What dreams know about love?
Chapter 21 (18+)
Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC
Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?
Notes: I hope you guys like it, I am not the best writing smut, although I wish I could be better at it so forgive me for it.
You guys are the best for the comments and the questions!
Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected
Warnings: MDNI 18+, SMUT, unprotected sex , penetrative sex, semi-public inercourse (but everyone is inside so nobody sees), overstimulation ( I guess), p in v, fingering, oral (F receiving) , praise, dirty talk, edging, handjob, angst
She froze.
Opened her eyes, and saw him.
Not pressed to her throat, not loosening the laces at her back, not flooding her senses with the steady pull of his body against hers. But standing apart, looking at her.
The real Dream.
His face was unreadable, save for the faintest shadow of pain. His gaze held hers, cold and fathomless as deep water, offering nothing. No anger, no forgiveness, no belief.
The man holding her was not him.
She shoved him away with a trembling burst of strength, stumbling back, her head shaking violently as though she could undo the last moments by sheer refusal.
“No,” she said, the word fractured. She barely heard herself over the muffled rush in her ears. A single tear slid hot down her cheek, an anchor in a body that felt half-absent.
He did not resist, simply stepping back like a victor stepping off the field, slow and certain of the battle’s outcome. One gloved finger wiped the corner of his mouth, smearing away the ghost of her kiss. Then came a smile, sharp, predatory. So unlike her true husband.
The molten gold in his eyes flared as his shape unraveled, Morpheus’s severe face melting into another beauty entirely.
“Oh, my sweet sister-in-law,” Desire purred, their gaze roaming from her parted lips to the quiver in her hands. “So very eager. So very desperate. You wanted him to say the words, and I gave them to you. You wanted him to take you, and I obliged.” They tilt their head as if savoring the taste of the moment. “Even with your precious little bond, you couldn’t tell the difference. ”
Her vision tightened at the edges. “Stop.” Her voice felt thin in her own mouth. She kept turning with them, unwilling to give them her back. As she would be open to another stab.
They ignored her, their words sliding like silk dipped in venom. “Or maybe you didn’t want to tell.” Their gaze slid to Dream, still standing stone-straight. “She saw you with Thessaly. You broke her again. And she’s been starving so long… oh, she wanted to be chosen so badly, she’d take anyone who wore your face.”
Their fingers brushed her temple as they tucked back a stray curl, a gesture that made her stomach twist. “To plead fidelity, of course.”
The heat of shame mixed with the cold sweat of the panic still gripping her. Every heartbeat seemed to scrape against her ribs.
“TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” The shout ripped out jagged and too loud, making her own skull ache. She struck at them, but they recoiled before her hand could connect. Love trip, having to hold the stone railing for not collapsing on the floor.
Desire words lodged deep, precisely where her fears already festered. Her lips parted, but no defense came. She turned to her real husband to defend herself. Even though… what use would it be?
She was too tired, too raw. Panic had left her hollow, and Desire’s voice filled the emptiness. Every syllable sounded true, because hadn’t Morpheus already once chosen suspicion over her pleas? Hadn’t he believed the worst of her when she begged him otherwise? The last time, she had proof of her innocence, her letters, Desire’s letters passing as Dream, and still he had judged her guilty.
What chance did she have now, with nothing but her own word and the taste of Desire’s kiss still warm on her lips?
Her breath stuttered. The words spun, collided, fell apart before they could form. She could not think past the roaring in her head. She could not untangle the mess of what had happened from the sight of him watching it. She could feel the pulse in her palms, her hearing dimming as though she were underwater.
Every thought she reached collapsed into another, becoming an endless cruel cycle of shame into anger, anger into panic, panic into shame again., and turning to dust before she could even grasp it.
What could she say? That she hadn’t known? That she’d ignored the bond? That she’d mistaken the feeling for something else? They were excuses, all of them, and she wouldn’t believe it herself if it was him in her place.
“I—”
Desire’s eyes gleamed. “And oh, the way you kissed me…” The smile was slow, deliberate. “You leaned in, you wanted it. You would have let me keep going.” The pause stretched until her skin prickled and her vision swam. “Wouldn’t you, Dove? I was already untying your corset. What else would you let me untie?”
Heat flooded her cheeks, nausea tightening her gut. “Morpheus, please—it isn’t true, I—” Her voice was fast, too fast, the syllables tumbling over each other like they were trying to escape.
Desire’s laugh was soft and merciless. “And you, big brother… I gave you your perfect half, a pretty princess that would die for your sins. And all these years, never once have you kissed her like that. Not with heat. Not with hunger. It took me to make her feel wanted.” Their head tilted in mock sympathy. “Tell me, did you like watching me put my mouth where you rarely bother to? Want to see more? I could teach you how to make her sing for you.”
“Enough,” Morpheus said, his voice low, dangerous. But he did not move closer.
They leaned closer, their voice a mock caress. “Why, brother, you should be grateful. I’ve done you a kindness. I’ve proven how easily she can be misled, stray from you, how childish her heart remains. One kiss was all it took, wasn’t it? One kiss and she melted. One sweet word and she was pleading. You know this, don’t you? You knew it once before. You can’t trust her, can you? You doubted her then, why should you not doubt her now?”
