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The first time he visits Hob Gadling’s dreams, it’s by mistake.
Whenever someone dreams about him, there’s a peculiar little tugging at the edge of his consciousness. All beings dream, but few dreamers know of Dream of the Endless. Therefore, very few dreamers ever dream of him. But Hob is one of those — he knows Dream in a way no one else does. It’s strange, to be known thus and still desired.
And oh, how Hob desires him.
It’s surprising for the first minute, but then Dream understands the essence of Hob’s dream about him. The longing permeates every fibre of dreamstuff, centuries old and unfulfilled. It’s tangible to Dream, here, and it intoxicates him to feel so very wanted. This is no single, repressed desire either. The vivid colours and solidity of the dream say, clear as day, that this is a recurring dream.
It means… it means…
Dream sheds some of his essence, just enough to lend more realism to the construct Hob is currently engaged with. They go from kissing lightly to tearing each other’s clothes off. Normally, the dream would end in but a few moments, but Dream knows how to keep it going for a little bit longer.
He rematerialises in Hob Gadling’s flat in London. It isn’t the first time he’s been to Hob’s flat, but usually Hob is awake. But his old friend has given him an open invitation to drop by anytime he wishes…
There’s still an hour before dawn, and Hob looks so… soft and inviting in his bed, with his shirt rucked up and his hips grinding sluggishly against the bed. Dream retrieves his pouch of sand, and blows a very small amount of it onto Hob. It stills his movements, and assures Dream that he won’t wake up no matter what until he leaves. Hob’s dream plays somewhere in Dream’s consciousness, and he makes his decision.
A part of him knows it’s wrong, but since when does he hold himself to the laws and morals of mortals? They are everchanging, and Dream knows Hob would be rather enthusiastic about this if they spoke about it. Dreams never lie.
So why isn’t Dream waking him up for this conversation? He’s not entirely sure himself. The mere idea of sitting next to Hob and asking for this… it’s mortifying. It tightens his throat and makes him feel like a cornered animal. No, he can’t simply ask Hob for sex. They’re friends, and it’s already taken Dream a long time to get there. He isn’t ready for more, emotionally.
But this… This he can take, with the knowledge that Hob would enjoy it and consent to it were he awake.
With naught a whisper, his robes dissolve. He climbs into Hob’s bed and straddles his thighs. Hob’s arse is round and firm when Dream kneads it, and all he can picture is his cock sliding in Hob’s unresisting body. In his dream, Hob is sucking Dream’s cock and touching his own. Dream palms himself and groans, using his other hand to tug Hob’s pyjama bottoms down just under the crease between arse and thigh.
Unlike in the Dreaming, in the Waking he has to make sure to prepare his partner. He doesn’t wish to harm Hob, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been since Hob bottomed. Dream manifests lube onto his fingers, and begins to slowly open up his sleeping lover. He pets Hob’s hole with his thumb first, relishing in the way Hob’s body shivers both in the Waking and in the Dreaming. It isn’t a challenge to weave the dream into a new direction in order for both realities to match one another, so Dream slips a slippery finger inside Hob eagerly.
Hob is tight, and in his dream he is now letting Dream open him in order to ride him. Dream takes his time, brushing his fingertip along Hob’s prostate just to hear his breath hitch in his sleep. Hob responds beautifully, going as far as pushing his thighs further apart even this deep in sleep. Dream watches his finger disappear into Hob’s hole, then adds a second one when Hob has relaxed sufficiently. While he is not one to rush any lovemaking, it has been a very long time since Dream has taken such luxuries in preparing a lover. Every gentle thrust is measured and followed up by additional stretching, and he is enraptured by the sight. In the Dreaming, Hob moans and begs Dream for more.
How delicious, to be desired so by Hob Gadling.
When he’s three fingers in, he decides it’s loose enough to finally begin. He can make himself larger once he’s inside. A dark desire courses through him at the thought of shaping Hob to his personal specifications. Making it so that Hob’s hole takes Dream and Dream only. Hob is his friend, after all, and Dream doesn’t want anyone else getting their unworthy hands on what is his.
Hob lets out a little whine when Dream pulls his fingers out. With his dry hand, Dream rucks up Hob’s t-shirt further until his whole back is bare for him. His few scars are like drops of moonlight against his tanned skin.
“Hush now,” Dream whispers into his friend’s neck. He leans forward until his chest covers Hob’s back, while his slicked cock glides gently between Hob’s cheeks. “Allow me to fill you once more, old friend.”
