Chapter Text
Moving from the bright ballroom out into the drizzling dark had Hob stumbling as he waited for his night vision to catch up with his movements. His formal leather-soled shoes slipped on the slick pavement so that he halted for a moment, looking up and down the street to find which direction Morpheus had gone. Nothing. Of course, he was looking for god draped in shadows wearing a helm of bone. What he should be looking for is Morpheus; the man who most of his colleagues thought was one of his research assistants. The person he'd thought he'd started to know very well, but clearly had never even met.
The streets were mostly empty at this hour, what with the miserable rain, and those that were present were obscured by umbrellas making them featureless from the shoulders up. Too tall, too short, too colourful, clearly a woman… No, there he was, far down to the right - the only one walking with his head high in the rain as if it didn't touch him. Maybe it didn't. He'd shed his trappings of deity, as far as Hob could tell, as he sprinted off to close the gap.
"Morpheus!"
He didn't turn around or slow, but neither did he speed up, or disappear. Hob caught up with him easily enough and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. Morpheus's eyes were still black, haunted voids in his otherwise human face and he stumbled backwards at the sight, letting him go. Morpheus chose not to take the opportunity to flee and remained stoic, hands in the pockets of his usual peacoat, looking for all the world as he always did except for those eyes. Kept to intimidate, probably, held up like a shield between him and Hob's ire. They both remembered the last time Hob had chased him through the rain, but that time Morpheus hadn't stopped, and this time Hob wasn't even sure if he was angry. He was certainly something, myriad emotions fighting for dominance with his rational mind fighting for control so he didn't say something that ended whatever fragile romance they'd been fostering.
They stared at each other for a long moment, caught in a battle of wills that Hob knew immediately he was going to lose. "Please don't run from me," he said softly, watching Morpheus's face tighten. Anger? Confusion? It was hard to tell, even for Hob who considered himself something of an expert at this point.
"I was not running."
Hob grit his teeth and fought down the urge to slap him - that would definitely end things; his life, the planet, maybe more. "I didn't chase you through the bloody rain to argue semantics," he hissed, "What are you, why didn't you tell me?"
"You never asked, I simply did not offer. Would it have changed anything?" Morpheus asked, head tipped slightly to the side in the way Hob normally found endearing rather than infuriating.
"Maybe," Hob said, honesty winning out over assurances, or anger, "I thought you were my soulmate, for over a century, those years are years to me, Morpheus, not the blink of an eye they are to you. You lied to me. I bared everything to you, then you crawled into my bed and fucking lied to me."
"They are no such thing," Morpheus replied in a low and dangerous tone that made Hob step back, and instantly recall the imprisonment they had danced around in conversation, and what he had learned tonight. The source of his nightmares, the sickness, the world spiralling down into disrepair. "I feel every second, why do you think I have begun to spend so many of them with you?"
"I… I don't know. Pity, at first, but it's not that."
"No, it isn't."
The drizzle was edging more into proper rain now, soaking through Hob's formalwear and turning Morpheus's indignance and aura into something a bit more soggy and pathetic. His normally fluffy hair was starting to mat down and stick to his forehead.
"Come back inside," Hob said, offering a hand that Morpheus did not take, "Explain this."
They needed to talk, desperately, if they were going to figure any of this out. The longer he talked to him, the less Morpheus's strange dark eyes disturbed him even though he couldn't read emotion into them as he normally could. He had long since realised where he'd gone wrong in 1889, projecting his own feelings onto his Stranger and stumbling accidentally upon the man's own insecurities. Knowing now what he did, which was still barely anything, that Dream of the Endless, a being whose vastness really did not compute when reading through Grimsby's books, spent his days following him around between lectures and drinking tea quietly beside him in a pub, was a baffling concept. Loneliness, indeed.
"I said what I needed to," Morpheus replied, "At least you now understand better why I cannot be what you wish me to be."
"I don't want you to be anything but yourself," Hob said, frustrated by how calm the other man sounded, "I'm just…. You never have been, really, you're what I thought you were, sort of. Did… did they see the same man when you took off your mask?"
