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lenreli · 2 days

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steel-framed, concrete form [Dreamling Week Day 4 - Dirty]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

Title from SHIV-R's Burning Chrome!

E, 2.8k. Dream visits his friend at his new job.

The automobile repair shop smells of gasoline and burning electricity, filling Dream’s head as he looks around for his precious friend. “Hob?” He calls, looking around at the various cars, a motorcycle suspended by bars, lifted off the ground as he walks around the area.

“Here!” His friend calls and Dream halts, staring at the ground, considering that’s where the voice came from. Looking around, he eventually spots legs covered in oil-splattered jeans underneath a hideous bright yellow car. “Just a mo’,” Hob says, the sound of tinkering and metal and Dream blinks, tilting his head.

“A mechanic,” he states, baffled as Hob continues his work, eventually sliding out from underneath the car and Dream freezes. Even with a screwdriver in his mouth, his bright smile is unmistakable, and Dream feels hot under collar, wondering if the shop was always this stuffy and he never noticed it, or if it’s because Hob is shirtless.

And dirty, grime and oil all over his arms and neck, a streak of black going through the greys at his temple, even more on his hands as he gets out a dirty rag from his jean pocket to wipe them, taking the screwdriver from his mouth. “As much as I love the teaching and research, and I’ll definitely go back to it at some point,” Hob says as he gets up from the dolly holding him, Dream can only trail after him, a creature attracted to a magnetic north as Hob pulls on ratty black hoodie, “it’s good to do something with my hands after all this time.”

“Of course,” he says. I know something you can use your hands on, he doesn’t say, the line popping up from somewhere deep in humanity’s consciousness ― and something he wants as Hob writes on a clipboard, presumably for the car he was just working on. Dream tries not to stare at the hair on Hob’s chest too obviously, listening as Hob talks about setting up his new life as they go outside, and Dream blinks at the lake view that greets them. “America?”

Hob laughs and nods, getting out a cigarette and lighter, and Dream can feel nearby American birds and wildlife dreaming. “Think it’ll only be a few years, this one. Maybe go back to Europe somewhere,” Hob muses around his cigarette, shrugging.

Dream nods, staring intently at the lake as Hob continues to smoke, the smell combined with oil making him feel ― something, as he tries to get a hold of himself, to not touch the dirty jeans, leading up to undoubtedly soft skin and splatters of oil through the hair in Hob’s happy trail.

“Never realise how hot it is in there,” Hob grumbles and zips up his hoodie, and Dream snaps his eyes back to Hob’s face and he swallows, saliva pooling in his mouth without his say-so.

“You are the only one working,” he points out, confused.

“Slow week, so the other’s are mainly doing weird hours. Although, I may be the weird one, considering it is like seven in the morning.” Finishing his cigarette, he puts it out on the side of the shop, then puts it into a tiny bin inside as they walk back in. “That’s what they say about me, aside from referencing my Britishness.”

“You are known for being odd,” he remarks after a while. Hob, getting a toolbox to bring to another car, this time a dark green ute, cracks up, laughter echoing.

“Wow. He’s got jokes today,” Hob says between giggles. “My oldest friend, telling me I’m odd, I’m struck,” he continues with a dramatic air and bright grin and Dream pushes down the smile he can feel forming. Even with Hob being shirtless, the hoodie makes it almost bearable and less like Dream’s going to lose his mind as Hob opens the hood of the ute.

Hob starts to talk more about his history with cars and Dream listens, putting his hands in his pockets to resist reaching out as eventually, the heat apparently gets to Hob again, and he sheds his hoodie. Swallowing, Dream puts his hands in coat pockets, lest he reach out to touch the sweaty biceps, or the shoulders as they work on the car.

And Hob keeps asking him for items, thankfully distracting him so the subconscious can tell him what specific type of screwdriver to give Hob. Instead of ― speaking in innuendos involving screwdrivers, or wanting Hob to stop, gripping his thighs and kneeling, tasting the sweat and oil on the other’s belt―

Not that he would say those banal innuendos, but they stick under his tongue anyway, ready to be let out, so he swallows them down, breath leaving him as Hob stretches, arms going above his head as he leans side to side. Dream averts his eyes to Hob’s knee, the jeans ripped up over it as Hob goes over to another car, tinkering with it.

There’s vague sounds of welcome and laughter, two of Hob’s co-workers coming in, since they also begin to work on cars, talking about their night’s and how another one of them has reception duty today. Hob talks with them, expression confused as they look over at him, but Dream keeps unnoticed by them, which Hob doesn’t comment on.

So far, Matthew hasn’t come in, panicking or calling for anything urgent, so Dream stays, fascinated with seeing Hob talk and share inside jokes with his co-workers, their casual touching make him itch under his skin. Hob’s occasional glances at him as they work on cars, the garage doors opening to let more cars in, people milling about outside.

Enough time passes that Hob goes for his lunch break, Dream follows along silently as he wonders where the time went as Hob gets out something from the fridge ― a salad which he takes to his office, Hob putting his feet under him as he sits on the ratty leather sofa. “Not bored yet?” Hob asks in between bites.

Dream stands near the sofa, hands still firmly in his pockets, “it is fascinating, compared to your other job I’ve seen you at,” he says, looking out of the window to see a car being levied onto the metal bars, lifting it up so they could work on it.

Hob laughs, “I bet. More than just books or essays to grade. Though you know everything about mechanics, of course, being all,” Hob gestures at him, “like which of these bastards keeps stealing my Reese’s.” Dream opens his mouth to answer, but is stopped by Hob holding up a finger, “I don’t want to know actually. I’ll find out on my own.”

