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“Go on, then.” Dream says. “Imagine it. Imagine what it is that you desire.”
It’s all Hob’s fault.
His mind has always lived in the gutter. Any excuse for a dirty joke. He has a good imagination too, an intensely visual place inside his brain where he plays out his little fantasies. It’s only gotten worse since Dream started hanging around and giving Hob mind-blowing handjobs in the New Inn’s public bathroom. Hob’s sex life went from 0(ish) to 100 overnight.
They’ve done a lot of stuff. A lot of weird stuff in dreamscapes. Hob has a very open mind. He’s dating the Shaper of Forms, he has to be flexible.
Speaking of shaping forms…
Dream has a very pretty dick. He could probably be a dick model, if he was ever looking for a career change. Hob has had it inside him plenty of times and it’s good, really good.
It’s just. Hob has a bit of a thing. A fantasy.
He likes the idea of something bigger. He’s owned a lot of toys, particularly since Ann Summers, bless her, made the whole idea of marital aids just a bit more acceptable. He’s always picked out size large. Extra large. Extra, extra — you get the idea. When he discovered Bad Dragon, his “me time” got even more interesting.
But he loves and worships Dream’s dick exactly as it is, and he’d be quite content with absolutely nothing else for the rest of his ridiculously extended life. It’s not his fault that Dream is a nosy bugger who casually invades his daydreams.
Sue him, he’s been marking essays for a couple of hours, and his mind is starting to drift off. He imagines Dream sneaking up behind him, kissing his neck. It’s a welcome relief to sink into the daydream. Dream’s slim hands on him, spreading him open. Something hot, thick, huge forcing its way inside him unyieldingly. Filling him so utterly that his insides have to make room. He imagines running his hands down his stomach and feeling Dream’s dick there. Without meaning to, he presses his hand against his stomach in real time, and of course there’s nothing there, so he opens his eyes.
Dream is watching him from across the room, and Hob knows instinctively that he knows . He feels himself turn approximately the same colour as a Royal Mail postbox.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt.” Dream purrs. “I believe that you were getting towards the good part.”
Hob face-plants straight down into his desk. He wants to groan, but he's too embarrassed to make any noise whatsoever. He can hear Dream cackling like a madman in the background, obviously completely tickled by Hob's intensely human feelings of shame. Hob forces himself to look up and glare at his lover.
"Fuck you." He sighs, and Dream only smirks at him.
"On the contrary, I think it is I who should be fucking you." He saunters across the room. He's wearing one of Hob’s t-shirts from the 1990s, the design long gone from overwashing.
Hob swears, he's dating the cockiest little shit in the universe. Although perhaps cocky isn't the right word for the situation.
Dream leans over the desk, all innocent half smiles. He tucks a loose strand of Hob’s hair in behind his ear. “You know that this is not really my true form, my darling. I can appear in any way that I choose, and I only inhabit this particular body because it is convenient and comfortable.”
“I like this body. I happen to be very fond of it.” Hob runs his hand down Dream’s arm, now as familiar to him as his own. “There’s nothing about you that I would ever want to change. Promise.”
“And yet…” Dream teases. He takes Hob’s jaw in his hand, framing his face. “You are allowed to dream, my love. I would be quite the fool if I expected your mind not to wander. I am rather flattered that you would want it to be me using such an… appendage on you.”
“There’s nobody else, past or present, who I want like that more than I want you.” Hob says firmly. He nuzzles his face into the palm of Dream’s hand.
And that's how they get to the point where Hob is sitting at his desk, with his blushing face cradled in his lover's hand as Dream smiles down at him mischievously and says, “Go on, then. Imagine it. Imagine what it is that you desire.”
Hob does as he's told, because it would be rude not to when Dream is asking so nicely. He conjures up an image of his lover, all of his long limbs and pale skin. He thinks of the jutting hips and smooth thighs. And then, a little shyly, he brings to mind the cock he'd been imagining before Dream interrupted him.
It isn’t based on anything he's actually seen, but Hob has been at eye level with enough penises to know what's realistic. He starts at the base, something thick, too thick for even his own hand to wrap around. A vein standing out for him to lick at, perhaps. Dream makes an approving noise and strokes his cheek.
Hob takes it further. It would be heavy in his hand, this lovely thick cock. He'd have to stretch and stretch his mouth to get it inside. Of course, Dream's dick would be as pale and ethereal as the rest of him, but red, too, especially at the tip. The head would be hot and huge, standing out and glistening with pre-cum. Hob feels his mouth fill with saliva unbidden as the idea grows more real and steady in his mind. He imagines holding it in his mouth and choking on the girth of it. He thinks of the heaviness of Dream’s balls and how he'd roll them in his hand and coax his cock into spilling spurt after spurt of cum.
Hob is so deep in the daydream that when Dream presses his thumb against his lips and into his mouth, he flinches with surprise. He grins helplessly and runs the tip of his tongue over the pad of Dream’s thumb. Dream grins back in the lop-sided way that makes him look infinitely young.