Her knees felt unsteady, her breath shallow. The garden seemed smaller, the air heavier, Desire’s filthy words clinging to her like smoke.
She couldn’t tell how close they got to her again, but she could feel their breath whispering in her ear, soft as silk and twice as cutting “You will never convince him. You will never be enough.”
Love closed her eyes, fighting her own tears. She wanted to scream, to strike, to deny, but her body betrayed her, she felt tired. The crushing certainty that her voice would mean nothing. That Morpheus would see only what Desire wanted him to see.
“Morpheus, I didn’t know,” she heard herself say, but the sound felt distant, not entirely hers, as it was a reflex that she didn’t even know it was worth it. “I swear it. I was a fool, I please-” Her throat constricted.
She almost whispered, looking down at the ground, tears running freely over her cheeks “Don’t punish me for this. I didn’t- I didn’t know it wasn’t you, please, please-”
Desire’s laughter rang bright and cruel. “She begs so prettily. You should make her do it more often.”
The air changed before he spoke.
A scent rolled in, damp earth, cold stone, the metallic edge of rain not yet fallen.
Somewhere beyond the dead garden, thunder murmured, distant but growing. Lightning flashed once, silent, just enough to limn Morpheus’s face in silver for a heartbeat before shadow claimed it again.
Love’s pulse stuttered. That silence, that terrible stillness, she had felt it before. Sometimes it meant his judgment was already set. Sometimes it meant the sentence was still being weighed.
She could not tell which one this was.
His eyes found hers, black and fathomless, and the weight in them pressed against her as if the Dreaming itself leaned in.
“You have overstepped again… more than I can bear to forgive,” he said, his voice quiet but absolute.
Love’s breath caught. Her knees threatened to buckle. Her mind spun. ‘ He believes I’ve failed him. He believes I’ve betrayed him’
“You trespass upon what is mine,” he said at last, voice low enough to make the air vibrate in her chest. The red-tinged Dreaming shuddered in answer, a ripple through the sky like the pull before a storm breaks. “You twist what is bound to me. You lay hands upon her.”
Desire’s smile was feline, victorious. “And she let me. Oh, she welcomed me.” They stepped closer, close enough that the first growl of thunder seemed to echo their voice. “You can’t even tell, can you? Whether she kissed me because she thought I was you… or because she wished it was me all along.”
The lightning this time split the clouds above, bright and sudden. The scent of rain sharpened.
Dream took one slow step forward, and the light dimmed around them as if the sky itself recoiled. Then, in a blink, his hand was at Desire’s throat, lifting them from the ground with the ease of pulling a petal from its stem.
Desire’s high heeled boots scraped against nothing, the red earth falling away beneath them. They gave a choked laugh despite the crushing grip. “Careful, brother… wouldn’t want to spill a little family blood, would we?”
“Morpheus!” Love’s voice broke out of her before she could stop it. Her own desperation startled her though even she didn’t know if it was plea or warning. If spilling family blood would fix their problems, she would have done it long ago.
For a long, taut heartbeat that stretched like an eternity, Dream did not release, his hand tightening around Desire’s throat. His gaze locked to his sibling, black as a moonless night meeting the gold gleam of a sibling’s delight in cruelty, and the air between them trembled with the nearness of the coming storm.
Rain threaded the wind, the storm called into being by his rage. The Dreaming seemed ready to tear itself apart with him. Then, with deliberate slowness, he let them drop to the red earth.
“I will warn you once,” Morpheus said, his voice ringing with the weight of eternity. “Lay claim to what is mine again, and you will find yourself nameless. I will scour you from every mortal thought, every secret hunger. You will wander forgotten, starved, in the silence between desires.”
For the briefest heartbeat, Desire’s smile faltered. Then it slanted back into place, thinner, sharper, laced with venom. “Such a possessive husband,” they purred, though their voice was not quite steady. “This temper will cost you both, in time.”
“Begone,” Dream commanded. His words rippled through the Dreaming, final and inexorable. “You are barred from this realm until I decree otherwise.”
Desire’s gaze slid toward Love, slow and lingering, a promise curdled with threat. Then, with a shimmer of gold and the faintest echo of laughter “I will miss you, my dear siblings”, before they vanished.
The echo of Desire’s laughter lingered, a sharp edge slicing through the quiet room. Love’s chest heaved, eyes fixed where Desire had vanished, while Dream’s jaw tightened, every muscle rigid with restraint.
The words left unspoken pressed between them like thunderclouds, heavy and inevitable. Rain began to patter against the windows, soft at first, then louder, a mirror to the storm building inside them.
“You… you always do this,” Love breathed, voice trembling between accusation and plea. “You let them—”
“I let nothing,” Dream cut in, voice low but taut.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the sharp angles of their faces, and for a heartbeat, all the anger, hurt, and desire hung raw between them. Love’s hands trembled, drawn despite herself, pulled by the same invisible current that had always bound them.
