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Hob had promised to keep things casual.
As though he were some hopelessly enamoured, love-struck college boy chasing a deeply uninterested, far-from-his league classmate, and not, in fact, a centuries old, immortal man pursuing the physical manifestation of dreams.
It had been deceptively easy at first, prioritising mutual satisfaction and forgoing anything deeper. The Dream Lord was seemingly only interested in one thing when he returned from his lengthy, unexplained absence and Hob had been more than happy to oblige.
The opportunity to touch and hold the beautiful, confounding man, that he'd quietly pined after for centuries, was, in truth, the realisation of one of his greatest desires. Even if their amorous interactions were limited to frantic, transactional and sporadic flings.
Everything the immortal had since learnt of the cosmic being in his bed had either been coerced out of him with pleasure -Hob taking the Endless to the very brink of rapture, in order to have him unwittingly confess in the throes of passion- or whispered disclosures, akin to pillow-talk, made soon thereafter, wherein Dream was too spent to be so damned defensive.
The pair had continued like this for months. Hob valiantly keeping his word to have things remain 'casual' between them, counting each and every amatory interaction as a blessing and never allowing himself to foolishly hope for more.
He could never predict when the eldritch being might return to his life, hungry and insatiable and evidently desperate for his touch. The immortal began to feel as though he were living on a fault line. The other man's unkempt passion the equivalent of an earthquake that he lived in constant anticipation of.
And while a real natural disaster might shake the foundations of Hob's home, or tear the roof off the bloody place, Dream's affection felt as though it was doing much the same thing to his heart.
For despite his assurances to the flighty being that he could in fact cope with the spontaneity, with the unpredictable and all-consuming displays of carnality -that would have him up all night, each night, sometimes for days in a row, before leaving him to languish in a weeks long drought- Hob was beginning to doubt himself.
It all began with an unexpected sleepover, an atypical lengthening of their usually hurried encounters. Dream had, of course, spent the night before. But, then again, there was never very much sleep involved in those previous instances.
On this particular evening, after having his way with the immortal (where he would normally flit back to the Dreaming without so much as a goodbye), something had compelled the Endless to stay.
Hob had had to bite his tongue, so hard that he tasted blood for the next three days, when the other being had wrapped himself contentedly around him -still undressed- his mussed, ink-well hair tickling the hollow of the larger man's throat.
He dared not move until he heard his fair companion's breathing level, as though he might truthfully be asleep, and even then he only risked pulling the duvet up and over them both.
For what felt like hours, Hob privately marvelled down at the being, pressed so trustingly to his chest, feeling a bit like a wild-life conservationist with a deadly, near-extinct creature curled affectionately around their arm.
He felt ridiculously protective over the Endless (who could likely spell his demise with less effort than it would take to lift that achingly beautiful head of his) the desire to touch the being more than worth the risk of losing his hand.
Hob had, against his better judgment, ducked his own head down to press his lips to Dream's impossibly smooth brow; the electric hum of their flesh meeting almost agonising when paired with the fear that he might never know the infatuating sensation again.
The immortal had no way of knowing if this rendezvous would by their last. As with their numerous, prior encounters, once the frustratingly-reticent being left his bed, Hob could not know whether or not Dream would return, until he did.
He was reminded again of the fault line, the Endless' frenzied, near-animalistic wanting as unpredictable as a ruinous quake.
Hob had decided not to take the moment for granted and chanced a tender hand in the other man's raven hair, the strands so soft between his life-worn fingers that he could have cried.
After a gentle, self-serving, exploration of the gorgeous being's angular features with a trembling, calloused thumb, he had felt content enough to rest, wrapping tight, deeply-longing arms around his (apparently peacefully resting) companion before letting sleep pull him under.
That had been it for Hob. There was no remaining 'casual' after falling asleep in the Dream Lord's embrace (as if he'd ever been, even remotely, capable of casual in the first place).
He was hopelessly, irrevocably enamoured by the Endless. He felt as though he might live or die by the other man's meagre, hurried affection.