"Helm," Morpheus corrected, "Yes, I am as I am, to modern man, unless I wish it otherwise." He watched Hob with narrowed eyes for a moment, correctly surmising they were on some measure of knowledgeable footing here - Hob not utterly horrified, and knowing enough to ask that question. "I have neither soul nor body, truly, but I only lied to you about one."
Hob huffed, shaking his head, exasperated only but Morpheus's shoulders hunched in a way that told him he took it as an insult. Getting out of the rain anytime soon was looking less and less likely.
"Oh it was real enough," Hob said, "That's all it needs to be, enough. I don't care about whatever you are, it doesn't matter, what matters is this."
He stepped forward, closing what little distance remained between them until Morpheus was close enough that he could see his eyes weren't entirely black, there were pinprick lights in their depths like stars. They caught him again in their eldritch clutches, pulling him down, down into darkness enough he shook his head sharply and stepped back. Morpheus stood a little straighter, looking down his nose at him, but Hob had a guess that he was posturing, trying to scare him away. No chance of that, he'd come this far.
Hob pulled the arm of his shirt sleeve up and held his bare wrist out to Morpheus. Soul marks always had their own inner light, not enough to brighten the darkness but enough to be seen under any measure of illumination. Now it shimmered like gold under his skin, giving a warm tint to Morpheus's icy fingers as he reached for it slowly. Upon touching Hob's skin he gasped and pulled his hand back, looking at his fingers, then Hob's arm, with a baffled expression on his face. As Hob watched, he changed; his sharp angles softened infinitesimally, where his flesh had been carved from living marble he now had the hints of humanity beneath that perfection, blue veins under his skin, pink lips, pale human eyes. A god still, greater than a god, yet somehow more a man.
"...How?" Morpheus whispered, with more accusation in it than Hob would have liked.
"Beats me, you made me," Hob shot back.
"I didn't. You were… a gift, or sorts," he said, "Perhaps that is why, yet… I have no soul, Hob Gadling, I did not lie to you. I am not man, or monster, or anything of flesh and blood that lives and breathes and loves. I am my function only, and I have indulged myself with you."
The dismissal with which he said it stung, but Hob stood his ground. He had a hunch that, like before, he had simply struck too close to home and Morpheus's only ingrained response was to lash out, deflect, and run. Maybe that worked in dreams, but Hob considered himself a pretty grounded sort of man, despite… well, everything since 1389.
"I don't think you lied, I just think you're wrong," Hob replied, "Why would I carry this mark if I wasn't meant for you? That helm is far older than me, I take it?" He wasn't going to touch that bit about his being a gift, not now. Enough revelations for one night.
"Yes, it is."
Infuriating bastard. Hob ran a hand through his lank, wet hair that had fallen in his face. There wasn't a worse location they could possibly be in for this conversation.
"I made my choice, Morpheus, this is just… You terrified me," Hob said with a sheepish little laugh, "You tore the religion out of me a long time ago, but seeing what you are, that- that put the fear of god into me. Realising I was right, this mark was yours… terrifying."
"Yet you followed me."
"I did… I think you knew I would."
Morpheus nodded slightly, looking hesitant, then offered Hob his hand. "I did say also that my decision was final, I do not give meagerly of myself. Now that you know what that entails, do you still want it?" he asked.
"Oh yes," Hob breathed in reply, reaching for Morpheus's hand and bracing himself for what he knew he would feel - the electric buzz of the mark on his wrist, reacting again to the Dream Lord's power.
A blinding flash like he'd been struck by lightning, ringing in his ears too loud for a moment to hear the distant sounds of the city, overwhelmed him. Hob crumpled to his knees, releasing Morpheus's hand so he could rub at his eyes, chasing the static from his view as the world spun. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, panting, and realised he wasn't on the London pavement. Beneath his dry hands was smooth flagstone, around him was silence, and above him… Morpheus stood dressed in that robe of gathered shadows again, though he was still more human than not, blue-eyed and breathing, and framed by great arching buttresses of a cathedral that melted into night sky.
"Am I dreaming?" he asked, awestruck though probably not as much as he should be, since he could manage speech.