“You can’t… you can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, almost to herself, the words fragile yet laced with fire. Her chest heaved, and for a moment, the hurt softened into quiet reckoning.
Her gaze sharpened, fury and resolve coiling together. Slowly, deliberately, she spoke again, her voice colder now, more measured, like the strike of a blade. “That was a mistake.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you angry?”
Love’s eyes burned, fury alight in their green depths. “Do you ever think past the moment? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? They will retaliate.”
“They provoked—”
“They always provoke!” she cut in, her voice rising, sharp as a blade. “And you took the bait like a fool. You’ve just made certain they’ll come for you, for us, in ways we won’t see coming.”
His voice deepened, low and raw. “They deceived you. Violated your will and twisted your emotions, knowing what you have been through. And forced me to watch it. They wanted me to watch, to help them twist the knife, to deliver the final blow. I couldn’t—”
“Why? Why couldn’t you? Why does it matter to you? I don’t matter to you.” She turned sharply, fingers clutching at her hair, as if holding herself together.
“You do matter. You—”
“Yes, as your possession. I matter to you as a doll you don’t want to share.”
A chill drop of rain fell into her palm, startling her. Then another, landing on her cheek. She ignored it, too consumed to notice how the sky was darkening.
“You think I acted to protect my pride?”
“Yes!” The word burst from her too quickly. Then softer, trembling: “No. I—” She turned away again, her voice breaking. “Go back inside, Dream. Go back to Thessaly, or Alianora, or Titania. Or another one—I don’t… I am tired. So tired of this. I just—”
“I was coming to you.” His tone was almost pleading. “I dismissed Thessaly. I—you were in pain. I came to see you, to—”
“Don’t. Do not say it. Do not say it when you look at me like this. Do not say it as if you believe me.”
“But I do.”
“Stop! Stop it! Please.”
“Eoster.”
Her hands flew up, shaking. Then, with a cry, she struck him. Her palms slammed against his chest, hard, once, twice, again. The sound echoed with the first clap of thunder overhead.
“You ruined me!” she shouted, pounding him as the rain fell harder. “You and Desire and my sisters! But you! You me into pieces and left me to pretend I was whole!” Her fists struck chest, and arms, her voice ragged with years of hurt.
Morpheus did not stop her. He did not defend himself, did not even raise a hand. He stood still beneath the violence of her grief, as immovable as stone, as though he believed he deserved every blow.
The storm answered her, lightning splitting the sky, the rain started to pour violently around them. Her hand striked upon him. Her hands ached, her arms trembled, but still she struck, each one weaker, her voice breaking. ‘ See me, feel this, carry it as I have carried it’.
At last, her strength gave way. Her fists slid from his chest, falling limp at her sides, as if she no longer knew whether she wanted to strike or cling. With a sob, she sagged forward, forehead pressed against his soaked shirt, her body shaking with exhaustion. The rain poured over them both, drenching them to the bone, her tears indistinguishable from the relentless storm.
Morpheus remained still a moment longer, honoring her fury in silence. Only when her trembling grew too great, when she threatened to collapse entirely, did he move. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands lifted, not to restrain, not to command, but to steady her. One hand hovered, then settled at her back, the other at her shoulder, light as if she were made of glass.
“I am broken,” she whispered into his chest. “You know this, you caused this. And why would you want a broken heart?”
His voice was low, steady, unshaken. “Because it is yours.” He stopped for a second feeling her subtle tremble “And broken or whole, it is the only heart I want. I have no illusions of perfection only the truth of what you are, and what we might be.”
She shook her head weakly denying it, as she couldn’t not believe his words, but did not pull away. His arms held her, not to cage, but to keep her standing.
“I will spend every day I have mending it. Not to earn your forgiveness, but because I should have done so from the start.”
“Even when you say this, my heart aches.” She whispered against his chest, a raw confession dragged from exhaustion.
“Then let me try to soothe it.”
“You will break me again,” she whispered, voice raw. “And when you do, what is going to be left of me?”
“I will tear down every tower in the Dreaming before I fail you again.” His words rumbled like thunder, quiet but immovable.
“How can I believe you?”
“I have been cruel, cold, distant. But have I ever lied to you?”
Her eyes searched his, frantic, desperate. The rain poured harder, plastering her hair to her face, dismantling her hair, his cloak heavy with water, both of them trembling under its weight. Years of mistrust shimmered between them, carried on every raindrop.
Slowly, as though lifting something impossibly heavy, she raised her face to his, her hands pressed against him, tentative at first, a question more than a demand.
She opened her mouth searching for the right words to wound him, to keep him away or to keep him closer, she didn’t know for certainty, but they dissolved as his mouth claimed hers.
It was tentative at first, fragile as the first drop of rain. A breath caught, a soft tremor, a kiss that was more question than answer. For a heartbeat, it was homecoming: delicate, tender, two lost souls finding their way back through the darkness. And when she faltered, he lifted his hands at last cradling her face as if she were the last light he might ever hold.
But the storm would not allow stillness.