Despite all his stretching, Hob is still gloriously tight. His back arches slightly off the bed, and his body trembles with every inch Dream pushes inside him. The Dreaming version of himself is holding onto Hob’s hips as Hob lowers himself on Dream’s cock, his head thrown back and wanton moans dripping from his lips like honey. Dream buries his nose in Hob’s hair and inhales deeply, memorising Hob’s unique scent though he knows it already. How could he not? Hob smells so unique yet earthy; he smells like no other human can hope to smell like in the twenty-first century. He smells, too, a little bit like an Endless; Death’s gift and Dream’s favour.
Dream idly wonders if any other supernatural being or immortal has ever come across Hob Gadling, and wondered how this human had managed to score not one, but two favours from Endless siblings.
It drives him a bit mad; now, he wants every single one of them to sniff Hob Gadling and catch his scent, his mark and claim of dreamstuff. Dream groans as his pelvis presses against Hob’s arse, and waits a moment before he rolls his hips. Hob is so warm and soft, it feels like his very essence has been crafted specifically for Dream himself. Because he fits so perfectly, how can it be otherwise? Dream rolls his hips again, thrusting slowly but deeply, and continues to breathe ravenously in Hob’s neck and hair. One arm snakes around his friend’s torso to hold him as close as possible, and the other he uses to hold their weight up.
Hob continues to ride him in the Dreaming, meanwhile, so Dream matches their activities. He toys with Hob’s nipples, shivering with the way Hob tightens around him with pleasure. Dream has nearly forgotten how sensitive nipples can be on a man, and he pinches them sharply when Hob begs him to. The two visions, the one in the Dreaming and the one in the Waking, are morphing together. As Dream quickens his pace, the two begin to blur in a wonderful symphony of pleasure. He enlarges his cock in both places, and both Hobs shudder at the unnatural size of him. Of course, he will need to reverse the effects on the Hob underneath him so his friend does not find out.
But he can do it again when he visits Hob next.
When Dream orgasms, the whole of the Dreaming trembles with him. Thunder roars around his palace, and lightning illuminates every stained glass window in his throne room. He fills both Hobs with his spend, and fucks it deep inside him. This, he will leave behind. This, he wants Hob to carry with him for everyone to know.
“Mine,” he growls into Hob’s ear.
Hob’s body jerks in response, and Dream knows his friend has reached his climax as well. He kisses the nape of Hob’s neck, licking the droplets of sweat gathered at the base of his skull. When he pulls out, Dream slips his fingers inside Hob to wet them with his spend. It luminesces in the dark of Hob’s bedroom, but when he rubs it into Hob’s skin like lotion, it loses its brightness.
Doing and knowing exactly what it means to do such a perverse thing makes Dream ready to go again, but he mustn’t. Hob must wake soon, so he indulges one more time and spreads a bit more of his spend into Hob’s skin. Even when Hob will shower in a few hours, the dreamstuff scent will continue to permeate his skin. Everyone will know.
Perhaps it’s wrong. Maybe Hob has paramours Dream knows not of. But Hob Gadling is his and he refuses to relinquish his friend to anyone else, mortal or not.
With a gentle breath, Dream heals and returns Hob’s hole to how it was before. It’s a shame, but it’s alright. He will return.
It is two months later when his friend comments on his strange dreams.
“I don’t know what it is,” Hob says with a nervous laugh. They’re at the New Inn again, and Hob has taken a break from marking his students’ papers when Dream showed up. Of course, as Hob owns the pub, he stocks mead — just for them. Dream hasn’t had so much mead since he was married to Calliope. “I think it’s been too long since I’ve pulled.”
Dream has been visiting Hob’s dreams and his Waking bed every second day for two months now. It’s no wonder Hob finds himself a bit suspicious; adult men typically do not have so many sexual dreams.
But the idea of Hob, his Hob, going out and pulling any sort of undeserving man for a quick, unfulfilling shag at a bar or club… Dream does his best not to bristle.
When he says nothing, Hob continues.
“Oh, have I told you about what happened last weekend?” he sips from his ale and sighs heavily. “I swear, I’ve gone a very long time not meeting any… well, you know.” He gestures between them, and Dream nods in understanding; non-humans or supernatural beings are not uncommon in London, but they keep to themselves. “So I ran into this woman, very pretty in the sort of way that spells trouble. She smiled at me, and her teeth… Well, they were not normal, er, everyday teeth.”
Dream chuckles. “You were surprised.”
