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Of course, it’s always nice to receive a present from a lover. Hob is a great believer in the giving of gifts, and has been known to go to some lengths in the name of a romantic gesture. In return, he’d be quite happy if Dream presented him with a used and empty Starbucks cup. It's not the expense of the thing, but the thought behind it.
So when Hob finds a carefully wrapped gift box on his bedside table one Monday morning, he’s both surprised and gratified. He sits up in bed (alone, because Dream has a realm to run. It’s always time for dreams somewhere) and carefully pulls away the bow and tissue paper to finally open up the box. He’s not embarrassed to admit that his heart is fluttering.
The object in the box isn’t familiar to him straight away. The shape of it is… well, he can begin to work that part of it out for himself. What he doesn’t recognise is the tube and the little pump attached to it. He picks it up, and a notecard flutters out of the box at the same time.
‘Good morning, my love’ The note begins. Hob smiles to himself. ‘ It would please me greatly — and I believe it would please you, too — if you would insert this device into yourself (I am sure you know how). Do not concern yourself with the pump, as I will be taking care of that aspect for you. The tube etc may be easily concealed within your clothing. I trust that you will enjoy yourself. You will see me later, I promise you.’
Dream signs his name with a little flourish, and there the note ends. Hob glances back to the strange object in his hand and gives the pump an experimental squeeze.
Well. It’s certainly a surprise. Nobody has ever given him an inflating butt plug before. Hob can only be thankful that Dream didn’t have Matthew deliver the thing for him.
What is not a surprise (probably) is that Hob has worn a plug before. Once or a dozen times. He hasn’t, however, worn one into his workplace. It’s a rather embarrassing thought, but Hob is a slave to Dream’s whims, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel rather excited by the whole idea.
So he trots off to the shower, readies himself for the day ahead, and tucks the plug carefully inside himself. It’s a good enough fit, although perhaps he’s gotten a little bit too used to something bigger. He barely notices the stretch in fact. The tube and pump tuck comfortably into his underwear, unobtrusive enough not to be noticeable.
In fact, Hob almost forgets about the plug as he busies himself around the flat. He gathers up his papers and his reusable coffee cup, and strides out into the morning sun with a smile on his face. He’s thinking of what he and Dream might do in the evening, whether he’ll order food or cook something from scratch. He gets onto the bus with no trouble at all, though he has to stand up and grip onto one of the poles because it's utterly crammed to the gills and there are no seats to be had.
He pulls out his phone, intending to use the time profitably (doom-scrolling and the level of candy crush that he’s been stuck on for the last year). As he does so, the bus takes a hard corner to avoid a cyclist, and he finds himself thrown to the side. It’s only as he catches himself on the side of the bus and almost gets his balance back that he feels it.
The plug shifts, twitches and swells. In a couple of seconds, it’s almost doubled in size. Hob feels suddenly dizzy and unsteady, and although he stands upright again easily enough he finds himself shaking. He’s come over all cold and sweaty too. Worst of all, he’s half hard in the middle of a public bus.
He swings his messenger bag down to cover his front like he’s a teenaged boy unexpectedly seeing his crush in her gym kit. Fortunately, the commuting population of London doesn’t seem particularly interested in the anguish of one errant history professor. His fellow passengers are all staring at their phones, or otherwise contemplating the horrors of capitalism. Hob nervously clenches his buttocks, just to try and settle the damn thing into place. He wonders for a moment how it could possibly have triggered on its own, and then his slow brain finally catches up.
Dream, that fucker . Hob growls under his breath. Dream must be observing him somehow, and choosing the perfect moments to inflate the plug with his magic. It’s entirely possible that the plug itself is made from the fabric of the dreaming, and is therefore 100% in Dream’s metaphorical hands. Sometimes Hob thinks that his lover is actually the most devious being in the universe (but then again, he hasn’t met Desire yet).
The rest of the bus ride passes without incident and Hob manages to stumble his way onto campus with his arousal mostly abated. Even after it’s expansion, the plug still isn’t big enough to give him any trouble. In fact, it settles into a more comfortable place in Hob’s body as he walks along. The feeling becomes pleasant and Hob relaxes slowly into the sensation of being full. He still wants to scold Dream for the surprise on the bus, but his irritation is milder.
