#kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 14 - Naughty

(Ao3 Link) (Masterlist Link)

Morpheus had been acting… strange. As of late. Hob almost wondered if he was coming down with something. They have been out in the cold more often lately. And it did all seem to start after they’d gotten their Christmas tree. But whenever Hob would ask him, he said he was fine. No fever (he’d made Morpheus take his temp, just to be sure), no chills, no nothing. So whatever was going on with him, it wasn’t because he was ill.

It did make Hob wonder, though, what was causing his friend to act so strange. He wondered if it was something he had done because for the past two weeks, it’s like he’s been avoiding him. Hob would plop down on the couch next to Morpheus, getting ready for their Friday movie nights, like they had for the past two months. Then, Morpheus would get up, either grabbing a drink or a snack, but rather than sitting back down where he had, he’d go sit in one of the armchairs instead.

It hurt. And it wasn’t just movie nights either. He sat across from Hob for meals, rather than beside him. Or he’d go eat in his room. Whenever he’d reach out to give his friend a hug, Morpheus would duck out or shy away. He used to always accept them.

Had he felt obligated, before? Did he finally realize that he would always be welcome here and no longer had to try and please him by being close to him? Not that Hob ever wanted him to feel that way, regardless. Wherever he was, Morpheus would always be welcome, in whatever capacity he wished. Now Hob just worries his friend felt… forced. It made his stomach twist.

Morpheus is in his room. Hob knocks, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood. There’s shuffling behind the door before it’s opened. Morpheus looks flushed again. Maybe this is just his body in the winter?

“Hey,” Hob greets, stepping back away from the threshold. He didn’t want Morpheus to feel uncomfortable again. “Mind if we talk for a sec?” The flush in his friend’s cheeks all but vanished. He nods, stiffly, and walks back into his room, sitting on the edge of his bed. Hob takes a breath and follows in.

Morpheus sits, his hands holding tightly onto his knees. Christ, he looks like he’s a second away from bolting. It stabs Hob right through the heart. He had done this. The worst part is he doesn’t know what exactly he’s done. Hob knows he’s carried a torch for his friend for the longest of times, and that flame only grew when he became human, but he’d thought he’d done a good job at keeping the line between friend and crush separate.

Apparently not.

He hesitates, debating if he ought to take a seat or remain standing. He’s not sure what was better. He decides, in the end, to sit, but at the very bottom end of the bed.

“Listen… I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really, really am.” He sighs and rests his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward or, or make you feel uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d ever want. So, whatever it is I’ve done, tell me. Please. So I can try and fix it. I’ll swear I’ll never do it again.”

He feels Morpheus’s gaze on him. He’s silent for a while.

“You... are apologizing.”

“Yeah,” Hob says, turning to his friend, his face pulled tight in regret. “Sorry it took so long. Didn’t realize till today.”

“I do not understand.”

“Why am I apologizing?”

“Yes.”

Hob blinks, suddenly wondering if he’s drastically misread the situation.

“I… You’d been dodging me. Thought I did something to make you not feel safe around me.”

Morpheus laughs and the weight on Hob’s shoulders begins to fade. Not completely, but some.

“It is not you who ought to be apologizing, but I.” Morpheus closes his eyes and sighs, his shoulders falling in the way Hob has learned to recognize means Morpheus thinks he’s going to say something that has dire consequences. “I have, as of late, been thinking of you as the object of my desires, especially those of a carnal nature. I had verified that it was not due to my siblings interference, and so I have accepted that it is just… me. And my doings. And so I apologize, Hob Gadling. You are my dearest friend and deserve better.”

It takes Hob a good few minutes to process everything he just said. But then it hits him like a truck.

“Are…” He pauses, squinting at Morpheus, because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to recover if he also misunderstood what he just said. “Are you saying that you… fantasized… about me?”

His friend flushes and nods, not looking at Hob, but rather the wall across the bed. And here Hob thought he’d been too forward, somehow. Turns out he needed to be the opposite.

“How long has that been going on?”

“For a fortnight hence.”

“Two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been jacking it to me for two weeks?”

Morpheus’s face scrunches at the verbiage and Hob smiles.

“Yes. Since you seem so keen to mock me with such crude terms.” Hob scoots closer, feeling emboldened by the confession.

“Yeah? Would it please you to know you’ve been the subject of my fantasies for the past, oh, four hundred some years?”

He can feel the wind from how quickly Morpheus whips his head to face him. His beautiful blue eyes are wide and dart across his face.

“Truly?”

“Yup.” Hob says, popping the ‘P’. “So really, what I’m hearing is, I should be apologizing for not noticing and taking care of you earlier?”

Morpheus’s eyes darken. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips and Hob can’t help but follow the motion.

“Perhaps,” he muses, leaning forward into Hob’s space. “And how might you pay for your actions?”

Hob chuckles and leans in as well. Their lips are just centimeters apart. He can feel Morpheus’s hot breath on his skin and he shutters.

“I can think of a few things.” He slides down, off the bed, and onto his knees. He shuffles so he’s positioned right in between Morpheus’s legs. His friend turns his feet in, closing Hob in with a smile. Then Hob has a thought.

“Wait,” he says, resting his hands on Morpheus’s knees. “Two weeks ago. Is that why you were acting so weird in the car ride home?”

Morpheus looks to the side, raising his chin in a defiant manner. “Perhaps.”

“Okay,” Hob laughs, shaking his head fondly. “I have to know, though, what was it about buying pre-cut trees in the Tesco parking lot that really did it for you?”

Morpheus sighs and looks down at Hob from the corner of his eye. “It was not the trees, Hob Gadling.” He chides, still somehow managing to sound regal, despite their situation. “It was the show of strength and prowess at your ability to provide.” He clears his throat. “Also, you looked quite fine from my angle whilst you were securing the tree in place.”

“It’s cause those jeans made my arse look good, wasn’t it.”

“Perhaps.”

Hob hums and climbs up out of his kneeling position. He slots his arms between Morpheus’s arms and his body, trapping him between the bed.

“Well, those jeans are in the wash, unfortunately, but I can show off that strength of mine again for you.” Hob winks before he hauls Morpheus’s body up and over his shoulder. His hips dig into Hob’s shoulder, his legs dangle in front. Hob places one hand on the backs of his knees to keep him steady and gives him a firm spank on the arse. Morpheus squeals.

“Hob Gadling,” Morpheus growls without any heat behind it.

“Yes dear?” He replies in a sing-song tune.

“If you do not carry me to your bed and fuck me proper, I will not forgive you for this.” Well, if he had to worry about not being hard enough (he didn’t), that command did the trick.

“Your wish is my command.”

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 29 - Moonlight

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

Morpheus has been awake for hours. It’s still dark out as he lies in Hob’s bed, listening to the gentle breathing of his friend beside him. Moonlight filters through the blinds, illuminating the familiar room with a soft glow.

It has been just over a week since Morpheus arrived at Hob’s flat, following in is sister’s footsteps. The overwhelming sensation of��� everything. Of light, of sound, of touch, it was so much. It took many days and nights to simply feel comfortable enough in this new human body to just exist. Hob has treated him well, through all the struggles. He has been patient and kind. More so that Morpheus deserved. It is more than he will ever be able to repay.

And now he lies in his bed, sharing it while the one Hob ordered the first day he arrived ships. It is the second night he has lain here and recalled more than just pain and sensations he did not know what to do with. Morpheus did not sleep the previous night. He knows, from Hob’s recollection, that he slept at various times the days before, but he had not dreamed yet. His body had still been recovering from being made and lived in that his mind had not the energy to spare to travel to the Dreaming. But last night, he could have. And that is why he did not sleep. It is why he does not sleep tonight, as well.

He sighs, gently, and slowly works his way out of the thick duvet and plants his bare feet on the hardwood floor. He turns, watching Hob. His friend sniffs and shuffles in his sleep, but remains deep in the embrace of the Dreaming.

Morpheus makes his way to the living room, clothed in a borrowed pair of Hob’s joggers and an old t-shirt, and stands there for a moment. The moonlight is brighter here, unblocked by the thin wood panels of the bedroom blinds, here is filters in untouched. The moon’s cool light coats the living room in a white haze. It is almost dreamlike.

He moves towards the large window adjacent to the fire escape and opens it. The air outside is cool, but not too much so. Morpheus clambers out of the window and onto the chilly metal platform. His movements are awkward and unsure. He hates it. But he makes it out of the window and into a seated position, back pressed against the edge of the wall and stares up at the night sky.

There is much he was unprepared for in this new life. Having such a limited body that he cannot control as he would like was the first hurdle, and one he had no doubts would be a continuous one. Then, there was the matter of eating and cleaning this form. Another continuous struggle, but one he is slowly beginning to enjoy as Hob shows him the wonders of food as a human. He had not cared for it much before. Now, he feels otherwise.

The thing he was most unprepared for, however, was dreaming. The irony is not lost on him. He was Dream for his entire life. For eons, ever since his own inception. And now he fears it.

There is a knock on the window and Morpheus turns to see Hob’s face. He smiles, though his brows are pulled close. “Wondered where you ran off to. My snoring really so bad?”

Morpheus shakes his head and turns his gaze back towards the night. “You did not snore. I simply. Could not sleep.”

Hob hums and turns away, but he is not gone long. When he returns, one of the many large couch blankets are in his arms and he’s climbing through the window himself. He is much more agile about it than Morpheus was. Hob sits down at his side and drapes the fluffy fabric over his shoulders.

“There, much better, I imagine. It’s chilly out. How have you not frozen to the metal yet?” Hob jokes, settling in so their shoulders touch.

“Perhaps that is why I am still out here.”

Hob laughs. It is a hearty thing, full of joy and warmth. Morpheus, typically, does not laugh much, however he is finding himself softening to the idea each time his friend laughs.

“I knew you had a sense of humor in you, deep down,” Hob chuckles. They sit together in silence for a moment. It is nice, calming. The roaring in Morpheus’s mind was quieting. It had been so loud for so long, he had not even realized it was there.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hob asks a time later. Morpheus is unsure. To voice his concerns would mean baring them to the world. It would mean the chance that he would be looked up on and deemed foolish for his anxieties. But he needs only show himself to Hob. His friend, who has already seen him at such lows he could not fathom before, would surely only look upon him with kindness, would he not?

Morpheus opens his mouth and speaks. “I am… afraid.” Hob turns to him, eyes pinched in concern.

“Afraid of what?”

Morpheus takes a breath. “Of dreaming.”

Hob’s face softens. His arm moves to curl around his shoulders, pulling Morpheus closer into his warmth. He follows without resistance. Resting his head on Hob’s shoulder, he continues. “I am afraid of how I will react once I reach the Dreaming. How my old subject would act or feel. If they would shun me. Torture me, perhaps, for the cruelties I enforced upon them during my reign.

“Maybe even more so, I am afraid that when I close my eyes I will find myself unwelcome to the Dreaming. That Daniel will have revoked my invitation to my old home as punishment for the burden I had given him while he was still so young. I fear that I will be barred from ever again knowing the soft grasses of Fiddler’s Green or the gardens of the castle. I fear that I will never get to experience that which I have helped guide countless dreamer towards.”

Hob gives him a gentle squeeze as he talks. “Well, the only way to know is if you try sleeping. And if you don’t, these human bodies of ours are excellent at forcing us to do things when we least expect, especially the longer we put it off. So unless you feel like finding out while you’re passed out in a bowl of cereal, I suggest you try and get some shut eye.” Morpheus smiles at that.

Hob tilts his head, pressing it against Morpheus’s own. “Besides, I’ll be there right by your side if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Very well,” he whispers into the night. They stay there a few moments longer before a strong shiver runs through Hob. His friends sighs and moves to his feet, rubbing his hands together as he does.

“Christ it’s cold out. I think it’s about time for me to head back in. Are you joining?” He asks, holding out one hand to Morpheus. He stares at it for a moment before replying.

“I will soon.” He says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “But go. I will be there shortly.”

Hob smiles back and pulls the edges of the blanket around Morpheus’s form closer together. “Alright then, I’ll see you soon.” Morpheus watches him clamber back inside and pads his way back down the hall to the bedroom.

He sighs and tilts his head up, staring back up at the moon, feeling a bit lighter than he had before.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 21 - The Best Present

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Murder, and Blood.

When Hob awoke that next morning, nothing had seemed different. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary Monday morning that he wouldn’t have blinked twice at. You know, if it wasn’t for a mysterious woman sitting on his kitchen counter, slowly picking away at one of the apples in his fruit basket.

He jumps, reaching for the closest object he could use as a weapon - the table side lamp in this case - and brandishes it with a confidence that only someone who had fought for most of his five hundred years of life could. The woman doesn’t even blink. She wears all black, a simple black tee, black jeans, and a pair of high-heeled black boots. It reminds him a bit of the getups the goths he’d take home with him would wear. Most interesting of all, she wears a pendant of a large silver ankh around her neck.

She looks at him with kind brown eyes and smiles. “Hello Hob.” And if everything else hadn’t gotten his attention, that statement did. He lifts the lamp higher, angling his legs for better stability and glances around the room, trying to spot how the hell she managed to sneak in.

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The woman shakes her head, amused, as she slides off the counter. She sets down the half eaten apple and wipes her hands on her pants. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor?”

She hums. “Yes. And it wasn’t until last night that I could ask it.”

Hob shakes his head. “The hell are you talking about?”

The woman steps forward and Hob’s grip on the lamp tightens. “One more step and you’ll regret it.” She smiles and takes a single step forward. As she does, Hob goes to lunge but stops as he meets her gaze.

Ice rushes through his veins as the very core of him recognizes her for what she is. She is the face he has seen in battlefields and hospitals. She is the voice that has called to him while he rests in the in-between of life and death. She is the sound of wings when one is near the end.

She is Death.

His knees give out and he falls to the floor, the lamp drops from his grip and the bulb inside shatters. “No. No no no no no, please no, please!” He pleads. “I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to die. I won’t, I won’t!”

Death kneels beside him and stretches out a hand. He flinches, eyeing it carefully. “I’m not here to take you, Hob. Not unless you want me to.”

“Never,” he replies, staring into her gaze. She nods.

“Good. I think my brother would hate me if I did.”

At that, Hob blinks. “Brother?”

Death hums and lets her hand fall. She crosses them, resting them atop her bent knees as she talks. “Yes. That’s why I’m here. I need you to help free him.”

Hob shifts, pulling himself into a cross legged position. “Why me?”

She looks up and sighs. “Because I can’t. Where he is is somewhere that I can’t go. Not completely. But you can.” She looks back at him and grins. “Besides, technically he asked for you.”

A sinking feeling fills Hob’s gut. Flickers of memories of a dream echo in his mind. The pale face of his Stranger. His tears, his silent pleas. His throat is tight when he asks, “Your brother, who is he?”

“Your stranger.”

The snow falls on the ground outside of Fawney Rig. It’s Christmas Eve in 1991 and Hob stands in front of the car’s boot as he goes over his tools of trade. A crowbar rests on one side, sandwiched by rope, an axe, a shotgun and two different handguns along with enough ammo to light the place up if needed. He’s got a variety of clothes and food and water in case his Stranger needed it along with a well supplied first aid kit. When Death had told him where to find her brother, she hadn’t exactly told him what to expect. He’s honestly unsure if she knew, other than he was trapped.

Christ, wasn’t that a thought? His Stranger, trapped. Held prisoner by a total jackass that, most annoyingly, he’d met before. Just once when he was a lad. His father had been leagues worse, but had at least hosted a party for his departed son. Hob had fought with Randal in the war. After digging into the Burgess's more, he’d found that the old man had bragged about capturing Death. Clearly that hadn’t worked, but it seems like he had caught something. And when the old man finally passed, it seemed like his son wasn’t any better. Pity. The boy seemed like he could have had a good heart in him. Nature versus Nurture, he supposed.

Hob pulls the mask down his face and zips up his jacket. He sticks the two handguns with freshly loaded mags into his holsters. He slots the extra mags into his belt and then swings the shotgun across his back. Not the most efficient weapon for this job, but might come in handy. The rest, he figures he can always come out and grab later if needed. There wouldn’t be anyone left alive in here after he was done anyways.