“Incorrigible man,” he mutters and Hob laughs once more, most of his salad already inhaled.

“Pot calling the kettle black a bit,” Hob says between mouthfuls of food as he sits up to lean on the sofa, joining him in watching the garage work. Salad now gone, Hob gets up with a groan, and Dream watches as the container gets stowed into a small bag. Hob gives him a look, dark and piercing and Dream stills ― not that he was moving, expecting something out of a stare like that, but all Hob does is leave the room.

Dream follows. And he tries to not stare so blatantly at the small of Hob’s back, a thumbprint of oil on his side ― and even as the other mechanics won’t notice him, he still feels obvious as he follows Hob to an area in the large garage without any cars in the vicinity.

The quiet corner feels private as Hob sighs, crossing his arms and Dream’s sight is redirected to the hairy chest in front of him. “Dream,” the tone, almost afraid, makes him look up as Hob huffs, “if I do something stupid right now, would you leave?”

“No,” he answers, confused with how serious Hob is.

“Promise?” Hob steps closer, “on the Dreaming? That even if you hate it, or curse me or whatever, you won’t leave?” Hob continues ― and puts his pinky finger in the air and Dream blinks.

“I promise,” he confirms, joining his own pinky with Hob’s, noticing the oil he can feel on it―

So focused on the smear of oil he can feel, it takes him a few seconds to realise that’s Hob leant forward, lips pressed against his, pinkies still joined between them―

And it’s only as Hob’s mouth leaves, does the warmth of him creep in, and he reaches out with his free hand, stopping him from getting even further away as he kisses back. There’s a sigh against his lips, Hob’s other hand grabbing onto his coat collar as they kiss, tentative and new.

The kiss ends, but Hob stays close, laughing quietly between them, “thank fuck for that,” Hob says, and Dream marvels at almost feeling another quiet laugh, Hob’s eyes crinkling. “I was pretty sure, but y’know, fear that you’d run out on me again,” he says softly and Dream’s eyes widen.

“I am sorry,” he frowns, “had I known―”

He’s interrupted with another kiss, Hob letting go of his pinky to scrape a hand through his hair and he shivers, the touch hot, gasping as his hand between them touches the other’s chest, the hair coarse and slick from oil and Dream moans, arousal coiling tightly and Hob laughs into his mouth. “Later.”

Unwillingly, his face heats up, unwilling to let go of Hob’s chest hair and the way Hob stares at him ― like he expected it. “I was that obvious,” he starts to frown, though Hob doesn’t let it sit before he’s being kissed again as he’s tugged even closer, can feel the heat warmth and smell sweat and oil, filling his senses.

“A bit, yeah,” Hob grins into their kiss, and an embarrassing sound gets pulled out of him as the hand on his cloak trails up to cup his cheek. “Thank you for whatever it is that lets us do this without getting jeering from my coworkers,” Hob says between more kisses, and Dream breathes, clutching tightly onto Hob’s chest, the warmth of the other man overwhelming.

Dream has honestly forgotten that others were around, and he drags Hob into a deeper, filthier kiss, shivering at the way a hand clutches his waist, fingers pushing up and under his shirt. “I want,” he doesn’t finish, too busy biting down Hob’s neck, enjoying the taste of sweat and the scratch of stubble along his tongue.

“Have a pretty good idea of what you want,” Hob breathes, and Dream whines at the way a hand in his hair tugs him up so they can kiss. The hand under his shirt goes up his back, and he can feel the oil on his skin ― and there’s a prickle at his awareness, a passing daydream of a silver car―

“Like that?” He asks as he pulls the car out of the daydream and Hob freezes, eyes going wide at seeing the car ― another bit of perception to filter away as Hob gapes at it. “Why this one?”

Hob blinks, brown eyes wide and then Dream finds himself pushed against it, both of Hob’s hands going under his shirt as they share a frenzied kiss, the car cool against his back. “I had it in the ‘80’s,” Hob replies, opening up the back door and pushing Dream onto the backseat, and Hob’s eyes get darker as they stare at him. “Though often about just,” Hob leans over him, making Dream swallow as a finger tugs at his jeans. “Can I?”

Hob’s head is filled with old daydreams ― of him and this car, fantasies of skin and sweat and blinding pleasure―”please,” Dream chokes, leaning up to kiss Hob, hands going to pat his chest, going down to take off Hob’s belt, skin hot under pants as they moan, as Hob’s nails scratch up his skin.

His head hits the car door, too focused on the ways they’re joined, touching and kissing, the feeling of callused fingers flicking his nipples making him whine and arch up, disappearing his coat and shirt with a thought. Hob lets out a sound, fingers digging into his skin, “so beautiful,” Hob says, voice strangled as he looks down, and Dream has a split second of seeing oil on his chest before Hob goes for his jaw, biting down to his throat. “Fuck, please, let me.”

“Anything,” he moans, grabbing onto one of Hob’s hands, feeling the calluses on his palms as he sucks a pointer finger into his mouth, acrid oil and hot sweat as Hob shakes above him, teeth scraping his neck as Hob looks up with wide eyes as Dream sucks the other fingers clean, tongue laving the other’s palm.

Hob lets out another strangled whine and takes back his hand, Hob grinding onto him, hard cock against his thigh. Looking past the other man, he can see the windows are black and opaque, no glass in sight as he works on pulling Hob’s pants off, with Hob laughing as they kiss messily, Hob moving against him to tug his boots off.

The lower half of Dream’s clothes vanish, only the sound of skin and moaning as Hob puts a finger inside, making him keen at the pressure, Hob’s other hand digging into his stomach, leaving oil as Hob starts to speak, praise falling from his lips easily.

