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1389
The Endless do not want.
They do not need of anything. Both Dream and his sister know of life’s inconsistencies, it’s eventual eroding of all matter. There is no need of want for Death and Dream, when all that they know will be gone and replaced again and again. It is different for Desire who sees want as a game, plays with it with cat clawed hands and a seductive smile.
Though, at this moment, Dream wonders if his sibling has had a hand in toying with his emotions, fanning the flames of his want and need when his eyes land upon the mortal Death has chosen.
The man, Hob Gadling (Dream knows each and every name inscribed on every heart in the White Horse Tavern, as secret as a whisper though Hob’s somehow shouts the loudest), looks at him with amusement. But there is something in his eyes, a mischievousness almost. And when he smiles, Dream feels the warmth of the sun on his pale skin.
He is sure he can feel his sister’s knowing gaze on him when he promises to meet Hob a hundred years from now, the other man agreeing and laughing - laughing, Dream thinks absurdly.
Dream, however, fails to notice the heated gaze Hob gives him as he leaves the tavern.
Later, Dream will claim he is curious about Hob Gadling and what he dreams. For if a man can love life as much as he to forsake Death, then surely his dreams must be a vibrant array of wonders and visions.
However, when Dream steps into the Dreaming of Hob Gadling, he stands arrested on the threshold of a room that no doubts sits atop the White Horse Tavern if the decor is anything to go by. The room is sparsely furnished save for a bed and chest of drawers with candles of golden light littered about. Why Hob would dream of here is answered shortly when Dream hears an unmistakable groan.
In his dream, Hob fucks into a black haired man who’s face is obscured by Hob’s very broad back which Dream belatedly notices has scratches running along it as if the man currently moaning beneath Hob had clawed at him - which he probably did.
Dream is no stranger to the desires of humans - he sees their intimate thoughts, the deepest loves and wants - but this dream in particular has his heart scrunching in his chest.
Quickly, he stumbles from the dream, feeling like an intruder in his own realm and leaving just as Hob raises his head to cast a glance over his shoulder.
But Dream, the Lord of Nightmares and Stories, is gone.
1489
By the time their second meeting rolls around, Dream has almost forgotten the dream Hob had. Almost.
The Lord of Dreams couldn’t help but trace his eyes over the form of Hob as he recounts excitedly the new inventions and experiences life has had to offer him, served on a platter of silver with Death’s knowing gaze watching him.
Dream had been surprised when Hob had exclaimed the brilliancy of immortal life though he could not say he was disappointed as his eyes kept flicking towards Hob’s hands, remembering the last time his saw them they had been digging into the hips of a pale stranger in the immortal’s dreams.
Dream wondered what had become of that relationship. Immortality took its toll when it could not be shared with another close to ones heart. The question crept upon his tongue, slow and stealthily, almost slipping free but Dream caught it in time. If he asked, Hob would know, know he could see into the inner thoughts of humanity.
So he settles for listening to Hob, drinking in every word and watch his mouth curve into a secretive smile that Dream could almost believe was for him.
That night, Dream steps into Hob’s dream to find him in the White Horse Tavern again with the stranger on his knees before Hob, taking him until he chokes. Dream blinks at the scene, momentarily confused, mouth parting slightly. That familiar feeling, the tightening in his chest, the quickening of his breaths, returns.
What could possibly make this black haired stranger so alluring to Hob for him to keep dreaming of him even after a hundred years? Dream wondered, swiftly exiting the dream as Hob bit his fist to keep himself from crying out as he came down the stranger’s throat.
Try as he might, Dream could not dispel the bitterness unfurling in his chest at the sound.
1589
A tingling on his neck tells Dream he is being watched. He resists the urge to turn and look as he ushers Will Shaxberd from the White Horse Tavern. The mortal had spoken with such passion of changing the lives of men, of plucking inspiration from the very wind that Dream had been compelled to take him aside and offer a promise of his own.
Ignoring the yawning chasm that widened with each step his took from Hob, Dream fought the longing that swelled inside him.
