Work Text:
Hob let out a heavy sigh rattling with nerves as he stared at his reflection in the full length mirror. Baggy shorts hung low on his hips, revealing part of the Adonis belt that was finally starting to show thanks to all the hours at the gym. The rhythmic chirring of crickets danced through the window that was cracked open to let in the summer night air. He stared at his chest, laser focused but also not really seeing it.
The strips of binding tape that were keeping his breasts firmly adhered to his torso were starting to fray at the edges, following the creases of his skin. The adhesive beneath the material just a shade lighter than his skin was starting to itch something fierce, and judging from the slight sting just beneath his armpits, there was a tiny blister or two waiting to be found. Really he should have taken it off yesterday morning, worn a binder for the day, and reapplied it that night or the morning after, but an intense wave of dysphoria had come out of nowhere and slammed into him with the force of a gale and made even thinking about his chest under the tape profoundly nauseating.
Even now, he could feel his throat starting to close up at the thought of the task before him. The almost half empty jar of coconut oil stared innocently at him from the dresser.
“Hob?” Dream’s voice was soft as he entered the bedroom and tried to keep any panic at bay. “Something wrong?”
Hob let out another rattling sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Even across the room, Dream could see how it was starting to frizz, proof that Hob had repeated the motion several times before he had gotten there. “It’s my chest,” he choked out. He tried to hide the hint of shame, but Dream heard it anyway- they had had this conversation too many times for him to miss it. He stopped himself from huffing and staring up at the ceiling to beg for patience from whoever would listen, but only just.
Yes, it was a little frustrating to go through these motions and have this talk over and over again, but Dream could never be upset with Hob over this- no, his ire was directed towards the doctors and health system that was keeping Hob in physical and mental discomfort by dragging their feet and dangling approvals over their heads like a carrot on a stick. Besides, his boyfriend didn’t need nor deserve to bear the weight of his anger and irritation on top of everything else.
“I just…” Hob swallowed hard and valiantly continued through the tears threatening to spill. “I know I need to take off the tape- should have done it yesterday but I just couldn’t, and-”
Ah fuck here we go again- Hob sniffled and bit his bottom lip as snot clogged up his sinuses and tears burned his eyes.He heard Dream pad across the room to where he was standing, felt willowy arms wrap themselves around his stomach, shivered under the kiss brushed over the slope of his shoulder. He felt the vibrations of Dream’s soothing rumble more than he heard the words, but the sensation of being held helped ground him, just a little. Hob’s hand came away from his face covered in a film of snot, and he wiped it on his shorts.
Dream hated feeling so helpless, hated a solution being visible and yet so far out of reach and never getting any closer. Then, he had an idea. He stood on his toes to murmur it in Hob’s ear.
“Would you like me to help take it off? Let me take care of you?”
Hob’s breath caught painfully in his chest. He had never seriously considered asking Dream to take off his tape- the prospect seemed too intimate, would leave him too vulnerable, more so than he already was. He knew Dream loved him without limit and supported him without reservation, but the idea still sent a jolt of fear through his entire being.
Dream had always seen, accepted, and loved him for who he was- there was no reason he could think of why the act of unbinding his boyfriend’s chest would change that. And yet…
Dream swallowed, sensing Hob’s reticence. “Or I can just be here while you take it off, I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” His voice took on a tone of firm care, one that parents used when telling their children to just rip off the bandaid and get it over with. “But, we both know it needs to come off. Let me help make it as painless as possible.”
Hob swallowed hard as his vision swam. He thought he might throw up. Or pass out. He needed to breathe. It would pass if he could just breathe…
He took a shallow breath that burned his lungs, then another, slightly deeper, then another. Dream held him the entire time, breathing in time with him, letting Hob feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest at his back. Once the stress panic had faded and he no longer felt like he was about to combust from the inside, Hob slumped in Dream’s embrace, exhausted to his bones.
And after all that, the tape still had to come off. Fuck.
“Could you help me?” Hob finally choked, high and thready and broken and so scared.
