I see your "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make me have feelings for Hob!!'" and raise you "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make Hob have feelings for me!!'" because it's the only logical explanation for why Hob would claim to want someone like Dream
[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]
Dream storms into Desireās realm, steps thudding on the uneven floor, rage propelling him forward. He cannot remember ever feeling such anger, such betrayal towards his sibling, not even when he had learned they were behind his imprisonment.
Desireās games have always gone too far, but this is beyond trying to teach him a lesson, this is beyond what Dream can reconcile, this is simply cruelty.
āYOU,ā he thunders, the air shaking around him as he stalks up to where Desire is lying casually on a chaise lounge as if they havenāt just ripped Dreamās one comfort in this life out from under him. āHow dare you.ā
āBrother, dear,ā drawls Desire, popping a grape into their mouth with not a care in the world, āit is rude to simply fly in without even knocking on the door. You wouldnāt like it if I did it to you.ā
Blind with fury, Dream grabs them by the throat and hauls them to their feet. Desire lets out a choked gasp, genuinely startled by his vitriol. Their pulse trips under Dreamās thumb.
Desire cannot be killed through something as simple as strangulation, but it truly is tempting to try. āWhat,ā Dream snarls, grip tightening, āwhat have you done to Hob Gadling?ā
Desire blinks at him, torn from their alarm by confusion. āWhomst? Listen, I know you know everybodyās name and their kinkiest fantasy but I honestly canāt be bothered with the details, youāre going to have to fill me in.ā
The rage in Dreamās core only flares hotter. āEnough of this charade, you know exactly what youāve done.ā
āNo, seriously, I have no idea what youāreāā
Dream whirls away, leaving his sibling staggering in the wake of his grasp. āWas it not enough?ā he demands, staring sightlessly into the gleaming red curves of Desireās realm. āWas the vortex not enough? Was a century of imprisonment not enough for you?ā His voice cracks halfway through, and itās mortifying. āTruly, your hatred of me is untempered by even the slightest compassion.ā
Desireās voice is quizzical when they next speak. āI am starting to wish I was behind whatever this is that seems to have pierced you straight through the heart. Iām afraid my own arrows have missed that organ thus far.ā
āHob Gadling,ā Dream insists, but Desireās seemingly-genuine confusion has him wavering. Itās not like them not to revel in their own victory, and oh, this has been a victory, Dream feels laid lower than even a century in a cage had managed. āYou are manipulating him.ā
āOnce again, I donāt know who that is. But heās clearly excellent ammunition so Iām certainly going to find out once you leave.ā
Dream flexes his hands at his sides, summoning his control. If Desire truly was not behind this, then heās already made a mistake in coming here. Best not to offer anything else.
Being in Desireās realm makes this stoicism difficult. The very space brings emotions to the surface, drags feelings up from his stomach that heās tried so very hard to tamp down. He tastes blood at the back of his throat, his stomach churns, his skin prickles with sweat.
Desire stalks up behind him, sensing all of this. āNow I am curious,ā they murmur, dragging a finger up his shoulder, over the collar of his coat and along the back of his neck. āNow I must know whatās go you so riled up.ā
āYou think you have earned such things?ā Dream says through gritted teeth. His heart is pounding hard and uneven such that it physically hurts in his chest, the weight of the Threshold bearing down.
āNo need to earn, you can hide nothing from me here.ā Desire circles around him to his front, dragging their finger along his collarbone until it lands right at the base of his throat. They look at him from under their lashes, all smug satisfaction. āYou are all tangled up in the realm of Desire, arenāt you?ā
Dream moves to storm off, but Desire blocks him, nails pressing into his skin.
āNah-ah, no running away. Let your little sibling help you, hm? As you may know, I am rather wise in matters of the heart.ā
The look on Desireās face is craftiness, glee, not charity or wisdom.
āI neither need nor wish for your assistance,ā says Dream, voice hard. āOn this, or any other matter.ā
āBut there is a matter.ā Desire leans in and speaks right in his ear. āI can smell the heartsickness on you, Dream.ā
There is nothing Dream can say in response to this. Any denial would only be read as falsehood, for Desire does not lie ā of late, Dream feels sick with wanting in Hobās presence, hunger so sharp it turns over into nausea, much like the first time Hob had pushed him to eat after his captivity. How cruel, then, to have his pain eased, his desires sated by a reciprocation that cannot possibly be truly felt.