“There is no need to prepare,” he stresses as Hob adds another finger, twisting them and Dream shudders and leans forward to bite at the edge of Hob’s beard.

“Getting that, but I want to,” Hob chuckles and Dream tries to scold him, though the words become a whine as Hob presses against his prostate as he’s stretched open. “Thinking I probably don’t need a condom either, which is lucky, considering I’m not in the habit of taking those to work,” Hob continues and Dream cries out, hands scrabbling up to the other’s shoulders.

“Hob,” he aches, wants even more, and there’s an embarrassing sound as the fingers leave, then returns with four ― brushing persistently against that nerve and his cock twitches. “Stop, now,” he tries to order, the words coming out broken and pleading.

“Impatient, huh,” Hob grins, brown eyes sparkling as the fingers twist and press into him even more, making him shiver, Hob’s other hand eventually digging into his hip to keep him still.

“Very,” Dream growls and Hob seems to get even more gleeful, fingers crooking inside―then suddenly leaving him empty. Opening his eyes, he glares at the other man.

Hob pants and soon enough something bigger presses against him, and Dream bites back at a cry at the feeling, the other man slowly filling him. There’s a strangled whine from Hob, who stops for a moment and kisses him roughly―and he gasps as the other’s cock is slammed in. “Dream,” Hob whispers, forehead resting against his as they breathe each other’s air.

Dream tries to hold onto every emotion, every sensation as Hob fucks him, but he can only manage snapshots. The tang of sweat on his tongue as he licks up the other’s shoulder, up to his neck, the pleasure burning through him like a wildfire, Hob’s cracked pleas of his name, of how good you feel―

And then coming, Hob first, him following at the way the flood fills him, frenzied pleasure becoming something more soft and bearable as they share lazy kisses.

Hob sighs, and Dream keens as Hob leaves him, “I know. But, I’m still on the clock,” Hob says softly, kisses just as delicate and Dream pouts ― and gets a soft black towel from a swimmer’s dreams, which Hob uses to clean them up. Hob pulls him out of the car, still close enough for them to kiss even more, and Dream relaxes against the car as Hob puts on his jeans and boots, oil now more smeared over him than before.

“Should I leave?” He asks, fearing the answer as his clothes appear on himself, Hob blinking before putting hands on his waist.

“Definitely not. Just let me complete my shift, then we can get out of here,” Hob says between kisses and Dream sighs as Hob nips up to his ear. “The car may have to go wherever it was before, but that’s it. And. Well. The whole perception for me, obviously.”

Dream frowns and the car vanishes, so grabs onto Hob’s jaw, stubble pleasant under his hands. “Fine. I will do the arduous task of watching you work more,” he says solemnly, making Hob do a crinkly-eyed smile.

“Oh yes. So terrible. Not at all like you didn’t want to jump me the entire time.”

Dream scoffs and twirls a strand of brown hair over a finger, eyeing the streaks of black oil over the greys at Hob’s temple, “I do not jump.”

[Fin]

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dreamling week #dreamling week 2024 #writing #not sfw #finally found an excuse to write this one gfhfghf #mechanic hob is so [redacted]

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lenreli · 11 hours

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content with splitting hairs [Dreamling Week Day 6 - Monochromatic]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

Title from KMFDM's Spit or Swallow!

E, 5.8k. Hob dresses like how he wants to dress. Morpheus’s wardrobe is so ― dull, suits upon suits in black and white, an insanely boring monochromatic tableau, even his casual clothes are just the most basic black, no frills or patterns, drilled into him by his parents.

Morpheus tries to think ― but can’t, with the screaming and guitar riffs coming from the club, with Hob’s hands, covered in dark fingerless gloves as they go under his dress shirt, buttons ripping off along with his suit jacket.

And he doesn’t want to think ― wants to only feel and not overthink as he tends to do as he whines, even with his earlier wariness to enter such a dingy club bathroom, but he can only grab onto Hob’s leather jacket as they kiss, cold metal of a tongue piercing pressing against the top of his mouth, breath tasting of cheap whiskey.

“You came in here wearing this?” Hob asks, disbelieving as the zip of his pants gets pulled down, darkly-lined eyes staring at him and Dream swallows. “Terrible,” there’s a creak of leather as Hob kneels down and his eyes widen, brain stuttering as his dress pants get pulled down, and his cock, newly free, twitches under the other’s stare.

Whatever words he’s means to say come out as a garbled whine as Hob swallows him, cold metal against the underside of cock making him gasp, head thunking against the bathroom stall as he holds onto brown-grey hair, touching near the other’s ears, shells of them full of spiked earrings and he definitely doesn’t think as Hob does a stellar job of redirecting his brain through his dick.

Hob dresses like how he wants to dress. Morpheus’s wardrobe is so ― dull, suits upon suits in black and white, an insanely boring monochromatic tableau, even his casual clothes are just the most basic black, no frills or patterns, drilled into him by his parents. No chains or mesh or leather, even though he now lives in his own apartment, far away from his parent’s influence, an adult.

Once, he vaguely remembers the disgusted way his parent’s steered him away from a spiked choker as a teen, saying various disparaging things about the people who wear them, and of course their son won’t have a phase like those degenerates.

He doesn’t mean to spill this to Hob, considering they only just met recently. Morpheus blames the mind-blowing sex, as he worries if he’ll have to leave Hob’s apartment, stuffed full of odds and ends―”wow, if I ever meet your parents, I’m punching them in the face,” Hob says near his chest and he freezes, digesting the words as he settles himself back on Hob’s lap.

