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littledreamling · 8 months ago

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Dreamling Olympic Equestrian AU, the Sequel (less Olympics, more Equestrian)

Hob wished he could say he took a ‘reasonable’ approach to dating Dream after the Olympics. In actuality he basically just went home with Dream and never left. He helped him get Jessamy settled in, and then Dream wanted him to stay over, and then Hob made him breakfast the next morning, and then—

He did eventually have to go take care of his own horses, and generally get back to his real responsibilities, but it was done with reluctance. Damn him, but he’d immediately started missing Dream. Too attached, too quickly, that was always his way.

And then not a week later Dream had invited him to bring his horse and go on a hack, and, well. Maybe Hob wasn’t the only one being unreasonable about it.

Safe to say they had never really gotten rid of each other after that.

By the end of the year Hob did very much the opposite of getting rid of Dream. Which was to say, marrying him. He was now the proud owner of some very cliche wedding photos of them leaning over to kiss each other while on horseback. He wouldn’t change a thing.

Afterwards, they’d both sold their respective properties, pooled their resources—mostly Dream’s resources if Hob was being totally honest—and bought a place together.

Hob still remembers finding the farm on the market and taking Dream to see it for the first time. He’d been so excited for Dream to see it. Dream had such high standards and Hob had been sure they were going to have to compromise on something, but this property had everything Dream had ever expressed wanting in a farm and other things besides. Rolling fields and connections to nearby bridle paths. A massive indoor arena for riding in inclement weather. Three-sided shelters in all of the paddocks. Automatic waterers. Heated wash stalls. The damn floors were heated too, not that they used the stalls much, but Dream’s geriatric ponies would surely appreciate it come wintertime.

(Hob had been extremely charmed to learn, upon first visiting Dream's farm, that Dream still owned the incredibly fancy ponies Hob had correctly assumed he'd grown up riding as a child. They were now ancient and feral and tended to bite anyone other than Dream. It was delightful.)

Hob’s favorite part of the property was the house. It was set a bit off from the main barn, close enough to be an easy walk but out of the way of the traffic if one was to operate the place as a full-service livery. Dream had loved the cottage at Hob’s previous farm, and this house was much the same, quaint and cozy with its own pond and meandering garden path. It even had a screened-in patio for Dream’s persnickety cats to sunbathe.

It was all perfect. Dream had actually squealed when Hob brought him to see it. It was lucky Dream had money otherwise Hob would have probably done something illegal to afford the place just to see that look on his face every day.

Six months and an amount of money Hob didn’t want to think about later, they had their own farm and had started taking on clients. It should have been idyllic. In many ways it was. Jessamy and Hob’s retired event horse, Ellie, were getting along swimmingly in their big field. Dream’s feral old ponies were rampaging about the place. The amount of space was a bit dangerous, as Dream kept sending Hob photos of pretty horses for sale, saying we have the space for it, Hob. He didn’t seem to care that the prices of said horses were upwards of one hundred thousand pounds.

It was both a blessing and a curse to have married someone who came from money.

All the better to get clients in so the stable was actually making some money instead of just bleeding cash in exchange for more horses. And this was where the trouble began. Because Dream may have been disagreeable around people but he had a soft spot for troubled horses. And when troubled horses intersected with the clients that made them that way, well. That was how they got this.

“I was led to believe I’d be getting results,” Roderick Burgess was saying as Hob stepped into the arena, leaning against the wall to watch Dream ride. “Surely an Olympian should be able to do better.”

Hob grit his teeth, but didn’t say anything, yet. Dream could handle himself.

“If you don’t like my methods, you’re free to take your horse elsewhere,” Dream said. He was trotting the horse—its name was Ruby—in a big circle at the far end of the ring, riding on a long rein, just trying to get it to bend and loosen up its neck. It didn’t seem to be particularly easy for the horse, which was troubling considering a horse that had had ‘a few years’ of training—according to Roderick—should be able to at least do basic flatwork. And should be less stiff about it besides.

“We both know that won’t happen,” said Roderick. He was probably right—now that Dream was starting to get a sense of the horse’s poor prior training, he wouldn’t want to send it elsewhere—but Hob nevertheless wanted to walk over to Roderick and toss him out of the ring. Wasn’t the point of owning your own place that you could kick out clients you didn’t like?

