#wip: 1889kiss

[tj-dragonblade]

For the title ask game - I'd really love to read more of the 1889 rain kiss fic 🥰🥹 I'm so weak for all the anguish and drama 1889 entails

Ah, then let me share with you from closer to the beginning of this thing, where the anguish and drama are strongest!

He centers his attention on this nightmare, to feel out the shape of what frightens Hob so, what about him frightens Hob so. For it is about him, that much is plain to tell; there are few dreamers to whom he is known such that he could be dreamed about, and it tickles at his awareness when they do. It is but the smallest effort to find Hob and step into his Dream, a mere gesture to dismiss the diligent nightmare, his faithful subject, who was directing the dreamscape. It is no effort at all to slip himself into his own shade within the dream, to face the reality that Hob fears him, some part of him, no matter his own feelings on such a revelation. It is not unexpected, after all; he is a creature to be feared, respected, admired perhaps, but not befriended, not sought after for his companionship. It was inevitable that Hob should see this, particularly now that Dream has given him a name, the briefest explanation of function, greater frequency of meetings in which he can observe and discover Dream's faults. (He does not delude himself. He had not expected it to happen so swiftly; Hob is kind, and forgiving, and welcoming in ways that make Dream yearn—but no. Hob was always going to see.) (He was always going to lose Hob's regard.) He is in the New Inn, standing at their table, turning away as Hob rises to follow. "Dream, wait, please don't go—" There is fear in Hob's voice, reedy terror and trembling desperation. Dream does not stop. Dream continues to storm angrily from the pub, as expected of him, as sewn into the fabric of this nightmare. Hob grows ever more distraught as he calls behind him. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I beg you don't go don't leave me—Dream, please!" The last is very much a sob. Enough. He stops, turns. Hob blinks at him from a tear-stained face. Dream plucks at the threads of the scene around them, searching for the words or actions that had transpired before his arrival, but there is nothing. "And for what should I forgive you, Hob Gadling," he intones, improvising while he feels out the shape of this nightmare. The question takes Hob off guard and his brow furrows, his lovely wet eyes blinking several times. "I…I…I did something wrong? I offended you, I made. I made you leave." It is hazy, non-specific in the manner of dreams, but that in itself is very telling. Dream has changed the prescribed course of the dream and Hob's mind is unsure what to do with the shift. Hob is so very different, here, in the grip of his nightmare; he is physically smaller, his usual confidence nowhere in evidence. He is anxious, terrified, wide-eyed and uncertain and trembling, and while Dream had stepped in with the resigned expectation that he would find Hob cowering from the full horror of understanding what Dream is, the true shape of Hob's fear shines startling and unexpected before him as he reaches for it. Hob does not fear Dream. Hob fears losing Dream.

(Previously-shared snippets can be found in the tag!

WIP Title Ask Game

[tj-dragonblade]

Let's hear about 1889 rain kiss 👀👀

I feel like possibly the label is misleading; 'kissing in the rain' was the starting point but what we wound up with is Hob having a nightmare about pissing Dream off and Dream coming in in the middle trying to defuse it. And it turns confessional, which Dream accomplishes by showing Hob what he should have done in 1889, which is where we get the kiss. And then it turns spicy. I have a few snippets scattered about already, conveniently tagged but unfortunately not chronological. But! Occurring after all of those, here is some of the 'turning spicy':

The dream shifts again; they are now in a sumptuous room, spacious but cozy and richly-appointed, with an enormous canopied bed dressed in black and darkest blue to one side. Dream understands that this is 'his bedroom', as Hob would envision it, and he feels a flash of deep pleasure at the overstuffed bookshelves that dominate the wall opposite. He has shared enough for Hob to know the importance of stories to himself and his function, and Hob imagines an appropriately-robust library spilling into the private space he sees for Dream; it is pleasing, a worthy nod to his station, and Dream appreciates it.

But he has. Better uses, in this moment, for such a sturdy bookcase.

With barely a thought he is across the room; he slams Hob's back against the loaded shelves, still gripping tightly about his thighs, and kisses the startled noise he makes straight out of his mouth. They are still soaked from the rain, thin tendrils of Hob's hair dripping on Dream's damp face, clothes clinging wetly against skin but the discomfort is trivial. Insignificant. Hob is kissing him back with such fervor, such hunger, he feels all but ravenous in return, starved for the intimacy and connection that Hob offers him so freely.