There is nothing to say, so Dream doesnāt speak. Silence, of course, is its own answer.
āYou know, if thereās one thing I have always admired about you, big brother, itās your willingness to destroy yourself for the sake of passion,ā Desire continues. āYouād think thatād be my sort of thing. Whoāve you lost yourself on this time? Demigod? Demon? Dryad? Vampire?ā
Dream glares at them, but does not speak.
Desireās face absolutely lights up as they realize. āOh. My. God. Is he human? Dreeaaammmmm, my my, maybe your little time out did change you, after all.ā
Dream turns away, refusing to give them the satisfaction of confirming. Though he knows this reaction is also a confirmation.
Desire claps their hands. āOh! Iām so proud of myself. Look at this! Look at the softness of your heart. Look how I can bruise it.ā
Dreamās heart, indeed, gives a painful thump. āShould you dare to touch him, even the old laws will not protect you.ā
Desire sighs, flopping back onto a couch, legs crossed, head propped in their hand. āWhy bother? Youāll destroy it yourself, and thatāll be much more fun.ā
I hate you, Dream thinks, like a petulant child. He hates, also, how any argument with Desire makes him feel that way, feelings crowding at the surface of his skin, throat tightening, mind spinning in a chaotic churn. His muscles clench so hard he thinks they might have snapped, were he human, then he forces himself back into a semblance of ease.
There is no extracting himself from this situation with any dignity.
āInterfere with my affairs again,ā he warns darkly, āand I will destroy you.ā
Then he storms out of the Threshold.
āLove you too!ā Desire calls after him, a grin in their voice. āGood luck with your human!ā
--
When heād found Hob at the New Inn, thirty-three years after heād meant to arrive, Dream had not known how he might be received. Friendship extended once may not be extended again after so brutal a rejection, and so prolonged an absence, no matter that the latter offense was not within his control.
Being met with a smile, then, and an easy acceptance of his apology, like Hob had already forgiven him long before Dream had stepped through the door, had been a revelation. Something had settled in him that he had not known was knocked askew. Could there, truly, be one thing in his life that was allowed to be easy? Where Dreamās missteps were not met with scorn or vitriol or world-shaking consequences, but with grace and the chance to try again?
It seemed improbable, but still Dream had grabbed for it with cold, shaking fingers. Had held that unlikely flame between his palms. Had watched as it grew, hotter and brighter with each smile Hob sent his way, with each gentle brush of fingers as he pressed cups of tea into Dreamās hands, with the hug Hob finally managed to wind him into, once Dream had told him of the true reason for his absence in 1989.
Hobās grace, Hobās generosity in inviting someone, something like him into his home, into his lifeā¦ Dream did not quite know how to hold it, so unlikely it was. He tried, though, oh he tried. And he swore he would not mess it up, not like he had when Hob had first offered his friendship.
He has now, quite royally, messed it up.
He very much doubts Hob will be so generous this time.
He finds Hob where he left him, sitting on the couch in his flat, a book in his hand. He doesnāt seem to be concentrating on it; his thoughts feel scattered in ragged, disturbed daydreams.
He doesnāt even startle when Dream materializes next to him. Though he knows it can be startling to humans, Dream has not been able to break himself of just appearing where he needs to ā traversing the long way from point to point is not how he works. But aside from the occasional, teasing, I have a door, you know, Hob never truly complains about these disturbances to his day.
Dream means to offer him an apology. To say, I should not have walked out when you said that you loved me. To say, I am supposed to be better, I am trying to be better.
Instead, just as Hob looks up, the words that trip out of Dreamās mouth, pushed by the flurry of Desireās realm still pounding within him, are, āDid you speak truly, Hob Gadling?ā
Which is a ridiculous question. Dream does not think he has ever heard Hob speak a lie. Still, Dream must have the answer.
Hobās expression shifts through several incarnations, none of which Dream feels capable of reading. Finally, it settles on the same soft, exasperated understanding Dream remembers being presented with when heād said, I know thirty years is truly quite late, at their reunion, before heād told Hob why he was late.
