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“Next time I make you, you will not be so flawed and petty, little dream.”
…
When the Corinthian awakes, he is positioned comfortably on his side with one of his arms draped across his stomach. He is also incredibly naked and drenched with sweat, but that is to be expected. If he has truly been recreated, he is bound to be reborn in his birthday suit. Yet, the black sands on which Lord Morpheus prefers to perform acts of creation are not beneath the Corinthian’s slick skin. Rather, there are silk sheets of the highest quality and a velvet blanket placed atop his modesty. The nightmare concludes he is lying on a large bed.
One might even say it is a bed fit for a king.
CAW!
The Corinthian groans as a familiar raven’s call pierces his ears.
“Anyone but you,” he sneers. “I’d rather be unmade.”
Matthew perches himself on the corner of the headboard closest to the Corinthian. “It’s great to see you too. You know, I’m sure the boss will happily-“
“There is no need for that, Matthew. You are excused,” Lord Morpheus says, cutting Matthew off as he emerges from the room's shadows. He is dressed in his signature starry robes and a dash of kohl eyeliner, appearing completely put together after the cereal convention debacle.
“But boss…”
“You. Are. Excused,” Morpheus demands.
The raven slips out of an open window, and Morpheus releases a sigh. He’s nearing the bed at an achingly slow pace, and the Corinthian is admittedly growing concerned. He partly wishes that he was fully clothed for such an encounter.
“Are you surprised, nightmare,” the Dream Lord asks.
To be frank, yes. Yes, he is. The Corinthian should be unmade for what he has committed. Perjury, forced imprisonment, murder… All human terms from the Waking, of course.
But the Dreaming is far from the Waking, and the nightmare should have known that Morpheus would have a special punishment in mind for his various transgressions.
“If I knew a little rebellion would get me in your bed, I would have done this centuries ago, my lord,” The Corinthian jests.
Morpheus is displeased by such an implication but allows himself to smile at his nightmare’s foolishness. It would be unusual for the Corinthian to not fight back, and he must be rearing to throw a punch after his sad little display at the convention.
“My dear, it takes much more than some bratty behavior to bed the Lord of the Dreaming. Yet, I created you from the recesses of my own hedonism. I suppose I must have some common ground with you in regard to intimate acts.”
The Corinthian is slightly taken aback by his lord’s admission, but it doesn’t satiate his rising temper.
“Intimate acts? Do me a favor and say ‘fucking’ for once. I need to hear it before you unmake me,” he continues to pry. To what extent will this continue? The Corinthian does not know. Unfortunately, Morpheus does.
“Hmm… There will be no ‘unmaking’ in the Dreaming this day. Instead, I would appreciate if you would help me with a small chore.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Come on, little nightmare. We have places to be,” Morpheus says, redressing the Corinthian with a wave of his hand.
…
“Where are we going?”
The Corinthian feels like a toddler chasing after his father, and he hates that it’s not far from the truth. Somewhere deep inside of the nightmare is a childish sense of shame brought on by Morpheus’s disapproval. He’s willing to do anything to make amends. Almost.
“You’ll feel it soon enough,” Morpheus explains. This does no favors for the nightmare as he struggles to perceive his surroundings. Instead of being greeted by the usual inhabitants of the Dreaming, he feels as if they’ve taken a back road with indiscernible features. There are no trees, and there certainly isn’t any grass. Everything appears to be smooth yet blurry, like an unfinished rendering of a human video game.
“Uhh, sure… Whatever you say,” the Corinthian says in defeat. Morpheus is walking with purpose. His strides are long and his face is stern. It is evident that he has caused this change in the environment, but it’s difficult to understand why.
Then, the nightmare feels it.
“No,” he simply states before refusing to take another step forward. Morpheus quickly turns to face him and lowers his brows in distaste.
“You refuse my request after traveling this far?”
“No- I mean, yes! Yes. I refuse.”
“Then you must understand where I am taking you. I know you travel here in your free time. Why is this any different?”
“Because it’s where I began, and it can very well be where I end,” the Corinthian shouts. But it is not in anger. It is in fear. Even his mouth eyes, conveniently shielded by sunglasses, are chattering away.
Morpheus’s expression eases and he reaches up to his creation’s face. With a gentle caress along the nightmare’s jaw, the right eye’s chattering seizes. The Corinthian’s main mouth releases a stuttering sigh.
“Have you no faith in your lord, my little nightmare? I said there would be no ‘unmaking’ on this day and that is how it will remain. Come,” Morpheus urges. His hand falls from the nightmare and his purposeful stride resumes. The Corinthian battles the irrational fear within him and follows suit.
The path soon reveals the Corinthian’s gut instinct to be true as the black sands and sea of dark creation come into view. It is exceptionally clear compared to their surroundings. Nightmares moan and wail as they thrash about in the tide, serving as the beginnings of half-hearted ideas rather than the holy completeness of an idea like the Corinthian himself.
What a shame it is that he let such a blessing go to waste. Perhaps that is why Morpheus has led him here, to remind him of how lucky he is to be one of the Major Arcana and therefore plucked from the thoughts of the Dream Lord himself.
Well, that entitled bastard can just fuck right off if that’s the case.
“Why are we here, Dream?”
“It’s Lord Morpheus to you.”