Morpheus shook his head. "Your body is not lying on the ground in the rain," he replied, offering a hand up, "If that is what you are asking."
It wasn't, but he didn't expect a better explanation. He felt awake, his palms hurt from planting them with force on stone, and he was still dressed in his tux, just no longer wet. He took Morpheus's hand to rise and did not release it as he looked about them in wonder.
"If it's a dream, I don't want to wake up," Hob muttered to himself, tilting his head back to look at the galaxies writ in miniature above him.
"You must, because you are human," Morpheus replied, "A dangerous prospect, when attempting to court one of the Endless."
"Attempting?"
Morpheus smiled enigmatically, then flicked his gaze down to their entwined fingers. Hob was not about to let him go unless asked, or forced, especially not here. Anger still flowed through him, confusion, despair, hope. He didn't understand the man's true nature, wasn't sure he actually could, now, when things were less defined it was more of an abstract worry over what exactly he was getting in bed with, figuratively at first then literally. Quickly he'd decided he didn't care, now he couldn't help but let it gnaw at his nerves. If anything it had all gotten more abstract, but in a way he wouldn't have ever expected.
The hand in his was warm and solid, Morpheus's pale blue eyes held a guarded concern as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop, or if bringing him here would be the final straw in the pile of his transgressions over the centuries. If he was so soulless, he really shouldn't care that much. Callous affectation was one thing, but Hob had seen through that for a long time, seen it as what it was; armour, and caution. As soon as he threw that away, Morpheus was warm and thoughtful and more passionate than he'd ever imagined. Hob had looked into the eyes of killers, some of them while in the position of victim, and seen nothing behind cold, bottomless eyes. Even when he'd seen Morpheus's other self, his dark eyes like the space between stars, there was a warmth there still, a spark of creation and power.
"Will you answer me something?" Hob asked, raising Morpheus's hand up between them so that the sleeve of his robe fell back to reveal smooth, unmarred skin. His own soul mark still glowed golden, though gently now rather than that blinding flash - which he still had no explanation for. His companion nodded.
"Who told you that you don't have a soul, or did you figure that one out on your own?" he said, and Morpheus immediately tensed, glaring at him, though he hadn't meant his words anywhere near as sarcastic as it probably came out sounding. Morpheus seemed to realise that though, maybe he could understand things better in his own realm. Dream logic. That really did explain a lot about him.
"I am not a person, Hob," Morpheus said, a bit of derision in his voice that put Hob on edge, "None of the Endless are, Lord of Dreams and made of Dreams am I; both the shepherd and the product of the collective unconscious of this reality, the sum of all their parts, and their hopes. Sentience does not equate to personhood, I am an anthropomorphisation of a concept, through which flows the power of the universe, like a conduit."
"So on your own, then," Hob replied after a moment, and squeezed his hand to show he was, well, not quite teasing but trying to keep it light - much as he had at the start when he feared Morpheus would run away again. "I guess it would be hard to tell, no one knows what it feels like 'til they're dead, I suppose, and all that's left is the spirit. But I'm…"
He trailed off, and Morpheus looked at him expectantly. If he had anything to add, he did not share it. Knowledge of the universe was likely something they could never share, no matter whether Morpheus took their union seriously or not. The great stained glass windows at the far end of the hall shifted, their pattern swirling about until it settled on something filled with reds and pinks that twisted the light that bathed them into something warmer, brighter, more like day despite the stars above. Morpheus paid it no heed but Hob was captivated by the play of light across his face. Without thinking he reached for him, fingertips brushing his cheek, and Morpheus let out the softest noise of surprise that nearly broke Hob's heart. That stoic bluster did not tell the whole of him, the challenge to Hob's decision hid his own insecurity. What chance did anyone have in their confidence if the man who held all of hopes and dreams could still feel insecure, unworthy.
Hob leaned in and kissed him, a gentle press of lips at first until Morpheus leaned in. Then his hand moved to cup the back of the Dream Lord's neck and pull him in, cradling his head and holding him close as the kiss went on, and deepened, until Hob felt he was falling again like he had into Morpheus's eyes. A blissful darkness that he would beg to envelope him. His most fervent dream had most definitely been this, for centuries.