Of course, when Hob Gadling awoke the very next morning -light streaming in through curtains he'd been too otherwise occupied to close- the Dream King had already gone.
***
Dream of the Endless had not expected to find such solace is Hob Gadling's tender touch.
His reckless, wanton seduction of the immortal, immediately following their reunion at the New Inn, had had more to do with the desperate desire to feel anything other than useless, disquieting grief, more than with his faith in the man's sensual abilities.
Now though, Dream is more than aware of Hob's amatory capabilities and his penchant for sportive distraction. The Endless hardly has time to draw (physiologically unnecessary, though passionately compelled) breath in their spirited interactions, let alone consider his own woe.
He begins using Hob as a sort of balm for his brutalised soul. Applying the man liberally in order to protect himself from his own unsavoury emotions.
Despite his best attempts at keeping his visits infrequent and unpredictable, the Dream Lord finds himself visiting Hob Gadling's flat more and more frequently as their affair continues.
Though he tries his best to limit the experience to that which is strictly carnal, there are of course, moments of weakness.
After his foolish and vulnerable display, namely falling asleep in the mortal's arms, Dream makes himself stay away. He seals himself inside of the Dreaming, his own living tomb, wherein he might not be compelled to reach for Hob's -especially pleasurable- form of comfort.
The Endless tells himself that this isolation is in both of their best interests, that it would not do well for either of them to have the immortal become unnecessarily attached, that historically it would only harm -the already wounded- pair.
But realistically, Dream knows that it is his own fear of becoming comfortable in the man's embrace that keeps him away.
Although time has never been the Dream King's strong suit, he becomes aware of just how much of the measure he has allowed to pass, as he returns to the Waking. Snow has begun to fall in London, where -at his last visit- it had been scarcely Spring. Dream can see the powdery substance sticking to the cobblestones outside -near iridescent in the low light of the moon- from Hob's bedroom window, as he regards the man who is evidently lost to sleep.
He is, as always, achingly and alluringly beautiful, with soft walnut hair splayed waywardly over his navy pillow case. His firm, tanned chest, and the associated enthralling smattering of curled hair, is just visible beneath the plush looking duvet. Dream cannot help but recall how it felt to be encapsulated by such warmth, both in Hob Gadling's tender arms and in his heavy sheets.
There is a moment, cloying and pathetic, wherein he considers simply crawling into bed with the immortal, resting by his side and nothing more. The man could hardly begrudge him his absence if they were to awaken intertwined.
He thinks about how easy, and tragically gratifying it would be, to return to the space in Hob's arms that feels as though it was crafted just for him.
Dream chides himself for such lurid musings, and is compelled to disappear before his lover wakes (to sentence himself to further edifying isolation), when Hob rouses without his input, panicked eyes flitting about in the relative darkness of the flat.
"Dream," Hob gasps, fear quelling to relief. He is on his knees atop the yielding mattress before any more can be spoken between them.
The Endless had suspected that, given his lengthy absence, he might be met with some apprehension from the man. But that is evidently not the case.
Hob falls back into their usual routine with captivating vigour, wide, strong palms moving hastily to grasp Dream by the face, uniting their lips with a devastating passion.
The elder being feels his stomach clench, a strange (strikingly human) discomfort associated with the realisation that he might never have been so revered as this. And similarly, that he may never be again, that the only person capable of adoring a being so broken and wretched as he, is the enduringly optimistic man that holds him so mercifully now.
Desperate to ignore the unpleasant and illuminating sensation, Dream wraps his arms around Hob's bare shoulders, pulling him impossibly close.
The familiar, intoxicating stir of his icy form pressed into the other man's hot, bronze skin is nearly enough that the Endless forgets all of his troubles.
With very little thought, or conscious effort, Dream is on his back atop Hob's mattress, seemingly unwittingly stripped of his midnight cloak as the mortal hovers hungrily above him.
"'Never thought I'd see you again," Hob says, voice husky as his lips move to suck blissful welts into the ivory skin of the being's eagerly exposed throat.