He manages to reach his classroom a few minutes before 9 a.m. He privately thinks that expecting young students to sit through three hours of Renaissance history at 9 on a Monday morning is a bit unfair, but he doesn’t design the timetables. He just has to stand there and hope that a few of them turn up. Generally, they do.
Hob usually tries to make his classes a bit more like a group discussion, with debates and questions. Which means that every Monday without fail, he has to reorganise all the tables and chairs into something resembling a circle. Usually the students help, but as he’s arrived first Hob makes a start, stacking a few wayward chairs and shoving desks around. He makes reasonable progress, and is just about to leave the rest to the youngsters when it happens again .
He clutches the edge of a desk and bites the tip of his tongue. This time the feeling is even more intense. A pressing, demanding feeling. The tip of the toy inside him is teasing towards his prostate, while the thick base is stretching his walls. The sensation is wavering in between pleasantly full, and too much.
A very treacherous part of his brain is screaming out for more, please, make it bigger . Hob bites his tongue again. He lowers himself precariously into a chair as the first trickle of students begin to enter the classroom.
He doesn’t stand up for the next three hours, claiming to have put his back out while reorganising the room. His students are very sympathetic — one girl even gets him a coffee during the break he gives them half way through class. He wonders if any of them suspect that there’s a reason why he won’t move his notepad out of his lap the whole time. Hopefully not.
At the end of class, when the last of his poor oblivious pupils have left, Hob finally lets himself relax. The plug shifts inside him as he moves and breathes more deeply. It’s a warm sensation of slow, building arousal, and while it’s far from the size of Dream’s own lovely cock, Hob does feel so full and owned by him. He hides his reddened face in his hands and whimpers as he rocks back against the toy, and yet it doesn’t give him any satisfaction. It’s just not enough.
And so Hob stumbles to his feet, biting back a low moan as the plug settles a little deeper. He doesn’t think he can find it in him to eat anything, but he has an hour for lunch anyway. The comfort of his own office sounds like a very good idea. Three colleagues stop him on his way to ask if he’s feeling unwell. He must look a mess, he realises, with his sweat-damp cheeks and his feverish eyes. He placates them and says that he’s fine, just a little sleep deprived. All the time his arse is fluttering around the plug, trying to suck it in deeper.
Hob falls into his office and locks the door behind him. He sighs softly, drops his bag to the floor, and leans up against his desk. He doesn’t dare to sit down again. Instead, he bends himself over the wood of the desk and clenches his arse. It feels unbearably good. His cock is burning and hard, and from this angle he can roll his hips against the desk and get a bit of friction. But he whimpers, because it isn’t enough. He’s shaking, embarrassed even though nobody can see him.
“Are you enjoying your gift, my love?”
He startles, but it’s only Dream, of course. He’s appeared behind Hob silently, and is watching his pathetic attempts to get some relief. He comes across the room and sits on the desk, just a few inches out of Hob’s reach. Hob tries to glare at him, but he doesn’t try very hard . All his attention is taken up by the pressing, hot feeling in his arse.
“Please.” He whispers, practically choking on his own tongue. “More?”
“Greedy thing.” Dream smiles, his eyes full of pleasure. “How will you go about your day properly, when you are so needy?”
It’s a question that Hob isn’t particularly interested in answering. A problem for his future self.
“I’ll figure it out.” He pants. “Just — need you to fill me more. Want to feel it in my guts, makes me feel so good.”
“Then I suppose I could assist you.” Dream sighs softly, as though the whole thing is a lot of trouble to him. He slides from the desk and tucks himself in against Hob’s back. Dream’s cool hand slips down the back of his trousers, almost immediately finding the little pump tucked in his underwear. His lips press against Hob’s hot neck, and his hand squeezes around the pump — once, twice, three times.
The plug twitches and grows almost immediately. The silicone presses against the walls of Hob’s body, and the tip of the toy nudges relentlessly into the heart of his prostate. His cock twitches in his underwear, and Dream takes pity on him for just a moment; he reaches around and squeezes the bulge of his cock through his jeans. Hob makes an abortive, whimpering sound, and he cums into his boxers, utterly turned on and humiliated.