“Perhaps if you’d been honest about his issues, we’d have better results,” Dream said, turning across the middle of the circle to change the bend. Ruby tossed his head, struggling with the change in direction, but Dream persisted in asking him to bend and eventually got him to drop his head again, now stepping up into a canter. “I was promised a horse at at least third level yet you’ve brought me one that struggles with basic self-carriage.”

Hob thought expecting any results yet was unreasonable considering it was only the first time Dream had even gotten on the horse. He’d only gotten it in last week, and just lunged it yesterday.

“You have to be more aggressive with him,” said Roderick dismissively. “Just make him do it.”

“Am I paying you, or are you paying me?”

And on it went like that, Dream working through his usual regimen, slowly building up the difficulty, Roderick nitpicking and criticizing all the while. Hob didn’t know what he really wanted. Maybe he just got a kick out of being an asshole.

Hob did love watching Dream ride, though. Watching him work with an inexperienced horse wasn’t nearly as seamless as it was when he rode Jessamy, but his patience and light touch were always a delight to behold.

Dream eventually took up his reins, gauging the horse’s ability to go around in a more collected frame. That ability was dubious at best, but Dream kept at it, working in circles of various sizes, transitioning up and down the gaits. He would get the horse where it needed to be eventually, Hob knew. If Roderick didn’t keep interrupting with unreasonable demands.

“Are you going to do any lateral work at all?” asked Roderick with annoyance, predictably interrupting again, and Hob could almost hear Dream’s jaw clench.

“Yes, I am getting to it. It’s a horse, not a racecar.” He turned the horse down the quarter line, lightly brushing the end of his whip, which Hob hadn’t seen him use yet, against its flank to ask it to step sideways and under.

And at the first touch of the whip Ruby exploded.

If Hob had looked down for even a second he would not have seen it move, it was so fast—the horse bolted sideways away from the whip, head thrown up, legs scrambling. Dream pulled back hard on the left rein, trying to stop through a turn, but Ruby just plowed right through it, tossing its head. Hob heard the bang as they—or more likely Dream’s knee—hit the arena wall, and then Dream yanked harder and managed to turn, spinning the horse into a circle until it was forced by the tight angle to slow to a nervy walk.

Hob had automatically lurched forward to try to help, but realized fast enough that rushing over would only make things worse. He watched, tense, as Dream finally brought Ruby to a halt. A lesser rider would have been thrown; Hob was glad Dream’s seat was better than that.

“Ah, yes,” said Roderick nonchalantly from where he was still sitting, ankle crossed over his knee. “He does not enjoy the whip.”

“Were you planning to inform me of that,” said Dream, out of breath, “before or after we went through a wall?”

“I would have thought you could handle it,” Roderick said.

Hob kind of wanted to punch him in the face. Instead he went over to Dream.

Ruby was standing stock still now, breathing hard, and let out a loud huff, nostrils flaring, as Hob stopped at Dream’s side. Dream scratched the horse’s neck.

“Are you alright?” Hob asked quietly.

Dream nodded, handing the whip to Hob, though his expression was pinched, and Hob worried for his knee. “Once more and then we’ll be done. I don’t want to end on that note.”

“You cannot let him get away with that,” said Roderick sternly, seeing Hob take Dream’s whip. “He must tolerate the whip.”

“And I’m sure persisting now will teach that effectively,” Dream bit back. “Do you want an explosive horse, Roderick? Because that is what you have handed me, and if you insist upon pushing the matter like this, you will only make it worse.”

“I hired you to fix it,” Roderick snapped.

“Then let me.”

Dream brought the horse back up to a trot, did a lap around the ring and then came down the quarter line again, this time asking him to leg yield over just by bending him around his leg. Ruby was tense now, jiggling the bit in his mouth and fighting Dream’s hand, but he did move over, and once they’d reached the wall Dream let him drop back down to a walk, letting his grip on the reins slide down to the buckle. Ruby snorted loudly, dropping his head to the floor as he walked anxiously on the long rein.

“You do not have to beat him to get what you want,” Dream said, turning to Roderick.

“You care too much about their feelings,” said Roderick dismissively.

“Not caring about their feelings has gotten you very far indeed,” Dream said back.

He halted the horse by Hob and hopped down, stumbling on the landing and leaning hard on his left leg. Shit. Hob knew he’d hit the wall. Goddammit, Dream.