“Of course.” Dream gave his midriff a little squeeze and kissed the nape of his neck. “Lie on the bed, I’ll take care of you.” Hob nodded and slipped out of Dream’s embrace. He laid himself on the bed on his back, staring at the ceiling with the blank resolution of a corpse on an autopsy table. Dream grabbed the jar of coconut oil off the dresser and placed it on the bedside table.
Lithe limbs and a pale, slender body clambered atop the bed and straddled Hob’s hips. Dream took a deep breath as he tenderly caressed up and down Hob’s torso, stopping just short of the tape and the waistband of his shorts. Hob tensed at first, but Dream could feel him relax just a little more with every pass of his hands. “Just relax,” he cooed, a gently besotted smile spreading across his face. “I’m here, beloved.”
Hob let out a shuddering exhale and let himself sink into the mattress. With a jerky nod, he gave Dream permission to begin.
Dream unscrewed the jar of coconut oil and scooped up a thick glob with his fingers. It was solid, but squishy, their home not quite warm enough to make it a liquid. Brow furrowed in concentration, Dream flipped his hand over and began to spread and massage the oil into the tape covering Hob’s left breast. A small whimper slipped past Hob’s lips- it itched, the touch was too much and not enough, like he was being scratched open from the inside. Dream just continued to work with gentle, nigh worshipful care.
Once the tape was soaked through, he reached into the jar for another glob and worked it into the right side. Oily hands slipped and whispered over the tape and the skin of Hob’s chest, now lightly smattered with dark hair thanks to the T. It scratched faintly at his palms, made them tingle.
Once all the tape had turned a darker tan thanks to the oil, Dream rubbed the excess into his own skin, running his hands up and down his bare forearms. “Now we wait for it to work.” His smile grew as he slowly bent at the waist and pressed his lips to Hob’s. “Which means I get to spend a few minutes kissing you without interruption, if that’s alright.”
Hob nodded with a tiny grin and ever so slightly puckered his lips. Dream noted his eyes were still watery as he kissed him again, languid and firm and lingering. Hob sighed into Dream’s lips and let his eyes flutter shut, trying to pinpoint his focus onto this sensation rather than the chaotic mess going on around and inside his chest.
They kissed for what felt like hours, until Hob felt the corner of tape on the underside of his right breast start to lift. “I-” he choked, “I think it’s ready.” Dream nodded and pulled away with one last fleeting peck to Hob’s nose.
Pale fingers flicked at the corners of the tape, testing which were ready to let go of Hob’s skin, and settled on the corner of his right breast, in the middle of his chest. He pinched it between two fingertips, and brilliant blue eyes flickered up to Hob’s. “Tell me if it starts to hurt.” Hob nodded. He lightly grit his teeth as anxious fingers clenched and released around handfuls of the covers.
Dream gave a little tug to get it started, then with exceeding gentleness, started to peel the tape back. Pink lines in the pattern of the adhesive faintly blushed to the surface. Hob placed a hand over the bare part of his breast to help provide some tension. Even with how much he had been dreading this process, Hob couldn’t help closing his eyes and a moan of relief when the mound of tissue was released- the sound quickly morphed into a hiss as Dream peeled the last of the tape off his skin.
As Hob had thought, there were three tiny blisters near the edge of where the tape had sat and had presumably borne the most tension and pressure, next to and on top of darker scars in similar shapes and spots- remnants of Hob’s first few attempts at taping his chest, back when he was first learning how to do it in a way that both flattened his chest and didn’t cause too much damage to his skin.
Dream mumbled a hasty apology- “I’m sorry my love,” as he peeled away the rest of the strip and scrunched it into a ball. Hob kneaded and massaged his breast as Dream did this, the sound of skin on skin overlaid with his breathy groans.
Dream bit his lip and forced himself to concentrate- Hob’s groans were starting to get him excited, and this was most definitely not the time, not when getting to this point had been a near impossible task.
