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Aug 5, 2025

A Soft Place To Land, Ch.2

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Dream/Hob

Warnings: none

Additional Tags: Human AU, fat!Hob, Body Worship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, It's Dream's turn to get some body positivity

Summary: Hob is both horrified and embarrassed to realize that he has been dating Dream for nearly three weeks, fucking like bunnies, and he is only just now realizing that he has never seen Dream naked.

Includes art! 👀

Read on AO3

Just as Hob predicted, he spends the first few weeks dating Dream absolutely insatiable.

The first night, Dream hadn’t been able to stay, his voice full of honest regret when he explained that he had not expected the turn the night had taken and as such had not planned ahead in regards to his cats. Hob was charmed, though admittedly a little disappointed, but he sent Dream on his way with one last kiss and his number.

Dream treats him so well. Several times a week, in any spare moment either of them have, he takes him for dinner or coffee or a show Hob had expressed interest in. He listens with rapt attention when Hob rambles about work or his friends or his hobbies, holds the door open for him, brings him little gifts like a raven, small trinkets that remind him of Hob or that he thinks Hob will enjoy.

It is all incredibly sweet. Still, Hob can’t help dragging Dream to the nearest horizontal surface every chance he gets. Horizontal is optional even, given the few times Dream has dropped to his knees while Hob stands pressed against a door or wall, looking down to watch what little he can see- a nest of wild black hair bobbing back and forth from behind the jut of his belly.

And Hob truly does want to treat Dream well, too. He has been diligent about maintaining better etiquette than he had the first night, careful to handle Dream more mindfully and attentively even as he drags him into bed constantly. After a bit of gentle prodding, he had eventually gotten Dream to shyly admit that while he had enjoyed most of the impromptu dominance, he would perhaps prefer- maybe, a little, as long as Hob didn’t mind- being released more quickly at the end.

Even with the knowledge that Hob had only erred during the final moments, he still found himself wanting to work back up slowly. Tugging Dream’s hair lightly but not holding or directing him, thrusting his hips just a little and pulling back just as fast, gripping the sheets instead of Dream when his orgasm finally hit him and he filled Dream’s mouth. Watching carefully to try to make sure Dream was enjoying himself as much as Hob was.

All in all, the sex is amazing, and Dream is a sweetheart, and Hob is pretty sure he’s going to marry this man, and so even when he’s not in a perpetual horny haze, he’s still walking on clouds with happiness. Which means he’s not actually paying that much attention to the details.

Despite sex being the thing that has distracted him, it is, ironically, during sex that he first realizes it. He is on his back, Dream reaching out to knead his chest and stomach as he fucks him. Hob is fully naked, as he always is, all fabric thrown aside so that Dream can kiss and grope and worship every part of him. And Dream is still fully clothed. As he always is. Suit jacket tossed aside, but shirt fully buttoned, pants undone only enough to free his erection. Hob looks up at him, panting and gasping, watching how Dream gazes at him with such blatant adoration. And he is both horrified and embarrassed to realize that he has been dating Dream for nearly three weeks, fucking like bunnies, and he is only just now realizing that he has never seen Dream naked. Never seen him shirtless, or in shorts, or a short sleeve shirt, nothing. Even when Hob has sucked him off, it was just like this- bare minimum of his trousers parted for his cock and nothing else.

When they finish, Hob still panting from yet another spectacular orgasm, Dream gives him a quick kiss before stepping out of the room. This too has become routine. He is gone for what seems like the briefest of moments, but when he returns he has a damp washcloth to wipe down Hob and he has changed into pajamas. A thick, heavy jumper that falls down over his hands and equally thick sweatpants. Dream wipes him down gently, hands him his sleep pants and helps tug them over his legs, and then crawls on top of him. Hob learned quickly that his stomach was Dream’s favorite place to rest, curling up almost like a cat to sink as much of his body into Hob’s as he could. It is unbearably sweet, all the different ways Dream loved Hob’s body.

Even after settling and saying their goodnights, Hob stews over his realization long into the night, petting Dream’s hair absently as he sleeps. He replays all the weeks of their courtship, every passionate moment together, trying to find something he missed, something he’s forgetting. But no matter how hard he searches his memories, he still finds nothing but fabric. He has seen Dream’s face, hands, feet, and cock. His neck, he supposes, when he wears his pajamas, but even those have a high collar.

Furrowing his brow, he looks down at the mess of black hair resting on his chest, the long, elegant fingers tipped in black carding through his chest hair even in sleep. A part of him is tempted to lift the back of Dream’s sweater, to sneak a peak at the secret skin beneath. He shakes the thought away almost immediately. He cares for Dream- could admit in the privacy of his own mind that he has fallen in love with him embarrassingly fast. He would not betray his trust just for curiosity’s sake.