“That is a bit much,” he offers tentatively. Hob laughs, the other’s hands trailing up his back, dress shirt loosely covering him.

“I’ve been known to be that,” Hob says with a wriggle of his brows, the eyebrow piercing glinting blue in the light. “Well, no time to waste!” Hob chirps, pulling them up and Morpheus’s breath leaves him as they go to Hob’s bedroom. “Mesh shirt?” Hob glances at him, a hand on his beard as he opens his wardrobe with a flourish.

Morpheus’s eyes widen at the explosion of things in the other’s wardrobe, leather items falling out of the wardrobe as Hob grumbles and puts them back haphazardly, pulling out a black fishnet shirt and putting it against his chest. “How?” He breathes, staring at not only the black and chains, but various colours of all types.

“Bit too much at once, got it,” Hob nods and puts the shirt back, going into his wardrobe and picking up various shirts. “Mainly op shops, or stuff I’ve made myself, or got from others. Stolen.” Hob takes out a black shirt, giving him a critical look before shaking his head and putting it back in. “Ah-hah!” Hob grins as he takes out a long-sleeved black shirt with spikes on one shoulder, as well as leather straps joining the shoulder from either side.

Blinking, he gently takes the shirt, heart beating absurdly fast as he takes off his dress shirt and pulls on the other’s shirt. Looking down at his hands, he touches the spiked shoulder in amazement, the straps crinkling under his hands, and he notices silver along the cuffs, spiky bracelets that are stapled on.

“Well?” Hob asks, rocking back and forth on his chunky platforms, wide grin on his face.

“It’s,” he frowns, having no frame of reference for how ― right he feels, like something’s slotted into place, weight crumbling off of him as he feels the soft black fabric. “Yes.”

“Fuck yeah!” Hob shouts and Morpheus feels himself smile, out of control with the rightness that settles within him. Then Hob leans in to kiss him, hands framing his face and he shivers, falling into the other’s mouth easily as they make their way to Hob’s bed, messy and unmade. “Also, you look unbearably sexy in my clothes,” Hob purrs and he whines, tugging off the other’s leather jacket, the mesh shirt underneath as they continue to kiss, getting more deep and heated.

“Stolen?” He says once his brain boots back up, hands on Hob’s thighs as they rest, the other’s bed messed up even more as he rests on Hob’s chest.

“Mainly when I was younger. Now I’m a responsible adult,” Hob says, kissing his hair and going down to his temple. “Mostly,” Hob amends. Morpheus hums and touches Hob’s nipple, the piercing on it taking his attention. “Morpheus,” he hums, fascinated by the silver ring ― until Hob pokes him on his shoulder and he blinks, looking up at Hob’s face. “I have to get ready for work soon.”

Morpheus freezes, climbing off of Hob, the air cold after the heat of the other’s body, “then, I should―”

Hob rolls his eyes and pokes his forehead. “You’re staying right here for now. I just want to,” Hob looks around and pulls on his leather jacket, getting a pocket watch from an inside pocket and Morpheus blinks at it, confused as Hob goes back into his wardrobe, looking at various items and throwing them onto the bed near him. “This one’s definitely you,” Hob mumbles, pulling out a black and frilly shirt, joining the rest of the items, including ripped jeans and some spiky chokers and bracelets.

Staring down at the items, he picks up the shirt, black and flowy as more clothes pile up, silver chains and mesh shirts. “What are these for?”

Hob doesn’t answer, looking through a drawer in his wardrobe to pull more items out, throwing them on the bed. Then, once he looks at the pile, he looks around again, eventually going under his bed to look for something as Morpheus watches in confusion. “These are for you!” Hob chirps once he emerges with a black duffel, artfully ripped to reveal black lining, sides covered with studs as he puts the clothes and jewellery into it.

“You can’t just―” Morpheus protests, eyes wide at the amount.

“Sure I can. Have you seen that?” Hob points at his wardrobe, still overflowing with clothes, “I rarely, or never have worn these anyway. Plus they’ll be there for you to wear!” Morpheus gapes, eyes filling with tears as he swallows back the emotions as the duffel is zipped up and presented to him. “Phone,” Hob makes a grabby motion and Morpheus complies, finding his phone along with pants, which he puts on as Hob puts in his number.

“You can’t be serious,” Morpheus says as he holds onto the duffel, still in disbelief at the weight that’s inside. For him. And outside the bedroom window, he can see the sun starting to come out.

Hob smiles and pulls him in by his pants for a kiss, deep and filthy as a hand returns his phone to his pocket. “Like a grave.”

“This feels like a bit much,” he mutters to himself, even with his normal suit, the normal shined shoes ― and the spiked choker around his neck. For work. He could almost feel his parent’s aneurysm at the thought. “Hob?”

Hob, next to him, gives him a slow, lingering look in between bites of yoghurt and muesli. “Maybe a bracelet too?” Dream shakes his head, which stops as a finger goes under the choker, “working on a Saturday? Really? What kind of Hell do you work at?” Dream tries to reply, but he can only shiver as the finger drags, nail edge pricking into his throat, “no, I know it’s pretty bad, I didn’t need an answer for that.”

Hob’s finger leaves his throat and Dream scrambles his thoughts together as Hob eats more of his breakfast as Dream looks at his watch. “Where do you even work, anyway?” He asks, somehow not catching it with all the time they’ve been spending together. Though, they have mostly been preoccupied.

“Uni teacher,” Hob says with a shrug, and Dream gives him an incredulous look, “I’ll even give you my campus and you can sit on one of my lectures yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“I wasn’t―it’s just very surprising, what with,” he gestures to Hob’s form, which at the moment is only bright pink boxers. “I will, very soon,” he promises, already working out how he can get a free weekday.

