Chapter Text
Dream finally puts his phone down after listening to the entirety of Hob's message for the sixth time in a row.
It has been a week since Hob sent that recording; it’s taken a week for Dream to build up the courage to listen to it.
The first time around he only got pieces of it because he was so fucking relieved to hear Hob's voice he couldn’t hear parts of it over his own crying.
The second time he got all of it, but couldn't believe what he was hearing, so played it again.
The fourth and fifth times were also confirmatory, mostly because Dream still didn’t actually believe that he wasn’t hallucinating.
And the sixth time? Well, that was just for pleasure. Fuck he had missed Hob’s voice.
He’s stunned that Hob misses him and wants to talk, wants to work it out. He wasn't pushed away by Dream's outburst. At least, he wasn't pushed away in the way Dream thought he was. Not to mention that Hob kept his promise about telling Dream when he found out about his identity. Dream most definitely doesn't deserve any of such kindness.
Similar to Hob, Dream has had their encounter on repeat in his mind since it happened. All he can do is go through it over and over and over and every time what he did gets worse in its scope. The abruptness. The lack of aftercare. The lack of explanation. The distance he made Hob go to get home carrying all of that. The lack of self-awareness in the moment of how the voices of his parents and Burgess were the ones haunting him. The lack of self-awareness beforehand to warn Hob off of such language.
He just didn't think…
It never occurred to him that Hob would ever say such a thing. Certainly not so soon. Maybe not ever.
Dream isn’t someone who anyone loves. He just… isn't. Envy. Objectify. Respect. Covet. Pity. Fear. Obey. Those things? Obviously people do and feel those things about Dream. They have since he was a child. But love?
It seems impossible.
He knows it only seems that way because he has internalized too much of his abuse. His therapists have succeeded on that front. But that is logic. And everything surrounding Hob in his mind is emotional. And Dream isn't so great at moving back and forth between the two.
When Hob said the word ‘love’ everything inside Dream got thrown into upheaval. He was suddenly surrounded by voices he had successfully kept out of his mind for years.
We're doing this because we love you, sweet Morpheus. Because so many people love you.
Don't you love your family?
Can't you feel how I love you, Morpheus?
They're all going to love you. Each one will get a chance to love you.
Oh I will fill you with my love. There is so much to give you.
You’ll take more and you'll like it, you fucking whore. Be glad that I love you.
Dream takes a deep breath.
Five things you see.
Four things you feel.
Three things you hear.
Two things you smell.
One thing you taste.
He shudders as he calms himself. Fuck. It has been a long time since he has had to use these tools. Luckily, they still work.
It hurts to think that this happened because he let Hob in, because some of his usual walls had come down. He had made himself vulnerable and in letting Hob in Dream had allowed other things to get much closer to the surface.
So much pain. All because of that one fucking word.
Dream is frustrated with his response, embarrassed by it, and angry at himself. None of these things are useful in the slightest, especially to Hob. But it is how Dream feels none-the-less and he needs to process that.
And then, fuck, how does he go about fixing this, now that he knows it can be fixed… Talk to Hob, obviously, yes. But what the fuck is he supposed to say? Nothing seems adequate to address the enormity of what he did. At least not without explaining…
He will have to. He owes Hob a full explanation. Hob deserves that. More than that. But at least it is a place for Dream to start.
Of course, now he needs to figure out how to start. How do you tell someone that you’ve been ruined for the most basic expression of affection and care by multiple people in horrific ways?
Dream looks out the living room windows. The grasses ripple as a breeze weaves through them and for the first time in a long time Dream wishes he had a horse to ride. Or even a dog to walk with him through the open prairie.
It makes him think of his brother who ran away, who successfully escaped their parents’ clutches when the rest of them could not. He’s seen Ollie once since the trial ended: they met up in Millennium Park in Chicago while Dream was there for work. He had this scraggly-yet-lovely mutt named Barnabas with him and the three of them and their youngest sister, Del, walked for a good two hours before parting. Last he heard Ollie had disappeared into the northern reaches of Canada—he always had been a wanderer.