“One more darling,” he assured both Hob and himself as he started to peel the other piece of tape. Hob’s free hand came up to apply the same tension while his other hand stilled atop his breast. Hob’s eyes were still closed, and he let out another moan as the tape came free, this one slightly more choked than before. Just like his right side, there were a few blisters beneath his armpit, and Dream took extra care peeling the tape away from them.
Now that it was free of the tape, the skin of Hob’s chest itched even more, fire ants crawling all over him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and clawed fingers scratched in earnest, leaving a lattice of red lines and little threads of burst blood vessels on the skin of his breasts.
Oil slick hands stopped him almost immediately, and Hob’s eyes shot open, about to bark at Dream to let him go- but the loving concern etched deep into every pore of Dream’s face brought it all to a screeching halt. “I know they itch,” he rumbled, half soothing half placating, “But please my love, do not hurt yourself.” A pregnant pause. “Allow me?”
Hob briefly considered with his hands still firmly clasped to his tits- partly trying to relieve the itching, but also trying to hide them from view. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly let his hands fall away from his chest.
“Thank you,” Dream whispered against his lips. Hob stole a quick kiss with a near desperate whimper, fragile and frayed like an exposed nerve.
Long, bony fingers almost hesitantly lowered themselves to the shining mounds of flesh that heaved slightly with every shallow breath. They curled in, squeezing gently, kneading and massaging in slow circles. A cracked, sob-like sound jumped out of Hob’s chest, and his eyes scrunched shut as he belatedly tried to contain it. Dream gently shushed him as he continued to lavish attention and care on Hob’s chest.
“You’re doing so well,” Dream murmured, bending over to let his head rest next to Hob’s, his hands sandwiched between their chests. Dream ignored the oil that was no doubt soaking into his shirt (it was black, the stain would hardly show anyway), and continued to croon praise in Hob’s ear, interspersed with kisses pressed to every inch of neck he could reach.
Hob gradually melted under Dream’s caring touches, the tension bleeding out of his muscles into the mattress, the breaths he took actually nourishing him. He gave a little nudge when the worst of the itching had subsided, and Dream let his hands slide down the contours of Hob’s ribcage to cradle his hips.
“Now then,” Dream breathed with a gently besotted smile as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from Hob’s forehead. “Let’s take a shower and wash all that oil off your skin. Then we’ll put some healing ointment on your blisters, and I’ll hold you on the couch or in bed for as long as you want. Yes?”
Hob nodded, any words stopped by the waves of love and care coming from Dream that were currently the only things keeping crippling dysphoria at bay. With one more kiss, Dream eased him into a sitting position, scooting himself down Hob’s legs just enough to comfortably kneel before him and tenderly hold his face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over the barely there scratchy stubble slowly but surely growing on his cheeks. “Come my love, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Dream gently eased Hob off the bed and guided him to the bathroom, positioning himself so that Hob couldn’t see his reflection while he turned on the water. While the spray worked its way to a comfortable temperature, Dream eased Hob’s shorts and underwear down his legs, offering his shoulder for balance as he stepped out of them. Once he was in the shower, Dream let himself crack, just for a moment- he let the pain he felt for Hob show briefly on his face, let it choke him for a breath as he stripped out of his own clothes, before slamming it all back down to join his boyfriend in the shower.
Hob was standing with his back under the spray, staring vacantly at the line of grout between tub and tile. Most of his hair was soaked, but a few mostly dry strands hung around his face. Dream reached up to card his fingers through Hob’s hair and brush a kiss over his third eye- normally Dream was an inch or two taller, but Hob seemed to have shrunk in his vulnerability, curled into himself in an effort not to be perceived.
Dream pumped a few globs of Hob’s bodywash into the washcloth and rubbed it with his hand to make a foamy lather. Citrus and sandalwood infused with the slight bit of steam the water gave off in the coolness of the bathroom. He looked up at Hob and made sure to catch his eye, silently asking permission. Hob gave a short, jerky nod, and unfolded himself ever so slightly. As if he were handling the most precious china, Dream ran the washcloth over Hob’s chest, the soap breaking up the film of oil left on his skin. It tickled and itched and tingled, and yet Hob thought he just might die if Dream stopped any time soon.