He froze. "Wait," he whispered against Morpheus's lips, and his companion paused, not pulling back from their embrace, but tense suddenly in Hob's arms. "The collective… unconscious."
Whatever he'd been waiting for Hob to say, Morpheus was clearly disappointed if the little scoffing noise he made was to be interpreted correctly. "Yes, I did say that."
"No, I read it in the apocrypha too," Hob said, pulling back far enough to look him in the eye - still human blue. "Have you… humanity, as a body, are…. Well, they have souls."
"Yes."
"I never had a mark, until I met you," Hob said, and used his hand on the back of Morpheus's neck to slide up into his hair and hold him, gently, from looking away, "So why would you?"
Morpheus stared at him for a moment that stretched on into eternity, it could have been a second, or a year, and in this place Hob wasn't sure he'd know the difference. There was no dawning realisation, no change that came over him. His pale eyes searched Hob's face, then his lips parted slightly, tantalising, then he smiled. Hob let him go, taking his hand instead and raised it to press his lips against the cool, unmarked skin of his delicate wrist.
"That is mark enough for me," Hob said, grinning at him, all those roiling, warring emotions beginning to settle back into something singular, warmer, and far closer to the haze of love that he'd been floating on over the last week. He loved him, had done for centuries at this point, since Morpheus had looked at him as a person in 1689 when no man had for decades, and knowing what Morpheus was could not begin to undo that. There was a place for awe in how he saw Dream of the Endless, here in his realm, and a place for seeing him as little more than a man, somewhere far away in London.
Morpheus's expression had not changed, but he was very still, like a statue of the marble Hob had compared him to often in his mind. Processing things, for long enough to see it in his posture which said a lot for a being whose mind encompassed unknowable multitudes.
"Oh humanity, how I love you," Morpheus said, barely above a whisper as understanding settled into him, "Destiny plays games with us all."
Not quite a declaration of love, but Hob would take it. Something told him their decision was declaration enough, and Morpheus saw through to the heart of him enough to know and accept, if not yet reciprocate. If he even could. More and more he was realising the great gulf of power and experience between them which should have terrified him, but instead he felt energised. For the time in centuries he felt nothing from his mark, no pain, no tingling, only a warmth that spread through his whole body from where he held Morpheus's hand in his.
On the inside of his wrist where Hob's lips had left a lingering warmth, pale golden motes were consolidating out of the air in a shimmering swirl to settle on and into his flesh, leaving behind a match to Hob's mark. He knew it well enough to know it was identical in form. Morpheus looked up to him, a shy smile tilting his lips up at the corner. Unsure of himself, a little, even now.
"For your eyes only," Morpheus murmured, turning over Hob's hand in his so he could kiss the knuckles, "...as I do not think your peers will wish to know the truth of your match."
Hob huffed in amusement at that, and watched the patches of stained glass colour shift over Dream's face again as the windows changed; blues and purples now, dusky skies. Did it change with his moods? A question for another time, because he was certain now that they had all the time in the world.
"They'll find out eventually, and they'll get over it," Hob said, caught between watching the play of light across Morpheus's face, and wanting to stare at the mark he had manifested for himself. Would it show in the real world? Did this being so much greater than him believe it, or was he humouring Hob for the sake of what they had begun to build together? He wasn't sure he cared, really, not when Morpheus was staring at him with the sort of single-minded intensity he had after appearing in Hob's flat and asking if he was sure.
"I suppose they will," Morpheus replied as he raised Hob's hand toward the coloured light streaming in from the window and turning it so he could see both of their marks. It felt poignant, and Morpheus's expression twisted into something Hob could not put a name to. "I will outlive you, even a species has an end. I will not change, I am incapable, and you change with every lifetime."
"That doesn't sound like a today problem, or a tomorrow one for that matter," he paused and looked around them, "Or, however time works here. Are we alone?"
"Very," Morpheus replied, tipping his head slightly to look down his nose at Hob, "Though many live here; my subjects, my dreams and nightmares. None come to my throne room unannounced, if that is what you are asking."