They both have to rush out the door in the morning- Hob off to lecture some students and Dream off to make people’s dreams come true. Hob still remembers when Dream had shyly explained how he had opened his own publishing company specifically to support new and emerging artists, giving them a chance when bigger publishers wouldn’t. With his makeup and nail polish and earrings, Dream looked like some sort of rockstar super model. But truthfully he was such a softy.

Hob goes through the motions of his workday still thinking about his revelation the night before. Dream was stunning. It wasn’t like when Hob was younger, still growing into his confidence, and would avoid fully undressing or turning the lights on to hide his body, trying to mask the fat that the world told him was shameful. Dream was perfect, so why wouldn’t he want to show off?

Dream comes over again after work. Most days were spent in Hob’s apartment, Dream’s cats still slowly- very slowly- warming up to him. Hob picks up takeaway on his way back, and his heart swells at the simple domesticity they have established so quickly. Eating across from one another as they talk about their days, legs tangled up under the table.

Hob’s eyes fall to the collar of Dream’s shirt. Suit jacket and tie tossed aside. Shirt fully buttoned to the very top.

“Hey, Dream?”

The words leave his mouth before he has a chance to fully think it through. Dream blinks at him curiously, head tilted to show he is listening. Their leftover food has been stored away in the fridge and they have moved to sit beside each other on the couch.

“I just… I realized recently…” With a deep breath, he blurts it out before he can overthink it even more, “Why don’t you undress when we have sex?”

Dream’s face goes funny, a little spasm in his jaw, and his cheeks become splotchy like his body can’t decide whether to blush or lose all blood in his face entirely. It’s not quite embarrassment. It’s a step above. Closer to shame.

Clearing his throat, Dream looks away, eyes darting around as he stumbled over an explanation, “I wasn’t- that is, I wasn’t trying to-” Hob is just opening his mouth to interrupt, to try to soothe him in some way, when Dream finally exhales, his voice soft with defeat, “Undressing will simply…ruin the mood.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Hob nearly shouts, heartbroken and utterly confused, “Dream, you must realize you’re gorgeous.”

“I am pleased that you find me so. And I- my face is fine, I suppose,” he touches his cheek bone self-consciously, “It is. Beneath my clothing that is more…”

He seems to shrink in front of Hob, head bowed and shoulders around his ears as he carefully chooses his words. “I… I have had. Health issues. I am well enough now, have found a system of medications and lifestyle changes to keep me. Better. Than before. But I. I am still. Struggling. To gain weight. I still look. Awful.”

The way his mouth curls around the word, his eyes downcast and dejected, tells Hob that Dream had bitten back far worse words than “awful”.

Reaching out across to him, Hob takes his hand gently, “But you’re doing okay now? Health wise?” he asks. He sighs in relief when Dream nods in confirmation, “Well, obviously that’s the most important part. But, Dream,” He leans forward to try to catch his eye, “I’m positive you do not look ‘awful’. I mean, no offense, dove, but I am aware that you’re thin. Your clothes can’t hide that much.” He keeps his tone light, jovial, trying to lighten the mood and maybe get Dream to relax just a little.

But Dream just scoffs, avoiding Hob’s gaze, “There is ‘thin’, and then there is ‘fucking you makes me feel like a necrophiliac’.”

It hits Hob like a punch to the gut that Dream is very obviously quoting someone. That someone said that to him.

Hob doesn’t know who that person is. But if he ever finds out, he’s going to make them swallow their own teeth.

“Dream-”

“It is fine,” Dream shakes his head, trying to barrel through the conversation, “I. Perhaps someday, I will not look so…” he doesn’t sound particularly optimistic about it, but he continues before Hob can interrupt, “And besides. I enjoy being of service to you,” he smiles, lifting his eyes to look up and down Hob’s body, biting his lip, “Your body deserves to be worshipped.”

He leans forwards, sliding a hand up Hob’s thigh and gazing at him with half-lidded eyes in a blatant attempt to distract him.

Hob is gentle but firm when he moves Dream’s hand off of him, kissing his sharp knuckles, “So does yours.”

Dream’s face falls, unconvinced and nervous, and Hob has the briefest moment to remember how much he hates society sometimes. He knows it’s different in many ways- if Dream ever complains about clothes shopping Hob might have to smack him- but it doesn’t change the ways it is the same. It doesn’t change the unfairness that both of them have been convinced that their bodies aren’t desirable.

It’s also different because Hob has spent his life fighting back. He’s had friends and family who, however imperfect and clumsy, did their best to support him. And now he has Dream, too, who never fails to make him feel beautiful and sexy and wanted with a single look.

Dream looks defeated, like he has just accepted his fate. Like he truly doesn’t believe Hob could possibly want him back just as much.

Well then. Hob has some work to do.

