Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dream was, as Hob would say, in trouble. 

He was hovering in front of the door of Hob’s flat instead of materialising inside like he usually would, uncertain about the kind of reaction he would receive on the other side of the door.

When Dream had left, Hob had been furious. He had been angry like Dream had rarely seen him, his usually kind face twisted up in anger and worry and pain. 

To be fully honest, Dream had known Hob would not take kindly to Dream's answer to a shady summon. Not when he had made Dream promise he would warn him about potential perilous endeavours. The fact that Dream had sustained minor power depletion had not played in his favour either.

I can’t deal with you right now, Hob had told him and his usually warm voice had been sharp as a whip. I just–I can’t. I need some time and space to calm down. I’ll be in my office. I’m sorry. 

Dream was certain it would take him a long time to forget how Hob’s voice had cracked on the last word, how broken it had sounded.

After informing Dream that he needed space, that he needed to be away from Dream, Hob had disappeared in his study and Dream had almost suffocated in the silence that followed, had almost been choked by the icy tendrils of panic that had wrapped themselves around his lungs.

In hindsight, leaving Hob’s flat in a huff and severing every means of communication had not been the best course of action. 

Dream had been so hurt and affronted he had stormed back to the Dreaming and the torrential outpour of rain had been the worst the realm had seen in centuries. It had prompted a visit from Lucienne, who then had managed to pry the reason for his foul mood out of him. 

There were certain things Lucienne did not know, things that would have Dream die in humiliation should she ever learn about them. 

For this reason, he had not told her that he had visited Hob with the expectation to be guided over Hob’s lap and be thoroughly chastised for his infraction. 

Instead, he had told her about his answer to the summon, and had to endure a lecture of her own about his recklessness. He had told her about how Hob had not wanted to discuss things and had asked for space and she had made him realise he should not have stormed away. She had made him realise that, hurt as he was, he might have misinterpreted Hob’s words, that Hob might have asked Dream to wait until he would be ready to address the issue at hand.

She had been happy to see the rain leaving space to a cloudy sky and to send Dream on his way, promising him she would take care of the realm in his stead.

And this brought him here several hours later, outside of Hob’s flat, their flat as Hob liked to remind him often. 

Heart thrumming wildly inside of his chest, Dream reached out and rang the bell. 

There was no sound on the other side of the door and as he waited, Dream wondered if perhaps Hob had left, if perhaps he was home but still did not wish to deal with Dream. Something tightened in his chest at the thought.

Dream swallowed and prepared himself to ring the bell once more when the sound of steps on the other side of the door froze him in his tracks. His stomach twisted in sudden knots.

The door slid open and Hob was on the threshold, surprise and relief and pain playing on his kind face as he stared at Dream.

Guilt squeezed Dream’s chest in an iron grip as he took his partner in. Hob’s face looked weary, pained. His eyes were bright and red in a way that let Dream know he had been crying. 

“Hob,” he murmured and had to use all of his willpower not to reach out and touch him. 

“You’re back,” Hob whispered and his voice was rough and wrecked. 

“I am,” Dream said and forced his numb lips into a small smile. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Hob said and stepped to the side to let Dream through. “You know you’re always welcome to materialise right in.”

“It did not seem appropriate after the manner we parted ways,” Dream murmured and stepped over the threshold, aching for Hob’s proximity but not quite daring to presume his touch would be welcome. 

Hob nodded once in acknowledgement. “Tea?”

“Please,” Dream said, knowing Hob needed to keep himself busy with menial tasks when he was upset about something. 

“Right,” Hob said, and gestured toward the kitchen. “After you.”

They made their way to the kitchen and Hob immediately started to work as Dream sat at the table. Hob worked quietly, efficiently, with measured moves that let Dream know he had marginally calmed down. There was none of the usual chatter that typically accompanied tea preparations, though, and that let Dream know Hob was still too upset to engage in small talk. The silence was so thick it set Dream’s teeth on edge. 

Dream wanted to break it on more than one occasion. He wanted to sink to his knees, feel the grounding touch of Hob’s hand through his hair, hear Hob’s voice whisper the soft nonsense he liked so much. Above all, he wanted to get his Dom’s attention, however it might come, even if it should be disciplinary in nature. 

Dream was brought out of his thoughts when Hob placed a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said, hating how perfectly polite he sounded when all he wanted was to scream and cry and beg for forgiveness.

“Of course,” Hob said as he took his own seat and Dream hated how perfectly polite he sounded too. 

They sipped their tea in silence and Dream tried to respect Hob’s wishes and keep quiet but the silence was slowly unmaking him. Dangerous things laid in this kind of silence. Dangerous thoughts. Dangerous voices that whispered things in Dream’s ears and unearthed deeply-buried fears. 