Hob looked around them briefly; the grand and echoing hall, the throne that lorded over the room with its intimidating presence. Beautiful, yes, with the view into eternity instead of a ceiling, but cold - more Dream of the Endless than the Morpheus who tried not to laugh at his jokes and only liked his tea if Hob made it for him. That was and was not what he was asking. He should be exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions that had been the last week, but something about this place drained it all away into a strange sense of peace.
"Are you… is that you?" he asked, somehow expecting Morpheus to understand that question.
"Everything here is me, in a way," the dream lord replied, "We can return now, if you wish, I had only wanted you to see what it is you have joined with."
"No!" Hob said quickly, "It's beautiful, I want to see more, as long as… it's safe for me to be here."
"I am not safe for you," Morpheus said, caught somewhere between teasing and regret.
"Didn't ask you to be."
Morpheus stared into his eyes with an intensity great enough to make Hob falter for longer than he was able to bear without looking away, but it seemed that he found what he wanted by the end of it.
"Your many years have yet to make you wise," Morpheus murmured, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips that was enough to tell Hob that he'd understood.
"Well… You're the one who made this a run-around," Hob said, stepping closer and finding himself gratified by the fact that his soulmate did not retreat. This was his realm after all and he stood tall, still, and stoic besides the twinkle in his eye - even when Hob reached for him and cupped his cheek gently. "I made my choice."
Morpheus sighed softly, an affectation at odds with his appearance, with where they were and what had transpired, then he turned his face toward Hob's warm hand, nuzzling into it and kissing the palm, then his wrist above the mark that represented him. Gentleness felt at odds with him, how he had been before in Hob's flat, but not an affectation. There was a naked honesty in the motion, in how his gaze flicked up to meet Hob's, blue eyes searching his face until he found what he wanted. Then his hands were tangled in Hob's hair to pull him in for a crushing kiss that lasted long enough that he gasped when they parted, though Morpheus remained unphased, and very close. He did not let go. Around them the light filtering through the windows changed from red to gold to cool tones of blue and purple mirroring the swirling nebulae overhead. Hob wondered if it shifted with its lord's moods, or was it intentional to bathe them in the desaturated colours of night in reference to their previous tryst. Hopefully this one wouldn't be over so soon as the last. Hob had lain awake after Morpheus left replaying it in his mind, but now he was already asleep - or something akin to it.
Hob leaned in to close the gap and kissed him again fiercely, settling his hands on Morpheus's slim waist. His soulmate took a step back, then another, leading him somewhere but Hob was too busy learning the true taste of him to care where, or consider that there was no bed here to tumble into in this cavernous hall. Each of Hob's steps echoed but Morpheus's did not, guiding him back on silent feet until he turned them around with a steely grip on Hob's shoulders. No more gentle guidance, Morpheus had very much taken charge to push him back and down. Hob stumbled and clutched at Morpheus but hadn't far to fall, tripping on the stairs that lead up toward the throne. He should have pulled Morpheus down on top of him with how tightly he clung to him, but despite his ethereal form he was stronger than steel, in this world at least, and made sure Hob landed gently splayed out on the stairs.
There were stars in his eyes again as he loomed over Hob, the shadowy edges of him trailing into the night above. Breathtaking. Hob was dumbstruck looking at him, too in awe to feel afraid of his predatory stand and shining eyes. He knew in his heart of hearts that he was in no danger here, Morpheus may not return the love he felt, yet, but there was a spark between them and they had made a choice.
"I should be offended at how your mind wanders when I'm atop you," Morpheus said as he arched over Hob, leaning down to nuzzle at his cheek, "But I will leave that for another time, when I am not so… eager. I do not take lovers lightly, Hob Gadling, you were my first taste of pleasure in over a century and I have thought of little else."