Before Hob could take the horse from him, Roderick’s kid, Alex, crept into the arena and came over, eyeing his father as he did. Normally Hob considered Alex kind of a liability to have around the farm—he was convinced the kid was going to get himself kicked in the head at some point—but now he handed him the reins. It was Roderick’s horse, the two of them could deal with it right now.

“Make sure to walk him out,” Hob told Alex, and then, ignoring Roderick, who’d already focused on Alex, presumably to berate him for something, he wrapped an arm around Dream’s waist and led him out of the ring.

By the time they made it into the lounge, Dream was leaning heavily against Hob’s side, limping on his right leg. God, Hob hoped he hadn’t broken something. He could only imagine how long that sort of knee injury would take Dream out.

Hob sat him down on the couch. “Can I take a look at your knee?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dream said, even as the corners of his lips were still pressed tight in pain.

“Dream, I heard you hit the wall from the other side of the arena.”

Dream sighed, but finally started unzipping his boots.

“Breeches, too,” Hob said.

Dream gave him a look but, having removed his boots, started stripping off his socks and black riding pants as well. He looked small like that, perched on the couch in just his black boxer briefs and short-sleeve polo. Hob winced at the sight of his knee. It had already turned horribly purple from his impact with the wall. Hob crouched by him to look closer, taking Dream’s ankle in his hands, turning his leg this way and that, carefully testing the motion. “How much does it hurt?”

“Tolerable,” Dream said, watching Hob intently. Hob mentally increased all of Dream’s descriptions by several degrees of pain. “I don’t think anything is broken, or sprained.”

Having looked closer, Hob didn’t think so either; he was pretty sure it was just bruised. A nasty bruise, though. “Should keep off it for a few days, though.”

Dream sighed, put upon, but didn’t contradict him.

“I’ll get you some ice.” He had ice wraps in the freezer, and pulled one out, laying it over Dream’s knee.

Dream’s lips twitched up in a small smile. “That is for horses.”

“Well, now it’s for humans, too.” He sat beside Dream on the couch as he iced his poor knee. “We should get it checked out if it’s not any better by tomorrow. Don’t want to risk permanent damage.”

Dream touched Hob’s shoulder with light fingers. Hob was, unfortunately, speaking from experience on this matter. Though in his case it had been less ‘deciding not to get it checked out’ and more ‘completely obliterating the joint to the point that it was kind of moot.’ Hob had shown Dream the video of that fall a while back. It was not a pleasant video.

He still had a mostly functional shoulder, though.

Fortunately, Hob didn’t usually have to worry about that happening with Dream. Having a horse flip on top of you was the kind of thing that was more likely to happen when you decided it was a good idea to gallop at solid objects. Which Hob had done. Frequently.

He was kind of glad he hadn’t married a fellow adrenaline junkie.

“I can’t believe Roderick put you on that horse knowing it was going to react like that,” Hob said. He really should kick the guy out. Prick.

“Roderick created that reaction,” said Dream. “He hardly cares if it gets someone thrown, so long as that someone is not him.”

“I care!” Hob exclaimed. “It’s our fucking stable. He can’t just use you as a crash-test dummy.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “I am not easy to crash.”

“That’s not the point, Dream. I’ll kick him out, I swear to God.”

“I can handle Roderick Burgess. And the horse. You needn’t protect me.”

“Maybe I want to,” said Hob. He took the ice off Dream’s knee and took another look at it. The bruise only looked more hideous. “Maybe part of being your husband is that I get to protect you.”

Dream touched his cheek fondly, but said, “If we send him away, he will only take the horse to someone else, and nothing will improve.”

Hob knew it was true. He would have just bought the horse and given it to Dream just to get Roderick off the property, but he was pretty sure Roderick would just take the money and go buy another one so that wouldn’t really accomplish anything in the end.

Hob was always going to end up doing what made Dream happy anyway.

“Just…” he rubbed Dream’s thigh, careful of the bruise. “Be careful. God only knows what else he’s taught that horse to do.”

“We will find out, I suppose. Roderick will not be happy with me, though. I intend to take the horse back down to basics. He will doubtless be furious.” He did sound somewhat satisfied by the thought of it.

“Roderick can get on the damn thing himself if he’s so upset,” Hob said.

