buy things for Hob simply because he has the means. Their third dinner date had started with a visit to Dream's tailor to choose fabrics and take Hob's measurements; as nice as Hob looked in his own suit Dream knew he would look ten times more so in something tailored specifically to him, something that Dream could provide.

And he had been right. Today they had picked up the finished ensemble, and seeing it on Hob has been absolute torture of the most beautiful kind. It's a slim-fit single-breasted suit of a smoky grey silk-merino blend, notched lapels, side vents, flat-front trousers with no cuff, casually elegant without being overly formal. The shirt is a dark teal silk that complements Hob's skin tone beautifully; he has loosened his perfectly-coordinated grey tie and unbuttoned his collar and the way the clothing sits so perfectly on his body has Dream keyed up, aroused, anticipating.

The glass toy inside him helps nothing—but then, that was rather the point. He had known that Hob in bespoke clothing would fire his libido, that he would be ravenous for his beautiful mechanic after sharing his well-dressed company all evening, and he had ensured his own readiness by wearing the toy from the outset. He imagines Hob will be delighted, incredibly turned on, once he discovers it, and looks forward to making that revelation.

But first, they must get home. They had foregone dessert after dinner, eagerness for each other simmering close to the surface; Dream is thrilled that he can read the want in Hob's body language, the desire that Hob has for him. He is thrilled that they are three months in and Hob still finds him appealing, that Hob has yet to grow bored of him or his appetites.

He is not certain he can wait until they reach home, however, not when he can smell the faint waft of Hob's cologne in the close interior of the limo, not when Hob is sitting across from him with his legs casually spread and his arms stretched along the back of the seat. He's watching Dream with banked heat in those lovely dark eyes and a smile too kind to be called a smirk on his beautiful mouth; he is inviting, appealing, mouthwatering, and Dream finds he does not have the willpower to resist after all.

He pushes out of his own seat with a sultry roll down onto his knees, crawls across the short space between them as Hob's eyes widen.

"Dream?"

"I find myself in want of dessert, after all," Dream declares, pitching his voice low and warm in the way that he has learned makes Hob melt in his mouth, as it were. He places his hands on Hob's spread knees, slides them sensually up the smoky grey fabric of his trousers, of the suit Dream had commissioned specifically for him. He slides them about Hob's hips, tugs marginally. "Come here."

Hob swallows thickly, eyes locked to Dream's, and slouches his hips forward as directed.

"Thank you," Dream purrs, moving to open Hob's belt with precise sensual flicks of his fingers. He can see, feel, how Hob is growing in his trousers and it delights him. This beautiful man is so responsive, to him, so ready for any sexual service Dream might demand. It is heady, exhilarating, intoxicating, and he cannot imagine ever tiring of it.

With Hob's belt undone he moves next to the clasp and the zipper of his trousers, opening them with the same slow sensuality. Hob breathes a trembling sigh as Dream pulls apart the leaves of his fly, noses along the hardening length of him beneath silken teal bikini briefs that match his shirt.

"You smell divine, Hob Gadling," he breathes, against the head of Hob's prick within his underwear, and licks along the same path his nose had taken. The fabric is smooth and sensual against his tongue, and the strangled whimper that dies in Hob's throat when he does this is simply too delicious to pass up. So he does it again, and again, until Hob's underwear is soaked with Dream's saliva and Hob's prick is straining full beneath the wet silk.

"Dream," he pants, heated and breathless, but Dream is only just beginning.

He deftly plucks at the waistband of Hob's underwear, pulling it down enough to free Hob's cock but leaving his balls still contained. Hob is breathing hard and Dream takes a moment to simply admire the picture he makes like this, eyes dark and wanting, lip bitten red amongst the tidy scruff of his beard, prick standing tall in the open fly of his charcoal grey slacks—the slacks Dream had had tailored specifically for him, the dark teal shirttails and underwear framing his groin. A vision. A feast, delectable and tempting, and Dream will not deny himself the pleasure.

He draws the tip of his tongue up the underside of Hob's prick, all the way from base to crown, licking delicately off the end of it, and the desperate sound Hob makes is perfection.

"Delicious," Dream moans, and tilts to run his parted lips sideways up the same path, tongue working between. He is teasing himself in equal measure as Hob, but as much as he wants to swallow Hob down and suck him relentlessly dry, he does still intend to get properly fucked tonight and so he settles for this. He lifts his eyes to Hob's, angled from beneath his lashes, and laps delicately at the head of Hob's prick, mouth open, slow and showy. He dances his tongue in a leisurely waltz down Hob's shaft and back up, curls it lovingly around the drawn-back foreskin, flicks a teasing little lick across the slit. Hob's eyes are molten with want where they hold Dream's, and his arms are rigid in their perfectly-tailored suit jacket along the back of the seat, held taut with the effort of staying still while Dream samples him.

Dream is insanely aroused to have him this way; he is achingly hard in his own trousers, flexing eagerly around the toy inside him, turned on by the soft burr of the car's engine vibrating in the floor beneath his knees and the creak of the leather beneath Hob's fingertips. It is heady, thrilling, to put himself here beween Hob's legs and work him slowly into such a state.

Still, he would have more.

Flickering his tongue in deliberate patterns all over Hob's tip, still holding his eyes, he reaches up for Hob's hands—his strong, beautiful hands whose nail beds will never be quite free of the black stain his work has given them—and guides them to cradle his head, an insistent invitation.

With a whimper Hob strokes his hair back, pets it, combs into it; Dream delves into his slit and Hob's hands grasp tight, fisting into his hair and pulling just right. Dream moans his approval and then, with the prickling pressure at his scalp notching up his own arousal, clenching tight with excitement on the toy inside him, he sinks down onto Hob's cock with relish.

Hob cries out, catches the sound between his teeth and swallows it back, hips flexing abortively beneath Dream's hold. Dream smooths his hands up and down the sleek grey fabric of Hob's thighs, pushes them wider and bobs on his cock with eager relish. He suckles fiercely at the tip, whining hungrily as precome begins to well forth, satisfied little noises rising in his throat to taste Hob's pleasure. Hob's grip in his hair remains firm but Hob's hands tremble, taut with effort, a match for the rigid tension in his thighs as he struggles to keep still while Dream lavishes his prick with all the appreciation and savoring due such a delicacy.