Despite being invulnerable to almost all harm afforded by mortals, Dream always allows his human form to wear the marks of Hob Gadling's love, even days after their ravaging encounters.
"Thought I'd scared you off," the immortal huffs against his lover's skin, determined hands moving to the Endless' dark button down.
Hob makes no effort to undo the tiny, elaborate closures adorning the shirt, instead, he tears at the fabric, exposing Dream's pale flesh to the frightfully cold night air.
The Endless wonders absentmindedly, how exceedingly hot Hob Gadling must run, to continue sleeping shirtless in such weather.
"Never," Dream gasps, in a moment of unexpected vulnerability, as the other man's lips find the delicate skin of his now bare chest. The igniting sensation of Hob's mouth on such sensitive flesh making every fine hair on the being's human form stand to attention.
He feels his own, previously expertly-denied, desperation for the immortal lash at his insides.
Hob is seemingly only bolstered in his urgency by Dream's confirmation, as he stills the holy work of his lips against the Endless' skin in favour of breathlessly reuniting their lips.
Though he might have replayed such exploits over and over in his mind -by means of comfort- during the self-inflicted hiatus of their affair, Dream had seemingly forgotten how utterly blissful Hob Gadling's mouth felt against his own.
He beckons the other man yearningly closer with desperate hands on his jaw, and trembling legs wrapped around his waist.
After so long spent denying himself his lover's touch, Dream lavishes in his unrestrained affection now.
"Going to make you feel so good." Hob's exhilarating promise is swallowed by the Endless' frantic mouth. As delighting as it may be to hear such wanton vows from his inamorato, he'd prefer the man's lips to be otherwise occupied.
"'Gonna make sure you never wanna leave me again," Hob breathes distractedly, a roaming hand drifting down the length of the of Dream's shivering body.
The being stills as though the inadvertent confession were a betraying dagger slotted, with fatal accuracy, between his ribs.
With Hob's seemingly enthusiastic, effortless return to their uncomplicated, erotic foray, Dream had almost convinced himself that things could truly remain uncommitted between them, that he could have the comfort of the other man's body without breaking his heart.
Oh, what a fool he'd been.
"Hob," Dream gasps.
"Stop." The Endless hates the sensitivity in his own tone, the trembling in his voice as he says the word. He scrambles unceremoniously backward, as far as the confines of the bed will allow.
Hob moves away remorsefully, his evident passion instantly extinguished with the harsh withdrawal of Dream's once-eager consent.
"Dream, I..." the immortal begins, in a frantic attempt to explain away his unintended display of devotion.
Dream sits upright awkwardly, trying to still the entirely undignified heaving of his bare chest. He folds his arms across his trunk protectively.
"You knew, Hob Gadling, exactly what this was when it began," he interrupts the other man's speech with his own, trying desperately to swallow the telling tremor in his usually firm, unflinching tone.
"I believe I made myself perfectly clear, that this arrangement could only work if it was a mutual fulfilment of needs and nothing more. And you agreed," he says, coolly, in a feeble attempt to distance himself from the truth of their entanglement.
Hob's eyes fill with moisture in response to the Endless' rejection.
"I know, love," he whispers, clambering forward to take Dream by the hands. He places his head against their intertwined fingers as if in prayer.
"I know, and I tried," he laments.
"Evidently not hard enough."
Dream knows that he is being cruel, unnecessarily so, that Hob has done nothing to deserve his ire now, and yet (as has always been the way in matters of the heart) his terror, and the prospect of his own dreadful vulnerability, cause him to lash out irrationally.
"You've no idea how hard it is," Hob admits, hands still clasped firmly around the Endless' own. Dream cannot stand how much he longs for the embrace of their palms to continue.
"You've no idea the effect you have- how easy it is to l..." the other man trails off, apparently stilling his impassioned plea before it can get him into any more trouble.
Hob's doleful face becomes a blur behind the tears gathering in Dream's eyes.
As much as the Endless was protecting himself, by insisting that what existed between them was merely transactional, he was also motivated -in doing so- to protect Hob, to save him from the burden that would be reciprocal affection between them.