Dream pats Hob’s clothed cock gently and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Is that better, dear?” He asks, perfectly serene. Hob grips onto the desk in an attempt to at least stay upright.
“Much better.” He croaks. “Don’t stop — the stuff with the plug, I mean. I’m not done.”
By the time Hob manages to turn around, Dream is already gone. There’s a thin sheen of sand on the carpet, the only evidence that he’d ever been there at all. Hob rolls his eyes even though there’s no one to see him. And like a call and response, the plug inflates again. Fucking wanker bastard .
Hob manages to tidy himself up within the next hour. There’s nothing he can do about his soiled underwear except stop the mess from spreading. His waste paper bin is quickly filled up with tissues, and he does the best he can to tuck the tube and pump back into his pants. It’s only when he goes to tighten his belt up again, that he notices the slight distension of his lower belly. He leans back onto the desk again, dragging his hand over the bulge — it’s not enough for anyone else to notice, but Hob knows , god knows he’s had Dream’s cock stuffed up inside him enough to recognise that particular strain of arousal.
He glances at the clock. He has two hours left of work, one lecture immediately followed by another. It’s totally survivable, especially now that he’s taken the edge off it all with an orgasm. He can definitely get through it, even if Dream decides to really torture him to the worst of his abilities. He’ll probably be absolutely fine.
Well. He does survive, and they’re probably not the worst lectures he’s ever given, all things considered. He knows the material off by heart, more or less. It’s just as well, because his brain is decidedly not getting with the program. All he can think about is the discomfort of his belt and jeans biting into his stomach as the thing inside him encroaches more and more. He has to keep pressing his hand against his hip, to check that the stupid tube hasn’t escaped. His boxers are still sticky and damp, and his cock is starting to recover from his last orgasm. He stands behind the lecturn after his first lecture is done and grips onto a wad of paper as students buzz around asking questions which he honestly tries to answer. About twenty of them tell him how feverish he looks, and he promises to go home and rest after work. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.
He tries to estimate with his mind how big the damned plug must be by now. He tries to be casual, running his hand down over his belly like he’s smoothing his shirt. His knees nearly give out when he feels the bulge of it, the way it must be rearranging his insides. He wonders if other people can see it. What if somebody bumps into him, or accidentally touches him? He really needs to stop thinking about it, because lecturing with a raging erection is about as far from professional as it’s possible to get. Hob is even more secure in his conviction that if and when he gets sacked, it’s going to be entirely Dream’s fault.
His arse must be gaping open like a proper whore’s, now.
He limps metaphorically and physically to the end of the second lecture and decides to let the students go ten minutes early, for their benefit as well as his own. Everyone looks tired around this time of year. Hob is feeling in a benevolent mood; he doesn’t even set them reading for the next week. Mostly because he forgets, but also because he’s got a soft spot for the kids. The hall clears out quickly, they certainly don’t stick around to wait for him to change his mind.
There’s only one person left, sauntering up to the lectern with the hands in the pockets of his stylish black coat. Hob considers flipping him the bird, and then decides that he wants to be in Dream’s good books if possible.
Dream reaches out a considering hand and drags the tips of his fingers down Hob’s chest and stomach, until reaches the swell of his lower belly. He pushes hard, and Hob has to bite down on his cheek to suppress a shriek.
“Hmm.” Dream says. “You did quite well, considering. I did think there was one moment that you might break, when you spoke about the political importance of portraiture. Your voice stuttered quite prettily.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll do better next time.” Hob sighs, rubbing into the warmth of Dream’s hand like an animal. “You should get one that vibrates and inflates at the same time.”
“You are incorrigible.” Dream’s voice dips low, soft as silk. “But we both know the truth. Nothing can satisfy you in the way that I do. No toy, no other man or god. Nothing.”
“Yeah.” Hob breathes. Dream’s words are the truth. As much as he’s enjoyed the gift, it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing. “Can we cheat, and go home your way? I don’t think getting the bus is a great idea right now. I’m not even sure if I can sit down.”
