Work Text:
“So, um… Morpheus…”
Dream quirked an eyebrow at the student who’d spoken to him. Hob’s students had only recently learned his name – the one he had chosen to allow them – and were still hesitant in using it. It was amusing. It seemed even when he was spending his free time being part of Hob’s life, being mostly human, he was still intimidating. Or perhaps they were worried about offending Hob, which was also amusing.
“Yes, Olive?” he said. Dream had been avoiding diving too deep into the students’ dreams because it was more interesting, given he was spending some amount of consistent time around them, to learn things organically. But he still knew all of their names, which seemed to unnerve them.
Indeed, Olive looked unnerved. She was a young woman, a first year at the university. “How, um, how did you and Professor Gadling meet?”
No one had yet asked Dream what exactly his relationship with Hob was. The students knew that they were together, but no one had asked either of them to define it. This might become interesting, Dream thought.
“In a pub,” he told her, because it was both true and would probably sound absurd, given their dynamic. One of the other students sitting nearby raised an eyebrow. “I challenged him to prove a point.”
Something amusing about knowing someone for several centuries was that Dream could tell them ten different stories about his and Hob’s encounters, all of which would appear to contradict each other but none of which would be false.
Olive’s brow pinched. “What point?”
Dream glanced across the room at Hob, who was at his desk, helping a student with something. “It is of no consequence.” A fond smile tugged at his lips as he continued to watch Hob, absorbed in his work. “I was glad to be proven wrong.”
The students all looked at each other. Dream knew they were making some rather varied and interesting assumptions. He would hardly clear any of those up.
“So then…” started another student, Liam. “Did… he ask you out?”
One of the other students nudged him in the arm, as if to say, don’t ask so directly, but Liam stared at Dream, unrepentant.
“No, it took quite a while to reach where we are now,” said Dream.
“Which is where?” asked Olive. “Sorry, I feel like this is kind of rude, it’s just we see you around a lot? And the Prof likes you a lot. And we like him.” The other students nodded. “So we were just… curious.”
Dream wondered if this was meant to be a shovel talk. If so, it would be one of the most hilarious things to happen to him in several years, at least.
For all that Dream was enjoying playing around with Hob’s students, he had to admit he’d grown a bit fond of them as well, mainly as an offshoot of their clear fondness for Hob. He’d been steering their dreams in gentler directions, of late. Just a bit.
Perhaps he should indulge them.
Olive finished, “What are you to him?”
So many curious eyes on him. Dream smiled, raising his voice just a bit, just enough so he knew Hob would be able to hear it across the room. “I do not commit myself to definition, but choose your word. His friend. His lover. His confidante.” He pitched his voice louder. “His sweetheart. His dream. His silly rabbit.”
Across the room, Hob visibly flinched. Olive’s voice jumped up an octave. “His… what?”
Dream smirked. “His silly rabbit.”
“Is that what he calls you?” she asked, barely a squeak.
Dream leaned back against the couch, arms folded behind his head, smiling. “No.”
“Morpheus, love.” Suddenly Hob was beside him, looking pained. “Can I speak with you, please?”
Hob never called him Morpheus, only around the students because he knew Dream preferred to keep his true name only among his closest circle. But in this context, it sounded like an admonishment. Dream got up and followed him with a smirk on his lips.
“Just what,” Hob started, once they’d turned a corner into an empty hallway. “Just what in the bloody hell conversation was I overhearing there?”
“It’s not my fault if you were eavesdropping,” Dream drawled, leaning against the wall.
“It’s not my fault if you were projecting your voice specifically so I could hear it,” Hob returned, deadpan. “What game are you playing now?”
“They asked me questions. I answered truthfully.”
Hob leveled him with a look. “Uh-huh.”
“Answer me truthfully: am I not those things to you?” He reeled Hob in by the lapels of his jacket until Hob’s body was caging him in against the wall. “Your friend?” He kissed Hob’s shoulder. Hob braced him by his hips. “Your lover?” A kiss along his throat. “Your one and only confidante, keeper of your truth?” A kiss to the corner of his eye. Hob hummed, closing his eyes, swaying closer. “Your sweetheart?” That, Hob had called him once or twice, in private.
“Didn’t think you liked that one,” Hob murmured.
“I’ve come around to it.” He kissed the corner of Hob’s lips. “Your… dream?”
“Mmhmm.” Hob fit his hands around Dream’s jaw. “My Dream.”
Dream grinned against his cheek. “Your silly rabbit?”
Hob lurched back, staring at him, eyes wide, betrayed. “My fucking WHAT?”
Dream just met his gaze, smiling innocently.
“You are the definition of insanity,” Hob told him.
“I do contain insanity,” Dream agreed. “And other things.”
Hob sighed, long and slow, and Dream recognized victory. He touched Dream’s face again, stroking his thumb over his cheek. “You contain everything,” he said. “To me.”
He leaned in closer, the heat of his body pressing into Dream’s even through two layers of clothes. “My wild creature.” He kissed under Dream’s jaw. Dream tipped his head back against the wall. “My bit of chaos.” Dream pressed his hands flat to Hob’s back. Hob’s hands wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. “My permanence.” He kissed Dream’s temple. “My storyteller.” A kiss to his forehead. Then finally Hob landed on his lips. “My everything.”
Hob’s words swept around him, held him, a hold that was firm but from which Dream wanted no escape.
“Yours,” he agreed, and Hob kissed him deeper. There was indulgence and fondness in it, recognition of the many strange things that Dream contained, and love of them. Day in, day out, Dream felt Hob’s devotion like the morning sunlight.
Still, he couldn’t resist prodding just a little more. “Your—”
Hob pulled away swiftly and placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t you fucking dare say it.”
Hob had said such sweet things to him that Dream decided to grant him a reprieve. For now.
There was always time later.