The dream ripples, slightly, and their clothing is gone, the remnants of the rain with it. He cannot say if it was Hob's doing or his own, and it matters not at all. He presses closer, mouths kisses down the bared length of Hob's throat as Hob's head tips back, grips Hob's thighs all the tighter; they are thickly covered in fine hairs, pleasing beneath his fingers, a beautiful surprise. Hob's chest is likewise adorned, a dark and inviting pelt, and Dream is not inclined to resist the temptation of rubbing his cheek against it.

"Dream," Hob murmurs, breathless above him, voice soft and full of wonder and yet urgent all the same, and Dream leans up to kiss him again immediately. Hob's hands are warm on his shoulders, legs warm around his hips, all of Hob's skin gloriously warm everywhere that they touch; he is hot, where the hard length of him nestles against Dream's stomach, and Dream hitches him marginally higher against the bookshelf just for the pleasure of the wanton sound that he makes.

WIP Title Ask Game

[tj-dragonblade]

@delta-pavonis you asked for more from the 1889 rain kiss wip, and I am happy to provide:

Hob blinks, pleased, but clearly also surprised. "That would be a kindness."

It is the least Dream can do, when this fear has grown and taken root because of him. Had he not fled their meeting in 1889, had he not then been. Absent, in 1989, Hob would not have reason to worry so. Had he been. Honest, with his feelings, that last time—

But no. Instead, he had taken offense to Hob's boldness in suggesting any attachment, used anger to mask the hurt of Hob naming it 'friendship' where Dream had dared, in the deepest most hidden places within himself, to wish it something more.

The fault is not Hob's, but he has borne the fallout for decades regardless.

And if Hob's feelings indeed are a match for Dream's, then it has all been. Entirely. Needless. And Dream will not let it continue.

WIP Wednesday Ask Meme

[tj-dragonblade]

Slow Progress Saturday

Okay, so my WIP Wednesday post netted me 23 new sentences due on this 1889 rain kiss thing, so here those are. Bit over count, actually, but some of them are single-word sentences and some would be a single sentence in someone else's pov but I like to break things differently in Dream-voice but ANYWAY.

~ It is a thrilling, satisfying moment spent indulging this long-held fantasy before he is able to draw back. His grip has gentled, his hands curled softly in Hob's lapels now, and Hob is cupping him behind the elbows, holding him close in a way that does not encircle or entrap him. Careful. Considerate. Unnecessary, but appreciated.

Hob's eyes flutter open, dark and adoring, wonder in their depths. "Dream…my Stranger, my Friend…" He is gazing up into Dream's eyes from a breath away, blinking away the pouring rain that runs over his face, mats his lovely hair flat. "What is this?"

He looks less as though he is truly concerned with the answer and more as though he longs to be kissed again; conveniently, Dream wishes to kiss him again, and so he does.

'This' is an uncertain certainty, an inadvisable course that he has resisted out of necessity, propriety, for so much of their acquaintance; he does not care to resist any longer, should Hob be amenable.

The eager curl of Hob's tongue beckoning Dream into his mouth speaks volumes of his amenability.

Still, Dream thinks, even as he follows that invitation, he should ask, should speak of his own feelings and make clear his intentions in words, where there is no mistaking the why of what he has done. He should seek Hob's intent as well, confirm his interest, leave no doubt between them on either side.

But Hob is dreaming. Hob has already expressed concern over how much he may remember; better, perhaps, to save such conversation for the waking world, where they both can be certain of Hob's full awareness. Hob would appreciate this consideration, he is very sure.

If he feels marginally relieved, not to have to bring the words to bear right now, well.

The dream shifts about them, as dreams are wont to do, directed by Hob's subconscious. They no longer stand kissing in the middle of the street; now Dream is pressing Hob back against the wall of a narrow alleyway, still more or less 1889 London, still beneath the pouring rain. His arms are tight about Hob's waist and Hob's are wrapped behind his neck, one hand threading up into his hair as they kiss. It is an ardent touch, full of care, longing, devotion and Dream. Will deny himself no longer.

He moves, reaches to grasp the backs of Hob's thighs and lifts, still pinning him to the wall, still kissing him fiercely.

The sound Hob makes is delectable, a warm bouquet of surprise and approval over arousal and excitement; his hands shift to touch Dream's face, cradling it while Dream devours his mouth. Dream holds him up by the grip on his thighs, by the press of his own body into the spread of Hob's legs, where Hob's thoughts on the situation are very much in evidence.