Too much. Too stubborn. Too rude. Too prideful. 

“I am sorry,” Dream blurted out, the words coming out of him in a rush as if to race against his thoughts, as if they could anticipate and prevent the moment Hob would realise all those things by himself and decide Dream was not worth the hassle, after all. 

Hob stilled and peered at Dream over the top of his mug and whatever he might have seen on Dream’s face, turned his own softer. “Thank you for telling me,” he murmured. “I am sorry too.”

Dream’s eyes snapped to Hob’s face. “What for?”

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” Hob said and let out a bitter laugh. “I knew you wouldn’t take well to be left on your own devices but I couldn’t help myself. I–”

“You needed space,” Dream softly said because after the talk with Lucienne, he understood Hob’s reasons. “You removed yourself from a situation you deemed you could not handle without losing your temper.”

“I did,” Hob said and Dream would be offended at the surprise on his face if it hadn't taken Lucienne’s wisdom to help him recognise that. “But I should have explained myself. I shouldn’t have left you with the assumption I was abandoning you. When I got back and you were gone, I– I thought–”

“I am sorry,” Dream interrupted, because he could not stand the pain in Hob’s voice. He could not stand the thought that Hob was so frightened Dream would storm off again and disappear. Not for the first time, faced with the trauma he created, he cursed 1889 and his stupid pride.  “For leaving. I did not mean to make you worry so.”

Hob nodded and brought the cup to his lips once more. “I know you didn’t.”

“I am also sorry for not warning you of my whereabouts,” Dream tentatively said.

Hob’s sharp intake of breath let Dream know he still was upset about his summon. Hob nodded again, tight and jerky, and the action told Dream that, while upset, Hob had a rein over his anger. 

“You are angry,” Dream said and it was not a question.

“Yes, I bloody well am,” Hob said but after the initial outburst, he took a deep breath and his next words were spoken softly. “I would be lying if I say I’m not, because I’m absolutely livid.”

“Understandable,” Dream allowed because he was not so blind or prideful he couldn’t recognise when he was in the wrong. It did not make his next words any easier to say. “And I am ready to face the consequences of my actions.”

“Listen, Dream, and please, don’t take this the wrong way,” Hob said and waited until Dream nodded before going on. “I really meant it when I said I can’t deal with this right now.”

Hob’s words hurt worse than any of his punishments could ever do. They left Dream reeling, unsure of where he stood, unsure if, perhaps, he had made the right choice in leaving, after all. “I- '' he said but his mouth was so dry he had to swallow to keep going. “I shall take my leave, then.”

“Don’t you dare ,” Hob said and Dream was almost grateful for the anger that was bleeding through his voice. “Do not you dare run away again.”

“You said–”

“I said I can’t deal with your punishment right now,” Hob said, cutting Dream short. “I never said I couldn’t deal with you. I may be too angry to punish you, Dream, but that doesn’t mean I want you gone.” Hob paused and in a low voice added, “Doesn’t mean I don’t need you here with me.”

“All right,” Dream said and leaned back against his chair, relieved by the fact that Hob seemed to need him as much as he needed Hob. “I will stay.”

“Thank you,” Hob exhaled and for the first time of the night, he smiled.

Dream nodded and finished the last of his tea in a single sip. 

“I don’t know about you but I'm knocked out.” Hob refilled both of their cups and nudged at the plate of cookies in front of Dream. “Finish your cookies and we’ll go to bed. How does that sound?”

Dream didn’t feel particularly inclined to sleep but the prospect of lying in bed with Hob, basking in the warmth of his proximity and guarding Hob’s sleep sounded appealing. “I’m not opposed to it.”

They finished their tea in silence and, even though he didn’t need sustenance, Dream ate some of the cookies, knowing Hob would be pleased about it. He would never understand why feeding Dream seemed to make Hob happy but it was such a small price to pay for Hob’s smile, and if Dream had to be fully honest, he was starting to enjoy the things Hob made for him.

Twenty minutes later, they were in bed, each of them on their side. Dream would usually shift closer, seeking out the warmth of Hob’s body, but he didn’t feel like he had the right to it, not after his behaviour, not when Dream’s misjudgement drove a wedge between them that went beyond the physical space between their bodies.

Perhaps, Dream thought, he should go back to the Dreaming, throw himself into his work. Anything to avoid the deafening silence, the distinctive lack of Hob in his space, the awkward distance they were keeping from each other. 

Dream reached out but stopped himself before he allowed himself to touch, to take what Hob was clearly not offering. His fingers curled around a fistful of sheets and Dream kept them there, not daring to move for fear that he would not be able to refrain himself. 

