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The Corinthian felt an iron grip on his arm, and the sand soared around Dream and him. Then they turned out to be in a hotel room — seemingly in the same hotel. Dream waved his hand around, and the walls ruffled. He disappeared in another whirlwind of sand. The Corinthian was left alone. He tried the door and the windows, but they didn’t budge. He didn’t try breaking the windows, because he knew all too well that Dream wasn’t one for half measures. This is strange, the Corinthian thought, too complicated for simple unmaking. He didn’t expect anything good from Dream — at all, but especially now. He expected to be told to return to the Dreaming. At the same time, deep down he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. But he wasn’t ready to stay alone with his thoughts. Was there something worse than being unmade? Oh, thousands of options. Being a nightmare, the Corinthian understood perfectly what could be done with a creature in his situation. He shrugged, hung his coat, took off his glasses and laid down, putting his hands behind his head. There was no point in thinking about what could await him. Dream’s imagination, when he got creative, was inexhaustible.
A day passed when Dream appeared in the room again, this time slamming the door. Probably for the sake of variety. He stood behind the bed and watched the Corinthian silently. If it was the game of silence, the Corinthian was not going to yield first, so he continued watching the ceiling and not moving. Dream surrendered first, he sighed and sat on the bed.
He asked: “What should I do with you now, my creation?”
“Let me go?” the Corinthian suggested just in case, not drawing his gaze away from the white plane above him. “I had a wonderful life, and I would like to continue it. If you are really interested in my opinion, of course. Or was it a rhetorical question and is my participation in this dialog not required?”
“You know I cannot do this,” Dream reminded evenly. “But I might have another solution. It would require participation from your side If you were ready.”
The Corinthian didn’t say anything, silently demonstrating that he wasn’t agreeing with anything until he knew all the details.
“Eat my eyes,” Dream uncovered his thoughts with the same even tone. “Maybe the things you’ll see can change your mind.”
Startled, the Corinthian turned his head and studied Dream’s face. Dream wasn’t mocking him, his gaze showed only anticipation for an answer. The Corinthian sat up and tried to find a catch. He didn’t manage it, so he asked directly: “What are the terms and conditions? What would I owe you?”
“No conditions,” Dream shaked his head. “Just look at everything with my eyes, nothing more. Then we will return to our talk about what to do with you. I know you always wanted to try how it feels to be one of the Endless. I am ready to offer this experience to you.”
“It will hurt,” the Corinthian warned, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. It was the only thing Dream could offer him to not be met with instant rejection. Dream seemed to understand that.
“Pain happens,” Dream shrugged. “I am ready for it, if it helps you to understand me.”
The Corinthian stood up and loomed over Dream, whose eyes were attentively watching the movements.
“Don’t get up,” the Corinthian said. “It will be easier this way. Both eyes?”
“You are getting the nuances better when you eat both eyes. Yes, both of them.”
“Try not to move,” the Corinthian advised, and unsheathed his knife.
Dream’s eyes were looking almost indifferently, but the Corinthian knew him long enough to correctly interpret it as tension. As far as the Corinthian remembered — and it was a lot of time — nobody maimed Dream, ever. It was unthinkable to see him in any physical condition but the perfect one. Unthinkable, but unavoidable, because the Corinthian wasn’t going to stop. This was the first time someone offered him their eyes willingly. It was truly arousing and, at the same time, inspired other, completely unwanted feelings: tenderness and pride, the wish to demonstrate his skills to none other than his creator. The Corinthian got angry: how long will he search for Dream’s approval? But inner honesty didn’t allow him to stop seeing these thoughts in his own head.
The knife blade went into the left eye socket, as usually, easily and precisely. Picking up the eyeball and not hurting anything else in the process was a meticulous task, but a doable one, especially for the professional. Dream didn’t flinch. The Corinthian didn’t want to respect him for this, but respected nevertheless. He took the eyeball in his hand and used the knife to cut the muscles and the optic nerve. The eye was put on the nightstand, and the knife went to the right eye socket. A tear was rolling from the Dream’s still intact eye, but he continued to sit silently and didn’t move. The blade went into the eye socket again. Pick up, pull out, cut. Dream hunched over a little and covered his eye sockets with a hand. The Corinthian took the eyeballs and carefully placed them between his teeth under his eyelids. Waited a little, savoring the moment. Clenched his teeth. Everything went dark for a moment.
Another’s memories surged like a waterfall, the biggest one in his very long life, full-flowing, trying to carry him far down and crush on rocks. Some of the events zipping through were incognizable even for such an inhuman creature the Corinthian has been, so he pushed them aside. After that he used his experienced inner gaze to fish out the most emotional moments.