Closing the lid, he climbs back into the driver’s seat and revs up the engine. The metal gates in front looked thicker than they actually were. He’d checked ahead of time. They were made to look nice but not necessarily be effective at keeping someone out. For instance, ramming through them with a car would be pretty easy. Which is what he planned to do.

Back the car up a good distance on the curly driveway, he holds the gas and brake down, letting his wheels spin before he releases the brake. The car lunges forward, gaining speed rapidly. With a crash, the gates are flung open by the sturdy metal body of the vehicle. Hob powers up the remaining driveway to the front of the house. He skids to a stop right at the front of the manor and bounces out of the car.

A guard is posted outside and jolts awake from his chair. He reaches for his gun but is too slow. Hob quickly draws his right side handgun and pops the man twice. The silencer muffles the sound of the shot as the bullets hit him straight in the chest. Blood pools through the dark uniform. He falls to the ground.

Hob dashes up the stairs and pats the man down. He was hoping for keys or a radio perhaps of which he finds both. There aren’t many keys on the ring, but he takes them anyways. One most likely opens the front door after all. He slots the radio onto his belt and proceeds to go through the keys until one clicks the door open.

The house is quiet. It is late at night after all and all the house staff should be gone at this hour. Hob wasn’t a complete monster. He doubts that the maids and cooks were onto any of the occult proceedings here and if they were, well. Hob has ways of tracking people down if he needs to.

He creeps forward, gun poised and ready as he rounds the corners. The main floor is relatively empty. There was a single guard that had been wandering the halls. Hob takes him out from behind and guides his body to the ground as to not make a sound. There’s a different key on this guard’s key ring. It’s thick and sturdy. More importantly, it looks old. He takes it.

Hob finds a sturdy metal door down the next hallway - probably where the guard had come from in the first place - and tests the handle. Locked, unsurprisingly. He holds up the newly acquired key and smiles. Yes, that’ll work. As tempted as he is to barge down there and free his friend immediately, he knows he needs to eliminate anyone else first so they can escape without worry. Pocketing the key once more, he continues his search through the house.

The second floor provides even less interest. No guards and no Alexander or Paul either. The third floor, however, that’s a different tale.

Hob pops the guard stationed outside of the bedroom. The man had been sleeping in the chair just outside. For all the wealth that Burgess had, it seems like it was wasted on paying these men.

He nudges the bedroom door open and is met with the sleeping figures of the elderly men who had kept his friend captive all these years. Rage burns within him as it has for the past six months since Death first dropped by. He’d gone off of the limited information she had and slowly pieced together a harrowing puzzle of his friend’s absence. 1916 brought with it the sleepy sickness. 1916 brought Burgess into fame and fortune as his claims of the Devil in his Basement were spread, mostly with doubt. In 1916 his friend was forcibly ripped from whatever reality he resides in and has been kept in this dusty old manor ever since. And it was all because of the men here and his father before him.

Hob feels no guilt nor sadness when he draws his other gun, a revolver he’s favored for many years, and presses the cool barrel against Alexander’s forehead. The man stirs and Hob pulls back the lever with a click. His eyes open wide and he shakes as he takes in Hob’s looming figure. Alexander opens his mouth to speak but Hob just shakes his head. The other man’s jaw clamps shut.

“There is no bargaining. There is no begging. You’re going to die tonight and I’m going to tell you why. Then, I’m going to kill your husband in his sleep because while he wasn’t directly related to all of this, he was complacent, so I’ll give him the same courtesy I did the guards. Once that’s done, I’m dragging you out of your bed and into the damn basement that you’re holding my friend captive. You will scream and cry and plead like the pathetic excuse for a man I know you are while I slit your throat in front of him and the last thing you’ll see will be the greatest mistake of your miserable little life.”

Unsurprisingly, Alexander screams. The figure beside his shifts and Hob lifts the barrel of his gun up and fires it straight into the other man’s skull. The movement stills.

Hob holsters his gun and pulls the frail man from his bed by his hair as he continues to scream. He drags his body across the floor and out of the room. He drags him through the growing pool of blood from the guard stationed outside of their room and chucks him down the stairs just for the fun of it. Hob clambers down the stairs as Alexander cries and tries in vain to pull himself across the floor away from his own personal reaper. Reaching down, he grabs a fistful of the man’s nightgown and continues their trek to the basement.

The key fits like a glove and Hob pulls open the ancient heavy door. Alexander pleads with him, begging Hob to stop this, that he doesn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s freeing. He’s wrong, of course. Hob knows exactly who he’s freeing. He’s freeing his friend, even if the other man didn’t want to admit it.

The basement is cold. Much colder than the rest of the house and upon entering the windowless room, he’s pretty sure a part of that has to do with the bloody pools of water that surround...

Jesus wept... Hob wishes he could revive everyone just so he could kill them again. His Stranger sits in a damn ball of glass, suspended over the floor and worst of all, they’ve striped him down bare. There are metal spikes inside the fucking thing too so the poor sod can’t even lie down if he wanted. A flood of rage hits him again like a hammer. He barely processes his actions as he shoots the two guards to their right dead. He barely hears Alexanders screams and cries. Adrenaline courses through him as he approaches his friend.

His Stranger stands, hunched over because of course the damn thing is too short for him to even stand fully. His hands are pressed against the glass and his eyes are open wide. He mouths his name as a single tear falls down his face.

Hob jerks Alexander’s body forward, pushing him into a kneeling position, holding the man’s weak body up by his hair. He reaches down and pulls out the blade in his boot and presses it against the man’s neck, all the while, staring up at his friend.

“You made a mistake, Burgess. Your father made a grave one many years ago but he’s dead and unfortunately, I can’t kill a dead guy, much as I’d like to. But you didn’t do a damn thing. So now, I get to kill you.” Hob says, pressing the blade a bit harder. The skin underneath begins to break. Not enough to kill the man. It’s closer to that of a shaving cut, but it makes the man beneath him struggle against his hold.

“Please! Please, I beg of you, don’t do this! I didn’t want this!” Alexander pleads. “Please, I wanted to let him go, I did! I just wanted to be sure he wouldn’t come after me and Paul. Oh God, oh Paul.”

His Stranger’s eyes burn into him, those bright blue eyes seem to be lit from within as he watches intensely.

“But you didn’t let him go, did you? You didn’t do anything. You just left him here to rot. And you would have continued to do so until you died, wouldn’t you?” Hob’s voice is cold as steel as he tugs on the man’s hair.

“Oh God, no, please. I swear I never wanted any of this! This is all my father!”

“No. No these past few decades have all been you. You can’t blame your sins on a dead man. Not anymore. So now you’ll pay the price for trapping my friend down here like a goddamn curiosity display.”

“Please no! Plea-” The man’s cries are drowned out by the gurgling of blood as Hob swiftly slices through the man’s neck.

“A gift,” he says, staring up at his friend. “For you.” Hob tosses the man’s body off to the side. Blood pools up, spilling over his chest from the wound and out of his mouth. His eyes are wide with fear as he falls down to the side. His hands press against the slash, but it’s hopeless. It doesn’t take long for his movement to still.

Hob watches it. As Alexander Burgess dies on the cold concrete, the rage in Hob’s body fades with it, replaced with sadness and exhaustion. He turns to his friend who watches him, his mouth parted, almost in awe. He steps forward and examines the cage. There are some sort of runes painted into the floor that he assumes are important. He scratches his heel against them, testing their resilience only to be met with the easy smearing of golden paint.

Pathetic, Hob thinks to himself. They couldn’t even get high quality paint. He doesn’t have much time to think much else as he’s suddenly tossed backwards by a force stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. It was as if a bomb had gone off inside the cage and, looking up, he wonders if it did. The glass is party shattered and a whirlwind of… something, Hob’s honestly not sure what. Magical clouds? Sure, magical clouds. They swirl around his friend as he steps out of the cage, flowing black robes forming around his body as he sets foot on the ground. He steps forward and the clouds fade until it is just him, his friend, and the carnage around them.

Hob stumbles up to his feet and smiles as he walks over to his Stranger. He goes to ask if he needs anything, but he’s beaten to it.

“Hob Gadling,” His friend says with an easier smile than he’s ever seen on the man’s face. “You came. I did not think...”

“I’d always come for you. Especially if you need me.”

His friend’s eyes are red with the threat of tears. “How did you find me? I could not speak in your dream.”

“Your sister helped.” His friend’s eyes widened.

“My sister.”

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting his jacket from where it had gotten blown out of sorts from the magic blast. “Apparently something with that dream I had the other night let her ask me for help? She didn’t really explain, or give me all that much information, honestly, but she had given me the name Burgess. Took a bit to figure out where you were and get what I needed, but I wasn’t about to let you sit down here another day longer if I could help it.”

A tear falls down his friend’s cheek. “I owe you a great debt, Hob Gadling.”

“No debt owed. It’s what friends do after all,” he says, looking down at his blood stained boots.

A hand tugs him close and suddenly he is nearly nose to nose with his friend. There is an expression on his face, one that Hob can’t quite parse. “You would still name me friend after all you had said to me?”

“Wha-”

“You promised to woo me, after all. Was this not simply the start of it? Rescuing me like a blushing maiden in a fairy tale? Spilling blood in my name like a loyal knight to his king?” His friend purred. His eyes were hooded as he stared down into Hob’s eyes. He can see a dart of his pink tongue in his peripheral and Hob can feel the quickly growing erection pressing against the thick denim of his jeans. He’s glad his friend is holding onto him because he’s pretty sure if he hears his friend say another word with that voice, his knees are going to give out on him.

“Would you like that?” He asks, his breath growing short as his friend looks at him like he’d like to devour him. Hob swallows. “I would, you know. I did. I’d kill more for you, if you’d like. Whatever you want. It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Such a wonderful gift, but a dangerous thing to promise. Are you certain?”

“Always,” he pants. His friend’s eyes flash, the blue swirling into blackness as he leans forward.

Lips capture his own and they are just as soft as he remembers from his dream. Oh God, yeah, his knees are giving out. Between the adrenaline of this whole evening and the magical bomb blast thing, this, right here, this is what’s going to have him killed.

He moans into his friend’s mouth and shakily grips into the silky robes he wears as he feels a smooth tongue curl inside of him. He’s not sure how long they stay there, but it’s long enough that Hob’s vision is turning black from the lack of air. Wouldn’t be the worst way to go, honestly. And he’s tempted to let it when his friend pulls back, but not far. Just far enough that Hob can take in a gasp of air.

“Fuck,” he wheezes as he struggles to maintain balance.

“That can be arranged,” his friend hums. Maybe Hob had died and this was actually heaven.

He hears his friend sigh, the air caressing his face. “I must return to my realm. It has been absent far too long.” His friend releases his hold on Hob and he mentally pats himself on the back for only stumbling, not collapsing. The upward curl of his friend’s lips sends Hob’s heart soaring again.

“Right,” he says as his brain comes back online. “Uh. Do you… need a lift anywhere? Not sure I can drive to another realm, but I can get you out of this town at least.”

His friend shakes his head and tilts his head upward. His eyes dart around as if he’s searching for something unseen. “No,” he says, smiling a moment later. “No, I have found a means to return. But I will come back to you soon, Hob Gadling. This, I swear.”

His friend’s eyes are pitch black when they meet Hob’s gaze once more. It sends a chill down his spine and does nothing to help his aching prick. “Wait!” He calls out as his friend raises his hand. His Stranger arches his brow, but pauses his movement. “Before you leave, can I know your name, at least?”

His Stranger blinks. “My sister did not tell you it?”

Hob shakes his head. “Said it was your secret to tell, not hers.”

His Stranger huffs affectionately and raises his hand upward. With a smile, he says, “You may call me Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob whispers as he watches the figure of his friend fade away, not unlike the memory of a dream. He stands there, letting the mixed cocktail of emotions flow through him. Eventually, he moves, going through the motions of disposing of a crime scene (at least any evidence that would tie himself to it). Once all the damning bits are properly disposed of or at least brought with him to dispose of later, he makes his way back up the stairs, into his car, and heads back home, eagerly awaiting when his Stran- no - when Dream would visit him again.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 17 - Decorations

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

“I think that’s the final box,” Hob says, setting down the plastic storage box on the ground next to the others by the tree.  Morpheus was kneeling down, already sorting through the various boxes and tissue protected containers full of ornaments that Hob had collected over the years.

It used to be, for most of Hob’s memory of actually decorating a tree during Christmas, that they’d place fruits and nuts and candles on the branches.  Even some small presents or little handmade decor pieces were found in his trees of the past. Nowadays, it’s almost always little figures or glass works or something branded as Hallmark.

Hob watches as Morpheus pulls out a small, crocheted cardinal out of a bundle of long-worn tissue paper.

“My girlfriend of the time gave that to me, back in the 1830’s or so. She made it herself. Was one of the first non-perishable ornaments I’d ever had.” Hob says, taking a seat next to Morpheus on the floor. He watches as his friend trails a finger down the length of the delicate red yarn of the bird’s back. It was well done, all things considered. The yarn was definitely fraying in a few places. Hob did his best to do repairs (with no crochet knowledge), but he knows that the little birdie probably doesn’t have much longer to live. It was sad to think.

“It is well made,” Morpheus says, turning the bird around on the tips of his fingers. “Shall we hang this one?”

Hob smiles. “Yeah, go ahead and find a good spot for it.” Morpheus turns his gaze to him, his brows pulled close.

“You do not wish to hang it yourself?”

Hob waves a hand. “Nah. Go for it. You can have the honors of putting the first one up.”

Morpheus nods and stands. He looks the tree over, moving from side to side, appraising each branch for the best spot. Hob works on unpacking some more ornaments and baubles from the boxes while his friend deliberates.

Finally, he hears the shuffling of needles and looks up to see the bird perched towards the top on a branch, hanging proudly against the dark green foliage. Morpheus turns to him, expectantly. Hob gives him a thumbs up.

“Looks good!” He says, holding up another ornament for Morpheus. “Want to hang up another?”

Morpheus looks at the figure in Hob’s hands. It was a little bear dressed as a knight, riding on top of a horse. He’d gotten it from a co-worker a few years back. Said it was the closest they were able to find to anything medieval themed. It had made him laugh at the time and always gets a spot on his tree.

They go through the boxes, slowly. Hob explains the story behind each one as he goes. He knows that Morpheus enjoys hearing their histories. There were a few that were more special to him than others. One was the first bauble he’d ever owned. It was a certified Lauscha Glass silver bauble he’d gotten way back in 1853. He’d traveled down to Germany to the actual town and bought it. He has a similar one, but much more modern, back in the late 1990’s from the same place.

There was quite a collection of ornaments revolving around his various jobs over the years. There were at least seven different teaching or history themed ones: stacks of books, laptop, Best Teacher mugs. There were three bulls and two bears back from his stock market trader days and even one little wooden chair back when he attempted carpentry. That job hadn’t lasted long. Turns out he was decent enough for his own personal woodworking uses, but utterly unskilled in a professional capacity. He’d also racked up quite a few soldier related ones, both for surviving the first one and some “in memoriam” to his “son” during the second war.

There was also a stained glass ornament depicting a robin sitting on a branch. He’d found that in a market in France in the 1970’s. He hangs that one himself beside the small bauble with an engraved E in delicate script. Subtle enough not to be called out by people in his lives, but clear enough that he wouldn’t ever forget.

Hob rubs his thumb over the smooth glass front and presses a light kiss to its surface before he hangs it on the branch. Morpheus watches him at his side, silently. Hob repeats the motion with the E on the front of the bauble before placing it next to Robyn’s. It never does get easier, the loss. It’s easily the hardest part of his long life. Loving people, that was always easy. Too easy, in fact. It made it that much more painful when they eventually left. There’s other ornaments, memories, to those he’s held close over the years.

In another box, there’s a small ship in memory of Peggy and their adventures on the sea when she’d been younger, an orange tabby for Audrey because she always had a soft spot for those crazy beasts, and a variety of other figures and baubles of lovers long past. Hob’s tree wasn’t simply a tree. It was a time capsule of his life, in a way. Memories of those in their graves, of lives he’d once lived, and times he barely remembers - they’re all here, immortalized in glass and clay and yarn.

