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cuubism · 3 months

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I missed my boys. New chapter of bookstore cryptid Dream and coffeeshop owner Hob. E.

Dream is reading some bodice ripper again.

Actually he’s on his third romance novel that day, because he reads very fast when he’s into something, sprawled across the couch in the cafe, tongue poking past his lips as he reads. The other books are stacked by the couch, carefully bookmarked and annotated. What the hell is he doing, writing a dissertation on the regency romance genre?

“Want me to get you a few more?” Hob asks, gesturing to the stack of books. “Three wasn’t enough?” They look functionally identical to Hob. Gallant men and elegant swooning women. Some more dressed than others.

Dream takes the chocolate truffles Hob offers him—a new cafe selection—and pops one in his mouth, licking the sugar coating off his thumb. Hob swallows, throat clicking, as he watches. “I need comprehensive notes,” he says.

“For what?”

Dream’s eyes sparkle. “If you wish, you can come with me to get more.”

Hob follows him, still confused, as Dream eats the other truffle in one bite, then stands fluidly and heads for the door.

Across the street, they enter the Library, its cool dusty interior a relief from the summer heat. Sweat prickles on the back of Hob’s neck, but he thinks it’s less the heat outside and more the determined way Dream stalks in front of him. Something is clearly on his mind.

He leads Hob on a winding route back through the stacks, past Dessert Histories and its sister shelf Desert Histories, through Husbandry, through a tiny section on the inside of a doorframe called “thresholds,” and into—

Ah. Erotica.

Frankly Hob’s surprised the Library doesn’t have multiple erotica sections, broken down into its sub—

Dream spins and pushes him up against a shelf.

Hob’s too surprised to do anything but let him, and besides, when Dream looks at him like that, eyes going dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips, Hob is hardly inclined to question it.

“Something on your mind?” he breathes, as Dream’s hands splay over his chest.

“Something,” Dream agrees. “I don’t think I want to pick out another book.”

Hob thinks back to the swooning heroines of Dream’s romance novels. Okay. He gets it. He can play.

He takes Dream by the arms and pushes him up against the shelves in turn. Dream squeaks, but before he can speak Hob’s mouth is on his, claiming. Tipping Dream’s head back. Dream moans, caving back against the shelves. Yes, that’s what he wanted, and he didn’t want to ask for it because he wanted it to be spontaneous and passionate like in his novels. He’s such a silly thing. Hob loves him so.

“Apologies,” Hob breathes, lips brushing Dream’s, as Dream grasps at him with weak fingers. He tries to put on the persona of a character from Dream’s novels. He’s no actor, but he’ll try, for Dream. “I simply couldn’t stop myself. You’re too tempting.”

Dream stares up at him with huge eyes, totally enraptured.

Hob feigns hesitance, stepping back. “I should not—it’s unbecoming, I should protect your virtue—”

Dream grabs his shirt and hauls him back in until their noses are touching. “Perhaps I don’t want you to. Perhaps I want you to take it.”

God he’s hot when he’s hungry like this.

Hob pushes in close to him again, chest to chest, edging in between Dream’s knees. Rolls his hips so Dream can feel that he’s already hard.

“Don’t open that door,” he warns. “I won’t have you let me in and then regret it after.”

“That door has been open to you for a long time,” Dream says. His hands find Hob’s shoulders, his chest heaving. “Were we not to be married?”

Hob fumbles for the thread of the story. “You ended that.”

“I was afraid. Afraid of how much I feel for you.”

“Nothing to fear.” He noses under Dream’s jaw, nips, kisses his neck. Dream shudders. “Am I obliged to marry you, then?”

“No. No obligation. I’m afraid I must have you either way.” He meets Hob’s eyes, lip trembling. “I need you. Even if you walk away from me forever.”

Hob wouldn’t do that. The Hob of this tale wouldn’t either. “Once you let me in I’m never walking away from you.”

He kisses Dream, on the lips this time, plumbing deep in his mouth, just tasting him. Dream moans, and then gasps as Hob gets his hands under his thighs and lifts him, pushing him up against the bookshelf.

Dream wraps his legs around Hob’s waist, skirt rucking up— is that why he’s wearing a bloody skirt today? Was he plotting this all along?

“You clever, naughty thing,” Hob breathes, and Dream smirks, a look that breaks into a gasp as Hob sucks a mark into his throat, fingers bruising on his thighs.

His loose shirt slips over his shoulder as Hob lavishes attention there, kissing his way down his collarbone and to his sternum. Dream’s hips thrust, searching for friction, and Hob rolls up against him, making him cry out.

“Why does something tell me you prepared yourself too?” he breathes, voice going rough just at the thought.

Dream only smiles craftily.

With Dream clinging onto him with arms and legs, Hob manages to reach a hand around and under him, where Dream’s not wearing underwear, pressing lightly. Dream’s tight entrance gives to his fingers, his hole already wet and open. A moan’s wrenched from Hob’s throat. When and where did he even sneak away to do this? In Hob's bathroom at the cafe?

“You’ll be my actual death,” he says.