The confidence with which he held himself here was something beyond their first tryst which held a feeling of rushing forward before losing one's nerve. Here Morpheus moved slowly now and with intent, brushing his fingertips over Hob's face, tucking errant hair behind his ears, then moving to his clothes which behaved in ways clothing should not but Hob was too entranced to question. The garments fell away at the touch of his hands without any fiddling with buttons or unseemly movements, until Hob was naked on marble stairs that should have felt cold and discomforting but were nothing of the sort. Morpheus straddled him, his clothing now gone as well save for the voluminous black robe that spread out and around him like ink, warm and encompassing enough that Hob did not feel entirely exposed.
They'd found themselves in this position so quickly that Hob's head was spinning; one moment he was clothed and standing, then he was splayed out on the floor nude save for Morpheus's strange cloak of shadows. It was… "Like a dream," Hob said, looking up at him in wonderment.
Morpheus's lips quirked upward in a brief smile. "Precisely so, yes," he replied, voice gentling a little though his searching hands continued to explore Hob's body, brushing down and back up his arms, over his chest where nails scraped teasingly across his nipples, down his ribs to his waist where they still just above Morpheus's legs where he straddled Hob. "A dream, but no less real than when I came to you before, save that the rules are a little different here. I am the Lord of the Dreaming and all within this realm bend to my will, and my needs, and what I now desire is that we complete this bond which draws us together…"
He trailed off and Hob was not yet quite so distracted by arousal to make note of it. Morpheus's eyes looked far away for a moment, but Hob's hands reaching and grasping his thighs shook him out of that strange reverie. "...Before you reconsider?" Hob asked, then teasingly added, "I should be offended at your mind wandering when you're on top of me."
Morpheus huffed at that but did not grace it with an immediate reply and instead busied himself with grinding back against Hob's hardening cock. There'd been no discussion of roles or preferences, but Hob was far more curious than caring and willing to do whatever his lover wanted. Whatever his soulmate wanted. That was what he too desired, though he would prefer to see Morpheus properly, without the shadows that encompassed them now, clearer than the moonlit bedroom of their brief prior dalliance. There would be time for that, he told himself, more than enough time. Instead of articulating any of that, Hob reached for his lover's cock and stroked it, watching Morpheus's eyelids flutter closed as his breath hitched. He was more responsive here than he had been in Hob's bed, more languid.
"There is no reconsideration, I made that clear," Morpheus said as he rocked his hips forward into Hob's grip, then back against his cock, "I was merely thinking that this was fitting, to have you before my throne."
A shiver ran through Hob's body at his words, the low murmur of him saying have you. "Any way you want, anything you want," he replied softly, "I'm yours."
"Yes, you are."
Morpheus shifted, leaning forward and placing a hand on Hob's chest, for balance he assumed though it felt more like he was being pinned to the stairs by an immovable object. Then Morpheus's other hand was on his cock, stroking deftly as he rose up slightly on his knees and guided Hob into his body. Hob opened his mouth to speak, to slow him down, but he was silenced by one look from his lover, and his concerns proved to be for nothing. Just as he manipulated everything else about his encounter, his ethereal body allowed for the intrusion of Hob's cock though only as easily as he wished it to be - if Morpheus's sharp, staggering breaths as he lowered himself down were any indication. He looked blissful regardless, head thrown back and eyes closed, his movements causing the shadowy robe to slip from one shoulder to reveal more tantalising moon-pale skin. When he sat up straighter, arching his back, Morpheus let the robe slip from him completely to pool at his waist and over Hob's legs, trailing down over the stairs like flowing water. There were stars in its depths and Hob could not look at it for long, but no matter; the man himself was far more captivating if equally unknowable. He had just begun wrapping his mind around his stranger turned lover and now Morpheus had moved so far beyond what he'd known that Hob was left feeling insignificant.
He hadn't realised he'd spoken that thought aloud until Morpheus's finger was pressed against his lips to quiet him. "Never that," he said as he rolled his hips slowly, drawing Hob's attention back where it was wanted, "and not like this, not in my bed or in my body, you are my choice before you were my destiny."
Morpheus's hand shifted to cup Hob's face lovingly, thumb brushing over his lips as he looked down at him. Staring into the depths of his ice blue eyes made it easy to believe him, he was open to Hob now, not concealing his true motives or feelings, and Hob felt again like he was falling into his gaze. Morpheus closed his eyes a moment and broke the spell, leaning down to steal a kiss, shallow and lingering, and tugging at Hob's lower lip as he pulled away.