“That would be entertaining to watch, though less so for the horse,” Dream said. “Perhaps he will make Alex ride it.”

Hob rubbed his forehead in despair. “God help us all.”

“Indeed.”

“You should go back to the house and rest a while,” Hob told him.

“First I want to make sure they haven’t managed to kill Ruby,” Dream said. He levered himself to his feet, handing Hob back the ice wrap. “Besides, I am fine.”

The way he limped about while pulling on his breeches and paddock boots belied that, but Hob knew better than to argue further. At least he wasn’t getting back on the horse.

He went with Dream—only limping a little bit now—out to the barn, where Alex was getting Ruby settled in his stall. Alex looked distinctly nervous brushing the horse down, but hadn’t managed to get it—or, more surprisingly, himself—killed yet, which Hob counted as a win. Roderick was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best.

“Did you walk him out?” Dream asked.

Alex nodded anxiously. He seemed intimidated by Dream—which, to be fair, was a common experience for most people. Hob frequently had to remind himself that the version of Dream he saw every day—curled up in the kitchen alcove with his tea and a cat on his lap, chasing his ponies around the barn, resting his head in Hob’s lap for Hob to play with his hair—was not the version most people saw.

Ruby seemed little worse for wear for his ordeal. Dream pet the horse’s nose fondly, and it tried to nibble at his palm.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he said, to the horse, now ignoring Alex. “We’ll sort it out, won’t we?”

Ruby just tried to nibble on his fingers again.

With another pat to the horse’s nose, but no more words for Alex, Dream strode away again. Hob followed. Once they were out of the barn, he caught up to Dream and scooped him up in his arms, Dream clutching at his neck with a squeak.

“I’m carrying you home,” Hob said, starting off for the house. “You’re not walking.”

“I am not an invalid,” Dream protested.

“Oh, I should put you down, then?”

Dream clutched at him tighter. “You would not dare.”

“Thought so.”

And so he carried Dream down the short walk back to the house. After all, Hob thought, this was the whole point. He couldn’t necessarily prevent Dream from getting on insane horses or dealing with insane clients. But he could be there at the end of the day to carry him home.

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littledreamling · 8 months ago

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[Dreamling Bingo Snippet] Untitled Professor Hob/Student Dream BDSM Fic

Welp. I had big plans for @dreamlingbingo and @gabessquishytum's Sandmankinktober, but unfortunately I have been trapped in a pringles can

lost at sea

...just like, really busy with work this month.

Anyway, here's a bit of the last thing I was working on. For Dreamling Bingo Square C2 - Spanking, and for Sandmankinktober prompts Age Gap, Sex at Work, and Angry Sex

I'll put the tags and the snippet below the cut, because it's rather long and pretty filthy right out the gate lmao

Additional tags: human AU, smut, PWP, age gap, professor Hob, student Dream, BDSM relationship, spanking, anal sex, coming in pants, additional tags to be added once I finish the damn thing

Pairing: Dreamling

Rating: Explicit

...

“I won’t sugarcoat it: Caxton was a bit shit at printing, relatively speaking. So why are we still talking about him, you ask? Well, given that there was no standardized version of the English language at the time—”

Whatever doubtlessly fascinating point Hob was about to make dies on his tongue. His mouth goes dry and his brain dribbles steadily out of his ears when he sees the student in the front row, sprawled low in his seat with his legs spread wide. Neither the flimsy fold-out desk nor his painted-on black jeans do anything to hide his raging erection.

Dream Endels is smirking wickedly at Hob, clearly pleased to have rendered him speechless. Hob glares back at him from behind the podium as he shuffles through his notes and tries to salvage his lecture. He’s furious with Dream, yes, but he’s even angrier at himself for allowing this to happen. And it goes without saying that he’s also desperately aroused right at the moment.

Dream, all bony limbs and perfect cheekbones and bewitching blue eyes, has given Hob nothing but trouble since the start of term. Always flirting with him and showing up to class in crop tops and miniskirts that leave even less to the imagination than his current ensemble, sucking on his pen and pointedly asking Hob if he could do any “extra credit” to improve his grade. The perfect brat.

At first, Hob refused his advances on principal. But god, was he tempted. In any other context, no one but the most prudish busybodies would bat an eye at their relationship—Dream is 22, Hob is only 32, and this is the 21st century; it’s not that scandalous. Still, Hob’s never wanted to be that sleazy professor who sleeps with his students and gets into messy entanglements. At least, not until he’s tenured.