Breathing should not be a concern for Dream but in Hob’s presence, he found himself more human, more vulnerable and it was because of that vulnerability that Dream found himself drawing in a stuttering breath, a very human response to the distress he found himself experiencing.

At the sound, Hob’s head swivelled toward him and what Hob saw on Dream’s face must have been telling indeed because his face softened, it lost some of its tight lines.

“Oh, love,” Hob murmured and there it was, the endearment Dream had not realised he missed so much until it slipped from Hob’s lips. Hob opened his arms. “Come here.”

Dream should have been ashamed of how quickly he found himself cocooned in the warmth of Hob’s hold. He should have felt weak, pathetic but he found he did not. How could he feel such things when Hob was clinging to him just as strongly, when Hob’s embrace was both an invitation and a promise of forgiveness? 

Dream tilted his head up, seeking and finding Hob’s lips. The kiss started slow and tender but soon became fierce and desperate, a reminder that they were both here, that they wouldn’t let go, that they would move past this.

“I am really sorry,” Dream murmured when they pulled back, because it was worth repeating. 

“I know,” Hob murmured back and his gentle hand smoothed over Dream’s back, soothing and warm. “And I don’t want you beating yourself up over it much longer. We’re going to take care of you tomorrow, okay?”

“All right,” Dream said, knowing full well what Hob’s care would entail and finding himself both eager and loath to face it. 

Hob smiled at him, the first real smile of the night. “Rest now, love.”

And Dream curled tight against Hob’s side and closed his eyes, finally secure in Hob’s embrace.

Chapter Text

Dream woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Sleeping was not something the king of Dreams needed, but it was a luxury he allowed himself when he was in Hob’s company. In doing so, he made sure that while their physical bodies lay entangled together on Hob’s soft bed, their consciousnesses were free to roam the Dreaming.

Dream moved over to Hob’s side of the bed and allowed himself a moment to luxuriate in Hob’s scent, basking in the warmth Hob had left behind. A hint of a smile played on Dream’s lips, but it quickly disappeared as the events of the previous day rushed back to him. The summoning, Hob’s anger, Dream fleeing to the Dreaming, making up over tea, and Hob’s promise to deal with Dream’s infraction today.

The heart in the physical manifestation Dream called a body began to race, and Dream approached the kitchen cautiously, unsure of Hob’s mood. He knew he was not yet deserving of Hob’s forgiveness but wished for it nonetheless.

“Hello, love,” Hob greeted Dream with one of his dazzling smiles, instantly soothing his nerves.

“Good morning. I trust you have slept well,” Dream said and was unable to hold his own smile back.

“Like a baby,” Hob replied, looking indeed more rested than the day before. “I had the King of Dreams watching over me, after all.”

“Always,” Dream murmured and leaned into the kiss Hob placed on his lips, feeling a rush of affection for Hob. He would do everything in his power to keep that smile on Hob’s face, to smooth every frown on Hob’s forehead and soothe every hurt that Hob nursed. For this reason, the reminder that he had caused some of Hob's pain sent a sharp pang of guilt through Dream’s chest.

“Hey,” Hob murmured, always wise to Dream’s moods, and stroked Dream’s cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “None of that now. Let's sit down and eat the breakfast I’ve put together and then we can have our talk. Okay, love?” 

Despite the guilt plaguing him, Dream didn't find himself eager to face the punishment he had earned with his recklessness, but he jerked his head in a small nod. “All right.”

Breakfast started as a pleasant affair, considering the Damocles’ sword hanging over Dream’s head. 

Hob filled the silence with friendly talk and piled Dream’s plate with delectable food and Dream was pleased to see him almost back to his usual self, with no trace of anger or accusation in his voice.

However, Dream found himself picking at his food and stealing glances at Hob when he wasn't looking. Hob didn't seem angry anymore, which meant he was ready to correct Dream’s infraction and the thought brought both dread and relief to Dream. Dread for the upcoming pain and humiliation, and relief because he knew that once he endured his punishment, he would be forgiven. He also knew that at the end of it, he would be given the means to forgive himself, because Hob would grant his forgiveness easily, even without the need for punishment

It pained Dream greatly to admit that Hob’s punishments were for his benefit, that he needed them. As much as he loathed presenting himself for punishment and enduring the sharp sting of correction, it was something he needed in order to feel like he had atoned for his infractions. A means to an end.

“Try to eat something, love,” Hob said, and before Dream could protest, he added, “I know you don’t strictly need it, but you know it makes you feel better.”

“I don't know if I can,” Dream answered truthfully.

“All right, love,” Hob said, sending Dream a knowing look, a look that said he understood Dream's stomach was twisted in knots. “Let’s go take care of you.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood up, leaving his breakfast unfinished.