He spends a long moment thus, gliding leisurely up and down on Hob's cock and mewling his muffled pleasure, Hob grunting and panting and trembling stiffly beneath his ardent attentions, and then:

"Dream—Dream, you're gonna make me come, holy shit—"

Dream draws back with reluctance, lets the head of Hob's prick rest against his lips as he purses them into a pout. "I am conflicted," he declares, pleased with the way Hob twitches as the words brush against him. "On the one hand, I want your come, quite badly. The taste of you has whet my appetite and I should like to continue my fervent worship at the altar of your magnificent cock until you spill your sweet offerings into my mouth."

Hob is panting, little whimpering breaths at the teasing brush of Dream's lips and the heat of his words, no doubt. Dream is pleased that Hob's hands remain fisted tight in his hair, exactly as he likes them. "On the other hand" —he shifts, rubs his cheek up and down along Hob's drooling prick before drawing away— "if you come for me now, then you cannot fuck me when we get home. And I am unfortunately desperate for a good hard seeing-to from my favorite bit of rough tonight." He lays his cheek against the inside of Hob's thigh, smearing a trace of pre-come on the smoky grey silk blend, holding Hob's gaze all the while.

Hob is breathing hard and heavy, his work-stained fingers trembling in Dream's hair; clearly he is striving for control. "Whatever you want, sweetheart, do as you please," he manages, suitably breathless. "I'm yours, I'm here for your pleasure, either way."

Oh, this man. Magnificent, in his generosity. Dream absolutely must keep him.

He lifts his head, moves so that his lips are poised to brush against the tip of Hob's prick. "Do not come, Hob."

Hob twitches, full-bodied, cock bumping against Dream's mouth, and the moan that leaves him is thin and reedy. Dream rubs his parted lips softly over the head, smearing precome in his wake, wound tight by the way Hob trembles and holds himself back.

"Tell me if I push you too close," he murmurs, then kisses over Hob's slit, laps at it with delicate little kittenish licks until Hob whines, a broken bitten-off sound, his hands flexing in Dream's hair. They clench and unclench as he pants harshly, his whole body strung taut. Dream backs off to give him reprieve, aware that he is teasing cruelly and equally aware that Hob will neither hold it against him nor find any fault with it, will play the game as Dream has asked simply because Dream asked.

He watches avidly as precome wells fresh in Hob's slit, licks it away as a droplet spills down the underside, Hob's whimper music to his greedy ears. He traces the tip of his tongue up and down Hob's shaft, relishing the sharp pressure where Hob's hands are fisted tight in his hair; he watches avidly as Hob struggles for control, struggles to hold his orgasm because Dream has asked him to.

He must keep this man.

He flexes impatiently around the toy inside him, shifts on his knees so that his slacks draw tighter against his hard cock. He is hungry, his entire body is ravenous for Hob, for the feast at his lips that he has barely sampled. He sucks Hob into his mouth and slides down as far as he can, watches Hob's face as he bobs slowly once, twice. He draws up until only the head remains in his mouth, licking at it delicately with the very end of his tongue, tracing patterns on the glans, teasing along the slit. Hob whimpers, chest heaving in his tailored silk shirt beneath his loosened tie, head tipped back, teeth sunk in his lip and hands tight in Dream's hair, still pulling deliciously exactly right.

Gorgeous—perfect—mine— Dream shivers, feels dampness seeping into his own underwear, clenches again and again on the toy inside him.

He cannot wait to trade it for the cock currently leaking in his mouth.

"Dream—love, please, you've got to stop—" Hob's voice is strained, desperate, but he makes no move to pull Dream back or otherwise enforce his words, clearly trusting Dream to listen; with reluctance, Dream removes his mouth from its pursuits. He is painfully hard in his own trousers, the toy in his arse a luscious tease; he is beyond ready, desperate to have Hob inside him. He is of half a mind to doff his damned clothing and climb into Hob's lap immediately, spread his knees on the leather seats and let Hob seize his hips, bounce him ruthlessly up to his peak and over. The thought of spending himself all over the tailored silk of Hob's shirt is heady, tantalizing, and he wants. He does not know if he can contain it, particularly when Hob's cock is directly before his face, precome seeping steadily from the slit—

The street lamps outside brighten abruptly and Dream glances up and out the window, recognizes his drive as the car slows.

"We are home," he announces, meeting Hob's eyes.

"Oh thank fuck—" Hob lets go of his hair and scrubs trembling hands over his own face unsteadily, breath heaving.

Dream gives one last heavy lick to Hob's cock, lingering over his slit for the taste of his precome and for the strangled noise Hob makes, then draws away and tucks Hob back into his silky teal-green underwear, re-zips his trousers.

Hob is still panting, hands raked through his own hair, eyes closed.

He is beautiful, and Dream cannot stop wanting him.

The car pulls to a stop as Dream retreats gracefully to his own seat, and he hears the driver climb out. He sees the fevered cast of Hob's wide dark eyes as he hastens to order himself before the limo door is opened; he feels the heat of Hob's gaze following him as he exits the car. He imagines Hob's lust like a fire at his back as Hob trails behind, a warm inexorable promise to consume Dream as soon as he allows him close.

Dream knows he is going to be pounced upon as soon as they are inside, railed until he is screaming and given everything he has wanted all night. His body throbs at the thought, well ready to be rid of his toy and filled by Hob instead. They won't even make it up to his bedroom, he is certain of it. Hob will fumble at their clothing with feverish need as they move through the house, shoving aside just enough to get the necessary bits exposed, will discover Dream's toy and relieve him of it, and then Dream will be cast upon Hob's ardent mercies against or over the nearest suitable surface until the fervor they have stoked all night is finally sated.

The walk to his front door has never felt longer.

