Chapter Text
The next visit comes early again, and when Hob least expects it.
He's dead asleep, flying through a sea of cotton candy clouds. It's a dream he's had before in a thousand different variations: getting to fly without wings, surrounded by all of the things he could ever think to want.
He's sure this one's not Gault's doing, not her special brand of not quite realism, and he has half a second to wonder how he's lucid enough to think of Gault at all before the clouds part ahead of him. Dream steps through. His coat, still lined with the swirling of distant galaxies, flaps in the non-existent wind.
Of all the things he could ever think to want, Hob thinks, this one is a little on the nose.
"I hope you don't tell your boss about things like this," he says, finding his footing on a cloud shaped oddly like a rubber duck. "Little embarrassing for the both of us, mate."
"Mate?" It's the voice that has Hob's eyes snapping up, catching the way Dream's — the real Dream's — upper lip curls in distaste. Hob's belly does a funny little flip.
"Dream?"
"Hob Gadling," Dream replies. "I require your assistance."
Hob's not sure he's ever heard Dream so serious, and most of the words out of his mouth in the six hundred years previous have been something akin to a man eulogizing at a funeral.
"Of course. Anything. Let me just—"
The world tilts on its axis and goes black before Hob can finish his sentence.
It's a gentle landing, at least. A bedroom, beautiful carpeted and dimly lit with the soft light of overhead candles. Also, a bed. Hob's bed. He stares at it for a long moment, mouth opening and closing.
"This is—"
"Yes."
"You could've upgraded to a king, you know. Seems more fitting."
"I did not wish to change what already offered me comfort."
There's so many things Hob wants to ask, most of them starting with "why" and then trailing off into wordless nonsense while his brain fights the urge to short circuit. It's all he's wanted, to offer Dream comfort. To know he's succeeded so thoroughly, that Dream felt the urge to replicate his bed down to the silk sheets and the creaky headboard? Well, Hob can't help feeling a surge of pride.
"Next time just come over," Hob says, because he's suddenly and foolishly brave. "Bed's always open."
Dream raises an eyebrow, and Hob is too chuffed to correct himself, even if he knows the apples of his cheeks have turned traitorously pink. Unfair really, that he seems to blush more easily in dreams.
"I could not. Not until my business with Lucifer was finished."
Hob blanches. "Lucifer?"
"I had gone to them expecting battle. They were not so inclined."
The way he says it, Hob thinks Dream might as well be talking about a spot of bad weather. Ridiculous, and Hob wants to throttle him as much as he wants to pull him close and hug him tight. He thinks about their last meeting, how worn down Dream had looked, how he'd said "please". He thinks about Dream in danger, walking the green mile without saying a word, and he feels instantly on edge. The dream around them shudders, the candlelight flickering before springing back to life again.
"Just a perfectly normal thing that happens, eh? A fight with Lucifer." It feels ridiculous as soon as he says it outloud. Impossible and terrifying. What if Dream hadn't come back at all? What if he'd— "The Lucifer? Red horns and forked tail and—"
Dream's eyebrows furrow. He takes a step forward. "Hob. You are panicking."
He is. Possibly. Just a little bit. "You asked for my help, and I—I can't do much in a fight against the devil, can I? Not that I wouldn't try. For you."
Too much, maybe. He doesn't take it back. Dream's expression morphs into something Hob can't quite decipher. "As I said, no battle took place. Lucifer has chosen to leave their post, and has left me to carry this key in their stead."
Dream holds out a key, and even Hob can sense the weight it carries. It means something. Something important, and likely terrible. Hob would be afraid to ask if he wasn't curious to a fault. He swallows hard.
"The devil retired and left you their house key."
The corner of Dream's mouth twitches upward. "In so many words."
"And you think I can help with that?"
"I wished," Dream starts, like every syllable is fighting the good fight to stay locked behind his tongue. "To visit our soft place."
They're so close now, Hob's not sure entirely how it happened. He thinks a second ago they were at least an arm's length apart and now he can make out each of the stars sparkling in Dream's irises. "My bed?"
"It is not the same without you in it."
"Oh." It feels a little like being sucker punched. Six hundred years and this is the closest he's ever gotten to hoping. His pulse races even in sleep, and he reminds himself that he's never gotten anything he's been too afraid to ask for. "Come to bed with me then?"
Dream does.
It's a little ridiculous. Dream in his coat made of galaxies and Hob in the same pajamas he went to sleep in, or at least the version his mind has conjured up. They're threadbare even in dreams, comfortable, but not what he imagines you'd wear to bed for a king.
"When the queen slept at my house, I had on a doublet with gold laces. Feels like I should change," Hob says, for no other reason than to fill the silence. They're not touching, but close enough to it. Dream is stiff at his side, hand slightly outstretched. Hob thinks about closing the distance, letting their fingers interlace.