There’s a hand in his. Hob turns to a blurry Morpheus whose cool hands hold his. Ah. He’s crying. That explains that. And explains why his hands are shaking. He sniffs, raising his free hand to wipe away the trails of tears from his cheeks and eyes.

“Sorry,” he manages through the thickness in his throat. “Forgot how emotional some of these here can get me.” He tries for a laugh, but it comes through sounding more forced than he wanted.

Slender arms wrap around him and black hair fills his vision. Morpheus is warmer than he thought. Hob winds his arms around his friend, holding him close. It settles some piece in him, Hob thinks, knowing that the person here in his arms isn’t one he’ll have to say goodbye to in a decade or two. He gets to keep him, keep Morpheus. Even if his friend decided to head out, explore the world in his own time and take his life in his hands, he won’t be gone. Not like the others. Not like he thought he was after the funeral in his dreams before he’d seen Morpheus standing outside his door with Death beside him. No. No, he can keep Morpheus for longer. For as long as him, if that’s what Morpheus wants.

Ah shit, he’s crying harder now, isn’t he? He feels Morpheus’s hold on him tighten and it just squeezes Hob’s heart knowing his friend, his old stranger, his one constant in life, cares for him so. A shaky sob breaks free from his mouth as he ducks his head into Morpheus’s shoulder. The soft padding of the black cable knit sweater hugs his skin and absorbs the salty tears that pour from his eyes. Hob can vaguely make out Morpheus saying something as his slender hands rub circles into his back.

Minutes pass and the worst of it seems to fade. Hob stays there, enveloped in his friend’s hug and warmth. With a deep breath in to steady himself, Hob leans back, letting his hands raise to rub away the wetness and dried trails of tears from his face.

“God, sorry for that,” he says with a more convincing chuckle this time around. He does feel lighter, though. In hindsight, Hob’s pretty sure he hadn’t taken any time to process this change to his life until now. He’d gone to bed, dreamt through his best friend’s funeral, woken up knowing it was true deep in his gut, then was greeted with the sight of his very much alive friend who was now a human. No time for processing the death that still occurred. Guess a bit of a breakdown had been brewing for some time.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Morpheus says, still eyeing him with concern. “You have told me many times that tears are nothing to be sorry for.” Hob smiles at that.

“Still. Probably not what you were expecting, I’m sure.”

Morpheus hums. “No, but I do not blame you for it. These decorations hold many memories. Memories have always been excellent catalysts for emotions, both happy and sad. And bittersweet.” He gives Hob another once over before placing his hands on Hob’s biceps and guiding him to sit on the couch. Hob lets him and lets him pull a blanket over his form, tucking it over his shoulders. “Now sit and stay. I will make us tea.”

That gets Hob to laugh. “Thanks, duck,” Hob says, smiling to his friend. “You’re becoming a true Brit.”

Morpheus shoots him that small smile only reserved for him, a good book, and cats, before disappearing to the kitchen and it sends a lance through his heart. God, he really loved him. Maybe one day, he’d even tell him that.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 15 - Nice

(Ao3 Link) (Masterlist Link)

Desire did not, on the whole, consider themselves to be “nice”. Fun, yes. Exciting? Oh, without a doubt. But nice? Mm. Not necessarily. Nice to feel, to experience, possibly. But not nice in the way that many people meant it. They were nice to be with, to feel the wants and desires fill their mortal hearts with song and fire. They were nice to luxuriate in, but they were cruel. Desires were pretty things, but often left many still wanting for more. A perpetual cycle, endless in its nature. People fought and killed and did many terrible things in Desire’s name.

So no. They would not consider themselves nice.

They were, however, accused of being such by none other than 1 (one) Robert Gadling. Desire sat perched on the edge of the kitchen counter in their not-brother’s (ex-brother? What Morpheus was, exactly, to their family now was confusing at best and Destiny, of course, gave exactly zero answers to their questions.) new living situation. The flat that rested above The New Inn was rather nice, all things considered. The layout was well thought out and there were numerous features (like the deep sink, the well spaced heating, the aircon in the corner) that many desired in their own dwellings. And, as far as aesthetics went, it wasn’t terrible. Sure, you’d walk in and have no doubts that the place belonged to an eccentric “collector” (hoarder. Let’s be frank and call it what it is) with a taste for earth tones, but it still felt cozy. Even if Desire had to scoot the stack of papers and books further down the countertop.

Robert Gadling was currently occupying himself with making french toast for everyone (everyone being the two of them and Morpheus). They understood why their brother was fond of the immortal. They’d tasted his lust for life many times. In fact, they could probably argue that he’d spent more time in Desire’s realm than the Dreaming. Or at least, close to it. Plus, he was cute. If you enjoyed that sort of look. The longer hair with the nice, strong frame was quite a fetching combination. Desire wouldn’t mind getting manhandled by him a bit. They wouldn’t pursue it. Not now, at least. Back when he was still Dream, probably. But not now.

“D’you have a sweet tooth, too?” Robert asks, turning those soft brown eyes of his to Desire.

Desire grins wide. “Oh?” They purr. “Does my elder brother have a fondness for the sweet,” they turn to look at Morpheus who is currently glaring over at them from his spot on the couch. He’s bundled up in a thick fuzzy blanket and just the top of his head and eyes are visible. Desire shoots him a teasing look, their lips drawn into a smirk. “and indulgent?”

Morpheus narrows his eyes even further at Desire and it makes them chuckle. They can feel so much more from him now that their brother is human. Back when he was Dream, he’d kept a lid tightly locked over his desires, not wanting to give them anything. The only times Desire would ever feel anything rolling off of their brother was in the height of his relationships. And even that was brief. Not because they didn’t last long (although that was certainly part of it) but rather as soon as he’d realized what he’d done, Morpheus would trap those thoughts and wants back tight again.

Desire hears Robert laugh. Turning, they see the man staring over at their brother, the fondness in his eyes, unmistakable. Desires pop up like bubbles, spilling from his heart. Images of him holding Morpheus close, tucking the blanket tighter around his thin frame. Robert places a kiss on his forehead, muttering sweet nothings into his skin. Flashes of matching rings, of weddings, his heart unable to decide where, so the scene flickers between unlimited spots. The feelings of warmth, of love, of holding something so dear to him in his arms. The pang of longing long since dulled, but still present when his heart thinks back on their times together when Morpheus was still Dream. Desire has to look away lest they feel overwhelmed at the sheer intensity of one man’s wants.

“He certainly enjoys his syrups. And desserts. And chocolates.”

“Hob…” Morpheus grumbles under the blankets. Hob, yes. The once common nickname turned pet name with sole use by one ex-Endless. Desire does their best not to gag at the sheer amount of pleasant domesticity engulfing them right now.

“One or two?” Robert asks, turning back to Desire. They don’t need food. None of the Endless do, not really. But they are Want and what they want is to see how well this man’s cooking holds up. If this was the man Morpheus was choosing, he’d better be a decent cook, at least.

“Two of your best,” they say, leaning back, their hands propped behind themself. They fold their legs over one another and watch as the immortal dishes up two freshly made slices of french toast on a plate. “You can choose the toppings. I’m curious what you’ll pick.” Robert nods and gives them a thumbs up as he goes about lathering each slice with butter. He places some slices of strawberries on top of one before placing the other slice of toast on top. Robert finishes it with a hefty pour of maple syrup (the good stuff too, it seems. No corn syrup or other thickeners. Desire appreciates the dedication) and finishes it off with a dusting of powdered sugar and a few dollops of whipped cream. It looked positively decadent. More dessert than breakfast.

He hands the plate to Desire before working on another identical plate. “This is Morpheus’s favorite way to have it. Not that I blame him. It’s really fucking good.” Robert laughs. “Definitely not an everyday breakfast though if you want to be able to move for the rest of the day.”

Desire hums as they slip off the countertop and make their way over to the couch. They fall into the cushions and swing their legs up on top of vaguely where Morpheus’s lap should be. Their brother groans, shifting to let the blanket fall further down his body. It stays firmly wrapped around his bottom half, but his torso is now mostly freed. He’s wearing- Oh for the love of - of course he’s wearing one of Robert’s jumpers. Desire knows it’s not Morpheus’s because there’s no way their brother would ever wear something as ugly as that shade of green. Humanity may have changed him, but they know for certain fashion was still important to their brother.

Robert brings over his and Morpheus’s plate. He hands it to their brother with a kiss to the top of his head before taking a seat in the chair to their right. “It’s nice to see you, Desire. Glad you dropped by.” Robert says, cutting into his own, significantly less sugary slice of toast.

“I doubt my brother feels that way,” they say, scooping up a dollop of cream onto their finger before plopping it into their mouth. It was light and sugary and delicious. Desire supposed they had a bit of a thing for sweets as well. Maybe it was an Endless thing.

“Why are you here, Desire?” Morpheus asks, eyes narrowed. Always with the narrowed eyes. Desire’s not sure they’d ever seen their brother not narrowing his eyes at them.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Yes, but why did you want,” Morpheus says, mimicking Desire’s tone. “To come?”

“Oh, well. I always want to cum~” Really, it was the perfect setup. Could anyone blame them?

Morpheus rolled his eyes and Robert just chuckled as he ate. “Do not play games with me, sibling. I may not have the powers of my old office, but I am human now. And there are laws that prohibit actions you may wish to take. Tread carefully.”

Desire sighs and cuts off a piece of their breakfast, stabbing through the thick layers of bread and sugar and cream and waves the bite around on their fork. “So melodramatic. Glad to see you haven’t changed.” They swing their fork into their mouth, licking the dripping syrup off of the end of the prongs.

Oh. Well. This was rather tasty. Robert isn’t a terrible cook, after all. That’s alright then.

“Sibling…”

“Oh relax, Morpheus. I’m not here to fuck with you, as determined as you are to think so.” They huff, setting their plate onto the coffee table in front of them. “I simply wanted to make sure you weren’t withering away with your new found humanity. Couldn’t have you dying in a corner because you forgot to eat or insulted the wrong man with your social ineptness.” They shrug. “I wanted to make sure you’d be around long enough to still mess with, after all.”

“Desire, I-”

They point their finger at their brother who is now staring at them with wide eyes. Ah. So he does know how to do something other than squint. “I will still be messing with you. Don’t think I won’t.”

Robert huffs with laughter and shakes his head. “That’s nice of you, Desire. But I can promise you, I’m not letting Morpheus keel over, no matter how hard he tries sometimes.”

Morpheus turns and glares at Robert. “It was one time, Hob.”

“Yeah, still scared the shite out of me. And now you’ve never fainted because you hadn’t eaten for a whole day since, have you?”

Desire watches in amusement as their brother shrinks into the couch, holding his untouched plate of sugar and carbs closer to his chest. “No,” he mumbles, beginning to divide a bite-size piece from the whole.

“Good. I’ll hold you to it, Gadling.” They say, standing. They brush off their skirt, the small spots of powdered sugar falling away at their desire to do so. “I’ll know who to punish if my brother does wind up dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Robert meets their gaze, the easy smile he seemed to always wear falling away to a more serious expression. “And I’ll have earned it.”

Desire nods. “Then we understand each other.” They sigh, rolling their head. “Well! This has been lovely, but duty calls. Robert, thank you for the most delectable breakfast.” They turn to their brother, who was still staring at them with open eyes. “Morpheus, don’t die.”

He huffs, but nods. A bubble bursts from his brother’s heart and Desire feels his own stop. A vision, a want, appears. Morpheus and Desire are sitting there, on the couch, laughing easily with one another, as they watch something non-descript on the television. They smile at each other. Desire rests their head on their brother’s shoulder and Morpheus leans his cheek to rest on top. Just like they used to when they were much, much younger.

A tear falls down their cheek. Morpheus looks up with concern in his eyes. “Desire?”

Desire turns their head, wiping away the offending tear before shimmying their shoulders with flair. They would not cry here for such silly things, especially not in front of their brother. They turn to Robert and wide smile, ignoring the twirling feeling inside themself. “My brother wishes you would bend him in half and choke him while calling him babygirl.”

“DESIRE!” Their brother yells.

“What…” Robert all but whispers.

In a blink, Desire vanishes, retreating back to the Threshold, cradling the desire of their brother against his heart.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 13 - Evergreen Trees

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

"How's this one?" Hob asks, pointing to the Douglas Fir that rests on the wood fence to their left. Morpheus looks it over, threading his fingers through the fine, stiff needles. It was just taller than himself, but much thicker than his own figure. The tree looked almost round it its bushiness. He is almost certain it would not fit in the living room.

"Much too wide," he says, walking a few steps down, inspecting each tree as he went.

Hob had insisted that for Morpheus's first Christmas as a human, they had to get a real live tree for their flat. Apparently the notion of setting up a fake one on such a special occasion was absolutely appalling. So here they were, in a section of a parking lot that has been converted into a pop-up shop for Christmas trees.

It smelled fantastic. The fresh pine and sap filled the air, twisting and tangling with the crisp winter air and the wafts of coffee and hot chocolate from the small drive-up coffee shop across the lot. He was bundled up in Hob's too large jacket (he has his own, but Hob's is comfier). A soft beanie was pulled down over his ears, and the fluffy scarf was tucked all around his face, the ends secured inside his jacket. His gloved hands held onto the paper cup of peppermint hot coca they had got before driving over here.

"This one, perhaps." Morpheus said, pondering the tree in front of him. It was of good height, and the branches looked strong and healthy. He had been uncertain of what made for a proper tree but recalled the many dreams of what people believed they looked like. Hob told him to look for sturdy branches to hold the various decorations and baubles he had. Stretching his hand out, he pressed down on a few of the branches and nodded. They seemed sturdy.

"That one looks good!" Hob says, reaching over and grabbing the trunk of the tree. Morpheus watches as Hob's shoulders and biceps tighten under the thinner jacket he wore. The tree rises to a straight up position. Hob made it look as light as a feather. He suddenly felt hotter than he had just moments ago.

Curious.

Hob twists his wrist, pivoting the tree for Morpheus's inspection. There was a large gap on the side that had been lying down. It was much too open.

"No, not this one." He says, turning around to look at the trees on the other side of the aisle. Most of these were too tall to fit inside the flat, but some at the end looked promising.

Hob, without prompting, proceeds to lift one of them up as he had the other tree. He sets it down with a grunt that goes straight to Morpheus's core. He takes a sip of his cocoa. It does nothing to settle the slow rolls of desire that are finding root in his body.

"Perhaps," he says, looking over the tree. No bare patches on this one, however, has he presses down on the branches, there is hardly any resistance. They are much too weak. "Mm. No, they will not be strong enough.“ Hob shrugs and sets the tree back against the fence. He shakes his hands out and sets them on his hips. Morpheus struggles to not watch each movement.

“Yeah, picking out live trees are hard. I remember I made the mistake of going with Allison to try and find a tree for the Inn.” Hob laughs. “Think we tried at least three tree lots before one met her standards. So don’t feel like you have to pick one here. There’s many other trees we can take a look at.”

Morpheus is tempted to travel to every tree lot Hob knows if it means he gets to watch his six centuries of strength at work. He will not, though, for he knows Hob’s joints would begin to ache. Hob would continue on, for him. This, Morpheus knows for a fact. Hob would gladly push his body if it meant he was happy. This thought does nothing to quell the flames.

Morpheus takes a breath. He will find a tree here. He will, however, “consider” more trees than he normally might, first.

Hob reaches over and turns around the next tree. It is taller than either of them. It would most likely graze the ceiling, if not try to push through it. It is also, clearly, heavier, as Morpheus tracks the slight strain of tendon and muscle in Hob’s shoulders and neck as he heaves it upright.

“How about this one? Branches look decently spaced.” Morpheus steps closer, perhaps a bit closer to Hob’s side than strictly needed, and trails a hand down the length of the evergreen tree.

“Do you think it would fit?”

Hob hums, looking it up and down. “Yeah, probably not, huh? Would be close. But once you put it in the tree stand, it’d be easily half a meter too tall.” With a sigh, he leans the tree back and dusts his hands off. Morpheus watches as he rubs against the sap that coats his fingers. Hob’s tan hands are red with cold. Before he thinks, Morpheus is reaching out and cradling his hands between his free hand and his chest.