= Started: 7/24/24 Drafted: 12/4/24 Posted: 12/5/24

[five-and-dimes]

Rating: Mature Status: Incomplete Chapters: 2/8 Words: 5,932/???? Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Post-Inception, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Crossover, Lucid Dreaming, Dreamsharing, pasiv, Trans Ariadne (Inception), Heist, Forging (Inception), Missions Gone Wrong, Hob Gadling accidentally help frees Dream of the Endless, BAMF Hob Gadling, dream suicide of background character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

It was supposed to be a simple job. All they had to do was enter Alexander Burgess’s dreams and convince him to go away with his lover Paul and leave behind Fawney Rig for good. Simpler than Inception. Safer than Extraction.

Yet when Hob Gadling and Arthur Freeman get inside the head of their mark, they realize that not everything is as it seems. Alexander Burgess is hiding a much darker secret, one that is deeply hidden within the basement not just at Fawney Rig, but also inside of Alex’s mind. And Paul refuses to tell them what it is.

Or: What happens when Dream is set free after a hundred years and he discovers that humans have created the technology to infiltrate dreams?

(A collaboration fic between myself and the amazing @seiya-starsniper for the @sandman-connect4 challenge!)

-----------

“The mark’s name,” Arthur says, tossing the file on the table in front of Hob, “is Alexander Burgess.”

Hob raises an eyebrow at the case file, then turns his gaze back to Arthur. Arthur stares back down at Hob expectantly, his perfectly slicked back dark brown hair glinting in the sunlight of the Mexican sun. He’s blocking Hob’s sunlight and doesn’t even care. Bastard.

It’s tense between them for just a moment longer before Hob sighs, sitting up from his comfortable position on the cabana lounge chair and reaching over to pick up the folder. It’s a thick file, which means there’s a lot of dirt on the man, and a lot of people Hob may need to impersonate. Hob vaguely remembers the name Burgess from the early 1900s. Likely the man Hob had known was Alexander’s father, or grandfather even. The centuries tended to blend together after a while.

“You couldn’t have waited until after my vacation?” Hob asks as he takes another sip of his pina colada, trying to put off having to open the file for a little bit longer. He’s trying to sound annoyed, but in reality he’d been feeling restless lately. Hob had never been the type of man to just sit around aimlessly for long.  

“Can’t wait,” Arthur responds, with a small wry smile. He sees right through Hob’s bluff, damn him. “The client’s in a hurry and paying our team triple our fee to get started right away.”

Hob whistles, his interest thoroughly piqued, then finally opens up the folder.

Alexander Burgess is old. Older than Hob expected him to be really. It suddenly makes sense why the client was in a hurry. Whatever decision they needed the old man to make needed to be done quickly.

“You sure this man’s not gonna die on us mid-mission?” Hob asks dubiously. He and Arthur had only been in a dying man’s dreamscape once, and the man had died while they were on their case. Hob really didn’t care to repeat the experience. 

“He won’t,” Arthur responds. “He’s ancient, but healthy.” Hob holds back a laugh, but can’t help the snort that comes out instead. Compared to Hob, Alexander Burgess was a baby. Hob was the one who was ancient, and they both knew it. 

“His lover, Paul, will be helping us with setting up the whole thing too,” Arthur continues, his tone still serious but his eyes betray their amusement. “He’ll monitor the mark’s vitals day to day and clear him for each session before we take him under.”

“So the client’s his lover, then?” Hob asks, as he thumbs through the file, reading up on Alexander Burgess’s life history. It wouldn’t be too hard to imitate most of the people on the list Arthur provided, and it certainly helped that he’d have direct access to Paul, the most important part Hob would have to play, to study.

Arthur hums in agreement, then sighs. “Apparently he’s been trying to get Alex to move out of his father’s manor for the better part of their marriage,” Arthur says. “They��re old men now, and Paul is desperate not to die in that manor.  He says it’s haunted by demons or something, I don’t know. Seems like a superstitious kind of guy.”

“Well based on this, he has a right to be. Looks like old Roddy Burgess was a famous occultist back in the day,” Hob says, memories flowing back to him in bits and pieces. He’d definitely been to one of Burgess’s parties back in the day, come to think of it.

Arthur chuckles. “For all the good that studying in black magic did him,” he replies. “Didn’t save him from tripping and falling down the stairs of his own basement that’s for sure.”

“Are we sure he just fell?” Hob asks, feeling dubious. “Or maybe—Alex’s dirty little secret is that he pushed his daddy down the stairs, and that’s why he doesn’t want to leave.”

“Well that’s what we’re gonna find out,” Arthur replies with a grin. “And then we’re going to make sure he gets the fuck out of dodge and rides off into the sunset with his husband.”

Hob hums. “Fine. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow.”

(Continue on AO3)

[thespectrumsystem]

Subtle Tapestry

[Read on Ao3]

for @sandman-connect4

Hob visits Dream at work

For Sandman Connect 4 prompt "Weave"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You must leave. You are distracting."

"Changed your mind then, dove?"

"Why must you …lounge on the sand like that? It's terribly distracting."

"It's a beach, isn't it?"

"Yes, a beach at the nexus of unfiltered subconscious and raw dream-stuff. Trunks are not appropriate attire."

"How long do you reckon it would take for me to make a sand castle out of raw dream-stuff and unfiltered subconscious?"

"As long as it would take me to learn to make 'a proper cuppa.'"

"Nah, I don't think anything would take that long… anyways you like when I lounge. Especially in places I shouldn't be."

"I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Come off it! You like that I wear jeans in your big fuck off palace. You like that I make paper airplanes in the library. You like that I hum cereal jingles in the throne room. And you like that I imagine myself on a beach towel and sunnies in your nexus."

"The pineapples are an… interesting touch."

"Thought you might like that."

"You… are right. I do like them. I like that you make yourself at home here. That you feel comfortable in my realm. So much so that your personal juxtapositions have woven themselves into the tapestry of the dreaming."

"Love…"

"Even if your lounging can be terribly distracting at times."

"Ha! Fine, I'll go make myself a nuisance elsewhere."

"Perhaps… Perhaps I could allow you to stay until I am finished. Just this once… this new dream is almost complete."

"Anything you want, dear. I'll try not to distract you with my lounging."

"See to it that you do not."

"…"

"…"

"…I know I'm not meant to interrupt you while you're weaving the subtle tapestry of the dreaming mind but… are its calves meant to be that fit?"

