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Dream is sitting on the floor of his kitchen, surrounded by candles because the power is out, and sipping a glass of red wine. He’s bundled in a blanket and desperately failing to conserve battery on his phone, by texting Hob, who’s also lost power.
Dream slouches back against his oven, of which the range is on to give off some blessed heat (thank God his oven is gas), while he reads the latest message from Hob, lamenting how bleeding cold it is in his own flat, a newly renovated chrome building on the edge of the city, where everything, including the heat, was electric.
Dream mourns for him, even though Hob makes light of the situation with his witty texts and flirtatious hints of how they could warm each other up.
They’d only been on a handful of dates, not yet fallen into bed together… Dream awkwardly explaining that it took a while, if at all, for sexual attraction to form within a new relationship. Dream wasn’t even 100% certain what it was supposed to feel like. Hob had, surprisingly, taken it in stride. Becoming patient and thoughtful, inquisitive but never in an invasive way like previous interests had been. Hob was also excellent at communication, even coaxing Dream out of his own uncertainty and bad, knee-jerk reactions towards physical intimacy. Hob parsed pretty quickly how Dream’s shut-out nature was a thing born of selfish or impatient partners. Hob was good at waiting, and after a handful of outings together, Dream began to understand that Hob wasn’t actually waiting. He was just… there, with Dream, enjoying the time they spent together and laughing at his stories and holding Dream’s hand, hugging him without lingering implications of more… never pushing Dream’s limits.
It was refreshing, and– to Dream’s complete surprise– he’d found himself falling hard for the other man. Who knew a simple acknowledgment to boundaries would get him so wound up? His pulse quickened with every smile Hob gave him, his stomach tying itself in knots whenever Hob would take his hand, and his brain completely shutting off when Hob would kiss him. Chaste things that had progressively turned more and more heated with every encounter. Promising something more and more each time they met. Always going at Dream’s pace. Slow. Patient. Heat just simmering below the surface, bubbling up to Dream’s skin, seeping from his pores and making his hair stand up on end before he felt delirious with it, breaking off with a hysterical laugh or gasp.
It was electrifying, like stepping closer and closer to the edge of a cliff, becoming more and more brave with every try; revisiting and becoming giddy in the progression. Soon Dream wouldn’t fear to fling himself off the ledge, knowing Hob would catch him at the bottom.
Currently, the sounds of his windows rattling from the flurries outside fill his dark flat, along with the flutter of the open flames on his range, and the quiet drip, drip, drip of the kitchen tap (to prevent frozen pipes, Dream had learned that lesson the hard way last winter).
After hours of texting Hob, Dream had taken a break. Standing from the floor to stretch out his limbs, grab a book, and stare at his phone, a little alarmed at the sudden silence from Hob.
Perhaps his phone has finally died, Dream sighs mournfully at the possibility, slumping back down onto the floor, his wine glass refreshed.
Dream is nearly halfway done with the bottle, maybe a quarter way through the book, when he receives a text that makes his heart jump.
So, what if i told you im outside your building?
Dream stood up so suddenly the candles around him nearly snuffed themselves out.
Hob Gadling are you fucking serious?? He manages to text back before shoving his phone in his pocket and stumbling to his closet.
They had teased each other about potentially coming over, spend the dreadful dark hours keeping each other company, but the storm outside was so violent; high winds that carried the snowfall in blinding horizontal lines, amplifying the bitter cold to something arctic and deadly. A woebegone suggestion was all that would come of it, not to mention the driving ban.
Hob lived about 30 minutes away walking distance, but Dream still didn’t want to chance it. Even though the idea of hunkering down with Hob during a potentially days long storm sounded more than tolerable… Dream felt downright silly over the fantasies of how Hob and him could keep each other warm. The thoughts that entered his brain without his permission excited Dream.