Dream lays down on his couch and his head and shoulders land on a big fluffy blanket. The memory of Hob, fucked totally stupid, laid out on this very blanket fills all of his senses. He rolls over and buries his face in the material and pretends he can still smell Hob there despite the fact that it has been washed since.
What is this he feels for Hob? Dream… isn't sure he actually knows what love feels like. Not romantic or sexual love, at least. He knows he loves his siblings—yes, even the one who he has come to hate—but that has passing little in common with anything he's felt for Hob.
Saying that Dream had affection for some of his regulars in the last years of his captivity would be a grand overstatement; they all still bought into the system that had harmed him and so many others, after all. But, there were a few who showed Dream care during their time together. Who acted like he was a person with preferences and emotions and not some sex automaton. Literally like the bare minimum of acceptable behavior, but that put them above the others.
Afterwards—after the escape and the trial and all the media coverage—Dream almost got himself in trouble trying to satisfy his sexual needs when he didn't catch himself about to blow past one of his own boundaries for the sake of a scene partner in a club. Which was how he met Lucienne, who called a stop to it all before Dream could hurt himself. She's rescued him more times than he can count since. Honestly, he probably should total up how much he has paid for in therapy over the years, double it, and give that sum to Lucienne. She is equally as responsible for who Dream is today, how functional of an adult he is, as any of his psych team.
All of his friends who he has met through the fet clubs in Chicago and New York have been so important to him. Lucienne, Jessamy, Mervyn… hell, even Cain and Abel and their silly Great Dane Gregory who tries to tackle Dream at every single get-together they host, have been a boon to him as he relearns what it means to have relationships and sex on his own terms. What he feels for them is akin to his love for his favorite and closest siblings. He can't wait for Hob to meet them.
Dream startles.
He wants Hob to meet them. The people who are, essentially, his second family. Closer to him than any of his siblings, depending on how you quantify it.
He’s never introduced a romantic interest to his kink friends. Well, more to the truth, those relationships have never gotten far enough for introductions to even occur to him. And the others, those that were purely sexual, only existed in the clubs anyway, so everyone already had some knowledge of everyone else. A few of those latter relationships his friends knew too well and had tried to warn him off of. He has learned to listen.
Dream rolls over and looks up at the ceiling. He wants to bring Hob to his favorite places and meet his most important people. He misses Hob's voice and his touch and his companionship. The idea of never seeing Hob again makes Dream almost physically ill. He has already let Hob further in than anyone else… ever. He feels safer with Hob than he has with any other person since his escape. Just remembering the feeling of Hob beneath his hands, against his lips, has Dream going hot and cold all at once. He tries to think of what his future would be like without Hob and it makes him ache.
Fuck.
He’s in love with Hob.
Oh God.
All at once, Dream is overwhelmed and sobbing, curling up on his side and clutching the stupid fucking blanket and fuck fuck fuck how could he do this to someone he loves?!?
With a shaking hand Dream grabs his phone and hits the emergency contact speed dial.
“Dream?” Lucienne's voice is concerned, “I don't think you’ve ever called me during daylight hours.”
He tries to laugh and it just comes out as a sob as he turns his phone to speaker.
“Oh Dream. What happened? Are you okay?”
He clears his throat and lays back down on his side on the couch, now curled up on the blanket around the phone. “I…” He takes an unsteady breath. “It sounds so stupid to say it out loud like this…”
Her tone is soft and so caring and, yes, he loves her, too. Not the same as Hob, obviously, but just as fiercely. “It's okay. You're not going to get judged by me, you know that. Besides, I don't think you can out-stupid some of the things Mervyn has said.”
“I HEARD THAT!” Comes his gruff shout from somewhere in the background. It makes Dream smile.
“It's just Dream,” she explains, voice going distant for a moment.
