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“You,” Dream of the Endless growls as he pins the Corinthian down to the silken sheets, the nightmare’s own dagger pressed at the edge of his throat, “are not supposed to be here, little dream.”
The Corinthian barks a laugh as thin black ropes appear from the bedposts, wrapping themselves around his wrists and tying him down.
“Then maybe you should’ve hidden this place better,” he says, darting his eyes around the room to take in his surroundings. It had taken him a long time to find Dream’s private quarters in the Dreaming, and they looked pretty much as he’d imagined them. The walls were barren of color or any sort of personal touch, and other than the bed, the only piece of furniture decorating the room was a single, black, slatback chair. There wasn’t even a rug on the floor. Even the bed, soft as it was beneath the Corinthian’s back, was plain and dull.
“All the imagination in the world, and you dream up the world’s most boring bedroom for yourself,” the Corinthian complains, grinning when he feels the knife on his throat press closer, cutting into his skin. He doesn’t bleed, not here, not in this nothingness where Dream thinks he can escape and hide from the messiness of the universe. But the Corinthian doesn’t need to bleed in order to feel pain.
“This place,” Dream says, narrowing his eyes, “is meant to be a reprieve from my duties. It is meant to be a peaceful space, so it is sparse on purpose. You, my little nightmare, are not peaceful, nor are you a reprieve, so you must leave. Now.”
“I could be,” the Corinthian replies, prompting a noise of confusion from his creator. “A reprieve that is,” he adds, trailing his eyes along the opening in Dream’s star-lined robe. It had fallen open in their scuffle, exposing the moonlight pale expanse of Dream’s neck and chest. His skin is immaculate and unmarked, and the Corinthian wants to put his teeth all over it.
When the Corinthian has had his fill and meets his creator’s eyes again, Dream's eyes are no longer pale and blue, but darkened to that pitch black shade the Corinthian both loves and fears. There's no pupil there in those depthless eyes, only stars that hold the weight of the entire universe within them.
The Corinthian is so hard, he’s certain he could hammer nails. He knows that Dream knows it too.
After a few moments of charged silence between them, the knife is removed from his neck in favor of cutting away at the Corinthian's clothes. They both know that Dream could wave them away in an instant, but Dream seems to find some enjoyment in destroying something of the Corinthian’s with his own tools.
“Be still,” Dream commands when the nightmare squirms, pushing against his bonds. The Corinthian cannot help it. He wants to feel more than just the light kiss of a blade, and Dream seems intent on teasing him to death. He stills his body anyways, and waits as the seconds pass agonizingly by. It feels like an eternity passes before he is entirely naked, for Dream also focused on popping off every button from each garment with the Corinthian’s dagger. The Corinthian has a mad thought during it all to switch all of his future clothing to t-shirts and sweatpants.
The last thing to be removed are the Corinthian's glasses, and Dream places them gingerly along a newly appeared side table. It is a surprisingly soft gesture, considering everything that would soon come after.
Dream discards his robe, and it disappears into the ether of the room, leaving the Endless completely naked. Though he is hard, Dream’s cock isn’t leaking with need like the Corinthian’s is, and it make the nightmare want to put his mouth on it, to make a mess of it, to make a mess of Dream.
Dream smirks down at the Corinthian, as if reading his mind. He probably did.
“Show me, then, little nightmare,” Dream murmurs, as he crawls up the Corinthian’s body, placing his knees on either side of the blond’s head. He positions the tip of his cock right at the Corinthian’s lips. “Show me how much of a reprieve your mouth can be.”
The Corinthian grins, before he parts his lips to take the tip of Dream’s cock inside. He sucks lightly at first, with small kitten licks, and shallow movements, trying to see how much teasing he can get away with. Then, in one abrupt motion, Dream thrusts his cock all the way to the back of the Corinthian’s throat.
It's brutal and unyielding the way Dream uses him, uncaring of whether the Corinthian can take it or not. He can, of course. The Corinthian knows how to swallow cock without gagging but he has a feeling that Dream wants him to gag, so that's precisely what he does. He swallows just a little too tightly, letting Dream hit all of the sensitive spots he’d normally try to avoid. Soon the Corinthian’s face is a drooling, crying mess, a mix of bloodied tears and saliva and the slick from Dream’s cock.
The Corinthian can feel his own cock bouncing uselessly against his stomach, untouched and completely ignored in favor of his lord's pleasure. The thought makes the nightmare moan around the cock in his mouth which in turn elicits a growl and an especially deep thrust from Dream.
Then Dream braves his hands against the wall and changes the angle of his thrusts. The Corinthian is practically choking now with each thrust and he cannot do anything about it. It feels so good to be used like this, to be nothing more than an instrument for his lord's pleasure, a reprieve from his duties as Lord of the Dreaming. It is yet another thing that makes him better than the other dreams and nightmares, another thing that makes him the favorite.
The Corinthian can tell when Dream is getting close to orgasm. His movements become less sharp and unfocused, even as the brutality of the thrusts into his throat remain. He hollows out his cheeks and swallows down Dream’s cock, expecting the Endless to come down his throat.
He doesn't.
Instead, Dream pulls his cock out just as abruptly as he'd pushed it in earlier, and then he is spilling his release in thick, warm ropes all over the Corinthian’s face. The Corinthian can taste Dream’s spend in all three of his mouths, his ocular ones seeming particularly keen at licking it up. Dream watches as the Corinthian licks up the come closest to his mouth, then drags a finger through the mess of fluids pooling at the Corinthian’s cheek.
“My precious nightmare,” Dream coos, leaning in to lick up the rest of the mess of the nightmare’s face. The Corinthian purrs underneath the attention, nuzzling unashamedly into Dream’s face.
“Was that a sufficient reprieve for you, my lord?” the nightmare asks cheekily, chuckling when Dream rolls his eyes in response.
“For now,” Dream says, flopped down next to the nightmare. “You may stay,” he adds, as if the Corinthian can even leave. He’s still bound to the bedposts, and at some point during their activities, Dream had bound his feet as well. He still hasn’t come either.
It’s still a win as far as the Corinthian is concerned.