Stroking his thumb over his knuckles, Hob promises softly, “If gaining weight is a goal for you, then of course I’ll support you and help however I can,” he’s already mentally updating his grocery list, eager for the chance to take care of Dream. Leaning forward, he cups Dream’s face, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not stunning right now, too.”

Dream hesitates, twisting his hands together, and when he finally looks up to meet Hob’s gaze, his eyes are glassy with tears. When he speaks, it is barely audible, “I fear that you will look at me and. Change your mind.”

Hob feels his heart crack in his chest, “Oh, my darling,” he tugs Dream gently until he is gathered in Hob’s lap, legs straddling his plush hips as Hob wraps him in a hug. He feels Dream sigh, sinking into the softness of Hob’s body.

“You aren’t getting rid of me that easy,” Hob declares, “Don’t you know I’m gone for you?” He presses his lips to Dream’s perfect cheekbone, kissing his way down his jaw to his neck, nosing under Dream’s chin to encourage him to tilt his head back. Hob bites his lip at the sight of the long column of Dream’s neck stretched out before him, and he leans in to lick over his Adam’s apple, feeling the way he inhales shakily. Dipping his head, he noses at the buttoned collar of Dream’s shirt, feeling the way he shudders in his lap.

“Will you let me show you?” Hob whispers, gripping at Dream’s shirt above his belt, not untucking it from his slacks just yet, but ready to, “Will you let me show you how gorgeous you are?”

There’s a long pause. Glancing up, he finds Dream looking back at him, looking nervous and apprehensive. Softening, Hob wraps his arms around him, a gentle hug as he pepper kisses on the side of his neck. Finally, Dream sighs, and his voice cracks as he answers, “Okay.”

Pulling back, Hob cups his face in his hand, “Are you sure?”

Dream’s face flushes, ducking his head in embarrassment and shame even as he nods, “I am sure.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind?” Hob insists.

Looking up at him, Dream seems to steal himself, “Only if you promise the same. You must tell me, if you decide…”

Hob kisses him, trying to pour all the love he’s been too shy to speak into the press of his lips, “Okay,” he promises, knowing it wouldn’t be an issue even if Dream didn’t, “I will.”

Dream slumps a little, relief and resignation in every line of his body, nodding even as he brings his hands up to cup Hob’s face and deepen the kiss. Hob thinks it feels almost like a goodbye kiss.

Determination floods his veins, and Hob moves his hands to grip Dream’s arse and hoist him up. Dream makes a little surprised noise, but Hob swallows it down as Dream’s lithe legs spread to wrap around his thick waist. Dream’s breath is shaky against Hob’s lips as he carries him to the bedroom, laying him gently on the mattress.

Looking down at him, Hob realizes that he’s never truly taken the time to appreciate his lover properly, even fully clothed. Of course it didn’t escape him that Dream was gorgeous, he wasn’t blind. But now that he thinks about it, even the times when Hob has sucked Dream off, it’s still felt more focused on Hob. Dream would look down at him, starry-eyed, petting his soft cheeks and his double-chin, touching every part of him he could reach and singing his praises. More than once Hob had still managed to come first despite simply rutting against his own hand while Dream was held in his mouth.

So he takes a moment to just drink him in. Dream is a creature of contrasts- the dark, heavy eye makeup making his blue eyes shine even brighter, his soft, dark hair making his skin look even paler. Sapphires and porcelain and onyx, all staring up at him with trepidation.

Grinning, Hob disrobes quickly, allowing himself to preen when Dream momentarily forgets his own apprehension in favor of appreciating Hob’s body. Hob sees his eyes darken with lust as he stands bare before him. It falters when Hob crawls onto the bed to continue his mission.

Kissing him softly, trying to soothe him, he tugs at Dream until he is sitting up just a little, supported by Hob’s hands. He can feel Dream’s heart beating rabbit-quick as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. Drifting down, he presses his mouth to Dream’s throat, feeling the way he swallows thickly as Hob gently parts the fabric of his shirt and pushes it from his shoulders. Hob gives Dream a moment, not leaning back to look fully, and instead just feeling.

Dipping down, his mouth finds the prominent jut of Dream’s collarbone. Dream is one of the strongest people Hob knows, figuratively and even literally given how much Dream loves to throw Hob around when he’s allowed. But right now, there is no denying that Dream feels… fragile. And even though that fragility is metaphorical, Hob finds that he cannot bring himself to set his teeth to Dream’s skin. Tonight, at least, Hob does not want to bruise. And so instead he lets his tongue trace the shape of Dream’s clavicle, mouthing and sucking at it like hard candy, and when he hears Dream’s breath hitch in pleasure, he allows his hands to drift downward, feeling out the shape Dream has been hiding from him.

