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Hob has… he has preferences, ok? Doesn’t everyone? It’s a big part of being human, having wants and needs and hyper-specific turn ons. Hob is certainly no exception, and he’s had a lot of time to cultivate his likes and dislikes.
Mainly, his preference is Dream of the Endless. Pre-2021 it was half-starved goths with resting bitch faces, but now Hob has access to the real thing, and he’s never going back. He considers himself a more or less monogamous type of person, and Dream is definitely his person. Person shaped thing. Whatever.
There are other preferences, within the Venn diagram of Dream and Hob’s relationship. Lots of things cram into the overlapping middle part. Dream is very accommodating, and Hob is, well. He likes to please, to give pleasure. It’s kind of a thing. It’s definitely in the Venn diagram, anyway.
He doesn’t like the term “size queen”. Fortunately Dream doesn’t seem familiar with that particular combination of words. He does, however, happen to know that Hob likes it big .
“It” being Dream’s dick, obviously.
It’s all a bit embarrassing.
In The Dreaming, Dream of the Endless appears in the way that he is most comfortable. His long black robe trails the floor and flames lick precariously around the edges of the fabric. His pale skin shines as bright as any moon, and his eyes contain the multitudes of the universe. He’s also about seven foot tall. Not that Hob has measured him or anything, but it hardly matters. Dream is quite literally larger than life.
And when he brings Hob to his most private quarters in the palace, he still looks large and strange and beguiling. Hob is just a man, and the thing in front of him certainly is not. And Hob wants .
He lies on a bed that might also be the night sky, who can tell. Shrugs off the white boxers he fell asleep in and kicks them into a far corner. Dream joins him, a long and bony as some winter tree, and yet thrumming with such life. He knows everything that Hob has ever dreamed of. He is a merciful god. His robe disappears, and Hob receives one blissful moment to look before Dream snatches at him.
He pulls Hob’s back to his bare chest and wraps around him. Hob feels no heartbeat under the pale skin, no rush of hot blood. The only sign of life is Dream’s breath close to his ear. His fingers are too strong, too clever. They prise Hob’s legs apart, as though he wouldn’t go willingly. Those fingers would bruise and break him if he tried to escape. Hob laughs at the idea and Dream smothers his mouth with a rough kiss.
There’s no preparation, not even a warning. Hob isn’t even rewarded with a glance of Dream’s cock; he hasn’t been good enough yet. All he gets is the press of something too big too much against his arse. He squirms against the intrusion which refuses to pay any attention to his body’s objections, just keeps pressing and pushing. Unlike the rest of Dream’s skin, his cock is molten hot. The stretch of it burns Hob, from his entrance and all the way up his spine. He shudders and convulses and Dream holds him prisoner still, relentless.
Hob looks down and watches the muscles of his stomach twitch and there, there it is. Making room inside him, pushing against anything in its way. Hob presses his hand to his belly and pushes until Dream groans like gravel in his ear and thrusts up. Hob screams out some variation of his lover’s name and rocks himself back and forth as though the pain means nothing at all. Dream humours him and pushes deeper, forcing Hob to take inch after inch until he’s sure that all he is is some receptacle for Dream and his beautiful cock. That’s the way it should be, he thinks, as Dream clutches him and bruises him and worships him with kisses. All he has ever wanted is to please his Dream.
The next part is Hob’s greatest delight of all. Dream has as much stamina as he could desire, but Hob wants something else. And Dream rewards him with it. He grasps Hob’s hand, presses it to his belly again and, with a growl against Hob’s ear, he cums.
Similes fail and metaphors simply lose their purpose altogether. Hob has tried to describe what it is that he feels when Dream fills him with rope after rope of his seed. All he can do is drop his head forward and sob with the relief of it. His own cock jerks and spurts untouched, and Dream is still filling him. A fountain. A waterfall. Hob is just a thing , a beautiful thing for his lover to fill as he pleases.
The cum leaks from him and Dream scoops it up on the tips of his long fingers. He smears it across Hob’s cheek, over his lips. He kisses Hob as though he wants to devour him at that end, too.
The taste of Dream’s cum and his kisses is in Hob’s mouth when he wakes up, disoriented and aching from top to toe. Dream has him, cradling him close in the circle of his arms. He’s back at his regular size, but he still looms large in Hob’s sex-addled imagination. He’s smiling, happy with himself as any well-fed alley cat might be. Hob kisses his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, slowly and heavily. Dream laughs at him.
“You seem well pleased.” He purrs. His boney fingers squeeze at Hob’s arse, which throbs with a phantom feeling of fullness. “And tonight, it is my turn to please myself. Are you ready for me to have you again, in whatever way I see fit?”
“Kinky bitch.” Hob mutters “I was born ready.”
Dream is still laughing at him, when he carries his bedraggled Hob off to soak in the bath. After all, an Endless being may have preferences, too.