"Hob."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Goooooooooooooooood Morrow, fellow travelers. I officially submit myself to the horrifying ordeal of creating and releasing art.

[sbnkalny]

<@!789204472680284202> CONNECT4

CONNECT4

[embroiderling]

Embroidery for the @sandman-connect4 - Prompt: Kidnap.

Original artwork by @seadeepspaceontheside .

[buckets-and-trees]

Talk

Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral (female receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins �� even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

READ THE SEQUEL: FEEL

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

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[unpredictable-probabilities]

Where It Goes

Summary:

When a train breaks down during a snowstorm, the passengers are forced to spend the night at a hotel.

Two strangers share their Christmas plans and find themselves enjoying the company much more than they expected.

Rating: Explicit

Notes (more at the end):

For Sandman Connect 4 | @sandman-connect4

Prompts: Train + Breakdown + Feast + Explore

I'd been wanting to write a one-shot inspired by this fic written by @softest-punk, and this combination of prompts finally gave me the window for it~

Word Count: 5,130

[Read on AO3]

———

Snow is falling softly on a Friday evening in December, and the streets are alive with brilliant lights and Christmas carols.

Morpheus sees all this with distant interest as he glances up from his book, making sure it isn’t his station yet when the train begins to slow to a stop.

Some people on either side of him get up to exit, and Morpheus goes back to reading. In his periphery, he notices that a couple and their child have just gotten aboard, and he moves to his left to make space for them on the bench.

The train begins to move again. Morpheus is in the middle of figuring out the clues that the detective has discovered in the novel when he feels something bump against his shoulder.

He looks to his left and sees that the man sitting beside him has fallen asleep, his arms wrapped securely around a backpack on his lap.

Morpheus purses his lips. His first instinct is to avoid the touch, uncomfortable with physical contact even from friends and family. However, he understands how tiring public commute can be, especially with the Christmas Eve rush. So he takes a breath and lets it be, managing to get back to the story.

Two stations later, the train lurches to an abrupt halt, making most of the passengers give a shout of surprise.

The man on Morpheus’ shoulder tips forward, and Morpheus instinctively holds out his hand to the man’s backpack to steady him. The man startles awake and sits up, blinking owlishly as the train makes a screeching sound, grinding to a halt halfway into the station.

“Sorry, mate,” the man slightly shakes his head and stifles a yawn behind his hand. “Didn't mean to fall asleep. Uh, what's happening?” He straightens the front of his brown jacket.

Morpheus furrows his eyebrows as he looks around at the other confused passengers. “I believe the train has broken down.”

No sooner has he said the words when the sound of the tannoy comes on and they hear the voice of the conductor informing them that there seems to be a problem with the engine, and everyone has to disembark the train now while they make repairs.

The passengers murmur and grumble their complaints, but there's nothing else to be done about it. The doors open and people begin filing out.

Morpheus sighs and closes his book. He should have known that going home to attend his parents’ Christmas dinner would bring only misfortune.

—

Hob adjusts the straps of his backpack on his shoulders as he goes with the crowd to enter the nearest hotel from the train station.

Snow is falling heavily now, and most of the main roads are closed. Some passengers had started complaining to the conductor and security guards and whoever else in uniform they could find, and so a compromise was reached that they would all be booked to stay the night in a nearby hotel, paid for by the train company as compensation for causing such a hassle on Christmas Eve, in exchange for the passengers not suing them or filing a mountain of complaints.

Hob isn't feeling particularly angry; he's sad to miss his parents’ Christmas dinner, but he's seen enough snowy Christmases to know that he can still most likely make it in time for Christmas Day brunch at their house.

Waking up to the bluest eyes he's ever seen also helped a lot with his mood. He scans the hotel lobby now for the man, but it's difficult with the crowd of people. Hob wonders briefly if the man didn't go to the hotel with them, but it seems unlikely considering how there's hardly any cabs driving in this weather.

A hotel staff approaches them and says that unfortunately due to the amount of people coming in all at once, they would have to share rooms for the night. There's more grumbling and scoffing, and the hotel staff says that a simple meal would be prepared for them soon, and they can wait in the lobby while the food and their rooms are being arranged.

People slowly settle down into seats, and Hob looks around to find himself a vacant flat surface to sit on.

His eyes land on a man seated on the third step of the stairs leading to the second floor. The buttons of the man’s black peacoat are undone, giving him a somewhat relaxed air as his gaze focuses on the book in his lap, his slender legs stretched gracefully on the lower steps.

Hob feels himself smile and makes his way towards the man. He unslings his backpack from his shoulders and gets something from the outer pocket.

“While we wait for dinner,” Hob holds out the unopened buttered croissant in clear packaging.

The man glances at him, then at the food in his hand. “Thank you, but it is not necessary. I am not hungry.”

Hob nods and returns the croissant in his bag. “Alright, well, the offer stands if you ever change your mind. Is it alright if I sit?” he points to the stairs. “Everywhere else is full.”

The man glances at the crowded lobby and nods. “Of course.” He turns a page in his book and returns to reading.

Hob sits on the same step as the man, on the farthest side against the wall. Fortunately, the staircase is wide enough that there's still plenty of space between them for people to walk through if they wanted to use the stairs.

Hob places his backpack on the step below him and takes out his phone to message his parents. He informs them of the situation and reassures them that he'll be home for Christmas brunch.

They talk for a while in the family group chat, and Hob is glad to know that the snowfall isn't too heavy at his parents’ place.

He looks up when he sees some people walking around, and he realises that they're starting to set up tables and distribute food.

Hob glances over to the man beside him, and he still looks the same as when Hob first approached; quietly reading his book with a very subtle frown of concentration, partly leaning against the railing.

Hob considers informing him that dinner is almost ready, but he gets a better idea.

He stands up and slings his backpack on his shoulders, and heads over to help with setting up.

A few minutes later, Hob comes back to the man with a plate of food. “Here you go,” he holds it out.

The man glances up and looks at the plate: grapes, cheese, two slices of white bread, and ham.

“Wasn't sure what you'd like so I brought the safest options,” Hob says sheepishly.

The man tilts his head a fraction to the side. “Why did you bring anything at all?”