Hob blinks, looking up at Morpheus with a shocked expression that soon melts into a smile. “Thanks, duck.” He says with a chuckle in his voice. “Should have grabbed a pair of gloves.”

“You ensured that I had them, yet did not think to do so for yourself.” Morpheus arched a brow.

Hob’s already rosy cheeks turned redder as he stepped closer into Morpheus’s space. “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a smart man. Just means I’ll have to steal your warmth here and there.” Morpheus looks down at their hands and tries not too think too hard about the heat and weight of Hob’s hand against his chest, just above his heart.

They stay there for a few moments, luxuriating in each other’s presence and warmth before Hob pulls away and jerks his thumb to the next row over. “Well, shall we see if our tree is over on that side?”

They look at nearly every tree in the lot. Morpheus doesn’t stop Hob from maneuvering each tree for his inspection. At one point, Hob jokes that they should take the three meter tall tree home and Morpheus does his best not to do something foolish when he watches his friend pull it forward with ease. Morpheus is actually salivating at the sight. Wants and desires, he decides, are much stronger as a human than he anticipated. He has the brief thought that his sibling is “turning it up” as they say, just to mess with him. He’d have to ask Death about it next he saw her. Surely, this isn’t how humans always feel? How could they function with such distractions?

Finally, after going back down some of the earlier rows, they decided on a tree. It was just a tad taller than they were. Hob reasoned that it should have enough room on top for a star, even with the base attached, so they were all set there. Morpheus approved of the spacing on the branches and the strength of them. It was as close to perfect as they had found.

“Alright! First Christmas tree picked out! Good choice,” Hob says, shooting Morpheus a warm smile. He nods in response, not trusting his words as he watches Hob bend down to grab the tree closer to the base. With a grunt, he heaves the heavy thing up and leans it over his shoulder. His face is nearly buried in branches and needles and laughs as his hat is pushed off of his head in the process. “Mind grabbing that for me, duck?”

Morpheus reaches down and holds the hat in his hands as Hob begins the walk over to the salesman. When he bends, he stares directly as the curse of his arse and finds himself not even feeling guilty for it. Not when he is certain he has dived head-first into his siblings realm.

He should not feel this way. He should not be staring at his friend in such manners. And yet.

And yet...

Hob passes over a small stack of bills to the salesman after the base of the tree is trimmed and the branches near the base are removed, leaving a healthy looking trunk. With a shake of the hand, Hob bids the man good night and squats, once again, to lift the tree. It takes far longer than Morpheus wishes to admit to raise his gaze.

“All bought and paid for. You, my dear friend, are now the proud owner of a live Christmas Tree.” Hob says, giving the branches a pat. “There should be straps in the back seat. Can you grab them for me while I get this on the roof?”

Morpheus nods and follows Hob back to their car. He sets his hot chocolate, nearly empty now, in the cup holder before snatching the handful of straps from the back. He closes the door and looks up just as Hob thrusts the heavy tree up and over, resting on the edge of the car roof. His sleeves are pulled back, showing the strain and strength of the muscles underneath. Hob huffs with exertion.

This is how he dies. Morpheus has lived barely three months as a human and he will die, here, in the Tesco parking lot, consumed with lust for his dearest friend. The universe is cold and cruel.

“Alright, hand me a strap, love?” Hob asks, reaching out one hand to Morpheus, the other pushing against the tree, holding it steady.

He’s proud that his hand does not shake (not noticeably) when he passes the thick fabric strap over to Hob. He watches as Hob’s cold, but still dexterous hands maneuver the straps between the rails on the roof of their car. He hauls himself up higher, feet on the tire to get extra height, as he tossed the straps over the tree to the other side. Morpheus watches, almost entranced, as he repeats this motion at the center of the tree and once again at the top.

Hob’s jean clad arse is right in his face as he’s balanced on the front passenger side tire. The strap is caught in the branches, from what he vaguely hears from Hob’s muttering.

His arse. Right there. Morpheus is close enough he could reach his hand out and touch it and his elbow would still be bent. He takes a sharp breath of the cold winter air in as he attempts to have some semblance of self-control. He will not grope his friend’s arse. He is better than that.

Hob must stretch his arms up higher because his jacket and shirt ride up along his back. A strip of soft, tan skin appears in Morpheus’s vision and a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making escapes him. He must have been loud enough because the strip of skin vanishes, as does the view of Hob’s behind. Morpheus looks up to see Hob turned and looking down at him, questioningly.

“You okay? I didn’t wack you with the end of the strap, did I?” Hob asks, oblivious to the internal conflict occurring inside of Morpheus. He clears his throat and steps back, putting space between he and Hob.

“I am fine,” he says, patting himself on the back for not squeaking as he spoke. “Just… cold.”

Hob hums and reaches into his jacket pocket. He holds out the car keys. “Here, you can start the car if you want. Get warm. Don’t need to wait for me out here. Should be done soon.”

That is the last thing Morpheus wants to do.

He takes the keys and gets into the driver’s seat. He turns the car on, as Hob has shown him how to, and kicks the heater up to high, sighing as the air turns warm and washes over his skin. Of the struggles of becoming human, whatever this was, was not one he had anticipated. Perhaps he’s skip over talking with Death and go straight to demanding answers from Desire. This had to be their doing.

Morpheus sits in the car, listening to the bumps and shuffling of Hob securing the tree down. He finishes the last of this hot cocoa in the meantime, hoping it would distract him enough to face his friend once he returned.

It did not.

Hob was done shortly after. The cocoa was finished, which left him nothing to do during the drive home. He sat, hands on his knees, gripping the fabric of his pants tight. Hob had shucked his jacket off before they left. His hair was damp with sweat and it clung to the sides of his reddened face. The short shirt sleeves did nothing to help Morpheus’s situation as he found his eyes flitting back to the fine lines of muscle that flexed and tightened with each turn of the steering wheel. He had worked up a sweat during their outing as well and his natural scent was beginning to flood Morpheus’s nose.

It was heaven.

It was agony.

“You alright, Morpheus? You look a bit warm. Not catching a chill, are you?” Hob asked, his eyes glancing over to Morpheus as he drove. He took a breath before answering.

“I am fine, Hob. Just cold.”

Hob makes an understanding noise as he turns them down the street towards The New Inn.

“Take a nice hot shower when we get home, yeah? Might help chase away the cold.”

Daydreams of Hob, basking in the warm rain of the shower, droplets falling over his skin, tracing over the lines of his muscles fills his mind’s eye.

“Yes,” he muses, turning his head to the cool glass of the passenger side window. “A shower sounds perfect.”

Hob finishes hauling the tree up the stairs when Morpheus excuses himself to the bathroom. He must really have been cold out there. Hob makes a mental note to go to the store for better winter gear for him. He is still rail thin. There’s just not enough fat on his bones to keep him well insulated yet.

He works on getting the tree set into the base, trimming a few extra branches, fluffing the upper branches out, while Morpheus gets warm. It takes a while, but soon, the tree is all set. It’s in position, trimmed, and watered. Just needs to be decorated.

He lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead when he hears that same noise Morpheus made earlier. Not quite a squeak, but like his throat spasmed when he was trying to clear it, or something. Hob looks up at his friend who is now dressed in his usual black lounge wear set. His face is concernedly red, though. He’d need to check the water heater. It must be running hotter than he though.

Hob was trying to kill him. Of this, Morpheus was certain.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 12 - Wrapping Paper

(Ao3 Link)

Of all the things that Hob had expected Morpheus to get stuck on in regards to the gift giving season, wrapping paper was nowhere on his list. Morpheus, having worked for the library for almost a full year now, has earned himself a good paycheck and insisted on finding appropriate gifts for those he cares for.

That, oddly enough, was the easy part. All the gifts have been obtained at least a month ago and have been sitting, hidden in the back of their closet. Now, however, Hob isn’t quite certain how to help with Morpheus’s particular problem.

“Those ones no good either?” He asks as Morpheus returns to his side after scouring through every roll of wrapping paper available at Tesco over in Bushwood. Morpheus pulls the collar of his coat up against the winter chill as he nuzzles into Hob’s side. Hob wraps his arms around his shoulders, tucking the black floof covered head under his chin.

“No,” he mumbles against his shoulder. “They were all wrong.”

Hob hums as he rocks his boyfriend in his arms. “Sorry, love.” He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I think we’ve looked at every store around that’s got wrapping paper. No luck on the internet either, yet?”

“No…” Morpheus mumbles again. He sighs and lifts his head off of Hob’s shoulder. He’s slouched, his face down turned. It breaks Hob’s heart to see him so sad over something Hob feels helpless to fix.

Then he has a thought.

“Have you tried asking Daniel?” Morpheus looks up at him, brows furrowed.

“For what purpose?”

“Well, it seems like the wrapping paper of your dreams might only be found… in your dreams.” He gives Morpheus a smile. “At least until us humans catch up to your brilliance.”

His lover turns his gaze over Hob’s shoulder, staring out in a look that Hob’s learned means he’s thinking very deeply. He stays there, rubbing Morpheus’s shoulders, waiting out his thought process. After a few moments, he turns back to Hob and nods.

“That is not a bad idea… however, it is a trivial request. It would be foolish to ask such a thing of him.”

“Mmm, why not give it a shot anyways? You might be surprised.”

“I… suppose.”

Morpheus is sitting in their living room above the New Inn. It is raining outside. More specifically, it is raining upwards and the water is orange. There is a camel sitting in the chair across from him, speaking in German. He is dreaming.

“I call to you, Dream of the Endless, if you will hear me.” Morpheus calls out into his dreamscape.

“Morpheus,” Daniel’s voice rings in the small space. Within a blink, the camel is now Daniel, white flowing robes undulate around his form, the emerald dreamstone sits proudly upon his neck. He is smiling. Morpheus smiles in return.

“My lord,” Morpheus ducks his head in a bow. Daniel raises his hand, dismissing him.

“You are family, Morpheus. And you were once us. Do not worry for such formalities.” Daniel shifts, folding one leg over the other as he pulls forth two glasses of wine from the fabric of the Dreaming. He passes one to Morpheus. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Taking a sip of the wine, Morpheus hums. He remembers it’s taste from centuries ago. It is old, older than Hob, in fact. “I have a dilemma. Hob suggested I reach out to you to see if you would be able to assist. I am aware it is a trivial matter, but…” He takes another sip.

Daniel looks him over, watching his movements before finishing his sentence for him. “But it is important to you.”

“Yes.”

Daniel nods, gesturing for him to continue. Taking a breath, Morpheus speaks. “There lives, quite possibly only in my mind, paper I would wish to wrap the gifts I have found for those close to me. I have been unsuccessful in my search for something near it in the Waking world. I thought, perhaps, you may be able to help me obtain this. From within my dreams.”

Morpheus may be human, no longer Dream of the Endless, but the knowledge of how the Dreaming works remains. Within mere moments, the wrapping paper he has so clearly envisioned in his mind’s eye appears in front of him.

The paper is crisp, smooth, and blacker than the night sky. Stars twinkle lightly in the void with patches of color like nebulae in the distance. It sent a pang through his heart at the realization he was seeking paper that looked identical to the lining of his coat when he had been Endless. No wonder it was impossible to find in the Waking.

“This is the paper you seek?”

“Yes… I.” Morpheus clears his throat.

“Very well. When you wake, this shall follow you.”

Morpheus jerks his head up. “Truly?”

“I would not lie.”

He smiles. “Thank you. Daniel. Truly, I thank you.”

When Morpheus awakes in the morning, the impossible starry night sky wrapping paper rests on the nightstand beside him. He reaches over, pulling the paper close and rubs his thumb over the twinkling stars. He loves his human life here. He would not trade it for the world, and certainly wouldn’t wish to return to his old responsibilities. But, impossibilities like this, the familiarity of it all, that he does miss.

“Dove?” Hob mutters into his pillow to his left. “S’early.”

“Daniel was kind enough to grant my wish.” Morpheus says, not lifting his eyes from the wrapping paper. He hears Hob shuffle in the sheets and then sees a tan hand reach out and graze the top of the night sky.

“Well, if this is what you were trying to find, I’m not surprised you didn’t find it at Tesco.” He says with a laugh.

“No. No I suppose not.”

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 8

(Ao3 Link)

Hob made sure that when he was remodeling The New Inn that the fireplace was updated and functioning. He’d gotten used to having the steady crackling of a fire in the evening after his six hundred years on this planet and the comfort it brought was one he wasn’t willing to part with. Morpheus sat with him in the opposite armchair in his living room above the inn. His mismatched sock covered feet were curled up underneath him, a book in his hands.

He truly was a sight. Even now, with his messy hair he hadn’t bothered to style for their lazy Saturday in and the large black jumper with a hole they’ve yet to sew shut at the bottom hem, he was beautiful. Hob supposed that even after retiring from Endlessness, if you’ve been something more-than-a-god for so long, that level of grace and beauty sticks with you, even if you’re now a human.

Hob rested his cheek on his hand, laptop abandoned, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of them. Adjusting to this new way of life had been a challenge for Morpheus. He’d known, to a degree, what he was signing up for when he “retired” but the reality of the situation was more than he expected. The entire bathroom debacle had been an interesting one. It felt like he was raising Robyn all over again in some ways. But it hadn’t taken long for Morpheus to get comfortable and proficient with his brand new body.

This was one of their first weekends where everything had gone relatively smoothly. They’d gone shopping and the lights and sounds didn’t overwhelm Morpheus like they had before. (They had picked up a pair of noise canceling headphones and brought them just in case. They didn’t need them until checkout.) Their visit to the library had gone well (as usual) and Morpheus even inquired about job opportunities there and nabbed a volunteer form on their way out.

He’d confessed to Hob a while ago that he’d felt restless. He’d gotten so used to always having something to do or think on that the quiet of his mind and the lack of purpose had been slowly eating at him. Hob insisted that he didn’t need a job or anything, he’d plenty of funds to care for them both for a long while, but it still made him happy to see Morpheus look into a position at the library. It really was a fitting place for him.

All in all, today was a good day. Now, they get to relax in front of the fireplace and simply enjoy the quiet.

Morpheus looks up from his reading, cocking a brow at Hob’s staring. Hob chuckled, shutting the top of his laptop. “Sorry,” he said, tugging on his ear. “Just good to see you this content.”

Morpheus’s brows furrowed. “Do I not normally look content?”

“No, I mean. You do, more than you used to. I just,” Hob sighs, leaning his head back against the back of the armchair. His eyes trail over Morpheus with a smile. “I’m just happy.”

Morpheus stares at him, eyes widening slightly. He reaches over to the table next to his chair, blindly, and snags the bookmark resting next to his cup of hot cocoa. His slender fingers slot the thin rectangular paper in the book, shutting it.

“You are… happy. Because I look content?”

“Yeah,” Hob says easily. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I…” Morpheus looks down, rubbing his thumb across the well-worn cover of the novel they picked up from the library that day. “No. It is not hard to believe. Since it is you.”

Hob’s heart clenched. “Good,” he managed, clearing his throat. “That’s good. I just. I know this transition has been hard. It’s a lot. Being human is a lot. And you’ve handled it so well, through all of this. And I’m so proud of you for it. And seeing you, sitting here all curled up by the fireplace with a cup of cocoa and a good book and you’ve got that faint smile on your face and it just... It just makes me happy. That’s all.” He looks down and huffs. “Sorry, just me being a bit of a sap. What else is new?”

He fiddles with the edge of his laptop, feeling the warmth rise in his cheeks. It was harder with each day, now that Morpheus wasn’t reliant on him for every little thing and his old friend was starting to come back to his usual self, to keep a lid on his feelings. They still come out, like now, in the form of staring just a bit too long or caring a bit too much. He can’t help it, though. Not when he gets to see his best friend so relaxed and actually looking like he enjoys life for once. He just hopes that Morpheus either doesn’t pick up on it.

“Hob,” Morpheus’s voice calls out. Hob tilts his head to the side, meeting his friend’s gaze. His blue eyes were watery, something Hob could tell, even from this distance. “Thank you. For... For caring, as you have.”