His fingers flutter over the sharp peaks and valleys of Dream’s ribs, absentmindedly counting them in his mind before skimming along the vulnerable dip of his waist. It is only when he reaches the top of his pants that he finally leans back and lets his eyes gaze over the first bits of Dream’s body that he has been granted.

There is a distant, logical part of him that understands that the body he is looking at is exceptionally thin.

But it is not a body he is looking at. It’s Dream.

He is leaning back on his hands, Hob’s hands on his waist making him arch his back just slightly. Dream is all bright, sharp points and deep, inset shadows, and Hob thinks he looks like an ink painting, every hollow space a brush stroke. Sliding his hands up, he gently cups Dream’s ribcage, fingers sliding in the spaces between the bones like they were made to fit there, and all Hob can think of is cathedral ceilings. Hallowed archways, angels and light, a place of worship. The ridges of his sternum are vivid, and yes, he knows that’s not necessarily ideal, knows that Dream’s thinness is a result of struggles he does not yet know the full shape of. But that does not make it ugly. He runs his fingers reverently down the center of his chest, bright, pale white, and he is reminded of the insides of oyster shells. Iridescent and weathered by the sea.

Biting his lip, Hob can hardly believe that this gorgeous man is his. They have barely even started, Dream’s shirt still bunched around his elbows, and Hob is absolutely gone for him. He remembers when Dream confessed to wanting to fuck his fat rolls, and Hob feels a similar spark of lust at the thought of rutting his dick against all those lovely sharps points of his, every shadow an inviting crevice to sink into. He wonders if one day he can convince Dream to let him fuck the deep hollow of his armpit.

Swallowing thickly, trying to reign himself in just a little, Hob thinks that surely Dream understands now. Hob has always been shit at hiding his feelings, his heart worn proudly on his sleeve, so surely Dream is seeing on his face not just how much he adores him, but how much he wants him, finds him attractive and desirable. Hob’s not even trying to hide it. There’s no way Dream doesn’t see his love written in neon lights across his face.

He looks up, and Dream has his eyes clenched shut.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, his voice thick with emotion, “You’re gorgeous."

Dream exhales sharply through his nose. He doesn’t open his eyes, but his face relaxes slightly, not pressing them closed quite so desperately. Comforted a little, perhaps. But clearly not convinced.

Hob runs his hands down his thin, delicate arms, sliding his shirt off fully and tossing it aside before kissing the juts of his wrists.

“Stunning,” Hob breathes against his skin, and Dream’s only response is to shake harder. He places his hands reverently on Dream’s sharp hips, thumbs ghosting under his slacks, “May I?”

Dream nods quickly, less like he is eager and more like he is trying not to think about it- just trying to rip the Band-Aid off. As he unbuckles his belt, Hob guides him to lay back, planting kisses down the curve of his sternum, popping open the button of his pants just as he is laving his tongue in the deep indent at the base of his ribs. Despite the anxiety, Dream can’t quite hold back the little shivers and sighs at the feel of Hob’s mouth on him, which Hob counts as a win. Still, it takes a bit of coaxing to drag his pants and briefs down his legs, the limbs stiff and resisting under his hands.

Meanwhile, Hob feels like drooling as he slowly draws the fabric down legs that seem to go on forever. Pale like ivory, the muscle definition in his thighs stark with no fat to obscure it, down to endearingly knobby knees and perfectly arched feet and long slender toes. He is struck by a vision of the columns of the Parthenon. His skin gleaming marble, decorated with pale blue veins and the textured outlines of his muscles and tendons.

Dream is staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, delicate fingers curled like claws into the sheets, holding fast against a storm. Hob’s eyes glance at his chest, sees the ridges of his bones tremble but not expand.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” his thumbs stroke gentle circles against the jut of his hipbones, “Breathe for me, beautiful.”

A gasping breath escapes him, and when Dream finally meets Hob’s gaze, he looks a little like a cornered animal. But before Hob has a chance to try to soothe him, he surges up, hands cupping Hob’s face as they collide in a deep kiss.

Hob hums against his lips, licking into Dream’s mouth and laughing lightly as Dream tries to do the same, an endearingly awkward tangle of tongue before Hob concedes and allows Dream to do as he pleases. His hands drift down, sliding around Dream’s back until he can cup the bony, flat planes of his arse. He squeezes, but releases immediately when Dream yelps against his mouth, jerking in his arms, the sparse, unyielding flesh too sensitive for roughness. Gentling his touch, Hob kneads lightly, mapping out Dream’s pelvis before sliding a finger down to his arsehole. His hand slots easily against him, his middle finger pressing lightly against his hole as the rest of his fingers spread to hold him close, his arse a single, tantalizing handful.

Moving to kiss along his cheekbone, Hob rasps against his skin, “This okay?” pressing his finger just a little more in emphasis.