Their lips found each other again, soft at first, tasting of rain and tears.The rain came harder, drumming against their skin like needles, soaking them until water ran in rivulets down their faces, mingling with salt tears. The wind rose and whipped her hair across his cheek, tangling against his lips as he kissed her deeper, harder. Thunder rolled above them like a heartbeat too vast to be contained.
The kiss grew urgent, trembling with the ferocity of all they had been denied. Her hands, shaking, slid from the folds of his cloak to the back of his neck to fingers tangling in his soaked hair, pulling him closer; His hands moved from her cheeks to her back, then lower, memorizing her, until his hands reach the sides of her tights, lifting her, he anchored her to him, against the stone wall, as though the storm itself sought to steal her away.
She gasped against his mouth; he answered with a hunger edged by grief and centuries of longing. The storm howled, the air electric around them, but within that chaos they were a single point of unyielding gravity.
His lips traced her jaw, down her neck, lingering at the curve of her collarbone, brushing over the hollow of her throat. Each caress sent shivers through her pulling a soft cry from her lips. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, he was impossibly close to her, and her breath caught as she felt him, hard and urgent, pressing against her thigh, and instinctively, she arched, pressing herself into him.
“Dream-” she whispered, wanting to feel this friction, he move against her, and her thighs tightening instinctively around him.
His hands lingered on the sides of her thighs, steadying her, grounding them both in the moment. His lips moved lower, leaving the soft column of her throat for the swell of her breast above the clinging white silk. One hand cupped her, thumb rolling her nipple through the soaked fabric until it hardened beneath his touch. Her chest rose, quivering, tilting toward him, needing more. His lips followed to the other breast kissing soft at first, then pressing a reverent bite over the peak.
A soft moan escaped her lips, shuddering, and he soothed the ache with his tongue, sucking until her spine bowed beneath the contrast of his warm breath against the cold rain. She pulled at his hair, demanding, and he answered with equal intensity, squeezing her soft flesh until she moaned again, head thrown back, her whole body reaching for him.
His hand descended, tracing feather-like touches, down her ribs, lingering at the hollow of her stomach before stopping at her hip bone, fingers drawing small circles there while the other pressed firmly against her thigh, holding her close.
His gaze met hers. She never saw him like this, lips swollen and red, breath uneven, hair wild and dripping, all for her. It made a heat pool between her legs, and her tights clench instinctively.
His eyes searched hers, reverent, asking without words. She answered with a tilt of her body, a smile tugging at her lips, the slight parting of her thighs for him, an inaudible permission.
Carefully, he lifted the hem of her rain-drenched dress, the wet fabric sliding upward to reveal the curve of her hip. His hand found the damp silk beneath, pushing it aside with aching patience, teasing her gently, as she arched in response. “Dream-” she whimpered and it was the most beautiful sound he ever heard.
The first brush of his fingers against her made him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. She was already slick, already open, as though her body had been waiting only for him. His touch was reverent at first, brushing along her folds as though memorizing her shape, until she trembled, thighs tightening around him, whispering his name like a broken plea.
At last, he pressed one finger into her, impossibly slow and deep. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders, muscles drawn taut, and he stilled for a heartbeat to savor the way she pulsed around him. Then, when she shifted, urging him wordlessly, he began to move, curling his slender finger inside her, stroking her walls until her body writhed against his hand.
“You’re divine like this,” he whispered, rough velvet against her ear. Reverent, awed, but filthy “My Love, my perfect Love, writhing, so hungry for me.”
His pace quickened, finger plunging deeper, curling into that place that made her spine bow and her thighs clamp around him, her walls squeezing impossibly tight at his fingers, like it never wanted to let him go. Her silence shattered into gasps and strangled cries as she gasped “More” and rode his hand, greedy for every drag of his finger.
He obeyed like his only duty in the universe was to bring pleasure to his queen. A second finger slid inside, stretching her, filling her. She clenched around him, wet heat fluttering tight, pulling him deeper. He curled both fingers, slow and deliberate, until she cried out, hips rocking forward, demanding more of the pleasure he had long denied her. He gave it to her, unhurried but relentless, savoring every gasp, every shudder like a starving man tasting a feast. When she moaned, he pressed harder; when she writhed, he gave her more, another finger sliding in, stretching her further, claiming her with exquisite care.
She unraveled before him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, body straining toward every movement of his hand.
Through their bond he felt everything, every flutter, every gasp, every desperate throb of need, and it wrecked him, intoxicated him, as if he were touching not just her body, but the core of her very being, and it was only his to worship.
Her need drove him harder. His ease his fingers only to push it against her tightness again, dragging against every place that made her cry out, his thumb working on her clit, pressing it, circling it, making her release inevitable. He had never cared for it before, but now, now he craved it, worshipped it, needed it more than breath.
“Let me hear you,” he urged, his voice reverent, ruined. “Let me have you.”
She bucked against his hand, grinding down, chasing the peak he kept dragging just beyond her reach. His pace was merciless in its patience, pulling her tight, then easing, then plunging again, the rhythm of torment and gift. Her thighs quivered, her body trembling on the edge, but he refused to let her fall until she gave him everything.
“You let me starve,” she sobbed, trembling, her body grasping at him with every thrust.