“Not until after you make love to me.”

Make love. He really is leaning into the romance. It’s sweet when he gets like that. Dream can be so lovely when he’s not too busy being mysterious. (Though Hob can’t kid himself that he doesn’t love the mysteriousness).

“I live to serve you, my love,” Hob says.

Still holding Dream up precariously with one arm, Hob undoes the button and zipper on his jeans and takes himself out. It’s difficult balancing like this, so he only gives himself a few strokes before lining Dream up and, carefully, letting him sink down onto his cock.

“Hob!” Dream cries, throwing his head back, as Hob buries his face in his neck, trying to breathe. It’s so overwhelming to be in him, every time.

“Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?” Hob says once he’s gotten his breath back. “Me inside you?”

“Yes. Yes,” Dream whines. “I need it. I can’t. I can’t live without it.”

Hob’s lost track of whether they’re still doing the story, but it hardly matters. He gets his hands firmly around Dream’s ass and starts bouncing him on his cock. Dream wails, fingers twisting in Hob’s shirt. Hob curses at the feeling of him.

“Feel so good, darling,” he pants. “So good. Perfect.”

Dream whimpers, meeting him halfway as Hob thrusts into him. He pushes deeper, holding on tight to Hob’s shoulders. His back must be absolutely digging into the bookshelves, but he doesn’t complain.

“You really needed this today, huh?” Hob says.

“I wanted it,” Dream says. “So many tempting scenarios in fiction… why not see if I could pull some into fact?”

“No concern about whether it’s possible, huh?” He likes being involved in Dream’s fantasies, though, being in the stories that go on in Dream’s head.

“You’ve made it possible.” Dream smirks, lips dragging over Hob’s cheek.

Yeah, Hob’s really glad now for all the times he’s carried huge pallets of books up and down the stairs for Dream. It’s the only thing granting him the arm strength to do this. Even so, his shoulders will be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it for Dream’s happiness.

Dream tugs his skirt up further so his cock can rub against Hob’s belly, smearing pre over his shirt. His fingers dig into Hob’s shoulders. “Hob,” he pants, as Hob bounces him on a particularly hard thrust, nailing his prostate. “Hob. Hob!”

Hob’s arms shake, more from the fire of being inside him than holding up Dream’s weight. Dream clutching at him, wrapped around him, at Hob’s mercy in this position, blazes warmth through him, sets arousal alight on his skin. He buries his nose in Dream’s throat, inhaling the scent of him, paper and coffee, and it does nothing to ground him. He won’t last much longer.

“Hob, I’m—” Dream cries, and then he comes over Hob’s belly, biting down on Hob’s ear, the closest body part he can reach.

Dream’s body clenching around him sends Hob over the edge, and he groans into Dream’s throat as he spills inside him.

He can feel Dream’s heart hammering under his ribcage, the heaving of his lungs, and loses himself in the rhythm of his body for a few moments.

Dream recovers first, combing his hands through Hob’s hair, nuzzling over his temple. “You will have to marry me now, lover,” he says, in that alluring voice he’d used to tempt Hob into this game. “Else my reputation will be in tatters.”

Hob laughs. Back to the story, is it? “If you stay with me, I’ll give you anything,” he promises.

He carefully disentangles them, helping Dream down. Dream winces as he stretches out his legs, gone stiff from holding his position, and Hob rolls his shoulders, hearing them pop. Yeah, he’ll be feeling that tomorrow, but he doesn’t expect he’ll regret it.

He gets Dream situated by the fireplace--of the Erotica section has a fucking fireplace, though Hob had been way too distracted to clock it before--where there is a scattering of pillows and blankets they could definitely have used instead of the wall. He stretches out with Dream settled between his legs, lying against his chest, massages Dream’s sore hips with his thumbs, while privately aroused at the thought of him being sore, of him feeling it.

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs at length, face still mashed into Hob’s chest. “For indulging me.”

“Don’t thank me. I love being able to fulfill your fantasies.” He kisses the top of Dream’s head, burying his nose in his hair. “I love you.”

Dream taps his fingers over Hob’s heart. “I love you.”

They sit quietly, listening to the crackle of the flames. Finally, Hob says, “So. Does the Erotica section enhance the experience for you? You can feel the resonances or something?”

Dream sighs. “I do not have a psychic connection to the books, Hob.”

“You sure?”

Dream pokes him in the side, but immediately undermines his admonishment by slipping his hand under Hob’s shirt to lay against his side.

“Could put an actual bedroom in the Library,” Hob suggests.

“That would be absurd. It is a bookstore.”

Hob’s never going to win this debate. He’s tried.

“Fine, then,” he concedes. “We’ll just have to keep using mine.”

“And the wall,” Dream says, and then giggles. Hob accepts his fate of lifting more weights. And sore shoulders.

And, of course, a happy Dream, curled up with him by the fire, making it all worth it.

#dream: please please pleaseeeeee can we act out my favorite smut?? 🥺🥺#hob: anything for you my liege #theyre so insane #bookstore cryptid dream #dreamling #nsft #my writing

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