“No,” Dream said. “I refuse to deprive you of the sustenance you need.”

“We'll eat something afterward, love,” Hob said. “When we can both enjoy it.”

Hob reached out, and Dream automatically took his hand, allowing Hob to help him to his feet.

Waiting for his punishment had been torturous, but now that the moment was quickly approaching, Dream found the anticipation equally distressing. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, and he glanced at the clock, asking, “Don’t you have class soon?”

Hob's grin was knowing. “I called in sick,” he said. “I couldn’t let you wait until tonight. Christ knows the state I’d have found you in.”

Although Dream recognized the truth of Hob's statement, he couldn't help but bristle at being so thoroughly seen. It was only through great self-control that he kept himself from making an impolite remark, one Hob did not deserve, considering he had been so gracious to take the day off so Dream wouldn't suffer more than necessary.

“Thank you,” he managed to grit out, and the pride in Hob’s smile soothed the last of his temper.

“Let’s go,” Hob said, taking Dream’s hand and leading him toward the bedroom.

The butterflies in Dream’s stomach, which were briefly given a moment of respite, took flight all at once and grew increasingly agitated with every step they took toward the bedroom and the fate that awaited Dream there.

“Okay, love, you know what to do,” Hob said, sitting on the bed and pointing at the spot in front of him.

“Do I?” Dream  groaned and squirmed in place, knowing full well that as soon as he did as he was told, he would have to suffer through the indignity of having his trousers unbuttoned and being guided across Hob’s lap like an errant child.

“Why do you always have to protest so much, love?” Hob asked, and Dream could hear the exasperated fondness in his voice. “You always feel better afterward, don’t you?”

Dream did. Every time, without fail, he felt better, liberated. But that didn't mean it wasn't a humiliating ordeal, being spread out on Hob’s lap and brought to tears by the sting of Hob’s hand and whichever implement Hob deemed fit to use on Dream.

Dream didn't see any particular reason why he shouldn't be honest in his answer, so he said, “It is humiliating.”

"Should have thought about that before risking your bloody neck," Hob said, but Instead of rolling his eyes at him, like Hob did every time he believed Dream was being ridiculous about something, he seemed to give Dream’s reply some consideration.

At last, he added, “Would it help if you bent over the bed?”

Dream considered Hob’s offer. Bending over would still require him to offer his behind for punishment. It would still be an undoubtedly painful and humiliating ordeal, but perhaps he would be spared the indignity of the position.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Okay, love,” Hob kindly said, standing and pointing to the space in front of him. “Let’s try this. Take off your shoes and come here.”

Every inch of Dream itched to just unmake his boots, but they had done this long enough by now that he knew Hob wanted him to take the time to unlace them and take them off by hand.

Dream took a deep breath and nodded sharply, sinking to his left knee to undo the ties of his right boot, slow and measured, before briefly standing and repeating the process with the other boot. The motion, the physical task gave him something to do with his hands, gave him the time to let the situation truly sink in.

Once barefoot, Dream walked to Hob and let Hob pull him into his arms, a brief reassurance, some measure of comfort that was both needed and appreciated.

Too soon for Dream’s liking, Hob pulled back and, giving Dream a rueful grin, he reached out and unfastened the button of Dream’s trousers. Humiliation burned bright on Dream’s cheeks when his fly came down as well, and his trousers slid to his knees.

Hob stepped back and pointed to the bed. “Go on, love.”

Stomach flipping in anticipation, Dream walked to the bed and slowly bent over and no matter how many times they had done this, presenting himself for punishment wasn't any easier. If Dream had thought that the different position would lessen the humiliation, he was now disabused of the notion.

Hob walked away, and Dream could hear the sound of a drawer being opened and closed. His heart started beating faster even before he could see the paddle Hob settled on the bed, directly in his line of vision, a way to let him know his infraction was serious enough to warrant the use of the dreaded piece of wood.

Dream tensed as Hob’s hand settled on the small of his back, but he was wholly unprepared when the other one came crashing down on the swell of his bottom, hard and sharp and stinging. He couldn't help the gasp that the sting and the surprise drew out of him.

Hob’s hand rose and fell again, and this time Dream was prepared for the sting, expecting it even and bearing it as stoically as one in his position might do.

Hob set a brisk pace as his hand covered the entirety of Dream’s behind, and for a while, the only sounds in the room were the sound of hand striking flesh and the sound of Dream’s laboured breath.

There was no lecture, and Dream knew it was still early for it. He knew Hob liked to thoroughly set Dream’s cheeks aflame before addressing Dream’s infraction and making sure Dream would be completely repentant once they were done.