“I’m used to it, though I usually tone it down some while at my job. Not that I don’t think there’d be a problem, but it’s usually with the other teacher’s where those kinds of judgments appear, and I’d rather not deal with that,” Hob explains.

Dream is nervous as he walks into work, going through the whole floor of people who work under him, expecting ― gasps, mean comments, but all he can see is some people just doing a double take as he goes into his office. Throughout the day as he emails clients and goes through his day, no comments or nothing, and soon enough he feels comfortable in the choker, fear dwindling and being replaced by an odd sort of confidence.

Throughout the day, he tries to make sense of this new feeling, so alien ― and wondering if Hob was right, and maybe he should’ve worn one of the spiked bracelets that Hob gave him. Or even the new pointed boots he recently bought, black and leather, patterned with skulls and flowers.

He only places the confidence in how happy and sure he looks after Matthew, one of his assistants, goes “nice necklace.” Dream starts, not expecting the compliment, or how pleased it makes him feel. Lucienne, next to Matthew, gives him a look.

“Thank you,” he says with a tiny smile, feeling even more sure of himself as Lucienne raises her eyebrows in shock.

“It does look very good on you,” Lucienne concedes, measures of can we move on in her tone. Matthew gives him a look, which Dream doesn’t react to.

“I know,” he says quietly, the confidence leaving him temporarily. “However, we must discuss next steps for next week.”

“Must we,” Matthew mimics sarcastically, Lucienne ignoring him as she launches into her report.

Morpheus follows the campus signage carefully, checking to make sure it’s right with the message Hob sent him. Matthew gaped at him for half a day after explaining that yes, I will be taking one of those days off earlier in the week.

Matthew started a rumour that maybe their boss got replaced by a pod-person right after.

And now he follows people into the room Hob said he would be teaching at, one of those big lecture rooms with ascending seats. Sitting near the door at the front, he almost doesn’t catch Hob, talking with his TA apparently, gestures wide and facing away from him as the TA grins.

Squinting, Morpheus scrutinises the other’s boots, obviously steel-plated on the front, then pale grey jeans. The leather jacket Hob wears is more red and plain, and from what he can see, the numerous spikes that Hob wore in his ears are replaced by alternating gold and silver studs.

Hob and his TA separate, Hob going up to his desk and putting something on the screen behind him. Now that Hob’s turned around, he sees that the first earring in Hob’s ear is tiny skulls. “We’re ready to begin, it seems!” Hob talks, voice projecting through the room as he stares at the back ― with Morpheus able to tell when the other man spots him by the bright grin, and he gives a small wave.

“Alright! So―” Hob claps his hands as the TA moves to the laptop on the desk, numerous rings clinking together on Hob’s fingers as he launches into his lecture. Tearing his eyes away from the shining jewellery, he stares at the KMFDM t-shirt Hob has on instead, only half-listening as he takes in this Hob, very much toned down from the spikes and metal chains he had on his pants.

It’s as Hob starts talking about 15th Century clothes, Morpheus notices the silver still shining in the other’s mouth, and he tries to not lead his thoughts down the path of Hob’s tongue ring in a public setting.

Before he knows it, the class ends, people leaving and Hob picking up his things, and talking with his TA before sidling up to him. “You’re here!”

Morpheus blinks at the blinding smile, “I did say I would come,” he frowns and Hob’s grin widens as he’s pulled out of his seat.

“I dunno, people say that, but then others don’t, so,” Hob says with a shrug, linking their arms together as they walk down hallways, eventually reaching a door that says Robert Gadling. “Thoughts?” Hob asks as they go into his office, the other man locking the door and putting the blind down.

“I liked the bit about the ruffs,” Morpheus offers. Hob gives him a look, and Morpheus curses his pale skin for the way his face heats as Hob’s hands grab his own.

“Liar. You weren’t paying attention to the lecture,” Hob grins, and he swallows a sound at the warmth of the other’s hand, contrasted with the cold silver and gold of his rings.

Looking down, he focuses on the ring designs, mainly plain. Or a gold one with blue sapphires. “You still have your tongue ring,” he whispers―then gasps, Hob kissing him, a filthy press of said tongue ring to the inside of his mouth, and he can only whine as the kiss ends, arousal swirling hot.

“Too much work to keep it out. Leave it out for half a day and the skin’s already growing over the hole for it, very annoying,” Hob replies, brown of his eyes swallowed by black. The other’s hands make a slow path up his arms, shoulders, neck, one eventually holding his jaw while the other goes into his hair.

Morpheus swallows, cock hardening at Hob’s full attention, at the way fingers stroke his hair, “I see.”

There’s another kiss, sweet and rough, Hob tugging at his lips and he shivers, skin sparking as the hand on his jaw moves to grip the back of his neck as Morpheus holds onto Hob’s leather jacket. He can only whimper as the hand on his neck pulls him down, ending the kiss ― and he can feel Hob’s desk against his head as he stares up. “Morpheus,” the other’s arousal, covered with denim, presses against his jaw, “can you be good and quiet for me?”

“Yes,” he rasps, voice thin and breathy as a finger traces his lips, own dick aching in his pants as he frantically unbuckles the black belt in front of him, unzipping jeans, mouth already watering.

Morpheus scrutinises himself in the mirror. At the pointed black boots, the straight-leg leather pants and long-sleeved dark red shirt, with a lace shirt over it, sleeves flaring out. And on top of that, a harness going around his waist and shoulders, silver spikes on the shoulders. Pursing his lips, Morpheus gives himself a look and searches for his wayward boyfriend, eventually finding Hob on the balcony of his apartment, cigarette in his mouth. “Too much?”