Nada, already dead, just rejected Dream for the third time. Rage at someone daring to defy the Endless. Rage breaks out from Dream’s heart and overflows the dead woman. The Corinthial felt pity for her: he wouldn’t advise being an object for Dream’s anger to anyone. An almost infantile question passed throuh his head: why was Dream allowed to push the woman to suicide and sentence to thousands of years in Hell, and the Corinthian wasn’t allowed to kill people? The right answer was that the king could do anything that pleased him, and his subordinates shouldn’t ask questions.
The Shore of Creation, and Dream stands before the Corinthian, several moments away from making him alive. The feelings of a job done well and of pride. The Corinthian frowned: he never actually believed Dream was ever proud of him.
Dream inside the glass sphere, shrouded by layers of grief and despair. It was impossible to comprehend the depth of these feelings only by looking at Dream, even with a knowing eye. The Corinthian gloated a bit: Dream deserved this. It was strange to see that the King of Dreams could feel almost human despair. Strange, but satisfying.
The memories were flowing by, clear and smeared, happy and sad. There would be time to deal with them later. Now it was important to choose the most interesting ones.
Pigeons, green trees, and some people playing ball. Dream was feeding the pigeons in sincere confusion: what should he do next? The Corinthian remembered asking himself the same question, soon after Dream’s imprisonment. The oh so desired freedom in his hands — what should he do with it?
Dream emerged from Rose’s dream in the conference hall, looked at the Corinthian, thought about the necessity of unmaking him and felt deep disappointment. Looking at this memory was unpleasant. So Dream was going to unmake him? Had he changed his mind? The Corinthian rewinded the memory further. Dream who made a decision to talk with the Corinthian and felt love and hope. That before wasn’t the disappointment, the Corinthian understood. That was regret. The Corinthian didn’t know what to do with his new knowledge about Dream’s love, it diverged too much from Dream’s image in his head. So he rewinded recent memories a little bit more.
Last moments before the knife entered the eye socket. Dream wasn’t afraid of pain, but was expecting it. To distract himself he was watching the Corinthian’s face, admiring the curve of his neck and thinking that before his imprisonment it wouldn’t come to his mind that he could want to kiss one of his creations. The urge was strong and certain, it wasn’t caused by the wish to get distracted and it wasn’t the first time it had visited Dream. He was toying with this thought inside of his head when white flash of pain stopped all his thoughts and made him concentrate on not moving. The Corinthian stopped watching the memories and emerged back to the waking world.
When he came to his senses, Dream was tying up his empty eye sockets with his neckerchief, elegant and unshakable, as always. After watching Dream’s memories believing in his impassiveness became much more difficult. The Corinthian wiped the blood from his hands, loomed over Dream, put his knee between his legs and asked, spinning the knife between his fingers: “Can you really not grow back your eyes straight away?”
“I gave you part of my strength with them,” Dream shrugged. “The eyes will grow back while I regain my strength and some of my abilities. Should take several hours if I will spend this time in the waking world.”
The Corinthian pried off an edge of the bandage on Dream’s head with the end of his knife and warned: “The world around is full of dangers. What if someone is to hurt you while you are so vulnerable?”
“And who is going to hurt me?” Dream inquired with a characteristic half-smile. “You, maybe?”
The Corinthian dragged the end of his knife along Dream’s cheek — not drawing blood, just warning him.
“Let’s talk about what you were able to see and understand,” Dream suggested.
“Oh Dream, I was able to see something,” the Corinthian said to Dream’s lips, smiling and mixing their breath. “Tell me, how long have you got that hard-on for me? Tell me, do you jerk off on thoughts of me? Do you jerk off at all? Or do you just sadly wait for the hard-on to go away?”
“It so turns out I didn’t have time to jerk off at all,” Dream answered, patiently and not moving away. The Corinthian was almost feeling the movement of his lips. “Too much other business. And now, when we are finished with this topic…”
“But we are not finished,” the Corinthian said with mock surprise and pressed his mouth to Dream’s lips, suddenly hot and dry. Licked them and felt Dream responding to the kiss, turning his head and pushing his tongue to the Corinthian’s mouth. It went on for several moments, but then Dream sharply moved away.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Granting your wish,” the Corinthian explained. “What’s the matter? You already don’t like it? Was it better in your imagination?”
“I didn’t expect you to be interested,” Dream said in a deceptively even tone.