Dream inhales shakily, pressing his face to Hob’s shoulder as he nods. “Yes,” his voice cracks on the word, fingers clutching at Hob hips, gripping the soft flesh like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Yeah, just hold on to me, baby,” Hob purred.

Dream digs his fingers in just a little harder, and Hob bites his lip at the thought of finding little half-moon indents from Dream’s nails scattered through the stretch marks on his sides.

Hob thought he was being spoiled by their sex life before. But this, slowly sliding a lubed finger into his love, leisurely prepping him and knowing that soon he’ll be able to bury himself in that tight heat, feeling Dream gasp and clutch at him when his fingers brush his prostate just right… Hob thinks he might already be addicted.

He hopes it is as good for Dream as it is for him.

Other than his little sighs and gasps, Dream has been silent as Hob opened him up. They are pressed together as close as can be, Dream sinking himself into Hob’s soft body as if to hide and it makes Hob’s heart clench as he suddenly realizes that Dream throwing himself at Hob has kept Hob from being able to look at him. He realizes that that was probably the point.

He leans back just a little, trying to get a glimpse of his love, but all he can see is wild black hair as Dream buries his face deeper in the crook of Hob’s neck.

“Hey,” Hob whispers, his free hand rubbing circles over the sharp planes of Dream’s shoulder blades, “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

There is a long pause, but then Dream shakes his head slowly. In all their weeks together, Dream normally can’t take his eyes off Hob, sometimes choosing to look at him instead of the movie or show in front of them. The poor thing really was scared.

Hob feels a sharp pang of worry, breath catching at the thought of hurting his lover in any way. Slowly, he began to pull his fingers out of Dream’s body, only to stop when Dream let out a quiet sob, muffled against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, gripping Hob impossibly tighter and sounding ashamed and miserable.

“Hey, hey, no,” Hob held him closer, cursing himself lightly, “Nothing to be sorry for, dove. I just-... do you want to stop? I wasn’t leaving, I promise, I just thought you might want to stop.”

Dream takes a few shuddering breaths, answering slowly, “I… do not want to stop,” he admits softly, “I. I want. I want to let you see me,” his voice shook, sounding unsure and hesitant even as he continued, “but I… I can’t…”

Hob hushes him, kissing the side of his face and pressing his fingers gently deeper until Dream’s breath hitches and his grip relaxes just slightly, “Alright then, darling. Anything you want.” He pulls back just enough to kiss Dream firmly, licking into his mouth when he gasps. He stays there for a minute, trying to coax some of the shivering tension from his lover’s body. When he feels a little less like he might shatter under Hob’s hands, he pulls away reluctantly.

“Not going anywhere,” he promised against Dream’s mouth, “Just gonna get you comfortable.”

He waits until Dream nods jerkily, and then pulls his fingers out, catching Dream’s soft whine with his mouth. Hob is quick but gentle as he arranges Dream on the bed, not staring or leaving Dream exposed for too long. He turns him softly, laying him stretched out on his belly, one pillow situated horizontally beneath Dream’s hips to raise them just slightly as he clutches another tightly to his chest like a shield.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Hob whispers, and Dream buries his face in the pillow, hiding even as he follows Hob’s direction, his prominent ribs expanding with a long, deep inhale.

Like this, Hob feels free to soak in the sight of Dream’s body, the parts he had felt but not seen when he held Dream in his arms. He runs his hands up Dream’s thin legs, dragging his touch all the way from the knobs of his ankles up to the crease of his thighs. Pale and sharp, he can nearly circle the limbs with his hand.

“Oh, you are so gorgeous,” he rasps. Dream trembles, shaking his head against the pillow. Hob simply continues his journey, pressing his palms gently into the sparse flesh of Dream’s arse. Almost unconsciously, he begins massaging softly, kneading the sharp planes of his buttocks before slowly making his way to Dream’s lower back. Carefully, he presses his thumbs against his startlingly visible vertebrae and follows up the path of his spine slowly, his other fingers splayed lightly over his ribs. As he gets higher, Hob traces the sharp outline of the wings of his shoulder blades, rubs his thumbs along the prominent knobs along his neck.

Hob has dabbled in many different jobs, reinventing himself whenever he felt like he needed something new. His friends often joked about how he had lived so many lives. At one point, he had taken classes to get his masseuse’s license. He had never ended up completing the full course, but he still remembers the skills he’d learned, and he is struck by the urge to give Dream a proper massage- scented candles and soothing oils and fluffy towels, the lights dim and soft music playing. Rose petals and rich chocolates he could feed him by hand.

Dream has been so good to him, and while he’s sure that if asked Dream would insist that Hob has been nothing but perfect, Hob realizes that he wants to spoil Dream. Dream has certainly been spoiling him.