Hob shrugs and sits down against the wall again, setting his backpack down. “To thank you for catching me earlier? Would have fallen on my face if you hadn't.”

“It was simply common decency,” the man said indifferently.

“So is this,” Hob holds out the plate again.

The man gives a small smile. “Thank you.” He takes the plate, but then a notification sound from his pocket takes his attention. He sets the plate down beside him and takes out his phone, frowning when he reads the screen.

“Something troubling you?” Hob picks up a grape from his own plate. “If you don't mind me asking.”

“I was supposed to go to my parents’ house tonight for Christmas dinner. I informed them earlier of the situation, and the passive-aggressive messages have begun,” he says drily.

“Maybe they're just worried about you?” Hob offers.

“They're worried about their image,” the man corrects him. “For reasons I am yet to understand, they want all their friends to see on social media that we spend Christmas together annually. Perhaps they think it would somehow draw in more business for their country club.”

“Oh.” Hob falls quiet. It’s a bit surreal to hear, especially since it’s a stark contrast to how Hob feels about celebrating Christmas with his family.

There’s another notification sound, but this time the man smiles at his phone. “My older sister told me to be safe, and my younger sibling called me a ‘lucky bastard’ for not being there right now.”

“I’m guessing none of you actually enjoy those dinners?” Hob smiles despite the unhappy sentiment, just glad to see that the man’s mood seems to have improved.

“Indeed,” the man sighs and returns his phone to his pocket. “Ah, where are my manners. I am Morpheus.” He holds out a hand.

Hob grins. “Hob,” he shakes Morpheus’ hand. “Hopefully you have a better Christmas Eve now than last year. No posh parents to tolerate here. Unless you wanna approach any of them in the lobby,” he nods in the direction of it.

Morpheus chuckles. “How about you, then? Where were you headed?”

“Same as you, Christmas dinner with family. We do it yearly, too. No complaints so far, apart from when I extremely messed up that batch of cookies two years back.”

Morpheus raises his eyebrows in curiosity. “How does one ‘extremely mess up’ cookies?”

“When one misreads ½ cup of baking soda as 2 ½ cups. Tasted like chemicals, I nearly choked on it,” Hob scrunches up his face at the memory.

“Where did the 2 come from?” Morpheus asks in amusement.

“It was the second item on the ingredients list. I thought ‘2’ was part of the measurement, since it was right beside the ‘½’,” Hob explains, gesturing with his hands.

Morpheus glances at his plate like it might be poisoned. “You didn’t cook any of these, did you?”

“Oi!” Hob says indignantly. “That was one time! I’ve made excellent cookies since then.”

Morpheus laughs, a real one that brightens up his entire face and makes Hob feel pleasantly warm on the inside.

“Well,” Morpheus says as he calms down. “I’m sorry that your Christmas Eve is turning out to be bleaker than last year’s. It sounds like you actually enjoy spending it with your family,”

“Oh I do, but last year was… different.” A ridiculous understatement, but Hob isn’t sure how much would be socially acceptable to tell someone he just met.

Morpheus looks at him curiously. “I’m guessing it was worse than inedible cookies?”

Hob chuckles awkwardly and glances down at his plate. “Yeah, uh… my girlfriend at the time broke up with me.”

“On Christmas Eve?” Morpheus says in surprise.

“She felt like she had to, I think,” Hob shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I proposed. Thought it would be a grand romantic gesture. And it was, which was the problem. She said things were going too fast, I was too much, stuff like that.” He focused on getting a piece of lasagna from his plate, taking a bite of it and chewing slowly to make himself stop rambling.

“I see,” Morpheus said without pity or judgement in his voice, which Hob is grateful for. “I apologise for having brought up such a personal matter.”

“Nah it’s alright. It hurt an awful lot at the time, but I’ve made peace with it now,” Hob says sincerely. “It took a long while and a great deal of support from my friends and family, but eventually I was able to move on from it. We wanted different things, that’s all.”

Morpheus nods and uses his fork to put some ham and cheese on the piece of bread and puts the other slice on it to make a sandwich. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re too much,” he gestures with the sandwich towards Hob before taking a bite of it.

Hob chuckles and tugs at his earlobe, feeling his face warm. “Thanks, mate. Uh, you can go back to reading now,” he gestures to the book still open on Morpheus’ lap. “I just wanted to make sure you got some food before they ran out.”

Morpheus raises an eyebrow. “You don’t wish to speak with me anymore?”

“No, I do!” Hob says hurriedly. “It’s just that, my sister’s a bookworm and I know she hates it when people interrupt her reading.”

Morpheus smiles. “I see. And what does it mean when she willingly puts a book away in order to spend time with someone?”

“Oh, that’s a huge honour,” Hob says fondly. “It means she’s really interested…” he trails off when Morpheus closes his book and puts it in his small messenger bag. “You’re…?”

“Interested? Yes.”

“In me?” Hob says without thinking and almost takes it back.

“Are you opposed?”

“No,” Hob replies probably too quickly.

Morpheus’ eyes are twinkling with fond amusement, and Hob thinks the flush on his face might be glaringly obvious.

He is saved from saying anything embarrassing by the announcement of the hotel staff that the rooms are ready, and that they can queue up to get assigned with roommates.

Hob and Morpheus finish their remaining food and get up to stand in line. Morpheus hangs back a little when they reach the queue and gestures for Hob to be in front of him.

The now familiar notification sound catches Hob’s attention and he turns in time to see Morpheus looking at his phone screen with a sour expression.

“More passive-aggressive texts?” Hob asks sympathetically.

“Yes. I'm muting them now. I shall just claim that the snow had caused disruptions in signals.” Morpheus pockets his phone again, but there’s still a crease on his forehead.

“Are you alright?” Hob asks.

Morpheus lets out a breath. “They keep asking how my girlfriend is and whether I'm bringing her there tomorrow.”

Hob’s heart drops to his stomach. Morpheus has a girlfriend? But then why—

“I have not told them we had ended our relationship more than eight months ago.”

“Oh,” Hob feels guilty about how relieved he feels. “I'm… sorry to hear that.”