Dream hums sympathetically. His clever fingers find their way down to where the pump is concealed at the curve of Hob’s hip, under his clothes. “Very well, pet.” He murmurs. He reaches around and pats Hob on the arse, a gesture that would usually be harmless. In this case it sends a shudder right through Hob’s body and a cold wave of sweat down his back. He grips onto Dream’s arm for support and Dream holds him up quite tenderly.
Fortunately the security cameras have a few minutes of brief power outage, so nobody sees the beleaguered history professor and his darkly dressed lover as they seem to flicker out of existence. Hob has been meaning to ask if Dream’s powers over sleep extend as far as machines. Do androids dream of electric sheep? It's probably a philosophical question to discuss when he doesn't feel like every single nerve ending in his body is on fire.
The familiarity of his own bedroom is a welcome relief. Hob collapses out of Dream’s arms and flops onto his stomach on the bed. He regrets it immediately when the thing inside him lurches and rams into his prostate like some kind of siege weapon. He lies there, writhing miserably, and submits to Dream’s eager hands as they scrabble over his belt and tug his jeans down. The tube and pump drop out of his underwear and Dream laughs softly, curling his hand around the pump. With his other hand he yanks Hob’s boxers down and exposes him mercilessly.
"You're so loose, my love." Dream growls. He looms over Hob, big and shadowy. Something inside Hob is addicted to the way Dream’s larger form feels – somehow colder, much further away than reality in comparison to the form he takes when he's playing at being human. When his hand presses against Hob’s back, it's completely otherworldly. For once in his too-long life, Hob feels genuinely breakable.
"Whose fault is that, then?" He whines, muffled by the sheets. "Always knew you were a massive prick ."
Dream rewards his terrible pun by yanking the plug right out of him with no warning whatsoever. It hurts enough to bring tears to Hob’s eyes, but not enough to stop him from grinding his cock into the mattress. He's remained mysteriously well lubed for the entire day, which he can only assume is Dream’s doing. Hob quite likes the sensation of being so perpetually wet and open. No doubt, Dream has worked that out too. It does make everything run a lot smoother in any case.
Dream spends the next few minutes exploring the gape of Hob’s arsehole. He slides his big, long fingers inside and presses at his walls. He rakes his claws over the curve of Hob’s buttocks, leaving trails of white on his skin. He leans down and drags his tongue in one long, flat line over his hole.
"One day I'm going to put my entire fist into you until I can see it on the outside. Because you would like that, would you not? I think you would like me to crawl up inside you as far as possible. You would like me to possess you."
"Yes." Hob whispers, because that is pretty much exactly what he would like. "Please, Dream. Please fuck me. I want you inside me."
Dream hums and strokes his hair, pressing a sweet kiss to the side of his neck. He rucks up Hob’s shirt and presses one of his own hands, as well as one of Hob’s, to his belly, so together they feel the way his body changes as Dream presses inside.
It's so good. Dream’s cock is warm and familiar, forcing its way inside Hob’s body until he's completely full. It's a comfortable weight, pressing into all the right places. Hob feels a little bit drunk on that ache, that fullness. Dream kisses his head and cradles him like something precious as he begins to move in a slow rhythm. It's considerate and sensual and Hob leans back into each long grind to properly absorb the sensation. His belly feels warm and his heart feels full, he feels as though he might be about to drift off into another world entirely. Surely he can't be lucky enough to have such a beautiful lover, a lover who gives so much of himself?
Dream is surprisingly gentle with him. There are no bruises forming under his fierce fingertips, and each slow roll of his hips is made to make Hob feel warm and enveloped in love. Perhaps it's a reward, for getting through the day despite the interference of the plug. Whatever the case, when Dream finally allows himself to succumb to orgasm, he wraps himself around Hob like a second skin. His cock twitches deep inside and gives up wave after wave of his seed. Before long it's gushing down and forming a little puddle between Hob’s widely spread thighs. He whines unhappily at the wastage.
"Never mind, precious. There is plenty left inside you." Dream hums. He's laughing at Hob, a little bit. Which is fine, because Hob is very far away. His brain isn't even on the same planet. He hasn't even cum, but maybe he doesn't need to. He feels basically, at the very deep heart of himself, good .
Dream is there, inside him, possessing his body. And that is a better gift than any other.