#just some spicy domestic dreamling for y'all

[valeriianz]

Hob hums along to the music quietly playing through his phone speaker, the knife in his hand coming down swiftly over the thinly sliced peppers, dicing them for his latest meal endeavor. He’d never really been much of a cook, but after living on his own for so many years, Hob came to the realization that living off takeout and boxed pasta wasn’t very sustainable (or healthy) and had strived to make at least one homemade meal a day. And today it was breakfast.

He scraped the bell pepper into a small bowl and reached for the red onion. Hob was on a mission this morning to get an omelet correct– redemption round– he called it. Preparing the vegetables was easy enough, it was cooking them with the egg mixture while keeping its integrity that was the challenge. 

With the knife poised to make the first cut into the onion, Hob suddenly feels two arms snake around his waist, followed by a cold nose pushing its way through his hair at the back of his neck.

Hob huffs a startled, but pleased laugh, as Dream nuzzles his way around, pressing feather soft kisses on his neck and up to his ear. He didn’t even hear Dream approach; he never hears Dream, like the man weighed nothing or just glided along the squeaky floorboards. Hob unconsciously tilts his head, stretching his neck out for Dream to have more access.

“You weren’t there when I awoke,” Dream rumbles, his voice impossibly low and rough from sleep.

Hob smiles. He still has the knife in his hand, but he’s lowered it to the cutting board, blade safely out of the way.

“I wanted to get started on breakfast,” he answers simply, trying desperately to not turn his head and meet Dream’s wandering lips. “And I made coffee.”

Dream presses his body along Hob’s, crowding him against the counter and ripping a surprised gasp from Hob, which turns into a soft groan as Dream nips his ear before dragging an open mouth down his neck. One of his hands is slipping underneath the hem of Hob’s shirt, rucking it up and fingers dancing across his stomach.

Hob’s eyes slip closed and he swallows hard.

“I’m holding a knife, love.”

He feels one of Dream’s hands move from his hip to lightly grip his elbow, fingers caressing down Hob’s arm and gently dislodging the knife from his hand. Hob chuckles softly, accepting his fate and allowing Dream to tie their fingers together, resting their hands on the countertop as he pushes himself forward again, so Dream’s front is flush against Hob’s backside.

Hob’s breath catches in his throat, feeling the distinct, hard outline of Dream’s arousal nudge against his ass as he shamelessly rolls his hips, pulling Hob impossibly closer as he does so. Hob brings his free hand around, winding it back and touching Dream’s middle, feeling skin. He tilts his head back against Dream’s shoulder, splaying his fingers and exploring down past Dream’s ribs to his hips, and lower…

Hob is almost breathless as he speaks, almost stammers as Dream bites his exposed neck.

“Why are you naked?”

“Why aren’t you?” Dream counters before getting both hands on Hob’s hips and spinning him around, shoving a gloriously firm, pale leg against Hob’s crotch and crushing Hob against the counter with renewed vigor.

Hob can only meet Dream’s mouth as it descends onto his, moaning as Dream’s tongue slides along his, hot and insistent. Hob crumbles at once, wrapping his arms around Dream’s shoulders and pulling so there’s no more space between them, no more air.

Hob cries out at a particularly hard thrust, causing his lower back to dig into the counter’s edge. Dream is kissing down his neck again and Hob can only hold on, getting a handful of silky soft hair and pulling.

“Dream–”

“Come back to bed,” Dream demands, licking the shell of Hob’s ear and making him shudder pleasantly.

Hob relents, abandoning his mission that was breakfast, it had been a lost cause from the start.