He trailed his hands down Hob's arms, taking him by the wrist to plant his hands firmly on his hips in a blatant invitation. Everything else could wait; the tight heat of Morpheus's body clenching down on his cock had driven coherent thought from his mind and it would be in service of them both to abandon incoherent thought as well. Hob pulled his lover down into his next grind, quickly finding a rhythm to guide him up and down tirelessly and with perfect balance. The hand on Hob's chest to support himself was not needed, so Morpheus turned his touch upon himself, more for his pleasure than Hob's enjoyment but it served a dual purpose well. He ran ghostly fingertips over the sharp angles of his chest and ribs, the clenching muscles of his stomach, down his thighs and back up again before he touched himself. Hob was captivated by watching his slim fingers wrapped around his cock, the only part of him that flushed brightly with arousal, lending him some measure of humanity, or familiarity. He teased himself until his thighs shook and he clenched down hard enough on Hob's cock to make the man beneath him moan.
There was no way to tell how much time had passed, stars wheeled overhead and the mingled rays of light from the stained glass windows painted them in kaleidoscope colours that had nothing to do with day or night or movement of any heavenly bodies save for Morpheus's own. It could have been minutes, or hours, before Morpheus stilled above him, seated fully on Hob's cock as he arched his back and spilled over his hand and Hob's stomach. He took one deep, settling breath and opened his captivating eyes as he offered that same hand to Hob to taste. Hob sat up halfway, forgoing his double handed grip on Morpheus's body to prop himself up comfortably and indulge his lover in licking his hand clean. As he did so his lover began to move again, determined to bring Hob over the edge he'd been teetering on forever in this timeless place. He had been merely chasing his own pleasure, taking from Hob even as he was taken, but now he was refocused on his lover's needs and Hob followed after him in moments, groaning as he thrust roughly and unevenly up into the willing body that paused and braced above him to take it. His spent cock slipped from Morpheus's body, yet the dream lord stayed straddling his lap and belatedly pulled the shadowy robe back up over his shoulders. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it was enveloping in a way that gave Hob a sense of security and comfort at odds with how exposed they were in this grand, echoing hall. Now that it was not filled with the breathy moans of its lord seeking his pleasure, the silence was nearly oppressive.
Morpheus raised his hand up before him, turning his wrist in the shimmering reds and blues of the light bathing them and admired the golden sigil that shone brightly now that its purpose was freshly fulfilled. It would fade soon as the last vestiges of his pleasure faded, and none would see it but those he allowed. He had been blind to many things in the past, that was not new to him, but this was beyond the pale, answering so many questions that had been left unasked. Hob was watching him with a rapturous expression, so he smiled benevolently down at him.
"This dream is over."
Hob gasped awake, sitting bolt upright in bed without a hint of exhaustion and patting himself down confusedly as his waking mind tried to make sense of his existence - a task he was saved from nearly immediately by cool hands pulling him back down into bed. His own bed, in his own home, lying naked and warm beneath a blanket that seemed to suck in and eliminate what little light came through the window. Morpheus was pulling him back into his arms, and when Hob blinked he saw in his mind's eye that grand throne room again and again until he kept his eyes closed against the mental whiplash. Morpheus was the same in either dimension; pressed tightly against his side, head back on his shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with himself. When Hob next opened his eyes, his own bedroom stayed in sharper focus and didn't lapse into fantasy.
Hob reached for the arm that lay across his chest, twined their fingers together, and brought Morpheus's wrist to his lips to press a kiss over the pale golden mark that matched his own. A bone deep weariness that he'd been only tangentially aware of had fled his body, leaving him floating and content in a manner beyond words in any language he'd known over the centuries. What replaced it was a sense of wonder, and more questions than his soulmate would be willing to answer, no matter what they had become.
"You're here with me," Hob said eventually, whispered words sounding loud in the quiet room, "Not just a dream."
"There is no such thing, Hob Gadling," Morpheus replied haughtily, "As just a dream."