“Of course I was!” Hob laughs, and it’s one of Dream’s favourite sounds. His eyes, the colour of warm, sun-kissed earth, glitter in the low light of the pub. “I tell you, my friend, I have done my best since our meeting in 1789 to avoid any… Well.” He gestures with his hand, and takes another drink from his ale. “Any Lady Johanna situation. So of course, when I realise this very, very beautiful woman isn’t entirely human, I try to extricate myself as delicately as possible.”
Dream purses his lips. “A wise decision, my friend.” This woman likely was a vampire, or one of the Lightbringer’s roaming servants.
Hob flushes handsomely when Dream names him his friend, and the sight never grows old. He looks down at his glass and draws random patterns in the condensation on the table.
“It didn’t matter, in the end,” he continues. “As soon as she took a step towards me, all smiles and hunger, she took a sniff. Suppose those like her do that sort of thing, sniffing people. Right there and then, I was so sure she’d smell my true age and decide to make me into her breakfast.” There, Hob flushes a deeper red and shrugs helplessly, though his smile never leaves his face. “Maybe I smelled bad that day. No idea. One sniff, she went stiff like a statue, and ran away.”
“She… ran away?” Dream asks, not in a disbelieving tone because he knows why this being ran from Hob, but in a pleased tone. It is only right that his claim on his friend is known in certain circles, after all. Most gods and minor gods know already thanks to his sister’s gift, but other, lesser non-human beings need a more… primal warning.
“I know!” Hob exclaims, clearly baffled yet amused by this experience. “I was glad to be free of her, but it hardly seems right that she’d just… disappear so quickly.”
“Some beings have a preternatural sense. Perhaps she sensed that you carried my favour, and decided against angering me by making you her victim. All beings, human and not, dream.” Dream does not wish to inform Hob, in so many words, that he has staked his claim on his friend, and that any who would approach him run the risk of incurring his wrath.
He is a possessive creature, and he has no intention of sharing Hob Gadling.
“Oh, well. I suppose that would make sense.” Hob chuckles and drinks deeply from his pint. With his thumb, he wipes the wetness from his bottom lip. Dream traces that movement with his eyes. “Enough about me. How are things in your realm these days?”
Pleased at Hob’s interest in his function, Dream tells him about his creations, especially those new nightmares he’s had to create for very modern fears. Fear of technology is not a twenty-first century fear, but the shape it has taken is very different from what it used to be in the past. Hob is fascinated by Dream’s process, and he listens intently when Dream weaves a story of a particularly narcissistic nightmare in the shape of a mobile telephone. They laugh, they drink, and when they leave for Hob’s flat — Dream feels like this would be a good opportunity to take his friendship with Hob Gadling to the next stage.
But he holds back, even when he acknowledges the way Hob smiles at him and tilts his head just so. His lips beg Dream to kiss them, and Hob’s daydreams are loud enough to tempt him into giving in. Logically, there is no reason for him to hold back. It’s clear that Hob desires his affection and his touch. And yet…
Dream is not ready to bare his heart. He doesn’t know if he will ever be. His time in Roderick Burgess’s cellar have changed him in ways he is still figuring out, and the idea of vulnerability of any sort — even with his friend Hob — makes him freeze. He does not wish to feel powerless, which he knows will happen if he gives into sentimentality and officially takes Hob Gadling as a lover.
No, things must remain as they are. So Dream accepts a quick hug from his friend, and bids him goodbye.
A few weeks later, Dream decides he wants to experience a different side of Hob Gadling’s body.
By now, he has fucked Hob in every position he has desired. Hob’s hole, always healed by the time Dream leaves, has become Dream’s favourite sensation. Even when Dream enlarges his cock to an obscene size, or when he shifts into an entirely different form, Hob’s body accepts him as though it was created to. It’s a very heady feeling.
But tonight he wants to use Hob’s cock.
Once he’s blown a pinch of sand on Hob to ensure his deep sleep, Dream turns his friend’s body onto his back. With careful hands, he pulls down Hob’s sleep pants and pulls up his faded graphic t-shirt. Oh, how he loves how furred Hob’s body is. Running his fingers through Hob’s body hair is a treat in itself, and Dream indulges in it with abandon.
Hob keeps a clean-shaven face these days, but the rest of his body is wonderfully covered in hair. It’s so soft between Dream’s fingers, and Hob always makes the most delightful little sounds when Dream lightly tugs on his chest hair. The way Hob parts his lips for air is the only invitation Dream needs to close the distance between them to kiss him. For once, the dream he weaves for Hob matches the reality of what’s happening. Which means Hob kisses him back, even if it’s slow and uncoordinated.