It didn’t take long for Dream to wear him down, though. He’d shown up to Hob’s office in an outfit better suited for a fetish club than a university campus and demanded “private tutoring” sessions, which was frankly an insulting thing to ask of someone with a PhD. And it’s not as if Dream needs tutoring anyway; his essays are brilliant, with far more depth and insight than Hob would expect from any undergraduate. He actually would’ve liked to discuss them with Dream sometime, maybe over coffee—purely for scholarly reasons, with no ulterior motives, of course. But the afternoon, and indeed, Hob’s entire life from that point forward, had taken a decidedly different turn.

When Hob sighed wearily and directed him to the campus tutoring center, Dream dropped the coy act and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was accustomed to getting his way and would make Hob’s life a living nightmare if he continued to reject him. Hob laughed and, before he could think better of it, took the lad over his knee and gave him the good, hard spanking he clearly needed.

“It’s about time someone taught you a lesson,” he’d said. “No one’s ever said ‘no’ to you in your life, have they?”

Dream hadn’t answered, merely let out the sweetest little whines and whimpers before promptly coming in his pants. Hob nearly passed out as all the blood in his head rushed suddenly to his cock, and if he weren’t so overwhelmed by raw lust he’d have noticed the dangerous flutter of affection warning him that this was the point of no return; keep going and he’d be well and truly fucked.

So what had he done?

“Tsk tsk. Oh darling, that is pathetic,” Hob scolded. “Can’t even control yourself, can you? You need to learn some discipline.”

He yanked Dream’s dirty panties off and stuffed them into his mouth while Dream scrambled to bend over the desk, presenting his cute little arse for Hob to fuck. It was fast and rough and, honestly, the best sex Hob had ever had in his life. The whole thing was surreal, like… well, like a dream. One minute he was a boring, mild-mannered literature professor, and the next his life had suddenly turned into a bad porno film.

Things only spiraled from there. It was rather alarming how easily they slipped into their roles, how well their dynamic worked for the both of them. How very, very compatible they were. And it’s not just sexual, even if they both pretend it is. Hob really likes Dream—he’s smart and funny, and Hob has caught glimpses of the sweetness that hides beneath his bratty facade. And that’s what makes this whole thing such a bad idea. But Hob is in too deep now (literally and figuratively). He couldn’t break it off even if he wanted to; Dream’s family has more money than Hob can even conceive of, and he has no doubt that Dream could make good on his promise to make his life a nightmare. So Hob figures if he has no choice but to be trapped in a porno, he may as well enjoy it.

Some of the things they get up to could actually be considered “tutoring,” if one is very lenient with the definition of the word. Sometimes Dream warms Hob’s cock with his mouth while Hob reads his essays and picks apart his arguments, perhaps more critically than he would with any other student because he knows Dream likes a bit of humiliation. Other times, Hob quizzes him and spanks him for every wrong answer (or every right answer, or simply whenever he feels like it). Most of their “tutoring sessions” end with Dream sucking Hob off, or Hob sucking Dream off, or eating him out, or fucking him, or any combination of the above.

Which brings them to now. Hob knows exactly what’s going on, even as he sweats and stutters his way through the excruciating final minutes of the class. His lecture notes had been open on the desk last night when he’d bent Dream over it and held him there by the neck, his cheek pressed to the scattered pages while Hob railed him until he cried. Hob looks at the paper in front of him and, sure enough, there are crinkled bits where the ink bleeds together, splotches of dried tears and saliva.

So Hob knows that Dream isn’t sitting there with a massive hard-on because he’s all hot and bothered about Caxton’s Eneydos. No, the little shit’s gone and developed some sort of Pavlovian response to Hob’s lectures. He narrows his eyes at Dream, who confirms his suspicion by flashing him a shit-eating grin and an honest-to-god fucking wink.

Oh, he’s going to pay for that.

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littledreamling · 8 months ago

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Square: C3 - Clairvoyance

Title: "can you scare me up a little bit of love?"

Rating: G

Ship: Dream/Hob

Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Additional Tags: pre-relationship, Halloween, Hob Gadling's birthday

Summary: Before their friendship ever develops into something more, Dream attends a Halloween party at the New Inn and learns something new about Hob.