Dream, on his part, liked to pretend he could bear the punishment stoically, but deep down, he knew he would be weeping long before the paddle made an appearance, unable to resist the crushing guilt and the pain of Hob’s correction.

As the ordeal went on, though, something nagged at him, something that prevented him from fully focusing on the punishment and letting go, but Dream was not able to put his finger on it, to figure out what was bothering him.

The palm of Hob’s calloused hand fell sharply on his undercurve, and Dream instinctively clenched at the sting. The burn of it was enough to jerk him out of his head and, taking a deep breath, he tried to relax his rigid muscles and endure the rest of his punishment.

Hob punished him as he usually did, sharp and hard and relentless. He covered every inch of Dream’s behind, with the occasional smack to the unprotected skin on the back of his thighs. Dream found himself trying to focus on the regular cadence of his hand, on the number of smacks, squirming in pain but unable to let the pain fully sink, unable to fully let go.

Hob’s warm-up went on longer than Dream remembered from previous experiences, and as much as Dream liked to think that this time Hob had decided to spare him the indignity of taking his underwear down, he knew better. He knew that this time he had not just neglected to take care of himself, but he had actively put himself in harm’s way, something Hob felt very strongly about and would not hesitate to punish accordingly.

By the time Hob’s fingers slid under the waistband of his boxers, Hob had already delivered several stinging rounds, and Dream’s behind was on fire. He hissed as the fabric slid across his arse and tensed when it joined his trousers at his knees.

“Relax, love, we’ve barely started,” Hob said and patted his blazing arse. His voice sounded distant, like it was coming from the wrong angle.

Suddenly, Dream realised what was wrong.

Suddenly, he felt the rough fabric of the carpet under his knees, the hard floor underneath. He felt the sharp angle of the bed against his hips rather than Hob’s soft thighs. He felt the cold kiss of the sheets under his skin rather than Hob’s comforting warmth and understood that humiliating as it might be, he would rather be over Hob’s knee.

Hob’s palm fell on bare skin, and its sting spread like fire across Dream’s cheek.

Dream gasped and felt tears sting his eyes, and it was still too early to let them fall. Dream silently cursed himself and his pride, pride that had him now trapped in a prison of his own making.

You do not have to be, he thought.

Could he? Could he admit to himself and to Hob that he had made an error in judgement? Could he use his words to admit failure, vulnerability?

Hob’s hand fell, sharp and unforgiving, but it was not the pain that troubled Dream, even though it was slowly becoming unbearable, and Hob hadn’t even started his lecture yet. 

No. Even as he shifted his hips in an attempt to avoid it, it was not the pain that had Dream’s eyes sting with tears, but rather, he found himself lacking the comfort of Hob’s proximity.

The word was on the tip of his tongue, but Dream hesitated. He could endure. He had endured far worse, both at Hob’s hand and from his enemies.

If you won’t use your words when you need to, you’ll be very sorry.

Hob’s words came back to him, ringing through his head. Dream knew this was something that Hob took seriously, something that would devastate Hob if he were to learn Dream had ignored it.

And where would be the harm in showing weakness in front of Hob? Hob, who had seen Dream at his lowest, who had brought Dream to his lowest only to give him the means to build himself back up. Hob, who would rather seek his sister’s gift than to make a mockery of Dream’s vulnerability.

“Yellow,” Dream said, and the world seemed to come to a halt around him.

Chapter Text

"Yellow," Dream said and the world seemed to come to a halt around him.

Hob immediately stopped the punishment and knelt down next to Dream, his hand soft and delicate over the knobs of Dream’s spine, soothing now rather than punishing. “Hey,” he murmured, low and concerned. “Are you all right, love?”

Dream opened his mouth to answer but his voice caught in his throat and he jerked his head in a nod to let Hob know he was well.

“Can I hold you, sweetheart?” Hob asked, and Dream could have wept at the softness of his voice, at the concern he could read there.

Dream managed another nod and allowed Hob to manoeuvre the both of them until Hob was sitting on the floor, his back to the bed, and Dream was cradled in his arms.

Dream let his head rest on Hob’s shoulder and let out a contented sigh. He was vaguely aware of the throbbing in his behind, but the pain was unimportant if measured against the comfort of Hob’s gentle hold, against the warmth of his body around Dream’s.

Dream allowed himself to be held and comforted and bathed in Hob's care. He allowed himself the pleasure of Hob's fingers carding through his hair, of Hob's soft-spoken words against his forehead, of Hob's hand smoothing down the line of his back.

When he felt steady enough to talk, he raised his head and looked at Hob, and the concern on his beloved face was staggering.

“There you are,” Hob murmured and smiled at him. “What happened?”