Morpheus shakes his head lightly. “It was for the best. She works in Greece, and our relationship could not survive the distance. But as you say, I’ve made peace with it. I just haven’t told my parents about the breakup because I know they’re planning to set me up with an heir to some company or other. I don’t know, I don’t really keep track of their business deals.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not having dinner with them,” Hob says to lighten the mood as they move up the line. “You can enjoy Christmas Eve for once.”

Morpheus smiles. “Indeed.”

They reach the front of the line and the woman at the desk asks Hob if he already has someone to share a room with or if they need to assign him one.

Hob realises he hasn't thought about it, and turns to Morpheus. “Do you wanna share a room?”

Morpheus nods. “Yes.” He looks at the woman. “How many would we be in one room?”

“Given the limited capacity of the hotel this evening, four people would share a double room, that's our room with two beds,” the woman adjusts her glasses. “And two people would be assigned to each single room with one bed. Extra mattresses and blankets will be provided upon request.”

Hob exchanges glances with Morpheus. He wouldn't mind sharing a room with more people, but it might be more comfortable if it's just the two of them, given that they know each other more than anyone else here. Safer too, since they already trust each other to some degree.

Yeah, keep making those excuses, Gadling, a part of Hob’s brain tells him.

“It's your turn in the queue,” Morpheus says. “You make the choice.”

“It'll be your room too,” Hob points out.

Morpheus looks away for a moment. “I am not prone to socialising.”

“Single room it is, then,” Hob tries not to sound too happy about it and nods to the woman to confirm.

She types something on her computer and gives them their key cards. “That’s on the second floor, down the hall to your right. Have a good evening,” she says with a friendly smile.

“Thank you,” Hob takes the cards and looks at her nametag. “Lucienne,” he returns the smile.

Hob hands Morpheus a key card and they head to the stairs.

“You can now resume your sleep from the train,” Morpheus says playfully as they walk side by side.

Hob smiles. “I guess, but I'm not really sleepy anymore. I think I'd walk around and explore the place for a bit, and ask for that extra mattress. You take the bed.”

Morpheus shakes his head. “I do not mind the mattress. You can have the bed.”

“We'll coin flip for it later,” Hob says when they reach their room.

Morpheus looks around and walks towards a small shelf with drinks and snacks. “All these and not a singular water bottle,” he frowns disapprovingly.

“Oh I have one, haven't opened it yet.” Hob unslings his backpack and places it down on a chair.

He opens the zipper and a small wrapped present nearly tumbles out, but he catches it in time. He takes the bottle of water he bought at a convenience store earlier and puts the present back in the bag before zipping it shut again.

“Here you go,” Hob holds out the bottle as Morpheus walks over to him. “And that buttered croissant still has your name on it if you want it,” he pats the pocket where it still sits.

“Your bag is full of presents,” Morpheus says curiously as he accepts the bottle.

“Ah, yeah,” Hob chuckles. “For my parents and siblings. Stayed up late last night wrapping them, that's why I was dozing off on the train.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Morpheus smiles and opens the water bottle to take a sip.

“They'd have some for me too, we like giving each other presents. Nothing fancy, just small trinkets and things that we think would make each other happy.”

Morpheus' smile turns wistful. “Your family sounds lovely.”

“And your siblings would want you to have a lovely evening. How about it, then? Stroll around a bit before we argue who takes the bed?”

“There shall be no arguments. We will take the stroll and you will be too tired afterwards and fall asleep on the bed,” Morpheus declares lightly.

“You're not gonna outlast me that easily, I've spent many nights telling my nieces and nephews bedtime stories. And they do not fall asleep after just one.”

Morpheus huffs out a chuckle. “Lead the way, then.”

They go downstairs and order cups of hot chocolate from the crowded café before walking aimlessly around the hotel. They find a garden blanketed with thick snow, and a small gym that's closed for the night.

They eventually end up on a small balcony on the second floor overlooking the amenities at the back of the hotel.

“There's a tennis court,” Hob notices. “Do you play?”

Morpheus shakes his head. “I am not inclined towards sports.”

“What do you do, then? When you're not getting stranded in hotels with strangers.”

“I own a pub that also rents out rooms for those who need a place to stay.”

“Wow, I wouldn't have figured you as a pub owner.”

Morpheus arches an eyebrow in amusement. “You’d have expected me to have a beard? To be more extroverted like a bartender?”

“No,” Hob chuckles. “You just look like an artist, that's all. One of those fancy ones. With your eye for books and gorgeous fashion sense.”

Morpheus smiles. “I do play the piano and write songs, so you're not entirely wrong.”

“Really? I'd love to hear you play some time,” Hob says and instantly regrets it.

It implies a next time, that he wants to keep seeing Morpheus even after tonight.

Too much, too soon. A ring discarded on the coffee table—

“I would love to play for you,” Morpheus' soft voice puts a halt on Hob's thoughts. His blue eyes are bright with sincerity, and his lips curve with that smile that Hob is beginning to grow fond of. “And what do you do, Hob? Apart from judging people based on their appearance.”

“Hey, you just said I wasn't entirely wrong,” Hob points out.

Morpheus just chuckles and takes a sip from his cup.

“I'm a college professor, Literature.” Hob leans against the railing.

“I see,” Morpheus sounds pleasantly surprised. “Do you nurture young minds to express themselves through the written word, or torture them with poetry analyzations?”

“I delight them with Christopher Marlowe, thank you very much. I torture them with Shakespeare.”

Morpheus laughs and glances down into his cup. “I must admit I… did not expect this at all when they said we would have to spend the night here.”

“You didn't expect a college professor with a bag full of wrapped trinkets?” Hob finishes his hot chocolate and places the cup on the railing.

Morpheus smiles and looks at Hob again, and Hob feels something flutter in his stomach at receiving a smile like that.

“I did not expect anyone at all. I am not the most… approachable, I've been told. I had thought I would be spending Christmas Eve by myself.” He empties his cup too and sets it down beside Hob’s.

Hob wonders who could have told Morpheus that, but he decides not to pry and just shrugs. “I didn't want to spend Christmas Eve alone, and you're good company.” He takes a step closer and playfully leans forward. “I'm glad it's you I accidentally fell asleep on.”