Hob tugged on his earlobe, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, ‘course.” He said, lamely. He clears his throat and sets his laptop off to the side. Pushing himself off the chair, he grabs his own mug and nods to Morpheus’s. “Want some more? I’ve a bit more marking to finish up so I’ll probably be up a bit longer.”

Morpheus reaches over and hands his own cup to Hob with a small smile tugging at his lips. “I would like that very much.” Taking the two glasses, Hob retreats away from the warm glow of the fireplace and towards the kitchen. Unknown to Hob, Morpheus’s eyes follow him the entire way until he’s out of sight.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 30 - "May I Have This Dance?"

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

It’s six in the evening and the New Inn is just beginning to have the crowds trickle in. There are various streamers and colorful centerpieces scattered around the place. The number 2024 was embellished upon the walls and tables and even on the glasses of some of the staff. Hob himself donned a pair, much to Morpheus’s chagrin. The cheesy gold and silver lettering on the tops of the plastic frames looked ridiculous. Morpheus hated how much they made him smile.

Morpheus has been present for many new years over his long life. And while he hadn’t paid much attention to them or to the passing of time in general, he knows well the festivities they bring with. Ever since mankind first kept track of the changing of the seasons, the turning of the year was a time that was observed with reverence. In this modern age, it seems to be observed by getting completely sloshed and lighting off colorful explosives.

Hob’s running around, getting the final pieces in place. He’s checked the karaoke machine and made sure that everything is charged and ready to go. He’s double checked with the staff that their supplies are filled and prepped, that the glasses are cleaned and the food is cooking. He’s adjusted the New Years banner that hangs above the bar top no less than five times and it’s when he goes to tweak it on the sixth that Morpheus finally rises from his corner booth to check on his fretting boyfriend.

He places a hand against the small of Hob’s back, guiding his attention to him as he speaks. “The banner is straight and centered. You need to adjust it once more.”

Hob chuckles and he climbs down from the stool he’d been using as an impromptu ladder. “Sorry love,” he says, curling into Morpheus’s hold. Slender pale hands find their homes upon Hob’s hips. He rubs gentle circles with his thumbs against the soft cotton shirt.

“You are nervous.”

Hob leans down, pressing his forehead against Morpheus’s shoulder. “Am I so obvious?”

“I do not understand why you are nervous. You have experienced many New Years before this, here at this Inn, no less.” Morpheus tilts his head to the side, letting his cheek rest upon his lover’s soft chestnut hair.

Hob sighs and winds his arms around Morpheus’s waist. They stay there, for a moment, enjoying each other’s presence in the relatively empty room until Hob speaks.

“It’s your first New Year, though. As a human. Wanted to make sure it was perfect,” Hob mumbles into his shoulder. Morpheus’s heart flips in his chest. The care and love Hob holds for him never fails to surprise him.

“Hob, look at me.” Slowly, Hob lifts his head, those brown eyes soft as he trails his gaze across Morpheus’s face. Taking his hands from his hips, Morpheus cradles Hob’s head between them. “You need not fret over such things. I am able to enjoy this celebration here with you, now. And that is in thanks to your kindness and generosity. This New Years will be perfect because you are here at my side and for no other reason.”

There are tears threatening to fall at the corners of Hob’s eyes. “Not even the world’s most straight banner could make it better?” He says, chuckling as a tear falls down his cheek. Morpheus thumbs it away before pressing a kiss against Hob’s lips.

“Not even that. Although I feel you are quite close to achieving that title.”

Hob laughs, a proper laugh this time. He tilts his head up, wiping away the water from his eyes as Morpheus’s hands fall back to his side.

“Thanks, dove. Think I needed to hear that.”

“I shall endeavor to tell you thus as often as you desire, then.”

“Good. Might need to hear it a couple more times tonight.” Hob says, placing another kiss upon Morpheus’s lips.

It’s just around nine when unexpected guests appear. Morpheus is at the bar top, watching as Hob demonstrates how to make his famous New Years drink he’s dubbed “Immortality”. It’s is an indulgent thing that’s sole purpose is to taste delicious and still get you drunk so you feel “immortal”. At least, that is the story Hob tells him as he works the cocktail shaker. He’s got a variety of different liquors and mixers contained within that he then pours into a glass over ice with a sugar coated rim. The key detail, he claims, is the frankly obscene amount of edible golden glitter he stirs in after.

It’s a pretty drink, Morpheus will give him that. And when he pushes a freshly poured glass in front of him, Morpheus has to admit it is rather tasty as well. It’s sweet, which he appreciates. As much as Hob enjoys his bitter drinks and throat-burning whiskeys or other liquors, Morpheus has never developed a taste for them. But this? This is good.

“I thought you disliked glitter,” Morpheus muses, staring up at Hob from the edge of his glass. Hob just laughs and shakes his head as he prepares another drink for a customer. They had gotten very busy, very quickly, and the staff got overwhelmed, so Hob being Hob jumped behind the counter (after ensuring Morpheus was fine with it, of course). He had no complaints. It gave him a reason to enjoy the sight of his lover in his element as well as watch the careful flex of his forearms and biceps as he prepared each drink.

“Well, I made an exception for you, didn’t I?” Hob retorts, smiling as he sugars the rim of a few more glasses. Eric, another bartender Morpheus has grown to know well over his few months of humanity, busies himself behind Hob with prepping another selection of fruity cocktails.

“That you did.” After the peppermint bath bombs were all used up (Morpheus had very much enjoyed the added experience of scent and glitter that they provided), Hob had indulged him by taking him to a local store that sold a variety of bath bombs and other creations. Morpheus had taken his time choosing a selection. They didn’t last long. Almost every bath he had taken since involved the use of a new bath bomb. Hob joked that their tub would become permanently glittery. Morpheus had fretted over it at first, worried Hob would grow angry at him for it, but Hob had soothed away his fears. Now, they have a dedicated basket by the edge of the tub to contain the newest selections for Morpheus’s use.

“Well? How do you like the taste of ‘Immortality’?” Hob jokes, pouring the last batch of drinks out. He hands the glasses to the group of university students with a smile. One pipes out a “Thanks Professor!” as the group merges back into the ever growing crowd.

The party was gaining in intensity as the alcohol flowed. People were dancing on the makeshift dance floor beside the karaoke machine, which has also started to see use. A thought runs through Morpheus’s mind as he looks over his shoulder at the young couple standing atop the small stage who are singing their hearts out to some pop song. They are not excellent singers, but they are far from the worst so far tonight. Perhaps he’ll coax Hob up onto the stage so that he might hear his lover’s voice in song.

“It is more pleasant that I had expected,” Morpheus says, twirling the golden liquid in the glass. “I thought that, perhaps, immortality would grow stale and tiring after a time. But I should have known that when blessed with your guiding hands, it would be a gift rather than a curse.”

He is not talking of the drink. Not completely. When the choice was presented to him in the soft sands of the in-between by his sister, he was uncertain. Death, a rest from all that he has ever been and will ever be, called to him stronger than any desire has before. So long had Morpheus wished to be other than what he was, to be able to hand over the mantle of Dream to another so than he might finally have peace. Then, when his brother arrived, telling him there was yet another option, he… well. He was still unsure.

To end one life and start anew? To become less than what he was and suffer through the ordeals of humanity sounded far closer to a punishment than a gift. But Hob had pleaded with him to take the chance. It became clear to Morpheus that first week that Hob recalled none of what happened in the shifting sands of the soft places. To him, it was still nothing but a dream, perhaps a nightmare. And while the words he spoke were true and from his heart, he did not recall ever speaking them to Morpheus.

Hob had pleaded with him, standing between Destruction and Death themselves, hands outstretched to the former Dream Lord. A mortal, with more stubbornness and determination in his heart than any human had a right to. He asked him to stay, to join him if Morpheus wished, but to choose to live. To choose each day to continue on, even if it would be such a different life, a different experience. To Hob, the choice was obvious. He was a man who forsook Death. To Hob, choosing to live was the easiest choice anyone could make.

To Morpheus, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Hob was staring at him when Morpheus lifted his gaze, a soft and sad smile on his face. He wipes his hands off on the towel across his shoulder and sets it on the counter. Morpheus watches him make his way around the bar and leans back into his sturdy chest as Hob wraps his arms around his middle. Hob rests his chin on the top of Morpheus head.

“You know, keep this up and you’re gonna end up making me cry this whole night, love.” Morpheus places his arm atop Hob’s own, fingers grazing against the warm skin. The thick hair that covers him shifts under his touch in a familiar fashion. He trails his hands over his forearm until he climbs up to intertwine their fingers, giving his lover’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“So long as they are happy ones.”

Hob chuckles as he presses his nose into Morpheus’s hair. “You’re a menace, you know that? Just you wait until my heartfelt speech. Then you’ll be the one crying happy tears.”

“Oh?” Morpheus says. “Do you have such a speech planned?”

“Not yet, but we’ve still a few hours to go. I’ll make it a good one.” Hob replies, taking a deep breath in as he presses Morpheus’s body close to his.

The door chimes and is somehow louder than it has been in all of Morpheus’s time here. He turns, instinctively, and his eyes widen as he takes in the sight.

There are six Endless standing in the entrance of the New Inn.

Desire stands at the front, dresses in the most eye-catching sequin dress Morpheus has ever seen. They are covered in glitter and gems as they tilt their head back and sigh. Their arms are outstretched as they speak.

“Oh, this place is positively rolling with desire,” they purr, turning their head to their other siblings. “Don’t you agree?” Despair nods, her eyes wandering across the crowd. She is dressed as she often has been in this century: plain grey lounge wear with holes scattered around. One of her rats sits atop her shoulder as she caresses the jagged edge of her hook.

“And still teeming with regrets and sadness, my twin. This was a good choice, indeed.”

“Oh you two, I told you you’d have fun.” Death says, standing forward and finding Morpheus’s gaze in the crowd. “Hello little brother.”

Hob’s head lifts from Morpheus’s own and gasps. His arms fall from Morpheus’s body, finding a home on his own hips instead. “Did you know your family was coming?” Hob whispers as the group of Endless make their way toward the pair.

Morpheus shakes his head. “I was not aware, no.”

Death takes the lead, Desire and Despair trailing further behind, talking amongst themselves. Dream is there as well, standing beside their sister with a soft smile upon his lips. Morpheus’s heart lurches. This is the first time he has spoken with his former self in the Waking. He is… he does not know. He supposes he is, as Hob would say, a clusterfuck of emotions.

Delirium skips along side, her outfit as bright and colorful as herself. There are small mirror panels plastered across the arms of her jean jacket that reflect the light in a dizzying manner and her hair all but floats as she moves. “Murphy!” she calls, racing forward and lunging herself into his lap. Hob leans his arm on the bar behind Morpheus, helping steady him with the strength of his forearm against his back.

She curls up, not unlike a cat, over his legs, looking up at him with those bright heterochromatic eyes. He smiles, looking down at his youngest sister.

“Hello, Delirium. Happy New Year.”

Dream and Death join at their side. Death wraps her arm around Hob’s shoulder, leaning her head against his. Dream simply stands to her right, gazing down at Morpheus and Delirium. Desire and Despair stand a step or two away, Desire leaning dramatically against the bar as Despair climbs into one of the open bar stools. Most surprisingly of all, perhaps, is Destiny, who walks towards them with the confidence he always carries, his book tucked under his arm.

“Are you going to set off the pretty lights here as well? There’s always so many pretty lights on this night. And good visions. And happiness. And fun colors.” She says, her skin changing and glowing with each sentence. Hob chuckles.

“No, no fireworks here. But, if you go outside and look across the park, you can probably see them at a distance.” Delirium’s eyes quite literally light up as Hob speaks. Suddenly, she leaps off of Morpheus’s lap, briefly turning into a firework, before gluing herself back into a human shape.

“Fireworks!!!” She cries, spinning in a circle.

“But we still have to wait,” Death says. “It’s not firework time just yet.”

Delirium huffs, her cheeks growing as wide as a puffer-fish. “I know! I can wait. I know how to wait!”

Morpheus smiles. Desire rolls their eyes, but gazes fondly at their younger sister’s antics. Despair has taken to looking across the New Inn’s crowd. She doesn’t smile, but her face is content. Destruction is not present, but Morpheus is not surprised by this. He would not have expected him to come. In fact, Morpheus had not expected any of them to come. And as pleased as he is, and surprisingly happy to see them all here, he grows nervous.

“Is something the matter?” Morpheus asks, his eyes turning to each of his siblings.

It’s Desire that speaks first.

“Can we all not simply enjoy a night among the humans without some world-ending issue at hand?” They say, reaching for a drink that had not been on the bar just moments ago. They take a sip from the swirly, colorful straw, arching a brow as they stare Morpheus down.

“We’re here because we want to be,” Death says, releasing Hob and tilting her head to the side to better see him. Morpheus turns his gaze to her, brows pulled together.

“But. I-” He sighs, folding his hands on his lap. “I do not understand.”

Dream takes a step forward, hands folded behind his back. “We wished to spend this night with you. And among humanity.” Morpheus looks up into the starry night eyes he once wore. The soft white curls hang around Dream’s face.

“Plus,” Desire pipes up again. “As I said when we got here, lots and lots of desires around here. Good for the soul.”

“And much despair.”

“And colors and confusion and funny thoughts and sights!” Delirium adds.

“And many dreams.”

“Not much death, hopefully,” Death adds, elbowing his shoulder lightly. “But with fireworks, you never know! I’ve a feeling I’ll be popping out for work here and there throughout the night.”

“So,” Desire says, lifting themselves onto the edge of the bar. They swing their feet out in front of them. “Not just for you. But you know, you’re here as well, so might as well say hi.”

Morpheus laughs. It is still an ugly, braying thing, but Hob has claimed to love it regardless. Dream laughs as well and Morpheus only laughs harder at how similar it is to his own. Death joins in, her snorting chuckle adding to the terrible laughing choir they are building as each of his siblings begins to laugh as well. Delirum’s laugh chimes like bells then birds then the quaking of the Earth. Despair’s is a low hum and Desire’s is the light fluttering of wings or a flame. Destiny’s is the hard toll of a bell, of finality, but he laughs nonetheless.

Hob’s voice comes in last, the loud, joyful thing that it is, harmonizes with the mess that is the group of Endless laughing the night away. Then, a booming hardy chuckle joins in. They all turn to the looming figure in the doorway, his ginger hair pulled up in a bun as their brother smiles at them.

“Heard there was a party going on,” Destruction says, gliding over to their little group. “Couldn’t miss that, could I?”

“Brother,” Morpheus whispers as he walks to the front, standing in front of the stool he sits upon. He has not seen him since... well. Since he died, he supposes.

Destruction plops his large hand on Morpheus’s shoulder. It is ridiculous just how large his hand looks on his own relatively narrow frame. Even after he has since bulked up some with Hob’s cooking and care. It’s only now, as a human, that he realizes just how large and daunting his younger brother is.

“How you doing, Morpheus?” Destruction asks, smiling down at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Humanity looks good on you, you know.”

There are tears in his eyes. He does not quite know why he is crying, but he is. And then another laugh bursts through, between the sobs that make their way forward. Suddenly, he is wrapped up in much too large arms and pulled off of his seat. His feet dangle off the floor as he’s pressed tight against his brother’s chest.

Morpheus supposes, as the tears and the laughter do not stop, that he hadn’t truly ever… thought much of his death. Of what took place after the Kindly Ones ravaged the Dreaming and demanded his demise. There had been much to do after becoming human and the short time he had in-between was taken up primarily by the debate of how his afterlife would unfold.

He should have expected this, in hind sight. He can no longer tuck his emotions away, through dreams or ignorance. His paltry human mind would no longer allow him. They bubbled up to the surface quicker than he has learned to tamp them down. Hob’s encouragement to feel his emotions and work through them has done nothing to help his ability as restraining them, either. The mixed bag of feelings arises from deep within him as he is surrounded by his family, who, despite Desire’s claim, have all come to visit with him for a night of human celebrations, is unleashed and Morpheus is powerless to stop it. And with Destruction’s arrival and the sight of him unlatches the final box he had stuffed all the thoughts and feelings of his transition into, he cries. And laughs. And feels as his arms begin to go numb with how tightly his brother’s squeeze is on his body and so he laughs again.