“I,” Dream started, but before he could continue, Hob interrupted him.

“I know it was not the spanking because you have taken worse than that,” he said and kissed Dream’s forehead, soft and tender. “Was it something I said? Something I did? Oh, love, did I-”

“Hob,” Dream interrupted because he could not let Hob take fault for something he brought on himself.

Hob halted his torrent of words and looked expectantly at Dream.

“It was not something you did,” Dream admitted. Taking a deep breath, he added, “It was rather something of my doing.”

“Oh?”

“I did not find the new arrangement to my liking,” Dream confessed.

Hob’s face screwed in confusion but cleared immediately after. “Oh, the position, you mean?”

Face flaming, Dream nodded. “I found the lack of proximity rather distressing. And distracting. I- I could not. Focus.”

“Hey,” Hob murmured and tenderly smoothed a lock of Dream’s hair away from his face. “That’s alright, sweetheart. You did good. I’m so proud of you for using your words. So relieved you did.”

“Why?”

“Because, love,” Hob said, and the tenderness in his voice cracked Dream’s chest right open. “Now I know I can trust you to use them when you need to.”

“You do not think me weak?” Dream asked but could surmise Hob’s answer from the way his kind face twisted into a scowl.

“Now, listen to me, Dream of the Endless,” Hob sternly said, and the use of his full title did not bode well. “If I hear you talk about yourself like this again, you’re not going to like it.” Hob paused, and his eyes softened as he looked at Dream’s face. “You’re not weak. You are the strongest person I know.”

“I am not a person.”

“Hush,” Hob said. “It takes strength to admit you were wrong and accept the consequences. It takes strength to accept that perhaps your need for closeness is stronger than whatever perceived humiliation you might face.”

“Perhaps,” Dream allowed. “But it was ultimately not a real need that pushed me to the use of a safeword. I could have endured but I chose to be selfish.”

“You didn’t call the spanking off,” Hob gently pointed out, and it took all Dream had not to squirm at the use of the word. “You could have, but you didn’t. And besides, you said it yourself, you couldn’t focus on the punishment.”

“I could not,” Dream admitted.

“Then it wouldn’t have served its purpose,” Hob kindly said.

It would not have, Dream realised. Dream could have endured it until the end, but it would not have brought him any atonement, would not have allowed him to forgive himself and move past his guilt.

“I do see your point,” he allowed.

Hob smiled at him in approval. “That’s my good Dream,” he said and the smiles lingered a few moments before his face turned serious. “Ready to continue?”

The question reminded Dream of the burning ache in his bottom. He squirmed on Hob’s lap and hissed in discomfort. “Do we have to?”

“Afraid so,” Hob answered, his voice kind but firm.

“Haven’t I been punished enough?”

Hob shook his head in fond exasperation. “Have you?”

Yes, Dream wanted to say, but to his dismay, he could not utter the word. He could not bring himself to admit that he had not either.

“I think,” Hob said. “That there’s a reason you used the word you did. I think you need to see the punishment through, need to be properly punished so you can move on.” Hob paused and pinned Dream in place with a stern stare, and Dream hated to admit that he was right. “But I also think you’ll never admit that, not before you’ll be sore and repentant, so I won’t make you say it. Instead, I’ll ask you again. Are you ready to continue?”

Dream swallowed and nodded, then forced the words past his lips. “I am.”

“There’s a good dove,” Hob said and squeezed Dream’s shoulder in a comforting gesture before hardening his face in resolve. “Come on, then, over you go.”

This time, Dream allowed Hob to help him to his feet and guide him over his lap, and the flash of relief he felt at the proximity almost overrode the wave of humiliation that flooded him at being manhandled into position.

It was certainly not enough to override the sharp pain of Hob’s calloused palm against the exposed flesh of his undercurve.

Dream hissed, squirmed, and clenched his cheeks against the pain, to no avail.

The small respite had not done him any favours, considering how quickly he found himself gasping as Hob’s steady hand reignited the fire on his behind.

“Please,” he found himself gasping after an especially vicious swat on his thigh.

“Bit early for that, love,” Hob said, and his voice was gentle but stern.

Dream groaned in dismay at Hob’s words and tried to bear the punishment stoically but could not help the small whimpers of distress as his behind was so effectively chastised.

After what seemed like hours of stinging agony but must have been only a handful of minutes, Hob paused and placed his hand over Dream’s throbbing bottom.

“Ready to talk now?” Hob asked.

“Yes,” Dream answered and winced at how wet and vulnerable his voice sounded.

“Want to tell me why we are in this position?”

“I,” Dream said but had to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I carelessly answered a summon.”

“You did,” Hob agreed. “And?”