Grace, then. He is to be offered grace, again.
His emotions are still so close to the surface that he has to physically swallow down what he feels about that.
āOf course, I did,ā Hob says, and thereās a hint of nerves in it, but he pushes through, he always does. āI wouldnāt lie to you about that.ā
His gaze is genuine, open, and no, Desire had not lied ā Hobās feelings are no manipulation of theirs. And while it is tempting to search for other answers, spells or illusions or any number of other causes, Dream knows, deep down, that he will come up empty.
Hobās feelings are true, are his truth, confounding though that is.
Dream no longer feels capable of holding any of this in his hands.
Instead, he kisses him.
Itās like he is pulled forward by a force outside his own body. He goes to Hob like he had gone to the sugar in the tea Hob had made him, that night at the inn when Dream had first realized how long it had truly been since heād eaten; he goes to him like he had gone back to the Dreaming after being freed, returning home breathless, lost, changed.
Hob catches him against his mouth, hands cradling Dreamās face. His grip is solid and warm, and he kisses Dream like he looks at him like he speaks to him, with a care Dream hardly knows how to accept. He leans into it anyway, he leans in.
āI wasnāt fishing for a kiss when I said that, you know,ā Hob says when they part, still lingering close enough that Dream can feel his heat, his breath. āI meant it in more ofā well, that way, for certain, but really, any way you wanted to take it.ā
āAny way,ā Dream repeats, not sure he comprehends Hobās meaning.
āYeah, youāā Hob cuts himself off, letting out a breath, thinking. His hands slide from Dreamās face down to his shoulders, and he holds him there. āI. You just. I want you to know that youāre loved. Not demanding anything of it. Just telling you. Take it however serves you best.ā
Dream stares at him, his whole being tripped and restarted at a new rhythm, and Hob gives him a sad smile.
āItās too big to hold,ā he says, and taps his chest. āIn here. And besides, I wanted you to have it.ā
Dream had had it. Only he hadnāt quite known what he had. The sunshine of Hobās smiles, sustaining him, a bridge between distant points of light.
Finally, he manages to say, āI felt it. You have been my succor. Myā¦ only.ā
Hob has captured him more effectively than Burgessās snare, but this capture is not a prison. It hurts, oh, it aches, but it never wounds.
Hob smiles at him again. Thereās still something pained in the creases around his eyes. āI know.ā
Heās still touching Dream. His hands run over him, up his neck, over his throat, along his collarbone, andā
catch, on the collar of his shirt, above his heart.
āWhat happened?ā
His voice is tight, now, worried, andā yes. There are bruises on Dreamās chest, crawling up over his breastbone. He had felt them form, and hadnāt stopped them.
Hobās expression darkens further the longer he looks; he drags the collar of Dreamās shirt down, trying to see how far the damage spreads. āYouāve got bruises all over you. Dream, what happened?ā
What happened is Dream stood in the Threshold and his heart beat so hard it drummed right through to the surface of his skin. What happened is it hurt so badly his form shifted to give reason for the pain.
āDesire,ā he says, and he does not mean his sibling.
Hob doesnāt seem to understand, but he smoothes a hand over Dreamās heart as if to wipe the bruises away. Dream could will his body to return to its original, unharmed state, but he does not. He lets the blood stay pooled beneath his skin.
Hob sighs, tugging Dreamās coat tighter around him, shielding him from further injury. āCome here, you. You strange creature.ā
He pulls Dream in, though he does not have to pull hard. Dream tucks his face into Hobās neck, reveling in the warm scent of him, woodsmoke from the fireplace down in the inn where theyāve now spent many a long evening, basking in the heat of the flames. Hobās arms go around him.
Absolution. Dream does not think this is a gift that has ever been granted to him.
āI would also love you,ā he says. āIf you would accept it.ā
āIf I would accept it?ā Hob repeats. āDarling, your love is a privilege.ā
Dreamās heart, in all its bruises and blood, finds rhythm again, and he thinks, though he certainly doesnāt pull away from Hob to check, that his skin clears up partway, too.
2K notes
Ā·
View notes