#oh my god it's a human au where they're both academics HOW REVOLUTIONARY lol

[hardly-an-escape]

Fluffbruary Days 14-17

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Dream/Hob • rated M • phone | bubble bath | doll & cord | bakery | honey & neighbour | desire | horse & magazine | tactile | curtains

Hob sighs and leans back in the hotel bathroom tub. At least it’s deep. He’s got a glass of whiskey, which tomorrow Hob will probably regret – not due to the alcohol, just the fact that it’s from the room minibar and costs three times what it’s actually worth – and he’s dumped what might be legally considered a ‘metric shitload’ of bubbles into the hot water, and he can finally, finally relax.

He likes these conferences; he honestly does. It’s refreshing, to connect with people in his field and both commiserate and be reminded why they do what they do.

They’re just also exhausting – even for an extrovert like Hob.

His limbs are feeling pleasantly warm and heavy and he’s halfway through his whiskey when the phone rings.

For some ungodly reason the hotel has put a phone in the bloody bathroom, so at least he doesn’t have to get up, just haul himself far enough out of the water to reach the counter.

“Hello?” he says irritably.

“Hob?” says the voice on the other end of the line. “I have a question about one of your citations in the paper you presented this morning. I was…”

“Morpheus?”

“Obviously. I was wondering about –”

“Morpheus, it’s –” Hob tries to break in.

“– about the research on Jonson that you cite in –”

“Morpheus, it’s after nine o’clock in the evening.”

There’s a long pause.

“Is it?” the other man says uncertainly.

“Yes, you absolute walnut.”

“I… was working. I must have lost track of time.”

“Why on earth are you still working? Don’t you have a flight in the morning?”

“I suppose I have. Nothing better to do.”

Hob doesn’t know Morpheus all that well; they see one another a few times a year, at seminars and conferences. They argue cheerfully about the merits of various Elizabethan playwrights, they – yes, fine, they flirt over cocktails at receptions, occasionally – but they don’t really talk. And yet he can see Morpheus, curled up in an uncomfortable desk chair at the cramped little hotel room desk, papers spread in front of him. The man has a memorable presence and a genius mind. And thin, elegant, fidgety fingers, which Hob imagines wrapped up in the phone cord.

And a dark, velvety voice, which is currently pouring into Hob’s ear.

“I apologize for disturbing your evening, Hob.”

“That’s alright. But you ought to find some way to relax tonight, for goodness’ sake.”

“Oh, ought I?” Morpheus sounds – amused? “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Well, I for one am drinking a whiskey and having a very nice bubble bath.” Hob splashes deliberately. “And I can only recommend that course of action.”

“From an academic standpoint, Dr. Gadling?” Morpheus asks dryly.

Hob sinks a little deeper into the hot water. “Naturally, Dr. Murphy. From what other standpoint might I recommend it?”

Desire swells and pools in his belly. He can’t help it, with Morpheus’s voice in his ear bringing the man’s image so vividly to his mind’s eye. The sharp grey-blue eyes and even sharper cheekbones, which contrast soft lips.

“I’m sure I couldn’t even begin to guess.” Lord, but that voice is smoother than the whiskey Hob has just polished off.

“Perhaps sometime I’ll have the opportunity to enlighten you,” he says boldly.

“Perhaps.” Hob thinks he can hear a smile. “Good night, Hob.”

“Night, Morpheus.”

A click, and the line goes dead. Hob leans up to hang up his own handset and recedes back into the bubbles.

Morpheus would be a tactile lover, he’s sure of it. His hands prove it; that nervous, artistic elegance. Hob’s own hands drift lower, slip between his legs.

Perhaps sometime he’ll have an opportunity, indeed.

prompt list!