Link to AO3.

kind of shoehorning this in but heck it we ball!!! @dreamlingbingo

Monday, October 31, 2022

Calling all devils, demons, imps, sprites, and spectres to The New Inn for a HALLOWEEN SPOOKTACULAR Monday October 31st 4:00-9:00 PM Snacks! Games! No cover and one free drink ticket per attendee! Come in costume or come as you are! It’ll be… A HELL OF A PARTY!!

Hob had had a soft spot for Halloween for years. Always loved a good scary story, he had, and nowadays? The creativity and pure talent people put into their costumes and their horror movie marathons? It beats the hell out of carving faces in turnips and decking yourself out in a flour sack. And he couldn’t deny that his hedonist heart loved the lack of inhibitions that went hand in hand with costumes, sweets, and a little bit of booze. He may have had six centuries’ worth of practice at enjoying life, but a little help never hurt.

So he’d papered his little neck of the woods with posters, stuck them on the bulletin boards around campus – even put an announcement up on the New Inn Instagram account one of his young bartenders had convinced him to start. It had all been up for a couple weeks, but on the day of Hob was still gratified to see how many people had turned up for his Halloween do.

No matter how old you got, it was still nice when people wanted to come to your parties.

He’d even told his stranger about it, when Dream (and yes, the name felt like its own kind of gift) had popped up unexpectedly one evening in late September. He hadn’t gotten around to printing the posters yet, but he was already full of plans for the hellishly-themed decorations. Dream had listened to his descriptions with a little smirk that Hob was beginning to categorize as “sarcastic but fond (?)” in his private lexicon of Dream’s expressions.

That is not what Hell is like, Dream had said matter-of-factly.

Oh, and I suppose you’d know? Hob had responded teasingly, and of course Dream had said nothing, just sat there with the same little smirk and a disconcertingly knowing look in his eyes.

You’re welcome to come, if you’d like! Hob had said, brightly. If Halloween parties are even a thing you do.

I have been known to attend parties, Dream had said. Albeit never one for Halloween.

Well… come by if you want to try one out! Hob had said. He’d wanted to say more. He’d wanted to say Please come and I want you to be there and I want every moment with you I can possibly scrape out of this long life. But he’d managed to avoid it.

It was Monday night, the Inn was full, the cider was flowing, and Hob was happy. The decorations had turned out rather nicely, he thought: lots of big black candles, a real skeleton in the corner courtesy of the biology department, a few red lightbulbs scattered about, and of course a good spooky playlist. Behind the bar, lifelike plastic models of giant cockroaches and trilobites were taped up on the mirror. In the low lighting he hoped they appeared to be scuttling.

Hob was quite pleased with his costume, as well. He’d gone with a classic vampire look – slicked back hair, black embroidered waistcoat, a big cloak (the real deal, his from the 1890s, thank you very much), and of course some ostentatious costume jewelry. He was back by the bar with some of his colleagues, most of whom were dressed as various superheroes, when the bell on the front door tinkled.

Hob looked up reflexively at the sound and almost swallowed his tongue. Dream was standing in the door and he looked… he looked…

He looked fantastic. And bloody terrifying.

His hair was even wilder than normal, as if he’d been standing in a wind tunnel, and his face looked somehow paler and more gaunt, if that were even possible. He was dressed in all black, as per usual, but – different. Almost alien. His leather tunic looked stiff and structured, like it was holding something at bay, with a high collar and long sleeves that reached almost to his knuckles. It came down to a point at Dream’s narrow hips, and from under the edge of the leather flowed a kind of two-tiered skirt that pooled on the floor and looked like it was moving on its own – although perhaps that was just a trick of the moody lighting.

Under his arm was some kind of… helmet, Hob supposed, was the only word. It, too, looked strange and alien – all rivets and leather and… was that a spinal column hanging down? Dream cradled it as though it was a precious thing, and also as though it might explode at any moment. The glassy eyes gleamed red.

Hob saw all this in the second it took for the door to swing closed behind Dream, who stood, poised, looking slightly unsure what to do next.

“Who’s that then, Robbie?” asked Lidia from the English department. “He’s got a wicked-looking costume. Friend of yours?” But her question was directed at Hob’s back as he wound his way through the crowd to Dream.