Morpheus chuckles and also takes a step closer. “And I'm glad I put my book away to spend time with you.”

“Still interested, then?” Hob says even as his face warms.

“Yes.” Morpheus holds his gaze, eyes glittering with intent.

Hob’s mouth suddenly goes dry, and he can’t help but stare at those rosy pink lips, wondering if they would taste like the chocolate drink Morpheus just finished.

“You're the one who told me to enjoy Christmas Eve, correct?” Morpheus steps even closer.

Hob swallows, meeting Morpheus’ eyes and unable to look away. “Y-Yeah, you should.” He could easily step backwards to put more distance between them, but right now there's nothing on this earth that could make him want to do that.

“Hob…” Morpheus whispers and noses along Hob’s cheekbone, his warm breath like a caress.

Hob grabs Morpheus' face with both hands and presses their lips together, swallowing the pleased hum that slipped out of Morpheus.

The glide of their tongues against each other is soft, and Hob was right that Morpheus’ mouth would taste like the hot chocolate, except it’s infinitely better and Hob can’t stop chasing the heat of it.

Morpheus wraps his arms around Hob’s waist, and Hob summons a great deal of willpower to pull away from the kiss, placing his hands on Morpheus' shoulders.

“Morpheus…” Hob says breathlessly. “I want… I want to keep seeing you after this. So if this is just a one-time thing for you, tell me now so I know to expect it. We’d both been with other people relatively recently and I don't want you to think I'm just using you as a replacement because I was really sad this time last year—”

Morpheus gently places a finger to Hob's lips. “I wish to keep seeing you as well.” He retracts his finger to cup Hob’s face instead, running a thumb across his cheekbone. “And neither am I using you as a mere replacement. I said I would love to play music for you, and I meant it. Even if we go no further tonight, I am already glad to have met you.”

Hob takes a steadying breath and tightens his grip on Morpheus' shoulders to ground himself. “Okay, okay… If you're alright with it, then I wanna see you again some time after tonight. I'm really glad to have met you too, and I wanna see where this goes.”

Morpheus tenderly rests his forehead against Hob’s. “I dearly enjoy your company and I would like the same.” He pulls back to look at Hob. “Though I am hoping that where this goes next is to our shared bedroom?” he says with a fond smile. “Even if all you want to do is talk, I wish to keep holding you in my arms and—”

Hob has surged up to kiss him again, pushing him backwards against a wall.

Morpheus puts his hands on the small of Hob’s back and pulls him closer, meeting the kiss with such enthusiasm that it makes Hob pleasantly lightheaded.

They do eventually make it to their bedroom, though Hob can't at all remember how. He just hears the click of a lock and the next thing he knows he's on his back on the bed, Morpheus looming beautifully over him.

He grabs the front of Morpheus' coat and pulls him down, kissing him like he needs it to breathe.

Morpheus' tongue dives deep, exploring Hob's mouth and eliciting sounds that Hob might have been embarrassed by if not for the fact that Morpheus is making them too.

Morpheus' fingers slip under Hob's shirt and he shivers, earning him another pleased hum.

They push and pull and squirm until coat and jacket and shirts fall unceremoniously to the floor.

Hob feels the hard line of Morpheus' cock against his own through their trousers and a wounded noise escapes him, his hips bucking up to chase more of the sensation.

Morpheus mirrors his impatience and reaches with trembling fingers to undo Hob’s fly. Hob bites his lip to maintain a modicum of composure as he returns the favour, and soon enough they've divested each other of the rest of their clothing.

Hob gets impossibly harder at the sight of Morpheus cock, but he doesn't have much time to stare as Morpheus captures his lips once more.

They rut against each other, precome making them slick and sticky as they moan into their kisses. Hob remembers seeing snow outside but he doesn't feel the slightest bit cold; his skin is on fire and every touch of Morpheus only stokes the flames.

Hob threads his fingers through Morpheus' hair, keeping him in place and relishing in the feeling of soft raven locks under his hands.

He feels a hand wrap around both of their cocks and Hob gasps, breaking the kiss and eyes rolling back in his head.

Morpheus sucks and nips at his neck as he strokes down their lengths, his pace quickening until he's making muffled whimpers against Hob's skin.

Hob’s legs begin to tremble, he digs his fingernails into Morpheus' back and his mouth falls open in anticipation as he feels the familiar pull at the base of his spine.

“Hob…” Morpheus moans sinfully into his neck.

Hob's response is a sound that's all vowels, but he thinks he can't be blamed when Morpheus is tightening his hand and twisting his wrist in a way that's slowly driving him mad.

Hob takes Morpheus' face and brings it up to him, wishing once more to feel those soft lips against his own.

Their kiss is more gasping and panting than a proper kiss, but Hob is too far gone to care. He thrusts up desperately into the circle of Morpheus' hand, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart thundering in his chest.

Morpheus deepens the kiss and sucks on Hob's tongue at the same time as he twists his grip—

Lightning shoots up Hob’s spine and his vision goes white as he comes, shaking uncontrollably with his screams muffled against Morpheus' mouth.

Morpheus follows him a moment after with a strangled sob, thrusting and pressing Hob’s body repeatedly into the bed as he milks them both of every drop of spend.

They're both whimpering when Morpheus slows down his pace and stops entirely, collapsing on top of Hob.

Hob can barely feel his limbs but he manages to put a soothing hand on Morpheus' back, and they catch their breaths together as they feel each other’s heartbeats return to normal.

Somewhere outside the hotel, a clock strikes midnight, and the distant sound of Christmas songs can be heard.

“Merry Christmas,” Morpheus smiles and gives him a soft kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” Hob whispers, still on this side of breathless.

Morpheus slides off him to lay on his side, and Hob immediately turns around and pulls him into an embrace, their noses almost touching.

“I never asked, what were your plans for Christmas Day?”

Morpheus hums and idly runs his fingers through Hob's chest hair. “Pretend to still have no phone signal so I can keep avoiding my parents. Though I shall send a text to my siblings to let them know I am safe.”

“Then… Then, if you'd like, you can come with me to brunch?” Hob asks hesitantly. “It's another yearly thing we do as a family, and you're welcome to join.”

