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“Hello,” the Corinthian drawls at their new guests. “It’s good to see y’all again.”
Five pairs of bright eyes blink happily up at him.
“Thank you so much for doing this, Erik, it’s really nice of you and Tom to do this. I hope they don’t give Rascal too much trouble, and just give me a call if anything happens,” Olla is saying to Dream by the door.
“Say bye to the barista,” the Corinthian says to the pooches, but they’re all getting rather excited already, and the Corinthian herds them all into the living room, which has been fenced off with a little pet gate he’d just installed last night.
They promptly start to tear up and down their newest play area, but at least they’re quiet about it.
“I’ll stay with them,” the Corinthian tells Dream, when Olla has gone and the king reappears in their doorway. “You can go back to work.”
“Oh, no,” Dream grins. “I’m on a weekend too.”
A bright rubber ball materialises in his hand, snatched from a child’s dream, and the dogs are all over it in a trice.
“Do you know the name of that one over there?” The Corinthian points to the largest dog, a fluffy golden doodle who had been the first dog to befriend him in the dog cafe.
“No, I do not.”
“I asked Olla the other day. His name is Fantabulous.”
There’s a beat of silence, both trying not to be the first to laugh.
Then Dream says, the merest hint of a snort, “it’s rather fitting.”
“Speaking of which,” the Corinthian continues, “what kind of a name is Rascal, anyway?”
Dream turns to him with an arched brow.
“The kind of name that’s good for a dog,” he replies, and twinkles innocently at the indignant nightmare.
The Corinthian swallows and turns back to the gambolling dogs, wavering. He’s in his own home now, where he can do whatever he wants. Not like in the cafe, where Olla would see.
“Okay,” he’s saying before he can stop himself, and his throat dries up a little.
Dream raises his brows, feigning innocence again.
“Okay, what?”
Nobody’s actually explicitly linked Rascal to the Corinthian yet.
“Okay, I like - I’ll take it,” the Corinthian rasps.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you my Rascal?”
My Rascal catches something in his belly and tugs, like a drip of heat that sneaks all the way from his gut to his lower jaw. He never understands why such small simple things have this effect on him.
He whimpers. He can feel himself slipping, and then he really is slipping, going to his knees on the carpet and nosing up under Dream’s outstretched hand.
“Good boy,” Dream is murmuring. “Good boy, Rascal.”
It’s new for him, to be here like this. Oh, he knows what this is - he’s leashed and collared many men and walked them around with filthy words and filthier orders but for him, here, with Dream, it’s new enough that he’s thrumming slightly with just how much more helpless he suddenly feels, though nothing has changed. He tucks himself into the corner formed by Dream’s shin and the front of the couch, and presses as much of himself up against Dream as he can.
“Easy, Rascal.” Dream knows he’s a little on edge, and strokes him gently, long strokes down the back of his head, to his suddenly tense shoulders. “Easy.”
The Corinthian makes a very soft, very quiet sound. Sandwiched at Dream’s side and beneath his hand like this, he feels much better, so good in fact, replete in the soft carpet beneath his knees, the creak of their own house, their very own house, around them. His brow is pressed into Dream’s thigh, and he can smell the scent of his freshly laundered pants.
Fantabulous comes a little closer to his new best friend, and puts his nose on Dream’s other knee too.
The Corinthian growls.
It’s a very small growl, from one of his ocular mouths, the other being pressed onto Dream’s thigh, but it’s enough for Fantabulous to note and back away a little.
“Behave, little one.”
Presently the Corinthian feels a little more up to himself and manages to peel slightly away from Dream’s thigh to look around. A few more dream toys have joined the mix, and Fantabulous is playing one on four tug of war with a piece of rawhide.
“You should get some play in, little one, before it’s time for them to nap,” Dream says. He nudges the Corinthian with his foot. “I’ll be right here, I’m not going anywhere.”