Hob’s hands are on his face, rubbing away the trail of tears on his face as Destruction sets him back on his feet. Death steadies him, a hand on his shoulder. And as he clears his eyes and looks upon the faces of his siblings, of his family, his heart aches with the realization that, despite everything, they care. They love him. It is an overwhelming sensation.

“I… I apologize,” he says, voice rough, as he takes the offers handkerchief from Dream. The fabric twinkles and shifts like galaxies and it brings a smile to his face. “Humanity has made me more temperamental.”

“Oh, more temperamental?” Desire says, sliding their way closer so their foot can gently poke his arm. They look down at him from their perch with a smirk on their lips. “You were already a big ball of emotions, you just refused to ever feel them before.” They look up at Dream who is staring at them with an unimpressed face. “You’ve gotten a bit better. Still temperamental, though.”

Death chuckles, bumping her shoulder into Dream’s. “I have to agree with Destruction though,” she says, turning back to Morpheus. “Humanity does look good on you.” Her eyes flit up to Hob who has taken his position guarding Morpheus’s side, one hand wound around to rest on his lower back and gives him a smile.

“You haven’t come and stopped by my realm since!” Delirium says, pounding her foot on the ground. “You should come visit! I want to give you the fun nice visions I’ve made! I have some birdies I made for you, but you haven’t come by yet!”

Morpheus chuckles and leans in closer to Delirium. “I shall endeavor to come visit you soon.”

“You know,” Hob says and Morpheus can just hear the smirk in his voice. “I can easily get you into her realm with enough drinks.”

He turns before he rolls his eyes so Hob would see, which earns him a chuckle. “Perhaps another time. I think I would prefer to remember this evening.” He turns back to Delirium. “If Dream would allow, perhaps you could send me your birds this evening while I sleep?”

Delirium’s eyes light up and she spins on her feet to face Dream. His face mirror’s Morpheus’s own as they both look down at her with a soft fondness reserved solely for their youngest sibling. “Can I? Can we send him my birdies?” She pleads, tugging on the long white robes that Dream wears. He rests a hand upon her head and nods.

“Since Morpheus has agreed, then you may. But only once he is safely within the Dreaming this evening. So you will have longer to wait.”

She nods, her head bouncing like a bobble head. “I know how to wait! I can wait for the colorful lights and I can wait until he’s in your realm!”

The night progresses. Desire takes to the dance floor at one point, their glittering gown entrancing the looks of many. Even as a mortal, Morpheus knows that they are enjoying and luxuriating in the desires they are swirling in the hearts of those who look upon them.

Despair has found a secluded corner, the one that Morpheus himself often sits, and has been relaxing in the soft high-backed hair as she watch the crowds in silence. She has turned her gaze to a man who sits at the far edge of the bar, his head in one hand, a drink in the other.

Dream, Death, Hob, and himself have found a seat at one of the tables near the window. Destruction pulled up a chair from another table and has sat with them. Delirium does not sit, but rather floats above them. Eyes flow off of her like water, thankfully. The few that do not are too far gone into their drinks that they do not think much of the sight. Destiny stands, leaning against the window, silent, but present.

There is laughter and tales swapped between their little group. Hob spins tales of their time together, of his students and his coworkers. He tells stories of the little things, embarrassing moments that draw forth laughter and the touching moments that bring with them soft smiles. Morpheus finds himself in a familiar position, his head propped up by his hand, arm resting on the table as he gazes at his lover. His eyes trail across his face, watching the light in Hob’s eyes glow and glint in the soft lighting. He watches the tilt of his mouth as he smiles through his words and the animated gestures of his hands because the man does not know how to talk without using them. He watches the movement of his brows and the scrunch of his nose. He watches the shake of his chest as he laughs and the flick of his tongue as he wets his lips.

It’s only when the flash of a camera goes off that Morpheus blinks back into the conversation. Death smiles as she pulls the Polaroid from the camera and sets it face down on the table. Both Hob and Morpheus turn to her with varying levels of confusion.

“When did you get a camera?” Hob asks, bewildered.

“Oh, you know,” Death says, setting the familiar camera on the table. “Popped out for a quick second for work and thought I’d nab this from your flat on the way back.”

Hob blinks. “Wait… when did you leave?”

Death just winks. Morpheus chuckles. He reaches forward, turning the camera in his hands. There is a small groove on the base and a few spots of white paint on the black plastic that mark it as Hob’s. He smiles as he lifts the camera up to his eye.

Death smiles and leans closer to Dream. Destruction stands, moving so he’s in-between the two. Delirium’s head appear at the top of the frame and Destiny is visible on the edge. “Smile,” Morpheus says, clicking the shutter as his family all grins. Even Dream smiles, as soft as it is.

There’s a flash and the camera churns out the thick glossy plastic from within. He grabs it and sets it face down beside Death’s own before handing it back over to her.

“Well, we’ll have to get an actual group photo before the night is over,” Destruction says, moving back to his own seat. “It’s not often we have everyone here, after all.”

Hob hums in agreement as he lifts his drink to his lips. “That’d be nice. I’ve a copier for those, so we can get more made if you’d all like one.”

“I want the pretty picture!!” Delirium says, floating down so her back now rests on the window. “I’ll put it in the gallery cause that’s where pictures you like are supposed to go.”

Morpheus smiles as the conversations drifts back into tales and stories of the past. Death talks of some of the sights she’s seen over the year, of the people she’s met and of her day as a mortal. Destruction talks to his art and his travels. He and Hob commiserate over the various locations they’ve visited over the years and the unique struggles lives like theirs bring. Dream, even, talks of the Dreaming and of the citizens there. He talks of Lucienne and Matthew and Mervyn and it brings with it an ache in Morpheus’s chest but he urges Dream to continue. And so he does.

Matthew, apparently, wishes to tell Morpheus “Happy New Year” and to “get trashed�� for him since he can no longer get drunk as a Raven. Lucienne also sends her regards and a tear falls down his cheek as he realizes that even those he left behind in the Dreaming care for him still, despite not being their Lord anymore.

“You know,” Hob says, smiling over at Dream. It is a startling vision, he realizes. Hob sits across from Dream as they had for centuries. He wonders, briefly, if Dream plans to continue their agreement to meet each hundred years. “I don’t know how the whole Dreaming to Waking traveling thing goes, but they’re always more than welcome to stop by. I’m sure Morpheus would love to see them again.” He turns, glancing as Morpheus with a question to his gaze.

He nods, looking back to his old self. “Should you, of course, allow it. I… I have missed them.”

“As they have missed you,” Dream says. He realizes, as the night sky gaze falls over him, just how intense it is to be under it. He is surprised Hob had managed to ever speak clearly during their meetings. “Perhaps, if you would wish, you may walk the Dreaming with clarity as you once had. I would not take you from your normal dreams and nightmares, but would grant you such on the nights you wished. Then you could visit the denizens of the Dreaming at your leisure.”

Morpheus smiles. “I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you, Dream Lord.” Dream huffs.

“You needn’t be so formal. Not to me. Not as you are.”

“Very well, then,” Morpheus says, bowing his head in agreement. “Dream.”

It’s nearly midnight when Hob extends his hand out to Morpheus, a sly smile on his face. “May I have this dance?” He asks. The music, he realizes belatedly, has changed. No longer is it the pop music that had been filtering through the inn prior, but has since slowed.

Ah.

It’s Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade, specifically. It is the first song they had listened to once Morpheus was able to withstand the noise. It was a gentle tune. Melodic in it’s rhythm and hardly appropriate for a New Year’s Eve celebration, but that has not deterred the drunken patrons in the center of the dance floor. They have turned from the rocking and jolted dancing to a smoother, softer flow. Many have paired up together, arms wrapped around necks and waists. And it’s as he looks back up at Hob does he realizes that this song was not chosen at random.

Hob had planned it. And wished to dance with Morpheus.

In another life, he would have turned him down. That other life, however, was sitting across the table from him with a knowing glint in his eye. This is a new life. And so he takes Hob’s hand and lets his lover guide him to the dance floor and wraps his arms around Morpheus’s waist and Morpheus wraps his arms around Hob’s neck. And they sway. They sway gently to the tune, not caring for form or function. They sway and enjoy the flow and the music and the lights. And when Hob gently guides Morpheus into a small spin under his arm, he laughs softly, a smile upon his lips.

He understands, in that moment, why people dance. Especially with one they care for. As he stares up into Hob’s kind eyes, the ones he has had the fortune of waking up to each morning for most of his newly human life, all others fade away. It is just him and Hob here in this moment. They float across their small section of the floor. And perhaps it is the alcohol of Hob’s dangerously addictive “immortality” drinks or maybe it is the high of having so many that he loves and cares for near, but Morpheus is certain this is the happiest he has ever been.

He cries, a single tear, for the him that would have said no to Hob Gadling’s pleas. He cries for the him that would never have known such bliss. He cries, briefly, for Dream, for Daniel, who now bears his old burdens and hopes that somewhere in Destiny’s book, he can one day find his own bliss like Morpheus has finally found his.

Hob kisses the tear away and whispers against his skin. “I really didn’t plan on having today be such a cry fest, I swear.” His breath and his lips tickle the soft skin of his cheek. Morpheus chuckles.

“Perhaps New Years can be the exception, then. So long as we do not make a habit of so many tears.” Hob laughs and the sound does not fail to send Morpheus’s heart aflutter.

“Sounds like a good plan. No more tears allowed tomorrow. So no watching Up.”

Morpheus snorts. It is undignified and Hob loves him more for it. He has said so in the past. “No. No Up, indeed. You would end up using the last dredges of hydration on your tears if we did.”

“Oh if I did, is that is? Tell me, who was the one that went through a whole box of tissues at the first half of the film?” Morpheus turns his head, his temple resting upon Hob’s chin.

“It does not count as such when the box was nearly empty to begin with.” Hob laughs. Morpheus smiles.

They stay there, eyes closed as they enjoy one another’s warmth and company as the music plays. Then, as the song fades to a close and the mood shifts once again to the hyperactive pulse of some song Morpheus does not know the name of, they slow to a stop.

“I love you, you know.” Hob says, not moving from their spot on the floor just yet. He still has a hand on Morpheus’s waist.

“I know,” he says, trailing his hands down his biceps and resting at his forearms. “I love you as well. With all of my heart and all that I am.”

“The balls about to drop, everyone!” A voice calls loudly from the bar. Eric flips the television over to the news channel where a live stream of the New Year’s ball is shown. A cheer echoes through the Inn as everyone turns to face the sight.

“10!”

Hob nuzzles his head against Morpheus’s.

“9!”

Morpheus turns, their noses grazing.

“8!”

Hob’s eyes meet his, the earthen brown golden in the light of the Inn.

“7!”

He has never looked more wonderful.

“6!”

Hob’s calloused hand raises up, cupping Morpheus’s cheek.

“5!”

Morpheus lifts his hand and rests it just above Hob’s heart.

“4!”

“Kiss me,” he whispers, feeling the warmth of his own breath bounce back at him against Hob’s lips.

“3!”

“Any time you ask,” Hob replies, his lips turned in a smile.

“2!”

Their lips meet. He is warm, as he always is. Morpheus’s hand tightens, his fingers gripping the fabric of Hob’s shirt, pulling him closer.

“1!”

His heart is hammering in his chest like this was their first kiss. It is far from such, but somehow feels different than all the rest.

“0!”

“Happy New Year, love,” Hob says, a whisper against his lips.

“Happy New Year, Hob.”

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 3 - Peppermint

(Ao3 Link)

“Hob?”

Hob turns to face his boyfriend’s confused look. Morpheus is staring with intensity at the screen of his laptop. Leaning to the side, Hob peers over at the screen and only ends up more confused. A page is open to an article on “Top Ten Gift Ideas for Her”.

“Yes?”

“What is a… ‘Bath Bomb’?”

Hob snorts. “That’s what you’re confused about?”

Morpheus turns to him, brows furrowed. “Yes. Should I not be?”

Hob waves a hand in the air. “Nah, they’re not really all that self-explanatory. I’m just confused why you’re looking at them to begin with.”

Morpheus taps the laptop screen. “This article states that they are a satisfactory gift for women.”

“Which sort of brings us to why I’m confused. Who’re you shopping for?”

Morpheus sighs and shuts the laptop. Setting it on the coffee table, he lounges back on the side of the couch and looks to Hob. “My family has requested that we visit them for family dinner at the end of the week. Delirium has insisted that we celebrate Christmas as I am now human. She also enjoys the pretty lights that it brings with it.”

“Ah,” Hob says, pulling Morpheus’s feet into his lap. He works his thumbs against the pads of his feet which earns him a pleased hum as Morpheus sinks further into the cushions, closing his eyes. No wonder he was called the King of Cats. He’s practically a cat himself.

“Right then, so gifts for the family?” Morpheus hums in response. Well, how hard could shopping for the personifications of the forces of the universe be? “Well, we could stop by the shopping center. See if there’s anything there that looks like it’d be a good gift for anyone. Are you getting gifts for everyone or just Del?”

“Del, primarily.” Morpheus mutters. “Perhaps a gift for Death and Daniel as well, though I am certain they would simply be pleased I showed up at all.” Morpheus opens his eyes and peers at Hob. “You have not answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What is a ‘bath bomb’?”

Hob laughs. “Well, I don’t remember what all they put in it, but it’s basically a ball of powder with scents and oils in them that fizz when put in the bathwater. Some change the water color, others just smell really good. I think I have one or two stashed under the sink if you want to try it. I could see you enjoying them.”

Morpheus hums. “A bath sounds nice.”

“Want to take one?”

“Only if you will join me.”

Hob gives Morpheus’s feet a squeeze and shuffles them off of his lap. “Sounds good to me. This cold front is chilling my bones so a nice, hot bath sounds perfect right about now.” He stands, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. “I’ll go get the water started and I’ll see if I can’t find those bath bombs for you.”

Hob pads his way to the bathroom and turns the water in the tub on. As the hot water rushes down, he squats down by his cabinet sink and takes a look inside. Most of what was down here was cleaning supplies or excess grooming products that didn’t fit in the smaller drawers or on the countertops.

Digging around in the back, he spots the familiar plastic packaging. He pulls it out to reveal a small plastic tube with a few bath bombs inside. He had won these as a white elephant gift a few Christmases ago and never had used them. He didn’t think they expired, so they should be good enough. Uncapping the lid, he leans back as the potent scent hits his nose.

He should have known that Christmas themed bath bombs would be peppermint scented. Hob sets the container on the counter. He’ll let Morpheus decide if they use them or not. They were pretty strong.

He steps out of the bathroom to retrieve the freshly dried towels out of the drier and folds two for themselves. He makes his way to the bathroom and drops them off on the edge of the counter before going back into the living room.

Morpheus is still lying on the couch, his eyes closed as he rests his head on the armrest. If there was one thing (there were so, so many things) that Hob was grateful for with Morpheus’s retirement, it was the ability to see him like this, at peace. He hadn’t ever seen him this calm, this at ease, before. It brought a smile to his face every time he saw it.

Walking behind the couch, he leans over, carding his fingers through his boyfriend’s soft hair, rousing him from the cat nap he was taking. “Hi there, love,” Hob whispers. “Bath’s nearly ready. You wanna come with me?” Morpheus takes a deep breath and stretches his limbs out before slinking off of the couch. He takes Hob’s hand in his own and nods.

The pair make their way out of the living room and to the bathroom. Hob turns the water off, knowing that there was plenty in the tub once the two of them were in it. He turns to see Morpheus investigating the container of bath bombs with a curious tilt of his head.

“Do you like the scent? I wasn’t sure if they’d be too strong.” Morpheus shakes his hand and plucks one out, turning it around in his hand. The white and red spiraled sphere rests on the tips of Morpheus’s fingers as he investigates.

“It has a nice scent. But why the color? Is peppermint not normally a green plant?”

Hob chuckles and leans against the counter. “I think it’s supposed to be red and white stripes like on a candy cane. They’re usually peppermint flavoured and I got those,” he nods his head towards the bath bombs. “At a Christmas party a while back.”

Morpheus blinks and turns back to the bath bomb. “I see. So it would be fitting for us to use these this month, then?”

“Most definitely.”