“You’re here! I didn’t think you’d actually come, to be honest,” Hob said with a tentative smile.

“I have recently been persuaded that it is wise for me to spend more time among the humans whom I serve,” said Dream. “This seemed like an appropriate opportunity.”

“I’m so glad.” The words slipped out before Hob could stop them.

There was a heartbeat’s worth of awkward silence.

“Right. Well. D’you want to come over and meet some of my colleagues? They’re a good lot.”

Dream inclined his head in a gesture of assent and Hob ushered him across the room, one hand hovering an inch or so over Dream’s shoulder blade.

“Er, how should I introduce you?” he asked quietly as they navigated the crowd. “Only I think ‘Dream’ might raise a few eyebrows. Dunno if that matters.”

“I am the Prince of Stories. The Ruler of Dreams and Nightmares,” said Dream, somehow enunciating every capital letter. “But your colleagues may call me Morpheus.”

“Righto,” said Hob as they rejoined the professorial circle. “Everyone, this is Morpheus. Morpheus, this is everyone. Lidia, Michael, Phil, Christo, What’s-His-Face, the French one… pause for jeers…” His colleagues obligingly jeered. “Now, who wants a drink?”

His hand descended the final half-inch to rest briefly on Dream’s shoulder. The Inn was full, the cider was flowing, and Hob was happy. His friend was there.

“So, how come we’ve never seen you around, Morpheus?” asked Lidia. “How do you know Robbie?”

“We met in a pub,” Dream said. “A long time ago. My sister introduced us.”

“Morpheus is maybe my oldest friend in the world,” said Hob. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.”

“Then why’ve we never met him before?” pressed Lidia, the ever-inquisitive.

“My work keeps me exceptionally busy,” said Dream.

“Oh? What is it that you do?” asked Michael.

“Lord, who wants to talk about work?” exclaimed Hob. “It’s Halloween, for Christ’s sake. Go bob for apples or something, leave off.”

It was very strange, watching Dream of the Endless circulate through a normal human party. The fact that it was Halloween actually helped, reflected Hob; somehow, seeing Dream lean down to listen to tiny Professor Hathaway as she chattered about the Pre-Raphaelites was easier to swallow when said professor was wearing a witch hat and drinking punch out of a goblet. Dream wandering through the costumed crowd with his outlandish helmet under his arm and a cup in his hand made far more sense than Dream in normal clothes on a normal night in the pub ever could.

Hob watched him, and wondered idly what parties were like in Dream’s realm; he imagined them weirder, and far more grand, perhaps with dragons in the rafters and other fae beings waltzing through enormous ballrooms. Dream had mentioned, in passing, a throne room and a vast library, a castle which Hob’s imagination populated with fairy tale creatures, ogres and dryads and talking animals.

But it was hard to believe anything he could imagine would be better than this. All his favorite people – even his old stranger – in his cozy pub, on a special day.

Around 8:30 those who had to teach the next morning began to take their leave. Hob retrieved his big umbrella from behind the bar and escorted Professor Hathaway into her waiting taxi.

“That young Morpheus of yours showed quite an astonishing understanding of the work of John Everett Millais,” she said as they walked down the front path. “You must bring him round again, Robert. I have a few books he might be interested in borrowing.”

“He’s not my Morpheus, Professor,” said Hob. “And he’s not exactly young, he’s older than I am. But I’ll tell him you enjoyed his company.”

“Tch. He may not be yours, but I rather think you’re already his, aren’t you?” she said knowingly. Hob grimaced.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re far too insightful for your own good?” he asked extremely courteously as he handed her into the backseat and closed the car door. Professor Hathaway waved a birdlike hand cheerily through the window as the taxi pulled away.

Hob paused for a moment in the drizzling darkness. The light rain tapped on his umbrella and the warm light streamed out of the front windows of the New Inn. He shivered slightly and drew his cloak a little more tightly around his shoulders. The night was chill, and if it weren’t for the cars parked on the side of the street, Hob felt as though he might have been transported back in time. Professor Hathaway’s parting words rolled around inside his head like a snowball.

I rather think you’re already his, aren’t you?

How had she known – what clairvoyant spirit had possessed her? How had she seen, in just a few hours, what it had taken Hob decades (if not centuries) to admit to himself?