“Oh!” Mervyn says in pleasant surprise, coming closer. “Tell ‘im I say ‘hullo’ then. And that if he isn't coming back for the solstice party I am taking his spot.” There is a pause where Dream can very clearly see the glare Lucienne is giving him. “What? He got a fucking primo location and he doesn't even enjoy exhibitionism half as much as I do.”
Lucienne sighs, coming back close to the mic. “Please ignore him,” she says to Dream, “and continue. You're not on speaker here.”
“Luce… I think…” He breathes out. “I think I have fallen in love. No, I know I have.”
Silence is all that greets him. He chews his bottom lip until it is almost bloody before she responds. “That doesn't tell me why you were crying, dear.”
He can’t help the sigh. “Well, unsurprising to exactly no one, I already cocked it up-”
“I am going to assume you don't mean in a good way?” She interrupts.
“Hah. Hah.” Dream barks out each one, deadpan, but her sense of humor helps. He feels a little lighter. “No. I kicked him out in the middle of aftercare when he told me he loved me.”
“But you just said you…” She trails off.
“I hadn't figured that out then, had I?” He drops into a whisper. “All I could hear were all the people who had used love against me. To manipulate me. To harm me. And I… reacted badly.”
“Dream,” she soothes through the hundreds of miles of space between them and it's like he can feel her hand on his shoulder, “Do you think he meant it when he said he loved you? Truly meant it?”
He doesn’t hesitate in the least in his answer: he nods first and then realizes she can’t see him. “I am sure he meant it. That he still means it… even weeks later.”
“Weeks?!” Lucienne keeps her voice from sweeping up in a shriek, but only just, like a bird opening its wings for flight and ruffling them back down at the last second.
“It has been four weeks since it happened. He… well he tried to leave me a voicemail but apparently had too much to say and so recorded it and sent it to me. He sent it a week ago. I couldn’t… I had to build up the courage to listen to it. He sent me the message because he wanted to keep a promise he made to me to tell me the moment he figured out my identity.”
She inhales sharply. “He didn’t know you? And you didn’t tell him?”
“Of course I didn’t tell him!” Dream hisses. “Do you have any idea how few people I have been able to control the flow of information with?” He picks at the edge of the blanket, alternately propping up and then smoothing down the long synthetic fur-like fibers. “And he didn’t look me up in his spare time, either.”
He can hear Lucienne smiling. “He sounds like a good man, Dream.”
“He is.” Suddenly he feels very small.
“So you should mend things with him.” They way she says it, like it is so easy, like it is something one just… does. Well, maybe other people just can do that, but Dream is at a loss.
“How?” He is thrilled he keeps the whine out of his voice.
“Well, from my perspective you have two options.” She pauses for the verbal equivalent of rolling up one’s sleeves and has captured Dream’s full attention. “You can respond to him in the same manner that he sent his message to you, a voicemail or a recording. Something auditory that can be processed at his leisure. Or… you can do something over-the-top and dramatic and go for the movie-worthy moment. Show up suddenly with two dozen roses, sweep him off his feet, buy him something extravagant, carry him off on some exotic adventure… something unexpected, but that you know would be welcomed. What does he do for work?”
He huffs a laugh—she is going to get too much of a kick out of this. “He owns a gay biker bar just outside of Laramie, Wyoming.”
She breaks into tittering giggles. “You’re joking.”
“Absolutely not,” he says as he tries to not laugh himself. “We met because of our bikes, actually.”
“At the bar?”
“No. In the middle of nowhere, actually. I was taking Raven out to stretch her wings-”
“You are such a nerd,” Lucienne whispers under her breath, her tone fond. She knows quite well how much Dream loves his motorcycle.
He chooses to ignore her. “And saw him parked on the side of the road in the middle of the night. He was stargazing. He rides a 1973 Commando.”
“I have no idea what that means, dear, but by your emphasis on it, I am going to guess that it is important. A kind of motorcycle?” And that’s how Dream knows Mervyn isn’t sneaking in on the conversation—he would have not been able to resist asking about the bike’s specs.