“I did not inform you of my whereabouts.”

“Not just me,” Hob said, and his voice was clipped. “You didn’t deign to inform anyone of your whereabouts. Care to tell me why that could have ended badly?”

Dream should have been grateful for the respite, but Hob’s words sliced through him like a knife through butter, made him think about his recklessness and increased his guilt for worrying Hob. “Hob, please,” Dream whispered. Don’t make me tell you.

“Perhaps you’re not as ready to talk as I thought, eh?” Hob asked, but there was no reproach in his voice, just a regretful determination. “Let’s bring you there, love.”

Dream couldn’t help the low sob as Hob’s hand descended on him once more, hard and steady and unrelenting.

Hob covered Dream’s bottom with another round of well-placed swats that had Dream shift his hips in an attempt to avoid them and ended in a blazing fire on Dream’s already sore thighs.

When Hob started again at the top, Dream hissed, “Hob.”

“Yes, love?”

“It was reckless,” Dream managed between harsh breaths. “Ill-advised.”

“Very good,” Hob said and the praise in his words soothed some of the fierce burn in Dream’s arse. “You could have been captured again. Or hurt. Do you realise that now?”

“I do,” Dream admitted and felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

“You’ve put yourself in danger,” Hob said, and the words sent Dream’s heart into his throat for this was the direst of offences, the one that elicited swift and harsh consequences. “And I don’t care about how powerful you think you are. There are things that could hurt you out there, and I can’t have that. I won’t lose you. Not if I have a say about it.”

“I am sorry,” Dream said but struggled to let go of the guilt that consumed him whole at Hob’s words.

“I don’t think you’re quite there yet, love,” Hob answered, and in contrast to his dire words, his hand smoothed across Dream’s back in a slow, comforting caress.

Dream’s cheeks clenched almost on their own accord when he felt the cool and smooth surface of the implement against already hot and sore skin.

“None of that now,” Hob murmured, and his hand replaced the dreaded implement. He slowly smoothed it over the curve of Dream’s bottom. “Try to relax for me, love.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dream muttered but took a slow breath and forced himself to relax under Hob’s touch.

“There’s my darling dove,” Hob said, never one to be parsimonious with comfort, even when Dream had earned a trip across his knee. “Ready to finish this up?”

No, Dream thought but nodded his head in a sharp nod, not wanting to drag this ordeal longer than he had to.

The wood tapped in warning against his bottom, and Dream couldn’t help but tense all over at the touch. “Use your words,” Hob said.

Face burning almost as much as his blazing cheeks, Dream swallowed. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” Hob said and gave Dream another warning tap before raising his hand and letting the implement fall with a resounding crack.

Fire blazed across Dream’s skin, hot and burning, and he had barely the time to react with a gasp when the cursed thing fell once more.

“People care for you,” Hob said and brought the implement hard across both of Dream’s cheeks. “And that’s not just me. Your sister, Lucienne, Matthew.” He punctuated every name with a sharp smack that had Dream muffling his sobs against the comforter. “They’d be devastated if something happened to you.” Another smack. “I would be devastated.”

“I’m sorry,” Dream said and didn’t care about how broken his voice sounded.

“I will not have you needlessly put yourself in danger just to sate that endless curiosity of yours,” Hob said and smacked the back of Dream’s thighs, one after the other, and it was unfair that such a small piece of wood could bring forth such an unbearable sting. “Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Dream gasped out. “We are. Ah, Hob. We are.”

“Good,” Hob said and Dream sobbed at the bite of the vicious implement landing once more against his thighs. “Because next time you put yourself in danger like this, this will seem like nothing.”

Apparently, Hob decided that he was done scolding. He tilted his leg so he could have better access to Dream’s tender undercurve and let the implement do the talking in his stead.

Hob punished him with a steady hand, mercilessly alternating the implement between his undercurve and both of his thighs, and Dream swore to himself he would never again knowingly endanger himself or enter any potentially perilous situation. Not when Hob was so skilled in administering such swift and painful consequences. Not when Hob had promised him even more dire consequences should Dream commit this specific infraction again.

It didn’t take long for Dream to lose the last of his pride and start to openly weep and vocalise his displeasure at the ongoing barrage of burning smacks that were lighting every inch of him on fire.

“Hob,” he said, frantically trying to scramble away from the next smack. “Enough.”

“Don’t think so,” Hob said and his free hand circled around Dream’s waist, keeping him in place. “Be still.”

Dream tried to keep still but ultimately couldn’t win against the burning that was building up with every rise and fall of the cursed implement. He squirmed in place, shifted his hips as much as Hob’s hold would allow, and kicked his feet to stave off some of the sting.