Because he was Dream’s. He was, and had been for a long time, and he’s pretty sure he hadn’t realized just how far gone he was until Dream had walked through the front door three months ago and Hob had released a breath he’d been holding for thirty-three years.

He shivered again. Time to go inside.

Hob got caught up in farewells to several more colleagues before he found Dream again, perched on a barstool and looking like a great black bird. His weird helmet rested on the corner of the bar.

“Well? What did you think of your first Halloween party?” he asked, sliding onto the stool next to him.

Dream paused before answering.

“I found it more illuminating than I expected,” he said. “The people here are… contented. Uninhibited, but not to an extreme. You have created a comfortable space here. I commend you.”

“Thank you,” said Hob, touched. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“You are welcome,” said Dream. “However, I admit I am slightly confused about some of the costumes. Yours, for example. Are you… dressed up as me?”

He sounded almost uncertain, and Hob couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“No, no. No fear, my friend, I’m just a regular old vampire. I suppose it was this that made you ask?” He touched the large red fake jewel that was nestled in the collar of his black shirt.

Dream nodded.

“Saw it in the shop while I was looking for plastic fangs,” Hob chuckled. “I can’t lie, it did remind me a bit of you. But then, after Dracula was published I spent a good few years thinking you might actually be a vampire as well. So it seemed fitting.”

“I see.”

Hob waved to Lidia and Christo as they ducked out the front door into the night, then turned back to Dream. “Listen,” he said, “there’s one more thing I want to do tonight, after all the punters clear out. Do you… would you mind sticking around? Just a bit longer?”

“I will, if you so desire.”

“Great!” said Hob. And if his voice was just a trifle too enthusiastic, well, that was between him and the skeleton behind the bar. “Give me half an hour to get last call sorted and we’ll go upstairs.”

Eventually they made their way upstairs together to Hob’s flat; Hob loose from cider and contentment and Dream as upright and straight-backed as ever. Hob kicked his shoes off and hung his cloak on the rack by the door.

“Can’t believe I used to dress like this all the time,” he muttered, loosening his cravat. “All these stiff bloody buttons.”

Dream was perusing the bookshelves, which was typically his first stop whenever he happened to be in the flat; Hob supposed the Prince of Stories must have a natural affinity for the written word in its infinite variety. Hob slipped into the kitchen and came out bearing a small cake with a little candle stuck in it, which he laid out on the coffee table.

“This is what I wanted to do,” he said, gesturing for Dream to sit and digging a lighter out of his pocket. Dream deposited himself gracefully on Hob’s couch and placed his eerie helmet on the cushion beside him. “It’s… ah, it’s my birthday, actually. My real birthday.”

“All Hallows’ Eve was the day of your birth?” asked Dream, intrigued.

“Well, I don’t know exactly,” said Hob, lighting the candle. “Calendar was a bit squiffy back then. But I know it was after the main harvest and sometime around Allhallowtide, because I remember hearing stories about the martyrs in church when I was just a lad and thinking how that was a bit of a downer, as far as birthday celebrations went.”

“In that case, I wish you a happy birthday,” Dream said. “And how old are you now? If it is not impolite to ask.”

“That’s the best part,” Hob said with a grin. “When I met you in the summer of 1389, I was about to turn 33. So in Anno Domini 2022, that makes me…”

“Six hundred and sixty six,” said Dream dryly.

“Yeah! The number of the Beast! That’s a milestone birthday if I ever heard of one. Especially now, when I know that apparently, Hell and the Devil are real.” He laughed quietly, staring into the candle for a moment. “You know, most of the people I knew growing up didn’t even make it to sixty. My father didn’t. Those blokes I was with in the White Horse when I met you – none of them did. Sometimes I wonder what they’d think of what the world has become. What they’d think of me, if they could see me now.”

There was a long moment of meditative silence, and then Hob blew the candle out.

“Are you not supposed to make a wish?” asked Dream, and Hob thought he must be imagining the teasing note in his voice.

“Do you know,” he said. “I can’t think of a single thing I would wish for that I don’t already have.”

“Is that so?”

Hob made a show of deep thought.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “It is. Now, do you want half this cake or should I eat the whole thing myself?”

read on AO3 >>>

fun fact, this is one of the very first fics I ever started in this fandom – over two years ago! it was originally inspired by this post by @littledreamling

#oh I adore this

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