Dream hummed a few measures of a piece he had heard on the classical music station at work, going back to the beginning when he couldn’t remember what came next. Hob once again relaxed under his partner’s touch, Dream’s love and care soaking into his skin and chasing away the anxiety and fears that were buzzing just beneath the surface, replacing them with delicate warmth.
Hob hissed with a tiny yelp when the soapy washcloth made contact with an open blister- tiny as it was, it still stung something harsh. “Sorry, sorry-” Dream’s whisper was slightly panicked- the last thing he wanted was to cause Hob more chest-related pain- but he got himself together and ghosted the washcloth over the remaining open sores, just enough to let the soap touch the fragile red skin.
Once all the oil had been broken up by the soap, Dream gently turned Hob so the water could rinse his chest. Suds and lather and oil sluiced down his torso before swirling down the drain, and Dream could hear the sigh that was almost a moan of desperate relief.
Dream quickly washed himself before turning off the water and coaxing Hob out of the shower. The mirror had fogged up, once again sparing Hob his reflection in this time of fragility. Hob grabbed his towel and passed another one to Dream before wrapping himself snugly within it. Dream wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked the corner in to free his hands.
“Let me,” he breathed as he gently pried the towel from Hob’s hands and refastened it around his waist in a mirror of his own. He reached under the sink for the healing ointment, the plastic tub almost slipping out of his hands as he unscrewed the cap.
One careful hand coaxed Hob’s arm out of the way while the other reached into the tub for a dollop of cloudy white ointment. He rubbed it in gentle circles into the red-raw spots and splotchy scars on the sides of Hob’s chest, doing his best to work it into the open blisters without causing too much discomfort. Hob hissed at the sting, and Dream pursed his lips.
“There,” Dream whispered, and kissed the dip of Hob’s clavicle. “Let’s get dressed, and I will hold you until you order me to let go.” Hob sniffed, but nodded and shuffled his way out of the bathroom. He tugged on some clean underwear and slipped a familiar oversized t-shirt over his head- the gray 4XL that was worn and stained, the bottom hem permanently stretched out from all the times Hob had folded up his limbs and tried to hide his entire body within the cotton. The damp towel was haphazardly thrown in the vague direction of the hamper.
Hob ran distractedly numb fingers through damp hair as he shlumped to the couch and fell heavily into the cushions, curling up into a ball with his back shoved in the corner for any semblance of a sense of safety. Dream’s face cracked like dried out pottery as he observed from the doorway, watched his boyfriend’s attempts to make himself smaller, to hide from his pain because he didn’t have the strength to face it.
Dream crossed to the couch and draped a light throw blanket over the mound of tension that vaguely resembled Hob. He sat down, positioned his head to rest on his thigh and paused to gather his words. He carded his fingers through the mostly detangled strands as he choked, “I, love your chest. Even as I loathe how much distress it causes you. But I love it because it is yours. And when you have a chest that brings you joy, I will love that as well.” Dream felt and saw Hob’s shuddering breath, the kind that burned your throat and lungs with the promise of uncontrollable tears.
After a moment balanced on a knife’s edge, Hob cried. He scrunched his eyes shut, more to lose himself in the darkness behind his eyelids than to stop the tears- he knew he had to let them out to ease some of the pressure in his chest not caused by the lumps of tissue currently attached to it. Dream just held him closer, mentally grasping at anything he could do to ease his pain, but knowing that he would come up empty handed.
He hated this was something they could only suffer through, even with a light at the end of the tunnel. He murmured soothing affirmations in Hob’s ear, not knowing if they penetrated the haze of panic and pain and the fog of background processes keeping Hob alive as he broke down and eventually fell asleep. Dream knew tomorrow would be better- Hob would reapply his tape, or put on his favorite binder, and go about his day, even if a little more tired and worn than before. One day closer to the end of the tunnel. He couldn’t know if the going would get easier or harder, only that he would be at Hob’s side as he kept going.