Morpheus hums. He steps towards the tub and looks over his shoulder. “And how does one use it?”

Hob rucks off his shirt as he answers. “You just plop it on it and it should start working. Although I’d suggest getting in the tub first if you want to enjoy the fizzing first hand.” Morpheus nods and sets the sphere on the ground by the tub.

The two strip their clothes and slot themselves into the tub. Hob rests against the back with Morpheus resting between his legs, his back pressed against Hob’s chest. Reaching down, Morpheus retrieves the peppermint monstrosity and drops it into the water.

Hob latches his chin over Morpheus’s shoulder and watches as the orb begins to dissolve in the water, leaving a pleasant aroma of peppermint. It was less intense once it was in the water than he had expected. He closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth that soaks into his bones and the feeling of his lover pressed close to him. He doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of this or any of the small moments like this. It was the quiet, intimate times like sharing a bath that really made life worth living. He was just glad he got to be the one that Morpheus decided to share them with.

“Hob?”

“Hm?” He mumbled into the soft flesh of Morpheus’s shoulder.

“Is glitter a common additive to these?”

Hob’s eyes flick open to see a silver sheen on the top of the water. Of course, of course, he was given the bath bombs with fucking glitter in the. Taking a deep breath, he replies, “It can be. It’s a bitch to clean, though, so if you decide you like bath bombs after this, we’re stocking you up with different ones. These are going in the trash.”

“You do not like glitter?”

“Not in my tub and not on my person, no.”

Morpheus hums and wades his arm through the water. The silver glitter clings to his wet skin, giving him even more of a shine.

“I think I rather enjoy it. It is like stars.”

Hob presses his forehead against Morpheus’s shoulder and sighs. He shouldn’t be surprised that Morpheus had an affinity for glitter. He’d seen that galaxy interior of his coat a few times back when Morpheus was still Dream of the Endless.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He guesses he could get used to finding glitter everywhere. As long as it makes Morpheus smile, that is.

“I guess we can keep those, then. Since you’re so fond of them.”

Morpheus hums and nestles back into Hob’s chest. He leans up and presses a kiss to Morpheus’s temple. “If my students start poking fun at me for having glitter all over my person, though, you owe me.”

Morpheus laughs.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 20 - Frosted Windows

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

Dream sits in front of the large bay windows in the guest room of Hob's flat. It is winter. The windows are frosted over, leaving delicate patterns, lace-like in their form over the surface. They blur the view both out and in. Dream takes comfort in that knowledge that he can not be viewed from here.

Hob, the curiosity that he is, left Dream a standing invite to visit whenever he so pleased. Dream had warned him the dangers of such, knowing how sweet turns sour with too much of his presence. And yet Hob had insisted. And Dream is not so strong as to refuse. Not anymore.

The warmth he had found in Hob Gadling upon his return was nearly overwhelming. It burned like fire across the core of his being. It threatened to warm parts of him long since frozen just as it had already melted the parts of him that he thought lost to the chill of glass and iron. The more Hob Gadling melts, the more Dream fear drowning in emotions and feelings he is not prepared to handle nor face. What he should do is stay away. And yet he does not. Which is why he is here in the first place.

Hob was not home when Dream had arrived. Hob had warned him of such but this was the first time it had occurred. He ought to have returned later in the evening or better yet, returned in a week. Or longer. Just to allow him time to tend to the swirling pool of things unnamed and untouched within him.

Instead, he wanders the flat unattended. He perused the various items and photographs that are strewn throughout the place. Pieces of time plucked from Hob's various lives live now on shelves and tables and walls. Stories echo and cry out, singing their songs of times long since past. Here, in the heart of Hob Gadling, he is warm.

There is a note, in hastily written script that Dream well recognizes from the sheets of graded essays and quizzes. It rests on a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.

Dream -

Make yourself at home, obviously! If you're here and I'm not, this bottle is for you if you want it. Feel free to help yourself to anything else, though.

- H

Dream can't help but smile at the note. He takes the bottle by the neck and finds the wine glasses that Hob stores in the cupboard above the silverware. He grabs two, figuring that if his friend was to show soon, he wouldn’t need to grab a glass.

Pouring himself a glass, Dream wanders the flat, sipping at the sweeter wine as he goes. There are a variety of books, some published by Hob himself - for his doctorate and later on, for his professorship, he’d explained. Hob had smiled cheekily when showing Dream the copy of “The Common Man through History”, stating it was loosely based on his own experiences. All with supporting documentation, of course.

Dream wanders down the short hallway that lead towards the bathroom and two bedrooms. The walls are stacked with frames pictures and artwork. Most are photographs of Hob with those he’s met in this current life. There are a few from lives prior, he notes. Dream trails his fingers down the frame in front of him. It’s a candid shot of him. One Dream knows for certain Hob was unaware of being taken but it steals Dream’s breath away. It is of him and Hob, sitting at their usual table in the New Inn below. Dream is engrossed in the book Hob had brought him titled “Dreams and their Meanings.” He had scoffed throughout it, calling out the inaccuracies and grumbling when it had gotten a few things correct. It was a “gag gift” as Hob had called it, but the sight of him in this photo wasn’t what shook Dream to his core.

No. No it was the expression on his friend’s face that made the spot where he manifested a heart seize. Dream has every story, every tale and whisper of romance within him and knows upon seeing that look that it was one of pure adoration. His head rests in his hand as he gazes at Dream’s captured form with the sweetest of smiles upon his lips.

Dream looks away. It is too much. It shakes his foundation and cracks the firm earth of himself. Too much more and the tsunami it would create would easily wash Dream away with it. He’s not sure he could recover. So instead, he turns and continues his journey, locking away the thoughts and feelings deep within himself.

Which is how he found himself here now, sitting at the window in the guest bedroom. He hadn’t known of this bay seat before but with it’s views of the street and the lights below, it is quickly becoming a favorite. The extra glass sits at his feet along with the now half empty bottle of wine. He has refilled his own recently and rests his head against the cool glass.

The frost obscures his view just enough as to not cause panic. He had found that ever since his escape, he has become overly sensitive to it’s sights. Within the Dreaming, it is fine. He can feel the thrum and hum of dreams there and can feel the dreamstuff that the glass is made from. It is still his sand, it is still him, simply in a different shape. In the Waking, however…

He takes a breath, an unneeded one, but he finds it calms him. There was little air left in the sphere. But there is plenty of it in this room. He is safe. He is never not safe in Hob Gadling’s flat. His friend has ensured it. And Dream trusts him. An odd thing to think about, trust. There are few that Dream would give such value to and this immortal man has become one of them.

“I wondered where you’d wandered off to,” the soft timbre of his friend’s voice calls out into the dark room. Dream suppresses a jolt. He had not noticed his arrival.

He listens to the soft padding of clothed feet against the hardwood and sees from the corner of his eye as Hob sits at the other end of the bay seat. “Hey,” Hob says, his voice soft. “You okay?”

Dream slowly turns his gaze from the streets below to his friend, his forehead still pressed against the glass. His brows furrow. “Why would I not be?”

Hob wets his lips, his eyes flickering down to Dream’s hands. “I… Well. You’re bleeding, mate.” Dream blinks and looks down. The wine glass in his hand is cracked. It looks one small squeeze away from shattering, but bits of glass have already jutted out and have embedded themselves into the flesh of his palm. Black ichor drips from him, staining his pants and pooling into the dark red fabric of the window seat.

“Ah.” He eases his grip and the glass collapses in on itself. Glass rains down as does the last remaining bit of wine it had held. Hob flinches.

“Stay here, I’ll grab the first aid kit.” He jumps to his feet and points a finger at Dream. “Don’t touch the glass.” Dream nods and watches his friend’s figure disappear around the bend.

Perhaps he had not been as calm as he had thought.

Hob returns moments later with a plastic bag, a wet rag, and the first aid kit. He sets them down on the edge of the seat and kneels down at Dream’s feet. Dream watches as he carefully plucks up the largest bits of glass he can and places it into the bag. He repeats the process until it’s only small shards.

“Right,” Hob says, setting the bag onto the floor. He reaches for the first aid kit and opens it beside him. He grabs some gauze patches and ointment from within before turning to Dream. He feels guilty, suddenly, for causing the duress that’s reflected in his friend’s eyes. “Can I see your hand?”

Dream extends his arm, laying his hand into Hob’s outstretched palm. Dream takes another breath as the heat of his friend’s skin touches his own. He watches as Hob carefully plucks out the pieces of glass one by one until there is nothing left in his palm. More ichor pools from the wounds. It is odd. Dream wills the cuts closed - something that should be reasonably easy for him to accomplish - but they refuse.

Hob takes the wet rag and dabs it across his skin, lapping up the blood and cleaning the wounds. He gently presses some of the ointments across the various cuts before he places down the strips of gauze. He finishes his dressing with a roll of bandage which Hob expertly wraps around Dream’s hand. It is all unnecessary. He would heal as the damage was not substantial. But it does make for a better story, to be tended to and cared for, does it not? Perhaps that is why the cuts had not healed before.

With a gentle pat on the top of his hand, Hob looks back up. His eyes are wet with unshed tears. “Want to talk about it?” Does he? Dream is not sure. But his sister had advised him that such things would be good for him and he owes Hob some sort of explanation after destroying his window seat and his wine glass.

Taking another steadying breath, he nods and gestures back up to the spot Hob had sat at previously. Hob watches him carefully and he settles in. Dream rests his head back against the glass, finding the cold impartiality of it grounding against the inferno of care his friend exudes.

“Do you recall my telling of where I had been this past century?” Dream asks, watching through the frosted window pane as what looks to be the shape of a cat jump up on the dumpster below.

“You’d been captured by that Burgess asshole. Trapped for that whole time.”

“Yes.” He swallows, another unnecessary action, but one that feels correct. “But it was not with chains and cuffs that he kept me caged. It was with glass and iron. He kept me in a sphere, suspended above the summoning circle that held me there in his basement.”

He can see Hob tense from his peripheral. He does not speak. Dream waits for a moment, feeling the chill of the winter air from outside make its way through him like molasses.

“Glass, I have found, causes... unexpected reactions, here in the Waking. I believe it was this that was the reasoning for my loss of awareness in my grip.” He sighs, lifting his head away from the window and meeting his friend’s eyes. “I apologize.”

Hob stares up at him, his face one of unadulterated sadness and concern. “Dream, my friend, I couldn’t care less about the wine glass. I was just worried about you. Do you-” His gaze flicks to the window and back to Dream. “We can go to the kitchen if you’d like. No windows in there.”

“Perhaps.”

Hob stands, holding his hand out to Dream with a smile. “C’mon. I’ll make us some tea, yeah?”

Dream hums as he takes his friend’s hand. The cold that had seeped into him vanishes instantly and is replaced by Hob’s heat. It flickers up his arm and nestles right into the core of him. He knows it will ruin him but Dream finds he can not care. Not when he knows, with certainty, that Hob will be there to catch him when he falls.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 26 - Sweet Kisses

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

Hob is dreaming.

Well, he’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. He doesn’t remember his flat having candles for light, not for a long time. And the small leviathan relaxing in his sink is also a decent giveaway. He blinks and suddenly the sleepy haze of his dreamscape shifts into stronger clarity.

A figure stands before him clad in flowing black robes with equally flowy hair. His skin is pale white and he’s staring at Hob. There have been many dreams that Hob has dreamt of his Stranger before. He doesn’t know why now he knows this is not merely his mind’s version, but his actual Stranger. No. Not Stranger. Not anymore. It’s… it’s Dream.

Memories flood back into him. The rescue, the fishbowl prison of glass and iron, Alexander Burgess’s blood coating the basement floor. Right, Hob thinks to himself. Dream smirks and steps closer. He is taller here than he was when Hob last saw him. In fact, he’s a good head or two taller than him. Hob swallows as he tilts his head back to stare at the sharp angles and dark eyes of his friend. He knows he’s dreaming, that he’s asleep, but he swears he can still feel blood rushing south as his friend looms over him.

“Hello Hob,” his friend says. Good God, it sounds like his voice is everywhere. It’s like Hob is swimming in that velvety deep voice of his. It’s not doing his dick any favors.

“Hello old friend,” he says. “I am dreaming, right?”

His friend huffs, but the smile on his face remains. “Yes.”

“Ah. Right.” Hob wants to look around if for no other reason than to hopefully distract his body from how easily aroused it is by just being looked at. But he can’t. All he can do is stare up into those pitch black eyes of his. It’s a mesmerizing sight. The longer Hob looks, the more he thinks he can make out… yes, yes those are stars in his eyes. Christ on the cross, of course his friend has stars for eyes.

“I promised you I would return, did I not?” His friend whispers as he leans in closer. Hob can feel his own breath bouncing back at him off of Dream’s face. He tries to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine and utterly fails. Memories of their kiss, of the feeling of Dream’s lips on his and the promise of more hits him and he moans.

“That you did… I’ll admit, thought I would have seen you in the real world, not in a dream.” His friend frowns.

“Dreams are as real as the Waking World.” He leans in, brushing his lips against Hob’s. “Are you unhappy with this?”

Hob reaches his hands out, holding gently onto Dream’s hips to keep him close. “No, never. Just… not what I expected was all. Not complaining. I’ll take anything. Whatever you give me.”

Dream hums as he finally presses his mouth to Hob’s. It’s different here, in a dream. Both more real and not. And then Dream’s tongue is pressing into him and it’s hot and soft and so much more than he was mentally prepared for. He gasps into Dream’s mouth and earns a growl in response. Cool, slender hands hold Hob’s face between them and Dream leans further into the kiss. Hob’s head is nearly staring straight up in order to stay connected. His neck is vaguely aching, but he couldn’t care less.

They part, at some point. Hob’s pretty sure he ought to have passed out by then, but he is still dreaming, so he chalks it up to that. Dream gazes down at him, those deep space eyes of his hooded as he trails a finger down the side of Hob’s face.

“I am not an easy lover, Hob Gadling. I will demand all of you. I would consume you and all that you are. I will bring you nothing but ruin.” His voice is soft but shakes as he speaks. It breaks Hob’s heart.

“Then ruin me. I have all but been ruined for anyone else but you. Ruined for anyone else’s touch or kiss.” Hob pulls Dream back down and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Dream goes willingly and all but melts against Hob’s form. Hob wraps his arms around his friend and realizes that he is, in fact, melting slightly. Or his robes are at least? Hob thinks that’s a good thing.

“This dream is over.”

Hob wakes up with a gasp, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Then, he processes the unfamiliar weight on his legs. Looking up, he sees the more familiar version of his friend, of Dream, perched over his thighs. His eyes are no longer the dark black and star-filled ones he had just gotten used to but the brilliant ocean blue he first fell in love with.

Reaching out his arms, Hob smiles. “C’mere love,” he says, his voice thick and rough with sleep. Dream stays still for a few moments before falling against Hob’s chest. He clings tight to him, nuzzling his face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hob squeezes him tight and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“You will come to resent me,” Dream mutters into his skin.

“Never. Just you wait and see. You’re the one whose gonna get tired of me.” Hob says with a chuckle. He feels a puff of air against his skin as Dream shifts, aligning their bodies even closer together.

“Impossible man.” Hob just smiles in response.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 24 - The Night Before

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

The stockings hung above the fireplace, casting shadows across the living room of Hob’s flat. He sits in the armchair, nursing the small glass of eggnog with a dash of Fireball in it. His legs are propped up on the coffee table as he lets the warmth of the flames wash over him. It was Christmas Eve and all the presents were wrapped and delivered to those he was close with in this life. His own tree rests in the corner, decorated with the ornaments and baubles that he’s collected over the years. Hob smiles as he spots the small black cat ornament he and Morpheus found while they were out shopping.

He’d been drawn to it the moment his eyes spotted it in the Hallmark aisles. Hob had to chuckle to himself as Morpheus’s eyes grew almost comically large at the sight of it. They bought it, of course. Hob had a brief thought about wrapping it up and putting it in his stocking, but it was worth the joy in his face for the rest of their outing as Morpheus held the small brown bag close to his chest.

They’d hung the ornament up the moment they got home. His first one. First of many, Hob was certain. It settled something in his heart knowing that a piece of Morpheus was on his… on their tree, now. It felt right. It made him warmer than the bit of whiskey in his drink did.