His love, whether granted or withheld, has been known to cause the fall of cities, to drive those he cares for to damnation or to further irrevocably misshape their hearts.
He was determined to ensure that Hob did not meet the same fate, that he did not fall for Dream, nor seek devotion from him in return.
"I tried so hard to spare you from this," the elder being whispers, reaching forward to clasp Hob's face between his hands. If this is to be their last meeting, he will not deny himself the bitter-sweet fulfilment of this yearning touch.
"What?" the immortal responds cluelessly, taking his bereft companion longingly by the wrists.
"I tried to distance myself from you, to keep my visits sporadic enough that you did not rely on them. I wanted to shield you, from the torment of loving me," Dream confesses, the tears swarming his vision finally falling down his cheeks.
Hob makes an impossibly fond sound in the back of his throat, cradling the Endless' face and using achingly tender thumbs to wipe away his tears.
"Would it truly be so terrible? My loving you?" he begs, eyes flickering searchingly across the fairer being's face.
Dream feels the question like a squeezing hand, curled ruthlessly around his heart.
He has to desperately fight the desire to close the meagre space between them, to silence Hob's anxieties with a kiss.
He wants nothing more than to assure the immortal that the gift of his love could never be terrible, that it is instead the Endless' own rapidly compounding affection that he should be afraid of. Where normally, Dream would keep himself from such humiliating, belittling disclosures, he resigns himself to confess, for Hob's sake.
"Your love would be a blessing. It is mine that you should fear," Dream admits, dropping his head with the weight of his shame.
"Those that have loved me... that I've loved in return, have only ever known heartache. I was desperate, blindingly so, to keep you from that fate. And in my efforts, I've only harmed you further. I was heedless, self-serving, I let myself lie with you in order to mend my own heart, I let myself grow accustomed to your comfort, to fall asleep in your arms and I am so sorry that I've let your torment continue for my own selfish gain," he continues, emotionally.
He primes himself for rejection, for the other man's reasonable ire, but instead is met with the gentlest kiss he might have ever received in his long, turbulent existence.
Hob presses his lips to Dream's with breathtaking tenderness, so different from the heated exchanges they've shared before, yet to longingly familiar.
"You didn't make me fall in love with you, Dream," Hob croons against his lips.
"It happened centuries ago, you couldn't have stopped it if you tried," he admits with a gentle laugh.
"I..." Dream's objection is stilled by the immortal's soft, silencing thumb atop his jittering lips.
"You don't have to protect me, love," Hob insists.
"But I want to," the Endless whimpers with uncharacteristic simplicity. It might not be exceedingly eloquent, but it is -in fact- the most earnest and truthful disclosure Dream has ever made.
"Then let me love you," Hob says, entreatingly.
"Because I do... I do," he vows.
This time it is Dream that urgently rejoins their lips, overwhelming devotion compelling him forward.
Hob Gadling loves him, unconditionally, unwaveringly, and purportedly has for hundreds of years. He evidently will not be deterred from his ardent affection, no matter how hard Dream tries.
Where once the man's love had been his greatest fear, the Endless now understands that it is, truthfully, the realisation of his greatest, once deeply-repressed desire.
"Love me," Dream agrees, as he withdraws breathlessly from his lover's lips.
"Love me, Hob Gadling, as irrevocably as I love you."
When the immortal's eyes meet his again, they're shining, this time with unmistakable fidelity.
"I love you, Dream. Everything that I am and everything that I have, is yours," he swears.
The Endless cannot help the foreign, near-giddy laugh that escapes him in his joyous disbelief. Such euphoria is nearly inconceivable to the historically-lonely, tormented being. He draws Hob Gadling back toward him needingly, slowly lowering himself back onto to the mattress and guiding the other man atop him.
Dream has never felt so safe -so totally, tenderly held- as he does in the immortal's strong, yet indulgent arms.
"I love you too, Hob Gadling," he oaths, submitting not just his body -this time- to the man's gentle will, but also his open heart.
***