“Whenever I think that I have learned all there is to know about you, you reveal something new to me. It’s quite astonishing.” He says, petting over Hob’s tongue like it’s a favourite animal. Hob hums and sneaks his hands up to Dream’s slim waist. He loves the way his palms fit against the curve of his hips, how he can find the Venus dimples on Dream’s lower back with the tips of his fingers. The body beneath his hands is like steel. He loves the hardness of it, such a contrast to the delicate appearance.
Dream’s other hand, the one not currently in his mouth, comes up and covers Hob’s eyes. Light filters through the gaps between his fingers and Hob gets a swooping feeling in his stomach. When Dream removes his hand, the two of them are sitting in the middle of Hob’s double bed. The William Morris themed duvet has been swept back. Dream’s thumb is still in Hob’s mouth.
“Honesty deserves a reward.” He says. He pushes Hob’s chest and he goes willingly onto his back, welcoming Dream in between his legs. Before his skin hits the mattress, his clothes mysteriously disappear. Dream remains conspicuously dressed, and he finally frees Hob’s mouth. He wipes the saliva from his thumb on Hob’s stomach, below his navel. “You made me such a pretty dream, my sweet. What a twist of fate it is, that I can make it all true.”
He kisses Hob’s lips, his chin, his shoulder. Hob gets the feeling that he’s faintly amused by the whole game, as well as a little aroused. Dream likes to show off, bless him. Hob is only too happy to let him.
He’s a bit distraught when Dream stops kissing down his body and slips off the bed. He crosses to Hob’s wardrobe and pulls out one of the little draws, rooting around and generally making a mess before he stalks back over. He’s got one of Hob’s ties wrapped around his hand, a silky black thing he bought for a funeral once upon a time. He trails the silk gently up Hob’s chest, and dangles it close to his face.
“May I tie this over your eyes?” He asks, as casually as though he’s asking for the time. Hob makes a strangled little noise in his throat.
“Yeah, love. Whatever you want.” He croaks, sounding like a member of the frog chorus. Dream’s eyes sparkle, amused and fond. They’re the last thing Hob sees before the silk is gently pressed to his face. Dream ties a knot at the back, carefully brushing Hob’s hair to the side. It feels odd not to be able to see him, so Hob reaches out with his hands instead, and quickly finds the familiar curve of Dream’s rib cage. Dream allows him to gather his bearings, submitting quietly as Hob’s hands read his body carefully.
Dream’s hands gently wrap around his left calf and bend his leg up until his knee is pressed against his chest. He shivers under the exposure, letting Dream repeat the action with his right leg. He suddenly feels very small, and realises that he’s fully hard, aching and smearing pre-cum against his stomach with every hitch of his breath. Dream’s fingers press firmly to the flesh of his arse, spreading his cheeks to the mercy of the fresh air. One cold, slick digit traces a path from his balls right to his hole. The intensity of not being able to see anything sinks into Hob’s mind and he clenches his fist in the bedsheets. Dream laughs, low and conspiratorial.
“How many fingers do you think I could get inside you, my love? I’m inclined to think that you would take my whole hand.” Dream muses. He presses the first finger inside, Hob thinks it must be his pointer from the angle of it. He shudders and arches his back through the feeling. It’s hardly unfamiliar. Soon there’s another finger and Hob knows in his mind that he can take it easily, but the sensation is more overwhelming than usual. He makes a pathetic little noise and Dream laughs again. Hob can feel the warmth of his breath close to his thigh.
“I do so love you like this, my sweet. Warm and pliant and so very much mine.” Another finger, the third, bullies gently into Hob’s arse. He feels slick with lube and full, but not full enough. He squirms and clenches his hole and Dream makes a rumbling groan of a sound. “Greedy, always so greedy.” He sighs, as though he wouldn’t give Hob everything he could ever want.
“More, please.” Hob breathes, because he knows that Dream likes it. He’s rewarded when Dream’s thumb presses at Hob’s rim, gently at first and then more insistently until it nudges snugly in with the other fingers. Dream spreads the four digits and Hob keens as the burning feeling ebbs and flows. All those fingers are doing is stretching him and preparing him, never pushing inside more than a few inches. Hob’s nerves are on fire, pleasure tingles up and down him but never settles properly. Dream makes the torture into an art, bringing Hob to the very edge of something — and never allowing him to tip over to the other side.
And then, quite suddenly, the fingers are gone. Hob almost yelps, throwing a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. His body trembles with an all consuming want. “Please.” He begs, muffled by his own palm. He can’t see anything, but he knows that Dream must be enjoying the sight of him writhing against the sheets. He wants nothing more than to please his love, and he knows, knows that when Dream fucks him they’re both going to feel so good.