The Corinthian considers it for a moment. Then he places an open mouthed kiss on his master’s thigh and pads off to the rest of the dogs. Fantabulous is happy to see him join the games, and releases the rawhide - to comical effect as the dogs on the other end all tumble over - to rush over to greet him. He almost knocks the Corinthian over in his excitement, whuffs apologetically, then almost knocks him over all over again.
Dream watches them with a small smile. The Corinthian doesn’t stay away for too long at a time. He’s still a little new, and keeps going back to Dream, to nuzzle his palm and lick his hand.
“Good boy,” Dream murmurs each time, like a reward.
It does something to him, that casual praise. He can hardly identify the feeling at first, caught up as he gradually becomes in just feeling and not thinking, but then he realises what it is and it shocks him -
He wants to be good.
He always had, really, but with all the complexity his nature had brought with it - pride, and self worth, and the hope of reward. It’s never been so…simple and insistent, like this.
Dream laughs, as if he can sense the change in him.
“Are you a good boy?” he asks. “Are you?”
The Corinthian paws his knee. Give me a way and I’ll show you.
Dream laughs. It’s his first time, so - something easy.
“Over here, little one,” he says, and leads the Corinthian by his jaw to the other side of him. So simple. Just a few pads gets him there. But he praises, “good boy,” and the Corinthian licks his hand again. Give me another.
The brightly coloured ball is back in Dream’s hand - it flies across the living room.
“Fetch, Rascal.”
Off goes the Corinthian, clumsy on his palms and knees. Discouragingly, Fantabulous gets there first, golden ears flopping madly, and it’s only with great difficulty that Rascal manages to get the ball from him. He’ll be the one fetching, not Fantabulous. He struggles to get the ball into his mouth though, to some mean laughter from Dream; but then the ball changes, gets a few sizes smaller, and he’s able to trot back happily with it, dropping it when he’s squarely between Dream’s legs.
“Good boy,” Dream says, emphatic and approving and warm, and the Corinthian shivers in pleasure. He wiggles in as close as he can, tucks his cheek along Dream’s inner thigh, and keens in happiness.
Dream holds him close, both hands on the Corinthian, and eventually slips off the sofa to the carpet as well, where the Corinthian promptly drapes himself in his master’s lap.
“Nap time,” Dream says, and the dogs collect back around him, heaping themselves near him and the Corinthian. The Corinthian squirms periodically to make sure there’s as much contact with Dream as possible.
Quite a while later, he’s woken by the hum of the doorbell.
He looks up, to see Dream smiling down at him.
“Let me take the dogs out,” Dream says. “I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t say stay, Rascal - although he could. The Corinthian’s grateful. It’s still too harsh for him, right now.
Rousing the dogs one by one, Dream leads them to the door, where Olla is standing once again.
“Tom and Rascal are continuing their nap inside,” he says. “It’ll just be these five, then.”
“Bye Erik! Thanks again!”
“It’s a pleasure, Olla.”
The Corinthian is waiting quietly for him when he comes back.
“Alright,” Dream says, and opens his arms. The Corinthian moves, and then Dream is wrapped tightly around him.
“Alright, alright. Good Rascal. Sweet Rascal. Brave, strong, loyal Rascal.”
The Corinthian is receiving long, slow, soothing strokes down his spine from the back of his head. Oh. It’s enough to make him melt over Dream again, but he’s also a little more energetic from his nap, and he starts to clamber around a little, stepping over his lap -
“Heavy Rascal,” Dream grunts, “heavy - ouch - easy - ouch -”
“Woof,” goes the Corinthian, and steps his considerable weight onto Dream’s ankle.
Dream muzzles him with a hand and pushes the Corinthian back, then gets onto a knee and rolls them both over.
“You silly thing,” Dream says, when they’re chest to chest on the carpet, tucked into each other. “You sweet silly thing.”
They snuggle like this, Dream keeping a sleepy eye on the Corinthian as he huffs and wiggles and twitches.
“Good Rascal,” Dream croons at regular intervals. “Good Rascal. Sweet Rascal. My good Rascal. My good - hey hey hey! Put that leg down! Bad boy!”