Hob blinks and looks over, eyes raking over him, “of course not,’ Hob shrugs, holding ringed fingers out and Morpheus huffs at the way Hob stares at him.

“It feels a bit,” he bites his lips as Hob finishes his smoke, crushing it beneath his spiked boots before putting it in the bin, “mismatched.”

At this, Hob stands up and twirls him inside the apartment, smelling of smoke as they kiss, “babe, literally most of my friends do that. I’m just more for this style because the other one’s don’t feel as me,” Hob gestures to his leather jacket and black fishnet shirt, along with black jeans that are more rips and slashed, the insides lined with fishnet. “Plus, you look very hot.”

Morpheus rolls his eyes as he considers Hob’s words, putting his hands on Hob’s hips, “you’re very biased.”

Hob nods his head, “biased. But also right,” Hob says with a grin, then pulls out a stick of eyeliner from an inside jacket pocket, and Morpheus follows the other’s directions as it’s placed on him. “Feel you'd like the more pointed eyeliner, but I’m not good at that. Good thing we’re meeting my friend’s, who’d be better with teaching you that,” Hob mutters between applying it.

Eyeliner applied, Morpheus huffs, watching as Hob applies the black liner to his own eyes, the brown of Hob’s eyes becoming more arresting. “Are you sure we can’t stay in for a bit more?” He asks, hands slipping under the other’s mesh shirt, and he makes a happy sound at the feeling of course hair under his fingers.

“Tempting, but no,” Hob says, a hand coming up to his cheek and Morpheus leans into the hand, enjoying the feeling of cold rings and hot skin.

Morpheus pouts as Hob lets go, the hand going to intertwine with his instead.

The double take Hob does when Morpheus emerges from the train bathroom with one of Hob’s friends makes him want to preen, with all of them practically fighting over to teach him how to do a winged look. Hob opens his mouth, “if you’re thinking of leaving just because your boyfriend is hot,” next to him a darker-skinned person dressed in a lace black dress and white fishnet tights, Charlie, threatens and Hob’s mouth clicks shut.

“But Charlie,” Hob gestures to him, hands reaching out to pull him onto the other’s lap, expression shocked and reverent, “look!”

“Dude,” Angel, the one who was teaching him about eyeliner earlier, and dressed in full frilly gothic lolita, complete with pigtails, sits down next to Charlie, “you just got here. Plus, isn’t this the one that bewitched you with his drab clothes before? Is Hob doing this to you?” She asks and Morpheus flushes under the attention, picking at his lace sleeve.

“He’s not forcing me,” he says, “I never wanted to be,” a pause, “drab. And Hob has been invaluable to help me discover what I like,” he mumbles and Hob nods against his chest, arms comfortable around his waist, leather jacket thrown over the back of his chair. Charlie and Angel nod, expressions sympathetic.

“I get that,” Angel twists her hair, black with purple streaks, “well, I’m happy for you!”

Charlie, texting someone on their phone nods and Morpheus relaxes, stretching out on Hob’s lap, and Hob makes a choked noise as he wriggles so he can touch Hob’s thigh through the fishnet of his pants.

Hob whines into his chest, and he tries not to pay attention to the hardness he can feel against him ― because ― well, mainly to make Hob squirm a bit. And because Hob’s friends are interesting, and nice. “I like your friends,” he states and Hob muffles another sound against his chest, something like I’m glad.

Angel shakes her head, “we like you too! Though we’re still missing someone before we go back to that club.”

They barely make it inside Hob’s door before he’s pushed against it, hands going under his shirt as Hob bites into his mouth. Shivering, he takes off Hob’s jacket and gets his own hands under the other’s shirt, bucking into the leg in the middle of his own. “Finally,” Hob hisses against his mouth, and Morpheus gasps at ringed fingers going inside his pants, leather hot and sticky from the club’s heat ― and now, his hard cock which Hob strokes.

“Not even making it to the sofa?” He chokes out, grabbing onto the grey hair at the other’s temples as Hob continues to stroke him, thumb stroking his slit and he groans, head hitting the door. Which makes Hob go for his throat, biting over already healing marks and pressing him more against the wood.

“You were teasing,” Hob accuses, free hand pulling him forward, making him as the other hand traces his hole.

Morpheus whines, leaning into the hand stroking him as the other one leaves, probably to go the lube in Hob’s jeans, “don’t be ridiculous,” he says, batting his lashes and Hob huffs, lubed fingers returning to his hole, one finger slowly making its way in.

Moaning, he can only hold on, grounding against Hob’s fingers, other hand scrabbling for purchase on door behind him as another finger enters him. Hob hums into his throat, stubble scratching the sensitive skin and Morpheus lets out a keen as the hand stroking his cock leaves to grab his hip.

“Now who’s being the te―” his sentence doesn’t finish as Hob lifts him up, eyes black as they stare up at him, and Morpheus can only blink and catch the breath that leaves him as he’s put onto the sofa, layers of boots and clothes being taken off as they kiss, Hob’s fingers going back inside him once they’re both naked.

Holding onto Hob’s hair, he arches into the fingers, insides burning at the way Hob’s fingers, still with their rings on, feel almost inside him, markedly different from the hot-cold way of holding his cock. “Had to restrain myself from fingering you in front of the club,” Hob states and Morpheus shivers, the image too much for him to think on, cock twitching.

Morpheus can only keen, holding onto Hob’s shoulder, mind shorting out as Hob continues, fingers being added and pressing insistently upon his prostate, “come on, I’ve been wanting you like this forever it seems like,” Hob mutters into his cheek.