“You must tell me, my love, if this is everything you’d imagined it would be.” Dream whispers right against his ear. He wraps his hand around Hob’s thigh tight enough to leave a mark and that’s when Hob feels the first press of it. Something as big as he’d imagined, maybe bigger. His body tenses up on instinct and he has to breathe, gulping in a few huge lungfuls of air. Dream squeezes his thigh encouragingly and pushes again. This time, Hob feels the definition of the massive cockhead pressing into him. His back arches, his teeth clench. The stretch is so exquisite he thinks he might start crying into his blindfold.
Because he can’t see, he’s forced to feel. And there’s so much of it. The thickness forcing his body into submission, and the heat of hot flesh against his own. The way the length of it seems unending, because even though his greedy body swallows inch after inch there’s more.
He isn’t sure which part of Dream’s cock actually slams into his prostate, but it doesn’t stop . It’s like being held down and smothered, delicate nerve endings screaming out and sending rivers of fire to his brain and his cock. His head slams into the pillow and he yells out some nonsense. Dream is there still, touching his chest with delicate fingers and still rocking forward. He grabs Hob’s hand and guides him to touch his belly. Dream is feeling it too, the bulge of his cock making itself visible from the outside. Hob wishes that he could see the look on his face. He wishes he could zoom out and get a good view of his own arse swallowing down Dream’s massive cock. It almost feels too good to be real and he feels like he’ll need proof to believe that it really happened.
Dream is grinding his hips forward in tight little circles. His cock is so thick at the base he really can’t seem to get it inside. Hob feels the nudge of more at his rim, and the feeling of too much really has him wailing out a noise of pure pleasure-pain.
“I think you want to cum, my sweet little thing.” Dream purrs to him. “You are making such a mess with your pretty cock. Why don’t you give me something else to clean up with my mouth?”
His delicate hand closes around Hob’s cock, thumbing over the leaking tip. Hob feels his muscles clenching so hard, he thinks it will probably hurt the next day. He touches his stomach again, pushes down hard against the bulge of Dream’s beautiful cock. The feeling is indescribable, and Dream makes a soft grunt of surprised pleasure. He rolls his hips back and forth more insistently, forgetting to be careful. It’s utterly glorious, the burning drag combined with sparks of pleasure. Dream pulls out as far as he can, and for a moment Hob thinks he might weep from the loss. But when he’s filled again and Dream’s cock slides home, there’s no going back.
It’s just as well that he’s blindfolded, because his vision goes white and starry. It’s a bit like watching old static TV, but the feeling of it is really like flying or falling. He whines his way through the orgasm as Dream fucks into him shallowly. He can feel how tight he must be around his lover, and Dream’s breath is hot and fast against his neck.
“In me.” Hob wheezes, clutching at Dream’s shoulders desperately. “Cum in me. I want it.”
“Say please.” Dream murmurs, tugging at Hob’s blindfold clumsily. It slips a few inches so that Hob can see the redness of his lover’s usually pale cheeks. He surges up and kisses Dream hard, biting at his mouth and saying “please, please, please.”
Dream can’t resist such a passionate plea. He fists a hand in Hob’s hair as he grants his wish and cums inside. Hob’s legs wrap around him and keep him there, demanding more until Dream is genuinely spent and trembling. Hob collapses against the mattress, gasping for breath. He feels the torturous moment of Dream pulling out, and the flood of fluids that comes after. Cum slides all the way to his thighs and rapidly turns cold and sticky. Hob hums softly and secretly luxuriates in the feeling.
“It was better than I imagined.” Hob says wearily, pulling the black tie from his face and using it to wipe his sweaty brow. Dream looks rather pleased with himself. Hob notes on close inspection that his dick has returned to its normal proportions, which is probably just as well. Walking around with that baseball bat between his legs could be dangerous.
Dream moves delicately out of the range of the various fluids on the sheets, and snuggles himself in against Hob’s chest. He presses a line of kisses to his shoulder, as soft and affectionate as he always is after sex.
“Are you alright?” He asks, running his hand in a soothing arc over Hob’s chest and stomach. “I hope I didn’t do anything to hurt you in a way that you didn’t enjoy. I tried to make it as you imagined.”
“I would’ve told you if you did anything I didn’t like. Promise.” Hob cranes his neck up and kisses Dream’s cheek. “I’m fine, love, more than fine. There is one thing you could do, though…”
Dream hums questioningly, nuzzling into Hob’s throat. “Anything for you.”
Hob turns slightly, so Dream is spooning him properly. “Put your lovely fingers back in me and keep me open, ‘cause I want another go with that monster cock when I’ve had a nap. Alright?”
Dream doesn’t reply, but for once in his long and Endless life he does as he’s asked. Hob gets to settle down with the contented feeling of fullness, spread open on delicate fingers. Any residual embarrassment fades into the background, and although he’s far too wrung out to daydream, he loses himself in the memory of having Dream in him and all around him.
There is no dream quite so pleasurable as the real thing. And in this particular moment, even Dream himself has to agree.