For now, he settles for massaging Dream’s back and soaking in how beautiful he looks laid out for him. Eventually, after several long minutes of gentle petting, Dream sighs, relaxing his grip on the pillow and sinking deeper into the mattress.

“There you are, beautiful,” Hob smiles, smoothing his hands across Dream’s back and leaning down to kiss along the nape of his neck. He plants a kiss just under his ear, nosing at his earrings, but doesn’t press him to turn to kiss his mouth. If Dream needs to hide a bit to feel comfortable- needs to pretend that if he can’t see Hob then Hob can’t see him- Hob will allow it. This time, at least.

“Do you want to keep going?” Hob whispered, “We can stay just like this if you like.”

Dream takes a shuddering breath, and as he exhales his shoulders drop just a little more, “I would like. To keep going.” He tilts his head just enough for one fluttering blue eye to look up at Hob, “Please.”

“Anything you want,” Hob promises, kissing along his shoulder as Dream turns his face back into the pillow, “I’ll always give you whatever you want, pretty thing.”

He can hear Dream swallow, sniffling lightly, and he can practically hear Dream’s brain tying itself into unkind knots. So he figures he could use a distraction. Coating his fingers in fresh lube, he gives it a moment to warm, pressing a kiss to each prominent knob of Dream’s spine, starting at the base of his neck all the way to his lower back. He laves his tongue along the deep dimples just above Dream’s arse before gently pressing his fingers back inside him.

Dream is a vision like this, spread out and shivering, his limbs like naked branches in the winter wind. Any sounds he may be making are muffled by the pillow, but Hob feels his hips making hesitant little motions, like he wanted to push back more onto Hob’s fingers but was trying to restrain himself.

The next press of his fingers is more calculated, hitting Dream’s prostate and staying there, massaging gently and relentlessly, watching with a heavy gaze as Dream squeals into the pillow, his entire body seizing, torn between tensing into Hob’s hands or away. When he finally eased off, he could just barely make out a muffled sob and gasping breaths.

Hob stroked Dream’s shivering flank as he added a third finger, “Doing okay, gorgeous?” Dream was so tight, so small, and Hob felt his cock begin to leak as he watched his fat fingers stretch Dream out in preparation for something even fatter, had to bite his lip to keep from coming from just the thought of being enveloped in Dream’s perfect body.

There is a pause as Dream seems to catch his breath, and then he lifts his head just enough for Hob to hear him croak, “Yes, I… more? Please? I, I mean if… if you want…”

His voice is so nervous as he trails off, and Hob feels genuinely baffled that Dream still seems worried that Hob might not want him, might not desire him wholly and completely. Baffled and heartbroken and very very in love.

“Oh yes,” Hob purred, pressing his erection pointedly against Dream’s skinny thigh, reveling in Dream’s surprised gasp at the feeling, “I very much want.”

He scissors his fingers one last time before pulling out, Dream pressing his face hard into the pillow to try to hide his soft cry. “Don’t worry, handsome, I got you,” Hob soothes, groaning as he coated his cock with lube, letting the cool gel taper his arousal just enough that he won't finish the second he starts.

Hob remembers feeling inexplicably complete the first time Dream fucked him, like their bodies were perfectly molded to fit together. Dream’s lithe body filling him and surrounding him and utterly dedicated to his pleasure, every point of contact a love letter to Hob’s body.

He feels that way now, too. His belly blocks most of his view, but it feels like Dream is the perfect fit. His thin, narrow body somehow making space for Hob’s thick length, letting him in and in until Hob’s stomach is pressing against his pelvis, spilling over his lower back. He pushes impossibly deeper, digging Dream’s bones into his belly until he feels his balls settle against Dream’s arse. Dream exhales like the breath has been punched out of him, one hand shooting out to claw at the mattress while the other grips the pillow tighter to his chest.

It takes a moment for Hob to realize that he is panting, both of them breathless as they adjust to this new togetherness. Reaching out, he brushes his fingers against the back of the hand clutching at the sheets. At the first touch, Dream releases the sheets without hesitation, twisting his hand to clutch at Hob instead. Hob’s heart swells, squeezing Dream’s hand gently as he leans down to kiss at his neck.

“Still alright, beautiful?”

With another shaky breath, Dream nods, pressing his forehead into the mattress as he curls around his pillow. Hob watches, enraptured, as the knobs of his spine and the delicate stripes of his ribs shift with the movement, skin stretched tight across the bones as he arches.

“You are so… big,” Dream gasps.

Hob lets out a huff of laughter, “That’s not exactly news, dove.”

Dream exhales in a soft laugh of his own, “I don’t think,” his voice is tense and deliberate, each word a carefully bitten back moan, “I have ever. Felt so full.” Hob shifts slightly, just barely inching out and in, making Dream release the moan he had tried so hard to stifle. “Please,” he begged, “move.”