The pleasure, the pressure is constant and maddening and Morpheus cries out, tears eventually streaming out of his eyes, and he can almost the carefully applied eyeliner start to run.

“There we go, so beautiful and wrecked,” Hob praises, fingers crooking and twisting incessantly, and his orgasm seems to almost come second to the pleasure, the feel of rings he can feel, to Hob’s quiet praise.

Morpheus is staring at the invoices he needs to look over in his email when it hits him.

I want to quit, he thinks with intent, because this job was yet another thing his parent’s herded, moulded him into, because it’s good money and a respectable job, when Morpheus ― can’t even remember what he does, the only bright spots at work being Lucienne and Matthew. Every day as droll as the wardrobe he’s been getting rid of, only keeping at least one suit and one pair of black pants and shirt as he fills his wardrobe with things he wants to wear.

Of course, there’s always the logistics of quitting to consider too, especially with the recent amount of the money being used to buy pretty clothes, and what he would do after, but he feels confident in knowing what he wants now, though working towards this may be more of a choice then what shirts to get.

“You okay there, boss?” Matthew asks, putting a cup of black coffee near his hand, and he nods distantly.

“If I did something crazy, would you and Lucienne follow me?” The words tumble out and Morpheus can’t find it to regret them as Matthew considers, scratching his chin.

“Just say the word, boss-man,” Matthe settles on, giving him a two-fingered salute.

“I… just thought of it, so I may need more thinking over,” he pauses, frowning. “Perhaps you and Lucienne can help,” Matthew grins and Morpheus scoffs, taking a gulp of the hot coffee. “Not right now, but eventually.”

“Fuck yeah! Consider it done!”

A month later and Morpheus once again stares at himself in the mirror, this time focusing on doing the winged eyeliner that Angel’s constantly gave him tips for. There’s a groan as Hob shambled in from bed, chest pressing against his back as arms go around his waist. “Fancy,” Hob says, voice thick and dark with sleep and Morpheus swallows, letting Hob nibble at his neck and collarbones as Hob’s hands go up the V of the shirt, frilly and flowing.

“I’m quitting,” he announces ― and that makes Hob’s head snap up, blinking awake.

“Fuck. Really?” Hob gapes, settling back onto his shoulder as he nods, Hob squeezing him tightly as he stares at his black pants, red ribbon running up the sides of it.

“I’ve already worked things out with Lucienne and Matthew for something new that we’re going to do, with artists and ― still figuring out the logistics, but it’ll be fun.”

Hob sighs and there’s a nip to his ear as they sway slightly, which Morpheus swats to stop, since he still has to do his other eye. “Look at you, getting so confident and sure of yourself. Hope you don’t forget the plebes like me once you become a famous auteur or whatever.”

“Don’t be absurd. This is all because of you,” he says, brows furrowing as he precisely does his other eye, then puts the eyeliner into the black coat hanging nearby before turning around to face Hob, who looks amazed. “You helped me figure out what I want,” he breathes, cupping the other’s face, thumbs caressing brown-grey stubble gently. “And you’re a part of that.”

Hob’s eyes are wide and shiny, a sound wrenched out of him as they kiss, which Morpheus easily falls into, and he shivers at the hands going up under his shirt, scratching up his back roughly that he’s sure he’ll feel it while at the last day of his job.

“Pick me up once I text you?” Hob should be clear all day, considering it’s a Saturday.

“You don’t need to wait around, Matthew,” he says quietly as they rest on the glass wall of their former workplace. Matthew scoffs.

“I’ve only heard like, two things about this boyfriend of yours, of course I’m gonna see what this guy’s like,” Matthew scowls. Morpheus huffs and looks at the omw ;) from Hob, smiling at the text. “If he gets you to look like that at your phone, he’s gotta be something.”

“He is,” he says, and there’s only silence between them, people and cars moving around them.

“Shame Luce won’t see this, maybe I’ll,” Matthew gets out his own phone and Morpheus rolls his eyes, looking for any sign of Hob’s car.

A motorbike parks in front of the building, which he doesn’t pay any attention to ― until the helmet of the driver comes off, and Morpheus takes a moment, not recognising Hob. Gaping, his mind stutters at the sight as Hob turns off the bike, taking his helmet off and putting it on the handlebars, black fingerless gloves poking out as Hob gives a small wave and a smile.

“That’s him?!” Matthew screeches, but Morpheus doesn’t pay attention, insides hot at the sight of Hob straddling the bike as he walks closer in a daze, Matthew following behind, talking and gesturing to his phone.

“You have a bike?” He croaks, and Hob grins, putting an arm on the handlebars, other hand coming to pull him in by his coat, kiss filthy and indecent for such a public area, and Morpheus resists the urge to just―”how?”

“It’s been in the shop for a while,” Hob says, pierced tongue licking the top of his mouth and he swallows a whine. Blinking, Morpheus rests his heated face on the leather of Hob’s shoulder, feeling him turn his head, with his free hand going around his waist. “And who’s this?”

“Yo, hi, uh, I’m Matthew, man, dude,” Matthew babbles and Morpheus groans, feeling Hob’s grin in the way he’s holding himself.

“Matthew! Nice to meet you finally! I’m Robert Gadling, but you can just call me Hob. I hear you’ve been keeping this one here sane while at that hellhole.”

Matthew squeaks, “that’s news to me ― good news, but I’m glad! Boss man here has gotten out of his shell lately and y’know―”

Morpheus groans and straightens up, “we have to go Hob, now,” both Hob and Matthew open their mouths, “I will give you Matthew’s number so you can talk, but we must leave. Now,” he reiterates through gritted teeth. Mainly because Hob on a motorbike ― and the combined chatter of his boyfriend and Matthew would make it a week before they’d leave the front of his old work.