With his pulse absolutely singing, Dream yanked on his boots and pulled on his oversized winter coat, stumbling to his front door and marching down the stairs of the building he resided in, the age of which you could smell in its walls; could see in the cracks and warps in the wooden floors. He made it down to the entrance and pulled open the door, the ice cold wind smacking Dream in the face immediately.
But then he saw a smudge of brown in the whiteness approaching. Dream kicked down the snow that had piled up at the door and waded forward in knee deep snow to meet Hob halfway. The immediate cold and punishing snowfall hit Dream like a tsunami, he had half a mind to wonder how the hell Hob managed to walk here and be in one piece as he wrapped his arms around Hob’s middle and helped him past the threshold.
Once the door slammed shut behind them, Dream took a proper look at Hob.
He’s breathing hard, pulling his scarf down to show a wide, manic smile. His eyebrows are frozen and there is still snow on his eyelashes.
“You look like The Abominable Snowman.” Dream chastises.
Hob laughs. He’s absolutely covered in snow, piled high on his shoulders, his boots, inside of his scarf, pressed against his neck and turning the skin there red.
“I feel like one.” Hob says, his voice cracked and breathless. He shakes himself out like a dog and Dream can’t help but laugh. Especially at the toothy grin Hob throws at him.
Once they’re back inside Dream’s flat, and Hob’s outer layers have been stripped off and hung in the shower to drip dry, Dream sets off to boil water in a pot for tea.
They sit on Dream’s couch, sharing a blanket and sipping tea while Dream admonishes Hob for coming out in the middle of a storm. What was he thinking?? To which Hob just shrugs and curls his nearly numb fingers around the hot mug, snuggling even further into Dream’s side and sighing.
“Worth it, to see you.”
“You’re insane,” Dream says, but smiles through it. He’s happy to see Hob, too.
Hob’s skin glows with the orange and yellow flickering of the candles, his features softening and barely noticeable in the limited light. But Dream knows them by now. Knows the curve of Hob’s thick, dark eyebrows, down to the scruff of his jaw, and back up to the prominent shape of his nose. He’s always handsome, but right now, shadowed in soft light and his cheeks still pink from the cold, he’s a vision. And Dream can’t help but set his mug down, taking away Hob’s as well, and kissing him.
His lips are warm from the tea, and he tastes of lavender and honey, and it makes Dream want . Want to climb onto Hob’s lap and wrap every limb around him, to crawl inside him. Make a nest for himself– warm and safe and cared for under Hob’s breast bone. There he could listen to the rhythmic beat of his heart, how it thundered now, under Dream’s hand as he caressed Hob’s sweater to get teasing fingers under the hem, touching the soft flesh of his hips and stomach.
Hob moans into his mouth, making Dream’s skull vibrate and he nearly gives in, something dark and unknown swirling in his lower belly that drives his fingers to press harder, feel the texture of Hob’s skin, the smattering of hairs at his stomach, but he forces himself to slow down, to take it easy, to enjoy and luxuriate in what they have now.
Hob, miraculously, follows along. His own hands cupping each side of Dream’s head and only getting his fingers in his hair, matching Dream’s pace, kissing back with no intention of more, waiting– always– for Dream to make the first move. Unhurried, with only the intention of sapping each other’s warmth, expanding it so it encompasses both of them, luxuriating in the moment they create together.
Hob breaks off only to nudge his nose and lips under Dream’s jaw and nuzzle behind Dream’s ear, making him shudder pleasantly.
“Dream, Dream…” Hob mumbles, seemingly content in just kissing, just holding one another. “I could do this for hours.”
Dream grips the hem of Hob’s sweater, holding tightly as to prevent himself from ripping it off Hob. Another time, very soon, he knows. Dream has every intention to give into the temptation that is Hob Gadling, but the waiting is so much more fun. The anticipation, the build up, the slow understanding of his own feelings brimming up to the surface, will be that much more satisfying when he’s certain Hob will reciprocate them in a way that truly matters.
Hob just might love him back. But Dream waits. Though, he does allow himself a confession:
“I could do this forever.”