"You may," Dream replies, because of course he does, and Hob knows without asking that he's not talking about the doublet.
He reaches out, traces Dream's index finger with his own. Dream's skin is cool to the touch, and Hob watches the play of emotions across his face when he finally goes all in and holds Dream's hand properly. It's like the tension eases all at once, a weight Hob can't possibly comprehend lifted from Dream's shoulders.
"I should dream you up a masseuse one of these days."
"I do not wish to be touched."
"No?"
"Only by you."
It does something to Hob, hearing that. There's a beast that resides in his chest, overeager, always reaching for the things he doesn't deserve. It claws at him now, trying to get free.
"You liked this before," Hob says, carefully telegraphing the movement as he brings his free hand to the back of Dream's neck. He runs his fingers through the mess of hair at the base of Dream's skull, somehow even more of a bird's nest than usual. "Having your hair played with."
Dream's adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Yes."
"What else?"
"There are many things."
Hob keeps touching, the same way he had the night Dream had woken him, running a hand through Dream's hair until he goes boneless and droopy-eyed.
"You're a bit like Olive, you know. Could let me pet you for hours. All you're missing is a tail to wag."
"I could have a tail," Dream replies, so serious that Hob nearly misses the way his mouth twitches. Dream's eyes blink slowly open, something like mischief sparkling in them, and Hob's heart clenches in his chest.
"Dream. I—" He's not sure what he even intends to say, and yet the question comes tumbling out anyway. "Can I kiss you?"
If he were to hope, Hob would hope for a nod, or a deep and rumbling "you may". What he gets instead is Dream surging forward, claiming his mouth in a kiss that turns his entire world inside out. It's a simple kiss, no teeth or tongue, just Dream's lips teasing and soft against his own. Dream makes a noise when Hob kisses back, uses the hand in Dream's hair to change the angle just enough that it's perfect. It feels like coming home.
"Remove this," Dream says against his mouth, the same second Hob wonders if dreaming means they ever need to pull away for air. There's a hand suddenly clutching at the front of his shirt, and Hob knows Dream could will the fabric away with only a thought. Instead, he tugs at it uselessly.
Hob smiles. "No golden doublet, then?"
"Do not tease me."
It's the best kind of warning.
"Removing. I'm removing." Hob tugs the shirt over his head, watches as the fabric turns to dust before it hits the floor. Dream's hands are on him in an instant, fingers finding the scar at his hip bone and tracing over it.
"A bit obsessed, aren't you?"
"They are unique to you. I enjoy them," Dream replies, fingernails dragging up over the hair on Hob's chest and back down again.
It feels good. Too good. Hob has to bite back the rather embarrassing noise threatening to escape him. What comes out instead is a breathless, "Enjoy away."
And Dream does. Dream's hands wander over Hob's chest as they kiss, nails catching on the host of textures there. Hob cradles the back of Dream's head, letting himself be tugged over Dream's body until their legs are tangled up together and Dream is panting against his mouth. His cheeks are flushed when they part and Hob cups his face, tracing the path of color down the sharp curve of his jawline.
"If you'd told me to, I would've punched the devil in the chin," Hob says, Dream blinking kiss-drunkenly up at him. "But this is better for my health, I think."
"Hm," is all Dream replies with, and Hob can feel the weight of the words he's not saying.
"What is it?"
The key materializes in the space next to them, hovering, and Hob has to force himself to focus on it instead of on Dream's mouth, dark pink and kiss swollen.
"With this key, I hold dominion over Lucifer's realm. As I will not rule a kingdom other than my own, I must choose one who can." Hob wants to make a joke about Dream's choice of pillow talk, but he thinks better of it. It's hard enough not to get distracted by the tone of his voice, several octaves lower than usual and gravel-pitched. "Many delegates have made the journey here, all of which expect my answer in the morning."
A mood killer to be certain, but Hob has never been one to back down from a challenge.
"Right. Well. If we can manage a trip to Tesco together, I think we can manage this."
Dream's mouth twitches again. "You jest."
Hob smiles, shrugs and feels Dream's hands as they draw indecipherable patterns over his stomach. "You'll figure this out, is all I'm saying. And if you don't. Even if you say to hell with it, no pun intended, and throw that bloody key in the bin, I'll be here. I'll always be here."
Dream stares for a long moment, a host of unreadable emotions flickering across his face. His hands on Hob dig in, harsh like a claim, and Hob's breathing hitches. It takes all of his self-control not to close the distance again, to trace Dream's jawline instead, thumb at the hollow of his throat. There's so much more he could say, about his wants, his feelings. There's so many of them, they're at risk of boiling over, spilling out of him without his permission. Somehow, though. Somehow he thinks Dream already knows. That being here like this, in Dream's realm, means he has nothing left to hide.
"Now what do you say we make the most of this time we've got left?"
"In our soft place," Dream replies, expression suddenly and obviously fond. "I think I would like that."