What am I doing, the Corinthian thought. I am probably joining the ranks of soon to be devoured by Dream’s rage. And soon it will be. The personal life of the King of the Dreams never ended well. It ended badly. It often ended bloodily. What’s not to like?
“Since when are you worried about what your creations are interested in?” the Corinthian clarified to check the current level of Dream’s rage without delaying the inevitable.
“Should I stop thinking about it?” Dream asked surprisingly calmly.
“No,” the Corinthian answered quietly. “Don’t stop.”
He ran his hand over Dream’s hair and drew Dream’s head to his chest, pressed his lips to the top of the head. Dream was silent and didn’t try to stop another audacity. The Corinthian carefully pulled Dream’s shoes from his feet, threw off his own, climbed on the bed and drew Dream closer, grabbing his hand. Dream sat beside him, unsurely moving through the space. Most likely he really was more vulnerable without his eyes. Seeing the Corinthian’s creator like this wasn’t just insolence — it was sacrilege. It should have been arousing, and it was. But there were other feelings as well. The Corinthian pulled Dream’s hand again and suggested: “Come here.”
He helped Dream to sit down in his lap, sideways. Touched Dream’s temple with his lips. Inhaled the delicate, almost nonexistent fragrance of his hair. The Corinthian knew Dream’s obedience to be deceptive. Once, long time ago, he ate a sapper’s eyes, and now he had something to compare his feelings to: it was like bomb disposal. One wrong step, and there won’t be a shred left from him. And Dream would shake off the sand and return to the Dreaming, and just in several more hours he will be unharmed and impassive again. As always. Gentleness worked well with bombs. Steady hands could help. The Corinthian’s hands were steady. He hugged Dream with one arm, fingers of the other hand tracing Dream’s lips’ contours. Dream moved a little and pressed a light kiss to the fingertips. The Corinthian felt he was going crazy. He never felt this way with any of his lovers — many of them being really good. He hasn’t been feeling this way even just now, cutting out Dream’s eyes. He wanted to destroy something but didn’t have anything to express this impulse on. He wanted to protect Dream, hug him and never let close anyone who might want to hurt him. He wanted to push Dream down on the bed, tear off his clothing and have him. The Corinthian softly ran his fingers over Dream’s cheek, along the neck, and touched the shirt’s collar. Then asked: “Tell me. How long have you been thinking about me like this?”
“It started after I got my freedom back,” Dream answered. “The first time I noticed this was when I found out for sure you didn’t return back to the Dreaming. You were missed.”
Dream found the Corinthian’s face with his hand, kindly ran his fingers over the cheekbone, noted the jaw line. Admitted: “I never thought in this way about any of my creations before”.
“So this will be your first time,” the Corinthian couldn’t stop himself from a hard smile. “What are your impressions? Are you disappointed yet?”
“I have never been disappointed in you,” Dream objected, reclining his head to the Corinthian’s shoulder. “Never in you.”
The feeling of ticking bomb mixed with a new one: the wish to extend this moment forever, to freeze in an amber, forever waiting for what’s to come. But stopping was impossible. The Corinthian undid the upper button on the Dream’s shirt very carefully. Alabaster skin was almost glowing in contrast with black fabric. There was a pulse beating visible in the dimple between the clavicles. Second button. Third one. Dream was snuggling into the Corinthian, his breathing slightly changed. It seemed like an invitation to continue. The Corinthian was really, really hoping he was reading the reaction correctly. He wasn’t ready to crumble to sand right now. Not now. The button row ended.
“You are scaringly agreeable with everything I am doing,” he shared his thoughts with Dream, reaching for his wrists and unbuttoning the shirt’s sleeves.
“I didn’t know the nightmares got scared so easily,” Dream smiled.
“It’s not so scary when you talk,” the Corinthian admitted. “Easier to pretend you are not going to unmake me right now.”
“Definitely not right now,” Dream agreed, exposing his breast and stomach for the caressing hand, pulling his arms out of the sleeves, putting his elbows on the Corinthian’s shoulders. ”Maybe I subconsciously created you such that your possible erotic actions would be up to my taste. What else to tell you about, my creation?”
Dream was behaving surprisingly confidently for a being with a bandage around his empty eye sockets.
“Does it not hurt?” the Corinthian asked, touching the edge of the bandage.
“Not anymore,” Dream said after some thought. “The pain was the first to go away. That’s reasonable. I always treasured the clarity of mind, and the pain was distracting.”