Morpheus was fast asleep on the couch, his laptop resting on his lap, the screen long since turned off. His black hair was spread out across the cream throw pillows, one hand resting above his head, the other on his stomach. Hob watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest and smiled as his lover’s eyes flickered behind his eyelids.

It was strange to think that at this very moment, Morpheus was off in another realm. Back in the Dreaming, his old home. It had taken him quite a bit of time to be comfortable with that notion, afraid that he was somehow intruding upon Daniel’s new reign. But now, Hob’s pretty sure he almost looks forward to his dreams, even if he’s now like everyone else and only sometimes remembers them.

Hob drains the last bit of his drink and sets his mug on the table to his side. The soft glow of the tree lights softens the edges of Morpheus’s face. The sharpness in his jaw and cheeks has filled out since he first arrived. No longer was he the hallow, jagged creature he was when he showed up at Hob’s doorstep. Now, he’s softer, warmer, and more importantly, happier. And Hob helped do that. He helped that softness grow, helped it wrap around his frame like a warm hug.

He’s seen Morpheus staring at himself in the mirror one day, his fingers trailing across the soft expanse of his stomach, pinching lightly at the soft rolls that were just beginning to show. Hob had worried that perhaps Morpheus was displeased by it. He’d only ever seen him as the gaunt sharp edged man for most of his life, after all. But no. Instead, Morpheus had met Hob’s eyes through the mirror and just smiled. Said it was a physical sign of Hob’s care and attention. Hob struggled not to cry a bit at that. And now? Now, Hob gets to kiss every inch of that soft skin, he gets to suck marks into the warm flesh that he help build and spill his love into the plush give of Morpheus’s body.

Morpheus stirs, mumbling something under his breath as he shifts on the couch. His legs move and the laptop that was on them moves with it. Hob’s eyes widen as the laptop tilts. He stands, moments too late as the laptop slides off of the blanket and clatters to the floor.

His lover jolts upright, his eyes blinking away the sleep from his eyes as he takes in his surroundings. His hair is staticy from the pillow and sticks up with all directions. Hob snickers at the sight. In all honesty, it’s probably a look Morpheus would love to replicate on the daily. It reminds Hob more of how his hair used to look in the Dreaming when he was Dream. Morpheus stares up at him, his brows slowly drawing close.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Hob steps closer and leans down, scooping up the laptop from it’s tumbled position. He wiggles the trackpad and the screen lights up. No marks, no scratches. All good. He closes the lid and sets the laptop on the coffee table.

“Laptop fell, that’s all.” Morpheus blinks a few more times as his gaze slowly falls on the computer with it’s new home on the table.

“Ah,” he says, followed immediately by a yawn. Hob chuckles and holds his hand out.

“C’mon love. It’s late. Let’s get to bed, yeah?”

Morpheus nods and takes his hand, pulling himself up and off of the couch. “When did I fall asleep?”

Hob guides the two of them down the hall to their bedroom. “An hour ago or so? You looked too peaceful to disturb.”

Morpheus hums as he climbs into bed, hauling the sheets over his body, tucking it right under his chin. Hob shakes his head fondly as he follows after, pulling Morpheus’s body close to his. His lover’s hands wind around him automatically. Soon, Hob’s face is full of wild black hair as Morpheus tucks himself under his chin.

“G’night Hob,” Morpheus mutters against his neck. Hob tilts his head to press a kiss to Morpheus’s head.

“Goodnight Morpheus.” Hob looks at the glowing red digits on the alarm clock on the nightstand and smiles. It reads 12:43am. “And Happy Christmas.”

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 19 - Stockings

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

Morpheus looked down at the misshaped fabric in his hands. The felt was firm in the areas that the glue had run over and wasn’t cleaned off in time. His name was halfway embroidered at the top of the large sock shaped creation in a black sparkly thread. When Hob had first suggested they make their own stockings to hang, rather than buy some made halfway across the globe, Morpheus had thought it was a good idea.

Now, he’s not convinced.

Once, he’d been able to fashion dreams and nightmares, whole lands and skies, all worthy of awe to grace the minds of all sleeping things. Now, in this clumsy human form of his, he is limited. His hands do not move as he wishes them to. He finds himself more impatient than he was prior, hurrying through steps that he knows, looking back, he ought to have taken more time. Most annoyingly of all, perhaps, is the fact that he must learn how to make what he envisions come to life. The stocking he had in his mind’s eye is so far removed from the one in his hands that it’s laughable. He can feel the tears of frustration in his eyes and it just makes him more frustrated.

“Hey, it’s okay. I think it looks good so far!” Hob says, scooting closer to him on the shared couch space. He lets Hob take the stocking from him and closes his eyes. Perhaps if he does not look, it will simply cease to exist and he can pretend this day did not happen.

There are hands on his face. Hob’s gentle fingers wipe away the few tears that have fallen and Morpheus opens his eyes. He is greeted by the sight of those warm, brown eyes he has long since fallen for. Hob leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. Morpheus can already feel the tension melt from his form.

“If it makes you feel better, this is how mine is going.” Morpheus tilts his head to where Hob gestures. A similarly off-kilter stocking sits on the coffee table. Thread sticks out of it at all angles and he’s pretty sure he can see a large gap on the side. There are pom-poms glued to the front, covering up the spots where Morpheus knows Hob nearly cut through the felt when he was cutting out the white fluff shape of fabric for the top.  It is, objectively, worse looking than his own. As much as he hates to admit it, it does make Morpheus feel a tad better.

“These are truly hideous.” Hob laughs as he moves his arms down from Morpheus’s face and to the sides of his arms. He gives them a gentle, reaffirming squeeze before sitting back down.

“Oh yeah, no. We’re absolutely buying new ones next year.” Hob hands Morpheus’s in-progress stocking back to him. “Your embroidery isn’t half bad, though. Hell of a lot better than mine will be.”

“I thought you intended to glue down cuts of fabric for your lettering?”

Hob smirks. “Can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

“Mm.. fun.”

In the end, they do finish their stocking and hang them up by the fireplace. Hob’s truly is egregious. The variety of colors of pom-poms does not help at all. It reminds Morpheus of the ugly jumpers Hob insisted on wearing and it sends a shiver down his spine at the thought. His own, however, did end up looking better than expected. He had to redo the embroidery a few times before he was satisfied, but now his name stands proudly against the white fluff at the top next to Hob’s own name. And wasn’t that sight worth it in the end? Perhaps this next year he would work on learning how to properly sew and embellish as a gift to them both.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 18 - Mistletoe

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

A fire crackles in the fireplace of The White Horse. Hob can hear the sound of the other patrons around, ribbing each other, cheering and hollering, but when he turns, there is no one there. He’s alone. And he’s not. And isn’t that a metaphor for Hob’s whole life?

He drinks some nondescript ale from a tankard that looks more fitting in the 1400’s than… What year is it now? He looks around and recognizes the decor and styling of the White Horse back from her years in the 19th century. And yet, as he looks down at himself, he’s wearing that same outfit he’d worn waiting here all day back in 1989.

Ah… He’s dreaming, then.

He hasn’t had a dream since… God. Since the Great War? World War One as it’s referred to, now. It’ll still be the Great War in his mind, he thinks. Odd, though, that he’s having a dream now. Maybe the shell shock finally wore off and the trauma from it all let his mind finally rest enough to think of a dream.

It’s a bit of a cruel dream, though, isn’t it? Hob takes another sip. Guess that’s what dreams are good for though, aren’t they? Being cruel. Or to teach you some sort of lesson. Hob knows what this lesson is. A reminder to himself that lives are short and no matter how many of them he lives, it’ll still just be him, alone, at the end of the day. Maybe not even with his Stranger, now.

God’s Wounds, his Stranger. He should have never pushed at their last meeting. Sure, he could have phrased things better, told him that he was lonely to start. It had never been an accusation or a judgment - and he’s afraid that’s just what his Stranger thought. No, no it was simply an open hand, an invitation, in case he’d correctly seen his own loneliness reflected in his Stranger’s eyes. Given that he never showed up last year, though, Hob’s starting to think he’s just been imagining things.

Maybe he truly did lose him, his one constant in this long life of his. And now he’s just here, alone in a pub, drinking by himself, surrounded by a faceless crowd.

If he could just… explain, maybe. If he could just-

His Stranger is there. He sits across from him in an odd black robe, floating in a non-existent breeze. His skin is paler than usual, his eyes and face looking more gaunt than many men Hob had seen when he’d lived on the streets. It is a paltry imitation of his Stranger, a nightmare wearing his face, that graces the other side of the table.

Hob smiles.

“Just thinking about you, you know,” he says, watching the dream of his Stranger’s eyes widen. His eyes were so blue. Had they always been so blue? “You’re a bit late. Get your calendar flipped around, did you?”

His Stranger does not speak. Hob did not expect him to. He rarely offered words in their previous meetings in the real world. Why would this dream, this distorted memory, be any different?

“I waited for you that whole day. Kept thinking you were just trying to sweat me out and that you’d show up right there at the last minute and everything would be good.” He glides his finger across the rim of his now glass mug as he speaks. “Then the clock ticked over and you weren’t there.”

His Stranger leans forward, his eyes still wide and almost… pleading?

“I missed you… Even if you’d probably storm out on me for saying it. Doesn’t matter if you don’t see me as a friend, doesn’t matter if you never will. You’re my friend. You’ll always be my friend. Whether you like it or not.

“Besides, I’ve had many nights that I’ve laid awake trying to figure out how I should have said it all back at the last time we met. I would have told you that the one thing I’ve realized over my long life is that, as wonderful as every part of it is, as amazing as all the glorious people I get to meet, get to know… it’s still lonely. It’s lonely because no one can ever know the real you, the whole of you. No one stays around forever. There’s no family to fall back to, no growing old together with the ones you love. It’s all temporary. And that is part of the beauty, it’s what gives it all meaning, but it doesn’t take away from the hurt of it.

“But then there’s us. Or others like us. I’ve met a few since then. Never stayed with them long. They had their own ways, their own lives. Never a true constant. But you were to me. You were a constant that I wouldn’t have otherwise. And so I thought, maybe, that’s what you were after all those centuries ago: a constant. And I’d be glad to be it for you, just like you are for me. Because if you’re just as lonely as I am, I’d want to help relieve it if I could.”

Hob sniffs, lifting the glass to his lips, draining the rest of the ale. “Anyways… That’s what I should have said, back then.”

His Stranger is… is crying, he thinks. There’s no sound, no real motion, either, but small translucent trails run down his cheeks from his eyes. He’s never seen his Stranger cry before. He looked close when he’d ran him off back in 1889. Hob feels like he ought to look away. He doesn’t, though. No, instead, he stares right ahead as he continues to let the words he’d held deep in his core come stumbling out.

“D’you know, it’s Christmas time here. Ten years until the next turn of the century. It’s a big one. The 2000s! Never thought I’d live to see it and yet, here I am. Would have loved to have shared it with you. Would have loved to share a great many things with you.

“We never did need to only meet once every hundred years, you know. I would have gladly welcomed you anytime you wanted to drop by. Unless it’s a thing where you physically can’t come to Earth or something. Never did figure out what you were. Not human, knew that much. Maybe that’s why you were late? Held up by cosmic traffic or some nonsense.

“You’d have loved the Internet, I think. Could have shown you the wonders of email and cell phones. Could have taken you to a film, even. Bet you’d have liked a film. Popcorn and all.”

Hob laughs to himself, fiddling with the no longer empty glass in his hands. “You know, I even bought that overpriced Porsche to meet up with you because the salesman assured me it would win over anyone that saw it. Course I’m pretty sure he thought I was trying to woo the ladies with it. Would have tried to woo you, though. If you’d have let me.”

It’s at that statement that his Stranger jolts back in his seat, face contorted into an expression Hob’s not entirely sure is pain, anger, or just straight up shock.

“Would you have wanted me to woo you, old Stranger? Is that what I’ve been doing wrong all these years? I’d been trying to be a friend when I should have been courting you? Maybe that’s why you lost interest in me for that Shaxberd. It was right after I’d told you of my wife and child, after all.”

The table between them is no longer there. It had never been there. Hob looks up to see a sprig of mistletoe sprouting from the ceiling between the pair of them. He smiles.

“Well, mistletoe. Y’know, they say it’s bad luck to not kiss under there. I’d hate to give either of us that curse.”

He caresses his Stranger’s cheek, watching those ocean blue eyes flutter close as he leans into the touch. Hob leans forward.

His lips are cold. Most of him was cold, in fact. A dream, Hob’s brain reminds him. This is just a dream. But his lips are mind-numbingly soft, though. And still so rosy, despite their icy feel. His Stranger’s hand lifts from his lap and curls tightly into the thin white shirt under Hob’s blazer. He pulls him close and Hob goes willingly. They part, just barely, before his Stranger pulls him back in, slotting his mouth against the demanding force. Hob’s own lips are pushed open as a strikingly warm tongue curls into his mouth. His eyes fall closed, savoring the taste and feel of his Stranger like this.

Hob’s eyes open to reveal the white of his ceiling, slightly yellowed by the morning sun. He sighs and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Wisps of memories flash in his mind. The White Horse… his Stranger… soft lips and blue eyes…

Christ, he’s hard. He turns to face his alarm. Well, he’s still got some time before he actually has to get up and get moving. Hob snakes his hand under his boxers and wraps a hand around himself with a hiss. A morning orgasm always made for a good start to a Monday after all.

Miles away, in the basement of Fawney Rig, Dream sits, still encased in his cage of glass and iron. He feels colder than he has in years. He closes his eyes and fights the tears that threaten to fall as the memory of Hob Gadling’s words plays on repeat in his mind and the ghost of his lips and his touch haunt his skin.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 11 - Baking Cookies Together

(Ao3 Link)

“Did you find the flour?” Hob asks, nabbing the butter from the fridge. The kitchen counter was spread with bowls and whisks and various cookie ingredients. The winter holiday work party was tomorrow night and the email that was sent out to the History and Literature department had requested that people bring an item to share, if they were able. They’d shared a list back and forth of what people had called dibs on. Cookies, surprisingly, had been left open for the day. Hob nabbed it up, knowing it was one of the few things he could make successfully.

Also, he wanted to try and have Morpheus make them with him.

“I believe so,” he hears Morpheus say from behind him before hearing a thud on the counter. Turning, he sees a small puff of white fluff up from the bag into Morpheus’s pitch black hair. Hob laughs, walking closer to his friend and sets the butter on the counter. Morpheus’s face is pinched tight, flour coats his face and the front of his hair, giving his skin an even paler complexion and his hair a gray coating.

Blinking slowly, trying to not let the dust of flour fall into his eyes, Morpheus turns to Hob and scowls. “You did not inform me that flour attacks when handled.”

Hob bit down on his lower lip, trying his best to stifle the laugh bubbling in his throat. “Sorry, duck,” he manages to say with just a little chuckle to his tone. “Here, let me help you.” Morpheus stands still as Hob reaches out and brushes the flour out of his hair. Christ, it was soft. He takes, perhaps, a bit longer than he should to get the little bit of flour out, but that’s for Hob and only Hob to know.

Hob pulls his sleeve down, grabbing a bundle of the fabric in his hand and cups Morpheus’s face with the other. “Gonna get this off your face now, duck. Just hold still.” His friend nods once. Gently, Hob swipes the sleeve of his jumper across his cheeks and forehead. He dusts off the flour over his eyes with the delicate touch of an artist. He works down, fluffing off the white powder from Morpheus’s pretty red lips and it takes every ounce of willpower in his body to not lean forward and press a kiss against them.

“There,” he says, dropping his hold on his friend’s face. “Flour free.”

Morpheus blinks his eyes open, lifting a hand to dust off a patch of flour just against the side of his nose as he looks up at Hob. “I will let you handle the flour. Unless the other ingredients also plan to wage war, in which case I will simply watch.”

Hob’s eyes scrunched up as he smiled. “You should be safe from the others. Here,” he says, pushing the larger bowl in front of his friend. “You can do the wet ingredients, I’ll deal with the evil dry ones.”

“That is acceptable.”