Dream wishes Hob would hold him against his chest, or hold onto his hips as he grinds down against Hob’s cock. He does so in his dream, though, so it is enough for Dream to feel the phantom touches. It takes very little time for Hob to whine needily, his prick hot and hard against Dream’s own hardness. Preparations are unnecessary, Dream simply wills his form to stretch and wet his hole and it is so not a moment later. He reaches back to angle Hob’s cock, and sinks down on it with a deep, shuddering sigh.
He could have willed himself a cunt, and the idea spurs other ideas of having Hob spend himself inside Dream. Perhaps Hob’s seed would find fertile ground to grow, and Dream would always carry a reminder of his friend with him. Dream could will it to remain as such and never grow past that stage, to always remain nothing but potential and promise.
The thought is so heady and arousing that Dream forgets himself, and climaxes on the spot.
His luminescent spend covers Hob’s hairy chest, so Dream wastes no time spreading it and rubbing it into Hob’s skin. He rolls his hips, heedless of the slight oversensitivity of his form after climaxing so quickly. More than ever, he needs Hob to fill him, he needs to carry Hob’s own scent and claim with him back to the Dreaming. Why hasn’t he done it this way before? He could alternate between fucking Hob and fucking himself on Hob’s cock. He has no true preference, and both carry their own delicious outcomes.
Moonlight streams into Hob’s bedroom as the clouds part, and Dream is entranced by the vision his friend-made-secret-lover makes like this. His handsome face is flushed, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his lips remain parted as he moans in his sleep. Hob’s body is both relaxed and tense with pleasure, and in his dream he looks up at Dream with reverence and love in his eyes. It is a covetous thing: it belongs to Dream, and no one else shall ever witness such a sight from Hob Gadling but Dream of the Endless.
“Beautiful, you are beautiful, Hob Gadling,” Dream whispers in wonder. “You are mine evermore.”
In his dream, Hob agrees fervently and promises his heart and soul to Dream. Even in dreams, especially dreams spun by the Dreamlord himself, words such as these hold immense power. For there is no deceit, no subterfuge, no lie in dreams. Hob Gadling speaks the truth of his heart of hearts, and the Dreaming hears him. Acknowledges his vow.
Dream moans, deep and low, as Hob Gadling’s vow ripples through him. He knows his body grows and reshapes into a great, terrible thing. He cannot keep his form contained with the vastness of their combined feelings. Hob’s devotion is a tangible creature that ravages Dream from the inside out. He cannot cage it, and can only let it run wild through him. In this moment of raw clarity, Dream thinks they are both greedy, monstrous creatures and it is only right for them to take each other like this. No lover has ever witnessed Dream in his most depraved form and named him beautiful, yet here Hob is, naming him thus in the Dreaming. Offering everything he is for the taking. And Dream takes.
Then, like a taut bowstring snapping, Hob’s back arches from the bed and he moans breathily. The Dreaming explodes in colours, and Dream is filled with both Hob’s seed and his adoration. He takes it all voraciously, tightening his hole around Hob’s cock and intending to keep it all. All too soon Hob is whining with oversensitivity, so Dream slows the roll of his hips to a stop. Hob is covered in sweat, but there is something more he wishes to do before he takes his leave for the night.
With quick movements, Dream jerks himself over Hob’s satiated form. It takes him no time at all to climax all over his friend-made-lover, and the dreamstuff covers Hob’s face and chest. The sight is not one Dream will forget anytime soon. Gently, with hands practised at shaping both horrors and beautiful things, Dream massages his seed into Hob’s skin. He wets his fingers into Hob’s mouth, and feeds him a few drops of his spend when Hob sucks his fingers enthusiastically.
In Hob’s heart of hearts, he will know these dreams are more than what they appear. He will remember, when he visits the Dreaming, the words he has spoken on this night. In the Waking, Hob’s mind will not remember — but his heart will, and that is good enough for Dream.
“Lover mine,” Dream purrs into the stillness of Hob bedroom. “Know how treasured you are, Hob Gadling.” He kisses Hob then, tasting himself on his friend’s tongue. It is a promise, and Dream of the Endless is no perjurer.
He does not need sleep, but resting has its benefits. Once he’s cleaned Hob and rearranged his sleep clothes, Dream curls around Hob like a large cat. He pets his friend’s hair, kisses his brow, and hums a long-forgotten lullaby. Hob’s dreams slowly settle into the peaceful nothingness of deep sleep.
At dawn, Dream disappears from Hob Gadling’s flat like he was never there, with the promise of returning tomorrow.