The Corinthian traced his hand over Dream’s stomach, touched the pants’ button. The heart was beating indecently fast inside the Corinthian’s chest. He had never been a human teenager and had never been in love, but of course he had the time to find out what teenagers and lovers felt. The sensations he felt right now were suspiciously alike to both these things. He was already doomed in some way: falling in love with his creator would be the stupidest and probably the last of his actions. It already was, no sense in denying the obvious. Maybe it was impossible not to have feelings for one who had just voluntarily let you watch all his life. Was it the punishment for the Corinthian? Did Dream make this happen on purpose? The Corinthian decided to ask about other things: “Did you really think I would ignore your interest in me?”
“I really didn’t think you would meet me with interest of your own,” Dream shrugged. “You could have tried to hurt me using these or other feelings. I was ready for that.”
“What would you have done to me in that case? If I had been successful?” the Corinthian asked, cursing his curiosity but unable to stop himself.
“I don’t want to think about this,” Dream responded sharply. His back tensed under the Corinthian’s arm. Wrong wire. Choose another, quickly. The Corinthian decided talking wasn’t his strong side so he hugged Dream with both arms, feeling the warmth of pale skin and the breathing movements of the chest. Dream’s muscles slowly relaxed again.
“I apologize,” Dream interrupted the silence. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I am not angry. You are very dear to me.”
“I know,” the Corinthian said, observing Dream’s hands finding the knife handles in harness on his chest.
“Are you going to undress?” Dream changed the topic, putting his hands under the pullover and stroking the ribs.
“If that is your wish,” the Corinthian said, trying to concentrate on the meaning of Dream’s words and not on his hands’ movements.
“That is my wish,” Dream agreed and moved from the Corinthian’s lap to the center of the bed. The Corinthian had to get up and undress. Dream’s presence electrified the air, the Corinthian had significant difficulties moving, it was hard to discard the feeling that Dream was evaluating the process, though the bandage on his eyes clearly reminded he could see nothing. The Corinthian, naked now, circled the bed and sat down behind Dream’s back. Kissed the base of the neck, pulled Dream into an embrace. Dream succumbed, reclined his head on the Corinthian’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. Then he lowered his hands to his pants’ zipper and separated from the Corinthian for some time to get rid of the rest of his clothes. Pressed his shoulder blades to the chest, asked: “Is this too much for you?”
The Corinthian was trying to even out his breathing at the sight of completely undressed Dream. He has never been this shaken by a sight of an naked man before. It turned out that Dream who undressed specifically for him actually was almost too much.
“Of course not,” the Corinthian said. “You are never too much. You shouldn’t have given me your eyes. Now I want you all. I want too much.”
“I don’t have any regrets for now,” Dream said, caressing the Corinthian’s shin.
“You will have regrets,” the Corinthian supposed, picking Dream up and putting him down on his stomach, head on a pillow.
“We will talk when this moment comes,” Dream summarized, hugging the pillow with both his arms and making himself comfortable.
The Corinthian laid down beside Dream and kissed his back between the shoulder blades. The back was warm and relaxed and the urge to have this body became unbearable.
“May I?” the Corinthian asked, running his hand along the spine and stopping at the ass cheek.
“You may do everything you want right now,” Dream responded. Warm wave of arousal rolled over the Corinthian’s body, from the lower stomach to the fingertips. He got light-headed. The Corinthian thought that it should be difficult to differentiate between being in love and the wish of a creation to know their creator. The permission to know touched some hidden strings in his soul, fired up the urge to really know, to experience — closer than it was possible from the memories. He kissed a path down the spine, caressing Dream’s sides with his hands, then went up again, laid down on top of Dream, pressed all his body to Dream’s. Kissed the point at which the neck turned into the shoulder. Rubbed his cock between the buttocks and heard a quiet sigh. It seemed wrong doing to Dream the same things he did to humans, but Dream’s sighs unambiguously hinted he shouldn’t stop. The Corinthiat sat on his heels between Dream’s spread legs, licked his fingers and ran them between the ass cheeks. Licked the fingers again, returned them to the buttocks, pressed. Dream’s body was made according to the human ones and wasn’t ready to be breached.
“Relax,” the Corinthian asked.
“It will take some time,” Dream warned. The Corinthian traced wet fingers between the ass cheeks, drawing a moan. Repeated it again.
He inquired: “You have all the human unconsciousness. Or something. You should have access to the right sensations.”
“I don’t want to get distracted. From you.”
The Corinthian felt he was ready to surrender to Dream, let Dream fuck him even without preparation. But there was still the urge to have this slowly relaxing body. He pushed his finger inside and was met with a new moan. The flesh obediently parted. The Corinthian moved his hand, giving pleasure — and Dream was receiving pleasure, it was somehow clear from his almost unmoving pose and quiet breathing. The Corinthian added another finger. Dream’s body was not resisting anymore, on the contrary, it tried to impale itself on the fingers. The Corinthian held the impatient hips with his other hand.
