Chapter Text
The fog is dense. Hob can barely see a few feet in front of him and with the clouds thick overhead as they are, not even a hint of light from the night sky can help guide his way. He squints, hoping to make out the hint of shadows through the trees. He has been walking for days. The pack on his back grows thin on supplies. He should have bought that damn horse after all.
He sighs, making slow progress, step by step, as he makes his way towards the next town over. His only saving grace is that the path to it has been well-worn and easy to follow. The dirt is compact with few rocks in the way. At least he can tell if he’s stepping on the path or not.
Hob pulls the edge of his cloak closer, the autumn chill seeping into his bones. Had he not seen war, not known the press of steel to his throat in the middle of the night, Hob would think the prickling sensation at his neck was merely the cold. But no. He knows this feeling. He knows what it’s like to be watched, to be approached in the dark.
And then he feels something breathe hot air against his neck.
Slowly, slowly, he turns. His heart races in his chest. Another breathe is huffed against him. The strange part, however, is that he knows there’s someone behind him, someone breathing , and yet he can’t hear anything. The sound of the breath itself is silent, despite the quiet of the woods. There were no footsteps, no draw of a blade. No growl of an animal nor even the faintest trace of heartbeat.
Just silence.
As Hob turns, the creature appears in his vision. A large, white snout rests inches from him. The horse is beautiful. As white as the moon herself. And atop her, a rider, cloaked all in black, holding the reigns in his hands.
And then his blood runs cold. The man, if it even is a man, bears no head, yet still lives. He angles his shoulder, a poor mimic of tilting one’s head, as if waiting for Hob to respond. Hob swallows. The horseman seems to not pose a danger. Given his silence, if he really wished Hob dead, it would have been an easy feat.
“Well hello there, stranger,” he greets. “I’d thought, perhaps, that I’d fallen asleep and woken in some fantastical dream upon seeing you.” The horse snorts, or at least goes through the motions of it. Still, no sound escapes. In truth, he does wonder if he’d hit his head and knocked himself out. There were tales, of course, of the headless horseman, the dullahan. They told that he would appear when death was near. Perhaps Hob’s time was finally coming. Perhaps he could charm this fiend into reconsidering.
He steps forward, bowing before the well-dressed man. “It seems you have found me at the most opportune time, my lord.” Hob stands, hands clasped behind his back. “You see, the night is terribly dark and the moon does not deign to give us her light. I still believe I am far from town. If it pleases you, I would humbly ask for a ride with you upon your fine mount. And in return, I would be more than happy to perform any number of…services. Should you wish.”
The headless stranger stares down at him, as much as someone without eyes can. He seems to be contemplating Hob’s offer when a decision is finally made. The lord slides backwards on his horse, leaving a decent gap between the front of the saddle and the man himself. Hob smiles and gives him another bow.
“Thank you kindly, my lord.” He secures his back to the back of the horse’s rump and heaves himself up. It’s awkward to do, given the horseman does not move another inch. Hob struggles to swing his other leg over without knocking the man out. But then a firm hand grabs his waist and heaves him up with an unnatural strength. He flushes as the stranger sets him between his narrow legs. Those hands leave him far too soon to grip the reigns once more. And then they’re off, into the darkness and hopefully, towards the village.
The horse keeps a steady trot, not rushing to arrive. And still, through all of this, the only creature making noise is Hob. Not even the shuffling of fabric ushers a peep. It’s eerie. Unsettling. Hob wonders if he already died and this man is carrying him off to the afterlife.
He shakes the thought away. Ruminating on such things does no one good. So instead, he turns his attention to the gentle sway of the horse’s movement and the dark landscape. It’s a familiar gait, one that he can’t forget the feeling of, despite how long it’s been since he’s ridden. He still has his horseman thighs, even. Those never left. Not even when he’d been starving or gorged on lavish foods worthy of a lord. Make shopping for trousers a pain, though.
Hob winces, pressing his palms to his head. Pain lances through him. He sees visions. Images. Hears himself speak foreign words. He sees himself in worlds unfamiliar. In a cave, in a foreign land with giant plants, on a boat, in a manor, in a place with lights and colors and fire and somewhere else as well. Somewhere warm, somewhere familiar. A white horse, The White Ho—
He blinks.
The fog is dense. Hob can barely see through it, even with the extra height being on this horse provides. He sighs, letting himself lean back a bit into the strong chest of the dullahan. He waits a moment, seeing if he’ll be pushed off, but he’s left alone.
They ride for a time, the gentle rocking nearly putting him to sleep a few times. It was late, after all, and he’d been walking for so, so long. The only thing that pulls him from his drowsiness is the ever growing hardness that’s started to press against his backside. He smirks. Maybe his offer of repayment wouldn’t be put to something boring, then. And maybe, if he’s lucky, he can be good enough this dullahan skips whatever misfortune is in store for him.