And Dream wants.

"I would have you," he manages, the words brushed against Hob's parted lips, and Hob whimpers, plainly audible beneath the rushing of the rain.

"Please. Please do—"

[tj-dragonblade]

*chants from the stands*

RAIN KISS RAIN KISS RAIN KISS RAIN KISS

RAIN KISS RAIN KISS! Which is actually only a small part of this thing which doesn't actually take place in 1889 at all, unless dreams count. I have a few snippets scattered about already, conveniently tagged but unfortunately not chronological. And here, just for you, is a snippet of the smut that they get up to after all of that:

The sound Hob makes is exquisite and he is pushing up, closer, even as the weight of Dream atop him bears him all the way down to the bed. He squirms, knees splayed wide and thighs trembling, hands clenched in the sheets and face turned into them, panting, little whines of pleasure curling off the end of each breath as Dream seats himself fully. Dream noses into the hair at the nape of his neck, damp and fragrant with sweat, gives himself a long instant to savor the pulsing heat of Hob's body around his cock, then pushes up and braces himself, draws out, sinks in again with a sigh.

Hob cries out, tosses his head, gasping, so clearly on the edge; Dream fucks into him smoothly, steady and unhurried, dips down to brush his lips whisper-soft against the stubble-rough corner of Hob's jaw. "My Hob," he murmurs, to the tender skin beneath Hob's ear. "How I have. Longed, to have you this way—"

Hob shudders, breath catching; Dream noses up the back of Hob's ear, follows with the tip of his tongue while driving tenderly into him and Hob goes rigid beneath him, chokes on a strangled cry. His body seizes, clenching tight around Dream in rhythmic pulses as he spends himself into the sheets; Dream closes his eyes, feels with every trembling fiber of his being as Hob's pleasure peaks, then subsides. Hob wilts beneath him, limp, sated, and Dream shifts with him, kisses softly between his shoulder blades again and again.

WIP Title Ask Game

[tj-dragonblade]

Last Line Tag Game

Tagged by @chaosheadspace - thank you!

From a thing that has been eking its way into existence since the last couple days of February:

He seizes Hob by his lapels, there in the middle of the street, and kisses him fiercely in the pouring rain. Hob squeaks, a shocked and muffled sound, and Dream has an instant to fear that he has acted wrongly—and then Hob melts against him, opens to him eagerly, grasps and holds to him with fervor, and Dream is lost in the tide of want that swells to consume him.

Tagging, no obligation, etc: @staroftheendless (when you're feeling better), @valeriianz , @delta-pavonis , @the-apocrypha , @seiya-starsniper , @zzoomacroom

[tj-dragonblade]

WIP Wednesday Accountability Version

As put in front of me by @seiya-starsniper - let's ignite some progress on some stuff!

Rules:

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names. Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play! After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file and share by answering the ask. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share. You can make your own post or reblog from the original post if preferred. No tags needed, please run with this if you feel like it!

My five wip filenames, all Dreamling, all potentially explicit:

1889 rain kiss

Academic Conference AU

A3 Adoration

smapril treasure

Greek Vacation AU

Snippet of words written Monday, from #1:

~

The guilt curls deeper, drawing Dream's thoughts in with it. Hob is justified in holding such fears; if Dream is to name him Friend, he would do well to assuage them.

"You have carried this fear more than a century. It will not be dispelled in the span of mere months." Indeed, that is the point of this nightmare; but again. It is within Dream's power to offer at least an attempt at reassurance.

It does not come easily, as it encompasses admission of fault, but. He must try.

"Hob." He waits until Hob's wet eyes are fixed on him. "I am…difficult, and my temper is…volatile. It is very possible, perhaps even probable, that I will. Take offense where it is not meant, someday again, but know this." He can feel the truth of it settling into the core of his being before the words are spoken. "I will always return. To you. However long it may take my temper to cool. I will not forsake our bond so lightly."

"Our bond, huh?" Hob flashes a watery, lopsided grin.

"Would you not name it so? Is friendship not a bond?"

"Yes. Of course. My dear friend." There is something in Hob's smile now that is both pleased and sad, a bittersweet note that sings of take what is given and do not seek for more and Dream. Can feel the thread of it plucked throughout the dreamscape, resonating with the notes of do not push and do not invite rejection that sound within himself.

Is it possible, then—

Does Hob feel toward him. Any semblance, of what he feels for Hob?