“Are you going to take your time,” Dream asked in an affirmative tone.
“I am going to take all the time I get,” the Corinthian said seriously. He didn’t voice the part about “while I am not being reduced to sand and am still able to feel pleasure”. For some reason he didn’t want to tease Dream’s patience. He wanted to kiss the glowing skin and didn’t deny himself. Kissed the ass cheek, ran his tongue over, pressed his cheek to it. His fingers continued moving. Dream used his obviously sizable abilities for self-restriction and was lying still. At the third finger the Corinthian stopped for a while, giving Dream’s body more time to adjust.
“Please,” Dream asked, the word mixing into a moan.
“Please what,” the Corinthian asked, using all his willpower to keep his tone even.
“Fuck me already,” Dream moaned, trying to move his hips again.
The Corinthian felt conflicted between two wishes, one of which was watching Dream beg. The wish was dangerous: nobody knew where the boundary lay where Dream’s complacency turned into quiet — and then not so quiet — rage. The Corinthian’s body decided for him and it was probably for the best. He was already lying on top of Dream, pressing his cock to the entrance, smoothly pushing inside. He had the presence of mind to do it slowly, very slowly, to cause not pain but only pleasure he wanted to share.
“Don’t you dare stop”, Dream ordered or asked when the Corinthian went all the way in. The Corinthian decided to follow Dream’s wishes and finally started moving in the rhyme his body longed for, putting one hand on Dream’s shoulder blade and pressing him to the bed. Dream replied with moans and movements of his hips, his fingers clutched the pillow. The Corinthian caressed the fingers. Dream pushed his hand from the back with surprising strength, bent around and pulled the Corinthian into a kiss. Fell back, silencing the moans with the pillow. Then he pushed himself up on one elbow and asked quietly: “Did you look at something except my erotic wishes in my memories? Did you look at how I imagined you?”
“Do you really want to talk about it right now?” the Corinthian asked, stopping the movements.
“Yes, right now. And don’t stop,” Dream buried his head in the pillow again.
“Yes, I looked,” the Corinthian said seriously, pressing his body against the Dream’s, pushing with his hips, bending to the ear, lowering his voice. “And you were mistaken if you thought it would change anything. Your artistic vision may be beautiful, but I am a free being. A living being. I cannot change just because you want me to.”
“So that’s how it is,” Dream said very evenly.
“Is this what you wanted to know? Why right now?” the Corinthian asked, kissing Dream’s neck against his own will. Dream moaned again.
“It’s hard to get angry with you now,” Dream explained after catching his breath. “I wouldn’t want to… hurt you unwillingly. I don’t like being refused.”
“Everybody knows that,” the Corinthian grunted, caressing Dream’s head and contemplating his next words. It was much more dangerous than telling Dream something he wouldn’t like. But the view of Dream’s disheveled hair and his profile with bandaged eyes made thinking difficult. So the Corinthian added: “But you wouldn’t have given me your eyes before. Wouldn’t have tried to talk. So I am ready… to negotiate with you.”
“I didn’t come to negotiate,” Dream objected to the pillow. “I want you to do as I say.”
“You don’t mean it,” the Corinthian whispered into his ear. Instead of answering, Dream reached out for another kiss, and wasn’t denied. The Corinthian moved his hips again and again and continued until pleasure encompassed him completely. The orgasm passed through his body in a sweet wave. He fell on the bed beside Dream, pulled him in an embrace and took his cock in his hand, kissing the neck and the shoulders. When Dream spent himself into his hand, the Corinthian stopped moving and allowed the afterglow to engulf him. The shared pleasure was intangibly hanging in the air between their bodies.
“What are you going to do now?” Dream asked when the passion almost melted away, leaving place for thoughts and words. The Corinthian touched Dream’s lips with his, feeling the question even in the kiss. Am I going to have to destroy you, my creation? Or maybe: am I going to have to break rules for you? After some thought the Corinthian decided not to hope for the second option. Bad things happened to the Endless who broke the rules. He didn’t want this for Dream anymore. Delaying the answer he took Dream’s hand in his palm, kissed its back side. Ran his tongue between Dream’s fingers, turned the hand over, kissed the wrist. Dream reclined his head on the pillow and suppressed a moan. He was lying down as not-defused bomb, as the most beautiful of dangerous creatures. Captivating uncertainty was ending, and the Corinthian said: “Let’s return to the Dreaming.”