“Yeah, sure. Just tell me what you want.” The fear that wracked the Corinthian’s nerves is quickly being replaced with malice. He hates to see the Dream Lord in his safe space, a space dedicated to filling the nightmare with pride in his accomplishments after a job well done. The beach never fails to inspire the Corinthian to write in his journal of horrors that details the darkness he has spread across both the Dreaming and the Waking.
Now, Dream is tarnishing the image of this space as he nears the water’s edge. The waves can only reach the lord’s toes at this point, but the horrors that reside within the sea still attempt to reach out and touch faith. It is to no avail. “We are here to make a compromise,” Dream states simply.
“That doesn’t sound very lordy of you.”
“And that is why we have matters to discuss.”
The Dream Lord steps away from the water, leading many water-borne nightmares to wail in agony. He then takes the time to readjust his robes before settling upon the cool sand and crossing his legs. Morpheus only bothers to look up with his starry and expectant eyes once he has deemed himself comfortable. The Corinthian obliges with a huff of annoyance and the forceful removal of his sunglasses.
“Ah, there you are,” Dream remarks. “Your face unshielded, as intended.”
“You only admire the things you create.”
“Well, that’s how it works, little nightmare. Now, tell me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why do you believe I’ve made you this way?”
The Corinthian is dumbfounded for many reasons. The most important one is the fact that Dream is taking the time to listen to one of his creations for once. He must be in Hell. He must have been thrown into Lucifer’s grasp, forced to live through fantasies that could never be. But for now, the nightmare is willing to indulge in this little charade.
“You’ve obviously made me a monster to cater to your nightmarish needs. My teeth are horrifying, which cannot be said for the rest of my body. I’m built to seduce in every other way. Something used to lure but not to love.” It’s an honest response, more than the Corinthian wished to supply, but he felt compelled to share. Dream is being so… kind? It’s better to take advantage of this pleasant interaction before all goes wrong again.
Oddly enough, the Lord of the Dreaming appears pleased to hear his nightmare open up. A small smile of sympathy flashes across his expression before settling into his standard straight face. It’s far from the frown that the Corinthian was anticipating.
“Do you truly see yourself in this way?” Dream inquires.
“I believe so.”
“Then, I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies. I have failed to reveal your true potential. While it’s true that you serve as a mirror for the darkest parts of humanity, you are also meant to be celebrated as an inevitable aspect of life. There is beauty in chaos, and therefore, there is beauty in every fiber of you. What is not to love?” Dream ends his short showcase of affection with teary eyes that do not dare to spill over, and the Corinthian stares in awe.
A warm blush conjures on the nightmare’s cheeks, filling him with an emotion that he has not encountered since the early years of his creation. It’s akin to the desire he experiences when interacting with attractive mortal men, but infinitely more sentimental.
Ugh, sentiment.
The Corinthian cannot fall for this delusion.
“I want to leave,” he says before quickly getting to his feet and dusting off his slacks.
“What’s wrong, little one?”
“Do NOT call me that!”
“Would you prefer something else?”
“I’d prefer if you would leave me alone.” The Corinthian hopes he comes across as convincing, but his lord knows him far too well. He is swiftly snatched by the wrist and pulled toward the ground once again, landing inelegantly across Dream’s lap and eliciting a small noise of discomfort from the Corinthian’s left eye.
“You will not run from me any longer. We must work together,” Dream states.
“I’d rather be caged in a glass ball for a century than work with you.”
“Corinthian, behave. I said we must work together. Listen to me, you petulant thing.” The Dream Lord runs a soothing hand along the Corinthian’s back before flipping him upwards to look directly into his eye mouths. The right eye, bratty as ever, dares to stick its small tongue out as the left one chastises it. The mouths and the Corinthian calm after a few more soft caresses.
“You must understand how much the Dreaming needs you, Corinthian. I’m willing to make amends if you swear to never hurt a member of the Waking again.”
“And what do I get in return?”
“Respect. Attention. Maybe a few eyeballs of the Waking flavor, if you insist,” Dream supplies. The Corinthian almost laughs but knows his lord is far from joking. This is certainly a compromise, but how does one ensure that it is fulfilled? Respect and attention are immeasurable. Eyeballs are a different matter.
“How could I possibly trust you?”
“Because I am willing to provide one more thing.”
“And that would be?”
“…affection.”
Affection.
The word makes the Corinthian freeze as his lord raises a hand to gently cup his face. The touch is so sweet that the nightmare has to refuse the urge to throw up on the spot, yet he understands its intent. Dream will never leave his dear creation alone again. He shall never feel abandoned again for as long as he may exist.
“But what if I ask for too much?” The Corinthian asks before he can think better of it.
The Dream Lord simply replies, “There is no such thing.”
So the Corinthian decides it is better now than never to plead for forgiveness with a kiss.
When their lips first meet, Dream takes a few seconds to decide whether or not he should allow his nightmare to move forward with such an intimate act. He understands that his creation comprehends the value of affection through physical methods rather than verbal, but it must be crossing some kind of line.
“Kiss me,” the Corinthian whines as he sits up to wrap his legs around his lord’s waist.
It is then that the Lord of the Dreaming remembers that he creates the lines that can be crossed, and he chooses to believe that it is better to tend to his creation’s needs than to leave him for want. He answers the Corinthian’s call for affection with a tender kiss, letting his nightmare lead the way without a second thought and securing his trust until the Corinthian’s innate urges undoubtedly draw him to the Waking once again…