Suddenly, Hob stopped, and Dream sagged in relief, burying his face between the folds of the comforter, sobbing quietly.

“You’re all right,” Hob murmured and reached out to rub soothing circles on the tense line of Dream’s shoulders. “You’re doing so well for me. Almost over, love, eh?”

“No,” Dream gasped. “Hob, no. No more.”

There was a pained sigh somewhere above him, and Hob’s warm hand curled around one of Dream’s shoulders and squeezed. “Last ten, and we’re done.”

“Please,” Dream said, not above pleading now that he was sure even one more smack would shatter him to pieces.

“Ten,” Hob resolutely said and manoeuvred Dream so that his legs were clasped between Hob’s. “I need to make sure we’re not having this conversation again. Ever again.”

“We won’t,” Dream shrilly promised, trying to wiggle out of Hob’s hold to no avail.

“I hope so, love,” Hob said, and despite the endearment, there was steel beneath his words. “Because if we have to discuss this again, you’ll be in this position for days.”

“Hob, no.” Dream gasped both at Hob’s words and at the weight of the implement against his scorched skin.

“Not if you behave,” Hob agreed and tapped Dream’s behind in warning of what was to follow.

“I will,” Dream said, and the last word ended in a low groan as Hob let the implement fall for strike number one.

Hob didn’t draw things out. He delivered the next four smacks quickly, scattering them across both of Dream’s cheeks, then paused and let the implement rest against Dream’s undercurve, a warning that it was not over.

“Last five,” Hob murmured. “And the next time you feel like carelessly answering a summon, I want you to think how much your arse hurts right now. Understood?”

Dream was quite certain he would never forget the blazing sting that was currently eating at his flesh. “Yes,” he said between ragged breaths, willing to promise Hob anything if it meant he would never have to feel the vicious bite of the implement again.

“Almost over,” Hob said and brought the damned piece of wood down hard on Dream’s already burning undercurve.

Dream had been steadily crying for a while, but it was strike number six that ultimately shattered him. He started to sob in earnest, pleading his way through the next and last four smacks, all semblances of pride gone in favour of kicking his legs as much as Hob's hold allowed.

He was still sobbing and writhing in pain when Hob threw the implement on the floor and placed his warm hand between Dream’s shoulder blades in a comforting and grounding touch.

“All over,” Hob murmured and released Dream’s legs, then tugged at his shoulder. “Come here, love, let me hold you.”

Dream allowed Hob to lift him up and scrambled between Hob’s arms, craving the warmth and the comfort to be found there. There, with his face hidden against the crook of Hob’s neck, he let himself be soothed, let himself weep, and if part of it was pain, most of it was relief at having been given the means to forgive himself and move past his mistakes.

Hob’s words were soothing, his voice warm like honeyed tea. “There’s my good Dream,” he said over and over. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let it all out. I’m here.”

Dream allowed Hob to hold him until he wept the last of his guilt out, until he could feel the spinning whirlwind in his head quiet down, until he was light and free of the heavy baggage he had been carrying. At peace.

“I am sorry,” he croaked out when he found himself ready to face the world once more.

“I know,” Hob whispered, and if Dream was not mistaken, his voice sounded thick with tears. “I know you are. And you’re forgiven. Just don’t risk your neck again, alright?”

Dream pulled back the fraction needed to be able to look upon Hob’s face, and his suspicions were confirmed as he saw the shine of tears in Hob’s lovely eyes. “Hob,” he murmured and reached out to brush away a tear.

“I don’t like to punish you so harshly,” Hob ruefully said. “But I will if I have to, because I can't lose you. I won't lose you.”

“I have distressed you.” It was not a question.

“Oh, love, no,” Hob said and reached out to cup Dream’s cheek. “Believe me, seeing you harmed or worse would distress me more than delivering a well-earned spanking.”

Dream huffed and averted his gaze as his face grew hotter at Hob’s words.

“I’m serious, sweetheart,” Hob continued, his warm hand still a grounding point of contact against Dream’s wet cheek. “Breaks my heart to see you cry, it does. But I’ll always be here to give you what you need if that’s what keeps you grounded and in one piece.”

Dream could list at least one part of his anatomy that was definitely not in one piece, but in the privacy of his own mind, he allowed himself to admit that it was a small price to pay to feel so well cared for, so loved. “I know,” he murmured and let himself lean into the warmth of Hob’s hand. “And I will endeavour to do my best in that regard.”

“Thank you,” Hob breathed and leaned over to bring his lips to Dream’s. If he tasted any of the salt Dream knew was still there, he did not let it show but lingered instead, kissing Dream slowly, like he was something precious, to be savoured.

In turn, on Hob’s lips, Dream savoured absolution.