His mouth pressed against her throat, his teeth grazing her skin, as his tongue soothe his mark, his voice a litany of devotion and filth. “Then starve no longer. I’ll feed you, fill you. Ride my fingers, my dream. Take everything, I will give everything.”
She arched into him, broken cries spilling into his shoulder as she rode his fingers, her body greedy, insatiable, her hips moving against him, his free hand digging at her hips to hold her in place. He held her through it, relentless, whispering like prayer against her skin:
“I should have worshiped you like this every night. Show me, my dream.”
The coil inside her snapped, violent, incandescent. Her cry tore through the rain-drenched night, her body clamping around him, convulsing, convulsing again, pouring into his hand. He drank it in, his eyes closing as though her pleasure was the only thing in existence, the crown jewel of his eternity.
He slowly withdrew his fingers, and she cried out softly over the hollow, glistening where he had touched her. He kept her pressed against him, steadying her quivering body, and lifted his hand to his mouth, tasting her. If the sound of her voice, caught between pleasure and breath, was one of the most exquisite things he had ever heard; her taste, he thought, would be the last feast he would ever need.
She blushed, unable to look away from the way he sucked his fingers with her release, and instinctively her tights clenched, he gave her an almost smile. “You taste… divine,” he murmured, reverent and awed, looking at his digits glistening with her desire. She coiled a smile, voice trembling, “Then let me taste it.”
She captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, tasting her own pleasure still wet on his lips and tongue. Her hands grasping him by his collar, ease on his heavy coat, pushing it off from his shoulders, letting it fall to the rain-dark earth. He guided her down onto it, cradling her as though even the ground were not worthy of her.
She sat up on her knees before him, breath ragged, her fingers unbutton his shirt, Dream helped her, tugging the fabric loose until she slid it from his shoulders, her hands finally grazing his sculpture torso. She could never touch him before, never seen him like this, her eyes kept memorizing every centimeter of his body, like she wanted to remember forever. He eased her soaked dress upward, over her head, then helped her shed her underclothes piece by piece.
He could have make it vanish with a look, but there was something sacred in baring her with his own hands. Her corset, already loosened, slipped free at her urging. Her silk underwear, dark with rain and her own desire, was pushed down her thighs and discarded. At last, she was bare before him, bare for him.
The sight nearly unmanned him. Before, he only pushed her nightgowns to her chest, they never looked at each other, now of all her was there.
Before he could say anything, she moved. She leaned forward, unsure, Love was never one to initiate, it was not was she was taught. She was taught to be guided, to wait for her husband to show her what to do, to only touch if he demands, to be silent if he so wishes. All that seemed impossible and silly, when him was warm under her touch. She couldn’t help but press wet kisses to his throat, to the hollow at the base of it, his pulse point, lowering to his chest, tasting the rain and the shivers she drew from him, her hands traced his arms, his ribs, down his stomach. Lower. His hands found her waist, gazing her actions, how he had done nothing to earn her lips, her tongue, and she still bless him with it.
Her lips followed, dragging down his torso, her breath hot against his skin. Her soft wet kisses, lingering at the hollow of his hips, her hands worked at his trousers, tugging, eager, intent. She sank lower, eyes glinting, looking over at him through her fluttering lashes, her swollen red lips parting in promise.
But his hand stopped her, stroking her cheek, brushing a stray wet curl from it, a single finger under her chin tilting her face up. His gaze caught hers, dark and burning, a weight that made her tremble.
“My queen” he said, voice low, velvet-thick, utterly filthy and worshipful “ For every cry you swallowed, every touch I never gave. I want to feast on you.” His mouth ghosted over her jaw, his voice a growl against her skin. “I want to eat you until you can’t remember what loneliness felt like.”
Her lips parted at his words, her breath catching as heat surged low in her belly. The crude reverence in his tone, like prayer, like hunger undid her. She squeezed her tights, her already sensible core from her first orgasm clenching in anticipation. She found his lips quickly again, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly she reclined on the dark folds of his coat, she spread her knees apart in invitation.
Dream’s cock twitched painfully against his trousers at the sight, his body begging for hers. The air cooled her slickness, flushed and swollen, glistening for him, dripping for him, her body screaming its need. Her hand called for him instinctively, urging him closer to settle between her thighs, the bond between them burning hotter than the rain.
He braced above her, still half-dressed, pants undone, his weight pressing deliciously into her as he kissed her again. Their mouths crashed together, tongues slick with shared taste, his hand anchoring her hip while the other braced the ground beside her. She arched to him, moaning when his hardness pressed against her folds through his pants, desperate for friction.
Her hand slipped down between them, palming the rigid line of his cock through the loosened fabric.
“Love—” he warned, a ragged growl, his control fraying. He was fixed in her pleasure, but the way her hand stroked him over the fabric… Gods, he was going to come like a schoolboy in his pants.
She blinked up at him, lashes lowered in wicked innocence, her voice breathless, a smile tugging her lips “I just want to feel… what I do to you.” hips rolling against him. Her words were breathless, daring, fingers tracing his length with sinful insistence.