He rocks back, subtle enough it could be views simply as readjusting. Then, a few minutes later, he does it again, squirming on the saddle, making sure his arse presses right against the horseman’s growing erection. His hands grip the reigns tighter. Hob wishes he wasn’t supernaturally silent. It would be satisfying to know what kind of sounds a headless horseman could make.
Hob leans back further, his head tipping back to rest on the horseman’s shoulder as he grinds more obviously against him. He can feel the rise of the dullahan’s chest as he inhales—a sigh—and then a hand moves. The horseman rests his gloved hand on Hob’s hip, sliding towards the front until he’s just a hair above Hob’s own attentive cock.
He wonders how well the horseman could bend him over like this on the saddle? Would he keep them moving as he thrusts into him? Or maybe he’d tie his horse up and drag Hob into the woods to use him. Or maybe he’d just use his mouth instead, or turn him around on the saddle and force Hob to get him off with just his hand, leaving Hob unsatisfied. Then, the deranged thought enters his mind. If he had no head on his shoulders, would his cock be the same?
Thankfully, all thoughts leave his mind, cursed or otherwise, as the horseman’s gloved hand slides down his trousers and grips the base of his prick. He jerks his hips at the touch, hissing in a breath. The dullahan wraps his legs around Hob’s pinning him in place as their ankles lock. Not that he was going anywhere anyways.
He moans as the dullahan strokes him. It’s rough. The texture of the leather glove, while smooth, still catches on his skin. Pre pearls up, starting to help the slide. It’s far from the worst handjob Hob’s ever hand, or even done himself, but he does wish a bit he had a bit of oil to help.
They don’t stop moving. The white horse keeps her steady pace as the horseman picks up speed. Hob goes tense as he’s worked with speed and efficiency. The leather grows slick, eventually, as his body leaks more and more at his stranger’s touch. He bites his lip, reaching down to grip the back of his stranger’s thigh. A shiver runs down the dullahan’s spine. He starts rocking his own hips into Hob.
“Oh fuck!” Hob exclaims, the familiar heat coiling inside him starts to tighten. The horseman picks up speed, squeezing the base as he strokes, leathered thumb swiping over his slit. He takes him apart with startling ease and proficiency. “Dream!” he cries out as he spills over the edge.
He comes, spend coating the horseman’s glove and his own trousers. He breathes, shaky breathes, and he starts to come down from his high. His limbs grow lax and gelatinous. Hob whimpers as the dullahan brushes against his oversensitive cock to slide out into the open air. He doesn’t even realize he closed his eyes until he feels something warm and tacky press against his lips.
The dullahan’s glove rests in front of him, held out like an offering. Hob blinks, his brain slowly coming back from the dead, not understanding what is wanted of him. And then one cum covered finger slides into his mouth and he knows. Hob hums, opening wide, tongue dangling out obediently.
He laps at the mess he’d made, sucking each digit thoroughly, ensuring every crease and stitch was clean before moving to the next. The horseman rocks against him, his hips growing more erratic as Hob moans and sucks. On his final pass over the leather palm, his tongue pressed flat and wide against the surface, he feels the horseman’s hips shake as they press up against him. His whole body shakes. And then he goes lax. And the gloved hand falls into Hob’s lap.
Hob smiles, entwining his own hand with the spit-coated leather one. The dullahan’s breathing evens out slowly as his horse continues her merry way down the dirt path. Warmed by body heat and mind flushed with a good orgasm, Hob lets his head fall back once more and closes his eyes.
When he awakens, the small village he’d been trying to get to finally comes into view. The trees fall away to the open air. The road turns from dirt to cobblestone and lantern light fills the area. Hob can see, finally, in detail for the first time since the sun has left the sky. His stranger walks them forward to the edge of the town and stops just before the small stone wall that marks the entrance.
Hob stretches, raising his limbs up into the air, before sliding himself off the saddle. The dullahan doesn’t move forward to reclaim his spot, Hob notes. He unties his pack and wonders, briefly, what would happen if he would just…stay. Stay with this strange man. But then the dullahan turns the horse around and bows towards Hob.
Of course he couldn’t stay. That’d be foolish. His stranger wasn’t one to stay, not like that. So he bows in return and wishes his friendly stranger goodbye before heading towards the local inn in search of a warm bed and a hearty meal.
Dream watches Hob walk away, walk towards shelter and warmth. And then he turns around, his white horse’s hooves still soundless, even on the rocky pathway. He walks. And walks. And walks. And wonders how this story will end. If he will run into Hob again, if he, himself, will end first. And then his question is answered for him as the road begins to flake away into dust.
This one, he thinks, Hob would not mind. Did not seem to mind. Though he fears, as memories begin to trickle back through the gaps, if he would still mind when the creature touching him, consuming him, loving him is the one he’d called friend.
He keeps walking until the world goes white and he wakes up in a new body. Mechanical components whirl through his skin. Bright lighting fills the space. A chime rings above the door and in, once more, walks Hob.