Morpheus' eyes widen slightly, and Hob starts to panic.

“I know I said we'll still see where it goes, you and I, I mean. But it doesn't have to mean much, it's just brunch and I want you to have a happy Christmas too and—”

Morpheus stops him with a kiss, and Hob distantly thinks in the back of his mind that that's a dangerous way of spoiling him. He might never shut up if that's how Morpheus always quiets him.

“Hob,” Morpheus says softly when he pulls away. “I would very much like to spend Christmas with you and your family. Though I'd argue I'm already having a happy Christmas right now,” he smiles.

Hob chuckles in relief and presses closer to Morpheus, tucking his face in the crook of his neck. “Just you wait, we haven't even begun yet. I'd make you breakfast but there's nothing to cook here, so we'll just have to see what's in the café tomorrow before we leave.”

“Does that buttered croissant still have my name on it?” Morpheus asks as he caresses Hob’s back. “I'll have that for breakfast if it means I get to spend a few more hours cuddling you in this bed.”

Hob groans and pulls away to look at Morpheus. “You're actually driving me mad, you know that? You can't be gorgeous and sweet, it's not fair.”

“You are very much the same, yet you don't hear me complaining.”

Hob feels himself flush, and Morpheus smiles and snuggles into him, resting his head under Hob's chin.

Hob can’t help but smile as well, and he lets his eyes close as he feels the pleasant warmth of Morpheus' body against him.

Hob pulls the blanket over them both, and as they fall asleep in each other’s embrace, Hob thinks that he's already having a happy Christmas too.

———

Notes:

Hob's Baking Soda Bungle is based on that time my sister misread the baking soda measurement in the recipe. The cookies really did taste like chemicals 🥲

Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! <3

———

(2024 Sandman Connect4 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[not-a-space-alien]

Giant/Tiny game night

Since my previous post about my tiny dice I've expanded my collection a bit. Thought I would put together a collection of all the big and small versions of games I have :) I have a variety which make me feel either very small or very big!

Miniature and Oversized card decks compared to a regular deck.

Miniature and Oversized Jenga compared to a regular game.

Miniature rubix cube compared to a standard sized one.

Tiny connect4. I've also played on a lawn-sized version with the slots big enough to stick your entire hand through, but I have no pics of it sadly

Various sized dice (including the giant d20 plushie)

That's all for now! Feel free to reblog with pictures of your own games that are either smaller or bigger than they usually are :)

[sandman-connect4]

Prompts Revealed!

These are the prompts for the first ever Sandman Connect4 Challenge. Your own cards will be emailed out to you on November 1st, but feel free to begin working on any prompts now! The submission link to mark your cards will be included in the email along with your cards and can also be found here.

We hope you enjoy!

As a reminder, feel free to tag as #2024SandmanConnect4 or tag us in your posts if you'd like us to reblog it!

[budgetburials]

evspotting is a meme in nj where motorists take pics of him driving around doing increasingly insane shit. the most-viewed pic on the fb group is him fully carving a jack o lantern on the highway

everett being the kind of fuck who drives with both feet while shaving in the rearview mirror, replying to texts with voice memos, and eating a bowl of cereal but still having a clean driving record is my villain origin story

[seiya-starsniper]

When Dreams Become Reality (Dreamling - AO3)

Rating: Mature Status: Incomplete Chapters: 2/8 Words: 5,932/???? Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Post-Inception, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Crossover, Lucid Dreaming, Dreamsharing, pasiv, Trans Ariadne (Inception), Heist, Forging (Inception), Missions Gone Wrong, Hob Gadling accidentally help frees Dream of the Endless, BAMF Hob Gadling, dream suicide of background character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

It was supposed to be a simple job. All they had to do was enter Alexander Burgess’s dreams and convince him to go away with his lover Paul and leave behind Fawney Rig for good. Simpler than Inception. Safer than Extraction. Yet when Hob Gadling and Arthur Freeman get inside the head of their mark, they realize that not everything is as it seems. Alexander Burgess is hiding a much darker secret, one that is deeply hidden within the basement not just at Fawney Rig, but also inside of Alex’s mind. And Paul refuses to tell them what it is. Or: What happens when Dream is set free after a hundred years and he discovers that humans have created the technology to infiltrate dreams?

Written for @sandman-connect4 challenge, @five-and-dimes and I decided to make the challenge extra fun and write a fic together! And we decided to be overly ambitious and do an Inception fusion fishbowl rescue!

[tj-dragonblade]

Sandman Connect4 Roundup

Many thanks to the @sandman-connect4 team for putting the challenge together! It was a lot of fun and I love the badges!

Look at poor Dream just bouncing around in his fishbowl! 💖

Breakdown, Hands, Duty: Promises in the Wake ~1300 Words, Rated G

Weave: Weekend Arts and Crafts ~1600 Words, Rated G

Photography, Goldfish: Mementos ~1200 Words, Rated G

Willpower: Shift to Overdrive ~2600 Words, Rated E

[lucky-slice]

"KevNeil is great because -"

No. Its because they're stupid. Individually, Kevin is a nationally recognized exy superstar and Neil is the son of a mafia boss who is playing with social dynamics like its connect4, but put them together and they're just fucking idiots. They're sharing one braincell and its getting tossed between their exy rackets.

[aralezinspace]

~~Read It Here~~

Immortale: Italian, 'immortal' Hob Gadling finds himself entangled in a struggle that spans millennia. Dream of the Endless sends his blade to ensure their wager is unaffected. When they both meet famed Mentor Ezio Auditore, things take an expected and yet somewhat surprising turn.

FINALLY IT'S HERE my entry for the @sandman-connect4 fic game, filling prompts prison, willpower, belt, forum

I almost didn’t finish this on time because Ezio and Hob sprinted away with it while laughing maniacally- what I thought would be maybe 9k ended up being LITERALLY DOUBLE THAT

This work isn't a direct sequel, but it does come after The Tale of the Blade in the Dark

[sod-arts]

Hii, I hope you're doing well! I'm @embroiderling and I want to know if it's ok to embroider one of your drawings. It's for the @sandman-connect4

♥.

Hi, yes it’s ok ❤️. Good luck and have fun 🫶🏻