He snarled, his breath hitched, his jaw clenched, his voice lowering into something dangerous and devoted, rocking against her hand, the bond between them vibrating with need. “You will know, my Love. I will show you exactly how hard you make me. But first-” Before she could protest, he dragged himself lower, his mouth tracing reverent fire across the soft skin, feather-light kisses. Wet, lingering suckles on her breasts just enough to turn her nipples hard again, followed to her stomach, down to the sensitive curve of her inner thighs.
His hands urged her thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the softness before dragging her legs up, draping them over his shoulders, locking her open. He kissed her knee, her inner thigh, giving her a sharp nip that made her gasp, moving with infuriating patience, until she’s writhing beneath him, hips lifting, offering herself with no shame.
And when he dared look up at her, their gaze met. His eyes burning with possession and awe as he saw her already touching herself, palms cupping her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples, her body arched, a wanton vision putting on a private show just for him. The sight nearly destroyed him. If he had dreams of his own, her sight would be the one he would keep sleeping to see again, every single day from eternity.
They shared nothing but glancing, when he lowered his head between her thighs, the scrape of his lips so close she nearly wept, until they finally brush her swollen folds, his tongue tasting her with deliberate, devastating care.
Her cry fractured into the rain-soaked night.
His tongue moved in languid sweeps, circling, tasting, savoring her as though she were honey poured only for him. The reverence was there, in the way he groaned into her, low and hoarse, as though the act itself undid him.
His hands were holding firm at her hip, the other sliding beneath her, pressing her down so she could not escape the press of his tongue. When her thighs tried to close, overwhelmed, he only groaned in satisfaction, prying them wider for him, as though nothing else in the Dreaming could possibly matter but the taste of her.
He devoured her as though the act was prayer, his tongue flicking sharp, then slow, then swirling until her breath broke into muffled cries against the sleeve of his discarded coat. He chuckled darkly into her, breath hot, words reverent and filthy all at once, against her core “Do not hide from me, my dream. I want the Dreaming to echo with your pleasure. Let me hear your sweet cries” Love raised her hips for even the second he decided to talk and not use his tongue, her hands clawed through his hair, pulling it hard, until her knuckles went white, she begged, shameless in her need “Dream, please-”
And still he edged her, refusing to give the final mercy, until her voice cracked with it, until her toes curled hard enough to cramp, until her entire body was trembling on the precipice.
Each time her breath grew ragged, he slowed, easing her back from the edge, forcing her to endure, to burn, to ache with the hunger he wanted to ignite in her. His tongue pressed deep, only to retreat, keeping her in that suspended, unbearable place.
"Patience, beloved," He growled, pulling her hips harder against his face, his fingers clawing into her waist to hold her still. Her hips fought against his grip, but he only held her harder, pulling her tighter, burying himself deeper, his tongue unrelenting now coaxing every single response from her, the sounds of her arousal filling the room.”You are made for this, to tremble only in want, to cry only in bliss” He gasped against her, his words wet against her skin.
And then he added his finger to her clit again, and pushed her over with his mouth. Her voice broke, raw and wild, his name spilling from her lips, the entire Solstice, if it wasn’t from the music of the ball, would know she was been eaten out in a dead garden.
Her body snapped, her thighs clamping desperately around his head, but he only drove her further, carrying her through wave after wave, licking her through the flood of her release, sucking, praising her even as she screamed, loud and glorious, swallowing her down with a groan as though as she were the sweetest thing he had ever known. Her release shook through her like a storm.
When he pulled back, expecting her to be undone, Love startled him. Yes, her body trembled, thighs slick, breath caught in sharp, uneven waves, but instead of yielding to spent softness, she pulled him to her mouth, dragging his mouth down into another kiss, fevered and wet, tasting her release on his lips. Desire did not dull her; it made her more alive, more ravenous, as though the high had only sharpened her need.
Morpheus hovered above her, and she devoured the sight of him: his hair disheveled from her hands, unruly black curls falling across his temple; his lips parted in uneven breaths, his chest rising sharply as though the air itself had turned thin, the unbearable pressure of desire sharpened by restraint.
He looked like every secret dream whispered into the night, unraveled, stripped bare, and entirely hers.
He tried to suppress the ache, to temper his greed. He should worship her, continue to tend to her, but stars, every unspoken thought betrayed him. If she could drench his tongue, tighten around his fingers, then how much sweeter would it be to feel her stretch around him, to sink into her heat, to be taken by her body as surely as her soul had claimed him? His cock strained against restraint, painfully hard, aching to be buried inside her.
“The bond betrays you, my Dream,” she whispered against his mouth, denying him another kiss. Her nails teased down his chest, slow and deliberate, until they skimmed the sharp line of his hipbones. “I feel your hunger. You ache to bury yourself in me, to spill your seed deep inside, to keep me filled and trembling with you until dawn.” Her laugh was husky, nearly broken with her own pleasure. Her lips barely grazed his skin as she murmured, “You long for me to take you over and over, until there is nothing left of either of us but the bond that binds.”