Hob gives a what can you do? expression to Matthew, who laughs as Hob pulls out another helmet from the motorbike seat behind him. Hob gives him a kiss as the helmet is put on him, hands framing his face before the lock slides into place under his chin. “The boss has spoken,” Hob says, eyebrows wiggling as he sits behind Hob, feeling the other’s arm move as he puts on his own helmet. “Ready?”

“Of course,” he scowls as squeezes Hob tighter, Matthew ― still with his phone in front of him, probably recording this for Lucienne ― waves at them as Hob starts the bike, vibrations as hot and pleasant as Hob in front of him as they leave.

As soon as the rumble of the bike stops, their helmets taken off and stowed away, Morpheus corners Hob against the bike, kissing him deeply, hands going up to touch the stubble of the other’s face. “Knew you’d like it,” Hob breathes between them, the kickstand of the bike flipping to balance the bike as Morpheus pushes him more onto it.

Hob chuckles breathily as he nibbles down the other’s neck, the sweat and and musk delicious and salty as his hands go under Hob’s shirt, trailing up chest hair until he flicks at pierced nipples. Hob groans, arching into him as they rut into each other, the pleasure fizzling inside.

There’s more laughter ― than Hob pushes him away, which Morpheus whines at, grabbing onto Hob’s jeans as he goes in for another kiss. “Alright, I’m not doing this in the car park,” Hob says and Morpheus scowls, Hob grabbing his coat to pull them inside the apartment complex. Considering the stairways up to Hob’s flat, he manages to push Hob against the walls for more kissing and petting as they make their way.

“You didn’t tell me you have a motorbike,” he accuses as they get into Hob’s flat, and Morpheus holds back his desire until they reach Hob’s room, the messiness familiar as pushes his boyfriend onto the bed.

Hob grins, settling under him, “I wanted to surprise you.” Groaning, Morpheus leans down, hands scratching through soft black hair as Hob shivers under him. “Especially with your surprise announcement today, and how sexy you are,” Hob’s hands go under the V of his shirt.

“Consider me surprised,” he pouts as he takes off Hob’s jacket and shirt, biting down the other’s neck until he can lick at the silver nipple rings, causing Hob to whine and shudder.

“And really hot for it,” Hob says between moans, eyes sparkling as he glares up at him, mind too full of the motorbike he could feel under him, Hob’s body a solid heat to hold onto as he tugs off his clothes and the other’s belt and leather pants, though he grumbles as he unzips the leather boots keeping them from fully coming off.

Hob laughs, eyes bright as Dream leans in to kiss him deeply, brain replaying the rumble of the engine under him, biting at Hob’s tongue ring as he pushes Hob’s legs together, hard cock jutting up as Hob gasps. Morpheus stares at the crease between Hob’s legs, the body hair as he guides his own red cock to the crease, feeling Hob’s fingers dig into his hips, scratching around as they end up digging into his arse.

There’s a whine from Hob as his cock fucks the channel between the other’s thighs, coarse hair getting wet from the pre-come. “Yes, right there,” Hob moans, moving slightly to meet his cock, his nails digging into Hob’s thigh as they share a messy kiss. “Come on,” Hob whispers, dark eyes staring into him and it only takes a few more thrusts until Morpheus orgasms with a shiver, white come coating Hob’s thighs, all the way up to his chest.

Gasping, he brings a hand around the other’s cock, thick and twitching as he strokes it, unable to look away as one of Hob’s joins his. The other’s black fingerless gloves getting wet and sticky as they jerk Hob off to completion, arching into their joined hands as Hob lets out a strangled whine, more come joining the mess on Hob’s chest.

Morpheus wasn’t sure about what brought him to this club specifically, aside from the banality of his job. His life. Another late night and the club’s neon sight lit up The White Horse, which he’s seen on the way home, people in various leather and gothic outfits out the front.

“Whiskey shot, cheap. Please,” a voice says next to him and Morpheus turns, seeing a man in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, chains on the side of them. The man looks at him, eyes dark brown ― and lined, making them even more and Morpheus looks away in shock. “And another, for this one,” the man says and Morpheus gapes as a shot gets put in front of him.

“That’s not necessary,” he watches as the man leans on the bar and downs his shot, insides burning even without the alcohol as the man looks at him.

“Have you seen yourself? It’s necessary,” the man leans in, a hot line at his side and Morpheus tries not to blush too easily ― though, knowing his skin, it’s very obvious as the man puts the shot into his hand, callused fingers brushing against his and Morpheus swallows, licking his lips as he sees black fingerless gloves on the other man. “How’d they let you in anyway?”

“I am not sure,” he replies and the man giggles, face close enough and smelling of whiskey that Morpheus leans away to down his shot, brain stuttering at the touches, at how he can see grey in the man’s beard and temples. “I wanted something different from,” he blurts, putting his tingling fingers into his pants pockets so he doesn’t reach out to see if the man’s beard is as soft as it looks. “My life.”

The man nods, leaning against his arm and Morpheus tries not to squirm as the man stares at him, tilting his head. “If you want to do something different, then go all out,” the man smirks, leaning closer to him ― and Morpheus feels even hotter as the man obviously stares at lips ― then raises an eyebrow almost in challenge.

[Fin]

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dreamling week #dreamling week 2024 #writing #not sfw #feat goth hob!#and a dream so repressed he's not even goth 😱#he gets better though #very indulgent to me. a goth

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