With one last kiss to his shoulder, Hob answers, “Anything for you, gorgeous.”

Hob keeps his hand clasped with Dream, and wraps his free arm around his waist to hoist him up, face down and hips high, his legs scrambling to get his knees under him and keening as Hob thrusts in at the new angle. Once Dream is holding himself up, Hob leans back as much as he can while still holding his hand so that he can look down and see the captivating sight beneath him. With his arse in the air, his back arches beautifully, each knob of his spine marking the downward curve like a perfect mathematical graph, and Hob imagines their bodies joined together in a flawless golden ratio.

Dream has turned his face to the side to allow himself to take gasping, open-mouthed breaths, the air punched out of him with each thrust. His pitch black hair is fanned around him, framing his face like a dark halo, tongue lolling from his mouth and watery eyes rolling back when Hob grinds into him slowly, pressing as deeply and deliberately as he can.

“Gorgeous,” Hob declares breathlessly, his free hand gripping Dream’s hip, moaning at the way the curve of the bone fits perfectly in his hand, “Fuck, think I could come just from looking at you. Wish I could paint you, or take a picture, but it wouldn’t do justice to how beautiful you are.”

The tears that have been balancing on the precipice of Dream’s eyelashes finally spill over as he lets out an agonizing sob. His grip on Hob’s hand tightens almost to the point of pain, and for a moment Hob is terrified that he has hurt him, but then Dream is looking back at him, half his face still pressed into the pillow even as he rasps out quietly, “Do you mean that?”

Hob’s heart cracks in his chest as Dream keeps babbling between choked sobs, his voice desperate with fragile hope, “You really? You really mean that? You’re not lying to- to make me feel be-better? You’re not-“ He hiccupped and hid his face, “You really mean it?”

“Oh, my beautiful Dream,” Hob coos, slowing his movement and reaching down to brush some of Dream’s wild hair out of his face, wiping his tears away with his thumb as he hushes him. Perhaps it’s a little unfair, but he keeps rolling his hips gently, not thrusting, just pressing minutely closer and making Dream’s voice hitch and stutter with pleasure in between crying from the overwhelm. He waits until Dream has settled a bit, sniffling and letting out soft little moans while Hob patiently pets his face and strokes his thumb over his knuckles.

“Will you look at me, gorgeous?”

A soft hiccup escapes him, but after a moment, Dream’s one visible eye flicks up to him, afraid and hesitantly hopeful, and Hob is struck with the awareness that he is holding this man’s heart in his hands right now.

“I love you.”

Dream’s eye widens, and Hob runs his fingers through his hair to cup the back of his head as he continues, “I know it hasn’t been long, but I think I’ve loved you from the beginning.” He drapes himself over Dream’s back, feeling the way his flesh and Dream’s bones compliment each other as he presses his mouth by his ear to whisper a promise, “And I would never lie to someone I love, beautiful.”

Twisting as much as he can, Dream strains to reach Hob’s lips, and Hob meets him halfway. The angle is a little awkward, and Dream’s lips are damp with spit and tears. It’s perfect.

“I love you too,” Dream gasps against his mouth, voice shaking.

All Hob can do is kiss him again, and again, and he would kiss him forever if he could, but Dream can’t shut him up that easily. So he leans back again, peppering kisses along Dream’s shoulders when he whines. Then, he pulls out slowly, savoring Dream’s shuddering inhale, before thrusting back in firm and deep.

A sharp cry escapes Dream, his voice cracking on a moan as Hob starts up a steady pace. Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away from Dream’s, but it allows him to wrap both hands around Dream’s torso, dragging from the hollows of his armpits up around the perfect curvature of his ribs, a precious Fabergé egg in Hob’s hands, delicate and exquisite. He drifts farther to the soft, narrow space of his waste, where Hob imagines his fingers could nearly touch as they circle him. One hand moves to slide back down his back, pressing his chest a little more firmly into the mattress, emphasizing the arch of his arse in the air.

On the next thrust, even as they both groan, Hob becomes aware that as a result of taking his time with Dream, the slide between them is becoming rapidly more dry. He pulls nearly all the way out and then pauses, Dream whining at the loss. Shushing him as he strokes his upper back, his free hand reaches blindly to the bedside table until his fingers find the lube.

“Don’t worry my pretty boy, my lovely,” he soothes, noting how Dream still twitches with each compliment. Hob intends to spend the rest of his life getting Dream accustomed to being worshiped and praised. “Just want to make you more comfortable,” he explains, spreading a generous amount of lube over his cock and Dream’s hole.