His breath caught; his hips jerked forward at her words, shamefully eager, sinful thoughts laid bare by her delicious tongue. She hissed in delight at his loss of composure, her body clenching at the bond’s echo of his hunger, like it was her own desire.
Her hand slid lower, into the open edge of his pants, delicate fingers curling eagerly around him. Long and hard, he pulsed in her hand, and his jaw tightened as he groaned into her hair. She pumped him slowly, steady strokes, dragging her thumb over the bead of moisture gathering at his tip. She smeared it deliberately, making it messy, coating her palm until he was wet and slick for her. The sound of his ragged breath, the way his hips twitched helplessly into her fist, it made her smirk, triumphant, clenching around nothing in anticipation. She may have never touched him before, but it felt natural, like she knew exactly how and where to touch him.
Adjusting her hips just enough to be closer, she guided him lower, fist tightening around him as she brought him to her entrance. His tip pressed against her folds, both of them gasping at the contact. He looked down at her, his perfect, poised queen, his own Spring, handling him with a confidence and eagerness foreign to him. ‘ Is this how she becomes when cherished? Is this what blooms in her?’ He couldn’t help but wonder. Gods, he would never leave her.
His cock was slick with both their arousals, gliding against her as she teased, coating herself, rubbing him along her swollen heat. She arched her hips into the pressure, but denied him entry, teasing, coaxing him with wicked patience.
“Love…” he rasped, voice breaking.
She smiled against his throat, nipping lightly. “Feel how I crave you?...” Her other hand slid between her thighs, circling her clit in lazy, deliberate spirals, moans spilling freely, husky and breathless “Claim me as yours, as you should have centuries ago.” She commanded, her curls clung damp to her flushed skin, thighs parted, her breath coming in little whimpers as she toyed with herself, right before his eyes.
Her lips brushed his throat, tongue laving where she bit as she stroked him against her folds, pressing his slick crown at her entrance, green eyes gleaming with desire.
When at last he sank into her, she gasped, sharp, wet, reverent, her body locking around him, clutching him like it had waited centuries. Her walls fluttered, tightening, claiming every inch of him as her own. Her fingers never left her clit, circling as she moaned in awe, and he held her hips down, reverent, trembling at the unbearable sweetness of her taking him in, letting her feel every connection, every ridge, every curve.
Her cry broke into a sobbing moan, her body arching to take him deeper, her nails raking his back as she clung to him.
Morpheus groaned, forehead pressed to hers, the bond blazing like starlight through both of them. He tried to still, to savor, but her body milked him, greedy, drawing him deeper, until his control shattered with a guttural sound.
He moved, slow thrusts first, deliberate. Her gasps broke between them, her free hand clutching his hair, her knuckles white, while her fingers circled her clit, coaxing herself higher with every roll of his hips. Their mouths found each other again, sloppy, moaning into each other, the bond thick with shared ecstasy until he nearly drowned in it.
“You are milking me, my queen,” he rasped against her lips, undone, reverent. “Drawing me deeper, as if you would never let me leave.”
Her answering laugh was ruined and breathless. “I will not. I want you hard, soft, spilling and still inside me, filling me, warming me. All of you. Mine.”
His groan broke against her mouth, his hands cupping her breasts, squeezing her flesh as though to anchor himself. She arched, circling harder over her clit, clinging to him, clenching around him with greedy devotion. He looked down, overwhelmed, to where they joined, her body glistening, tight, devouring him with each thrust, and the sight alone nearly undid him.
Love felt the twitch of him inside her, his body straining, fighting for control, but she would not let him relent. Not now. Not when her own pleasure trembled on the edge of breaking her apart. Her thighs locked around his hips, dragging him deeper each thrust pulling ragged cries from her throat. Her nails carved crescents into his back as he drove her higher, her thumb never leaving her clit even as his rhythm dissolved into frantic, uneven strokes. She cried his name, loud and breaking, each one a demand and a plea, not ‘Husband’ not ‘Dream’, but ‘Morpheus’ , raw and desperate, until he thought he might shatter from hearing it.
He answered not with words but by bending lower, taking her hand from her clit, with reverence, he pressed a kiss into her knuckles, then guided it to rest against his back pressing a kiss into her knuckles, as though in reverence, before guiding it to rest at his back. Her protest was swallowed in a ragged gasp as his own fingers replaced hers, sliding down, circling the slick bud of her pleasure with relentless intent.
The shock tore through her. Her cry cracked in the air, her voice breaking into hoarse, shuddering pleas. His touch was infinitely better than her own, his fingers touching her heat as he wanted her to break under his touch. “Don’t stop, don’t, please, pleas-” Each syllable crumbled into sobs as her body clenched around him, tight, wet, unyielding. He drove into her, burying himself to the hilt, grinding her down against his hand, determined to see her undone.
The world outside ceased to exist, no Dreaming, no Solstice, no dawn, no time itself. There was only the wet slap of skin, the wet slide, the heady heat, the helpless sounds spilling free. His mouth found her neck, her jaw, her lips. She clung to him like an anchor, and he held her as though she were the only thing keeping him alive, their bodies crashing together in a frenzy that was no longer love nor lust but both, indistinguishable and consuming.