“It is a classic British motorcycle that he restored himself.” Dream can feel his heart thumping with how much he enjoys talking about Hob and finds that he can’t stop. “He’s a British expat, actually. Grew up in London. Ended up in the States after two tours in Iraq with the Royal Air Force. Was a history and philosophy professor for a bit before the bar and-”
“Dream,” she says through a smile again, “you really are in love.” That shuts him up real quick. “Oh nooo, I can hear you blushing!”
“Luce!” He groans. “You’re not helping!”
“Alright, alright,” she clears her throat through her suppressed laughter, “so which option do you want to take for mending things with your biker professor boyfriend?”
Dream rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling again, the phone next to his shoulder, decidedly ignoring the rush of dopamine he gets from thinking of Hob like that. Boyfriend. He takes a moment to consider his answer, but based on Hob’s recorded message there seems like only one possible choice. “Well, he did make a Dirty Dancing reference in his recent message to me…”
Lucienne lets out the most inelegant snort-laugh Dream has ever heard. He cannot fathom how that noise emerged from the poised, graceful person he knows. But she also knows he secretly loves that movie, one of the few happy things he can remember from before things first went to shit. “He didn’t!” She loses the battle and a giggle bubbles up. “You really are a pair, aren’t you two?”
He sighs. “Apparently.” He almost wishes that statement didn't make him grin. Almost.
Through the slightly tinny overtones of the phone he hears the sliding glass door of the balcony in Lucienne’s condo open and close. She’s gone outside now, which only peaks Dream’s interest. “How’s he obey?”
“LUCIENNE!”
“That good, huh?” She laughs and for one long second Dream considers hanging up on her. “Dream. We’ve been through just about everything together. If this is emotionally serious then I, as the best friend, feel like I need to know if you two are sexually compatible as well. And I know what you like in a sexual partner. Probably better than you do.”
Dream rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t contradict her. “Without disclosing details because I do not have his permission to,” he really emphasizes that point, knowing it is the only card he can play here with Lucienne. “He… God, Luce. I’d inject him directly into my veins if I could. He’s somewhat new to it and has very little control over how he talks back, but I honestly can’t bring myself to care with how well his body responds to even the slightest bit of instruction.” He remembers what it felt like when Hob’s gag reflex finally gave way and he’s half hard in his pants from that alone. “Here, this will give you an idea of how absolutely fucked up I am about him: I have only known him, what, not even three months now? He came to my home, Luce.” Her sharp inhale makes it clear she gets it. “Yeah. He came into my home fully tested and prepped and I possessed him. Fuck, Lucienne, for one shining, glorious moment he was totally mine.” His breath hitches on a small cry, tears welling in his eyes. “Willingly, he was mine.”
“Is, Dream,” she says softly.
“What?”
“Is,” Lucienne repeats. “He is yours. It sounds like he made that point in his message to you.”
Immediately he hears Hob’s voice, clear as a bell: Nothing's changed for me, Dream.
“Yes. Yes he did.” Dream sits up and looks back out the windows. He can feel Hob’s breath on his ear: I’m yours, m’Lord… I choose this. I choose to let your will be mine… I swear it. I am yours. For as long as you’ll keep me. And for eternity after that, even if we are apart. I swear on my honor and my life and my love for you.
“He’s made it very clear,” he whispers. “Oh, Hob.”
She laughs. “So he does have a name.”
Dream shakes himself out of his memories. “Ah, yeah. Hob. He’s… Hob.”
A knowing hum comes at him through the phone. If he had just spoken to someone else about Hob would he have figured out he is in love with him sooner? Ah, no use to dwell.
“Okay,” once again his thoughts are interrupted. “So what grand gesture do you want to attempt?”
They plan for hours. Mervyn, eventually, also gets in on it. By the end Dream has multiple threads to follow up on and some research to do. And he needs a good real estate broker.