Dream gasps at the sensation, “You- you don’t have to-”

“I disagree,” Hob interrupts, “But regardless,” he tosses the bottle aside and revels in the way Dream sighs at the next slow thrust, slicker and smoother than it had been, “I want to. Want to make you as comfortable as possible, make you feel as good as possible so you reward me with more of those glorious sounds of yours. So you keep moving so pretty beneath me.”

With the way eased with the fresh lube, Hob is able to pick up the pace, enraptured by the way Dream’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure, his moans turning into soft sighs that are no less addictive. Hob knows Dream had felt good before, knows it hadn’t reached the point of pain or true discomfort, but he feels his mouth fill with saliva as he watches Dream’s body relax into the mattress with satisfaction.

Before, Hob could see the way each visible muscle had coiled with the pleasure, limbs locked and tense against the onslaught. Now, even as each snap of Hob’s hips gets deeper and harder and faster, Dream melts with it, until Hob has to grip his hips to hold him up, to keep him from slipping bonelessly down to the bed in pleasure.

He’s perfect.

“You’re perfect,” Hob moans, feeling sweat gather on his brow as his thrusts grow more desperate, pleasure coiling in his belly at the feeling of Dream hot and wet around him coupled with the sight of him sprawled out beneath him, “Most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen, so lucky to have you. Love you so much you beautiful thing.”

Dream gasps and sighs, writhing languidly like a stretching cat in sharp contrast to Hob’s hard, fast movements and the way the bed makes little thuds against the wall. He thinks- he hopes- he will find bruises on his belly from slapping against Dream’s prominent pelvic bones.

“Stunning,” Hob gasps. Dream is crying again, softly and quietly, and he opens his eyes to look back at Hob again with a silent plea that Hob hears, loud and clear. “I mean it,” he reassures, “Gorgeous, and beautiful, and sexy.” Dream’s eye widens with a gasp as Hob emphasizes the last point with a hand around his cock. He is hot and hard as Hob strokes him, slower than his thrusts, an off-beat rhythm to keep Dream on the edge. The tip is wet with copious pre-come, and Hob looks at the pillow beneath Dream’s head, damp with spit and tears and dark smears of makeup, imagines the wet spot almost certainly staining the pillow under his hips, and Hob has the unhinged thought that he will never wash those pillows again.

He’ll wash them once Dream moves in with him. Maybe. Until then, he’ll press his face to them and inhale deeply whenever Dream isn’t around.

“I want you to ride me later,” Hob moans, “Want to look up and see your gorgeous body take your pleasure from me. Want to see your face as you lose yourself.” Dream makes a noise that is half moan, half sob. “Come on, beautiful,” Hob tightens his hand around Dream’s cock and wraps his free arm around his chest, lifting him until Hob can feel every knob of Dream’s spine pressed into his chest and belly, “Come for me, Love.”

Hob’s not sure if it’s the words or the change in angle or the increased skin contact that does it, but Dream comes with a near silent sigh, coating Hob’s hand and the pillow beneath him. His body clenches around Hob which finally tips him over the edge as well, giving a few quick thrusts before emptying his load as deep as he can.

For a long moment they both just breathe. Hob lowers Dream gently back down to the bed, shifting just enough so as not to lay him on top of the soiled pillow, and presses his forehead into the valley between his shoulder blades, kissing lightly between each inhale. Unfortunately for both of them, eventually Hob pulls out, their whines of displeasure nearly harmonizing in a way that makes Hob chuckle. He quickly chokes on the laughter though when he looks down, seeing that way the bones of Dream’s arse frame his gaping hole, cum slowly slipping out to coat his inner thighs. It’s too soon to go again, but his cock tries anyway.

Dream whines when he moves away, but Hob kisses the side of his head soothingly, “Be right back, angel.” He is quick as can be to grab a damp cloth, savoring the shape of Dream’s body under his hands as he wipes him down, trailing kisses over each cleaned spot. Each kiss gets a soft sigh from Dream, and Hob is in love.

He uses a clean corner of the cloth to carefully clean the streaks of makeup from Dream’s face. Dream looks at him as he does, eyes red rimmed and watery and glimmering with love and hope and like he is maybe- hesitantly- starting to believe Hob.

When he tosses the cloth aside, he kisses every inch of Dream’s face. His cheekbones and his brow and his perfect lips. Dream tugs at his arm, trying to drag him down to lay on top of him and Hob laughs, resisting and bracing himself on his arms above him, “Dream, I’ll crush you,” he teases.

“I would die happy,” Dream mumbles.

Laughing, Hob moves him easily, arranging them face to face on their sides with Dream wrapped in a safe embrace, letting his arms lay heavy around him in compromise.

“Oh, my beautiful, my love,” Hob kisses him with a smile, “Death is a mug's game.”

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #my art #nsft #There WILL be a second illustration #...someday #I have time sensitive projects I need to work on and the fic was finished and I crave validation to get me through the long nights lol

five-and-dimes