Her climax ripped through her like fire, convulsing, again and again, over and over, as if her body could not stop. She sobbed his name raw, breaking, her voice splintering into cries he would never forget. Her pleas poured out shameless, molten, desperate “Fill me, please, fill me” She half-begged, half-demand making his last restraint snap.
With a guttural groan, he gave himself over, “Yes… take it, my love. I’d fill you until you’re split open on eternity itself” Slamming into her, harder, faster, each thrust reckless, sloppy, yet somehow perfectly attuned to the rhythm of her cries and the lock of her warmth around him, as though trying to bury himself inside her forever.
His release hit like a storm, spilling inside her with a shudder that rattled his bones, her body convulsing around him, milking every last drop as he kept his hand upon her, circling, coaxing her through wave upon wave until she broke entirely, sobbing, trembling, her voice cracked and breathless against his mouth, and still she clutched him tighter, her relentless body dragging every drop from him. He collapsed into her, undone, and still she held him inside, clinging as if she would never let him go.
They stayed for a moment, completely spent in each others arms. Morpheus lingered inside her, feeling the gentle warmth of her body collapse into his. For a moment, he thought to ease himself, to give her space. The warmth of her body pressed against him was intoxicating, but he did not wish to overwhelm her further.
He wanted her to feel cherished, worshiped, safe, to ease those creeping doubts that had lingered in her mind, the fractures left by their past that thanks to the bond, he was having small glimpses of her point of view. He didn’t want her to feel like their flesh unions from before, not merely filled, used for his own release. His hand lingered lightly along her back, ready to cradle, to hold, to let her breathe. He started to shift, his arm loosening ever so slightly, meaning to let her recover, to let her slip into the soft emptiness of the afterglow.
But she would not let him go. Her hands pressed against him, curling over his arms and shoulders, gripping with quiet insistence. Her whispered plea, soft and ragged in that single, impossible way that demanded all of him “Don’t go… stay with me.”
It was not lust alone in that plea; it was a demand for presence, for the reassurance that he would not slip away, cold and distant, ever again. It was a claim for warmth, for permanence, for a tether that only he could provide. A plea that he be hers, fully, in all ways that mattered.
It was not lust alone in that plea; it was a demand for presence, for the reassurance that he would not slip away, cold and distant, ever again. It was a claim for warmth, that she had learned to only crave in dreams and never before dared to ask for. A tether that only he could provide.
Her words threaded through him, unraveling every recently awakened instinct to protect or restrain. He could have withdrawn, let her rest in the heat of his coat, alone in the quiet aftermath. But the intensity of her need undid him utterly. Every hesitation melted; he could not, would not, deny her.
With delicate care, he rolled them onto their sides, guiding her leg slightly over his own. Pressed chest to chest, she could feel him fully, even softened, the echo of his hardness still resting inside her. The bond hummed between them, alive with shared breath, heartbeats, and something older than time itself.
He cradled her with one arm around her back, her head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, curls brushing his cheek, spilling damp and soft across his chest. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling, memorizing, the warmth, the weight, the irrevocable closeness of her body. His free hand traced her curls, her shoulder, the subtle planes of her back, as though engraving every contour into eternity.
She shifted slightly, pressing further into him, insistent even in sleepiness, seeking the warmth she had begged for. And in response, he pressed closer, letting the heat of his body speak the words his lips had not yet dared. Her pulse, her breath, her gentle insistence wrapped around him, binding him as thoroughly as any vow. Reverent. Honored. Utterly hers.
Her warmth, her desire, her insistence made him shiver, made him feel everything all at once: reverent, honored, utterly hers. And every beat of her heart against his chest told him what words could not: that she would never let him go, and he would never wish to.
Love’s breath slowed against him, her lashes brushing the hollow of his throat, her body pliant in his arms. She drifted at last, her fingers slackening where they had clutched his hand to keep him within her. Morpheus did not move, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over her face.
Then he saw it: a petal, lost from a bloom only just unfurled, spiraled down and grazed the curve of her shoulder, cool and silken against the warmth of her skin. Another settled briefly along the slope of her hip where she pressed to him, velvet against velvet, before a breath of wind carried it away. His eyes followed its flight.
The garden around them was no longer drowned and desolate. The sodden earth, once only mud and ruin, quickened beneath their embrace. Leaves jeweled with rain trembled overhead, scattering droplets that kissed their skin, their coolness only to be chased away by his warmth. Roses curled open, lilies lifted their pale faces, and tender green vines stretched upward with newborn longing.
The Queen’s garden was reborn, not by season but out of devotion, out of passion. Every flower seemed to lean toward her resting form, as though the very earth sought to cradle their soft embrace.
And in that hush before dawn, the horizon brushed with lilac as night withdrew, he bent his head. Against the crown of her hair, against the scent of her, he let fall the words he had guarded for longer than she might ever forgive. Words that stripped him bare, unraveling centuries of silence, distance, and pride.
It was the only truth in his heart, and the only one that deserved to be spoken. Whispered into her dream, carried against her breath, so that even if the universe itself forgot, she would still know.
“I love you”
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