Hob appeared to him in full splendour, boasting of wealth and a richness in love for his wife and son. Dream could not help the aching that cracked in his heart, pushing it aside in favour of the dreaming playwright.
When Dream visits Hob this time, he finds the stranger on his hands and knees on the bed, Hob biting the meat of his shoulder and leaving opened mouthed kisses along his back. The stranger begs in a high pitched whine that is alien to Dream’s own ears and Hob repeats the word, “mine” again and again until the stranger reaches his climax. The stranger falls onto the bed, exhausted and with Hob’s gentle embrace enveloping him.
Dream pretends his does not feel the ghost of the embrace as he leaves the lovers again.
1689
Dream resists the urge to reach out and card a hand through Hob’s hair as the man throws himself into the chair beside Dream. He is a ghost of his former self and Dream notes with a heart wrenching dread he didn’t know he could feel that the light that had illuminated Hob’s eyes had dimmed into grey slabs of nothing. The death of his wife and children have hollowed Hob out, the years has taken its toll from him.
Dream can barely get the words past his lips as he asks the question, the question he has lately realised he doesn’t want an answer to if it will snuff the ever constant flame of Hob’s love for life.
Hob looks at him for a moment and Dream braces himself, fingers digging into the arms of the chair he is sat on. And then Hob smiles and it is like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. That is when Dream realises this man will never tire of life as his eyes brighten to twinkles of stars.
He can’t help himself. He smiles.
Dream finds Hob wrapped in the arms of the stranger upon the bed in the White Horse Tavern. There are no moans or grasping hands in search for pleasure like all the other times Dream has stepped in one. Instead soft sniffles and the pattern of tears tattoo itself into the quiet room as the stranger hugs Hob close to him they are almost one. He whispers comforting murmurs into Hob’s ear, his face hidden by the mass of brown locks.
Envy curls up in Dreams stomach, a dead and withered thing that leaves a deep pit in its wake. His fingers twitch with want to stroke along Hob’s face, to lay gentle kisses on his closed as and catch the tears that inevitably fall from Hob’s long lashes.
Dream turns and leaves, face hidden in shadows, the scene feeling more intimate than any of the ones he has seen before.
1789
The next time Dream happens to find himself in Hob’s dream, Hob is taking his black haired stranger against the wall of the White Horse Tavern. He pants against the stranger’s skin, kissing and sucking on exposed flesh as the stranger’s clothes practically melted from his alabaster body. His face is hidden
Dream swallows dryly, listening to the sounds of their love making. His hands are still shaking from the attack earlier that night from Lady Constantine, from seeing the slither of a silver dagger pressed against Hob’s throat. The feeling that had emerged at the sight was one Dream failed to find a name for, letting the feeling burn inside him instead.
When Hob and his stranger - the stranger that has captured Hob’s heart for hundreds of years - finish, the look Hob gives him has Dream snatching his gaze away.
He retreats, stepping out of the Dreaming as quietly as he arrived.
1889
Dream shakes from barely suppressed anger.
How dare Hob suggest that he - an, Endless, an entity, older than the world itself - is lonely?
Rain pelts against his shoulders and back, running down his black coat as Dream steps out into the night, the rain having increased since his arrival at the White Horse Tavern. Hob follows closely at his heels and Dream - Dream wants to turn around as Hob shouts behind him. He wants to run into his arms. He wants to bang his fists against Hob’s chest and demand why he keeps insistently dreaming of someone who is long gone when Dream is right in front of him. He wants to demand why Hob won’t love him.
Perhaps it was jealousy that made Dream lash his words out, whip-like at Hob. That Dream has no one while Hob continued his dream affair with another, ending each and every dream Dream had seen wrapped in the arms of his faceless lover while Dream could only mourn, wishing to feel the other man’s arms around him instead. Perhaps it was the pity in Hob’s eyes that Dream could not bare.
So, Dream does not pause in his march away from the tavern, the cold of the darkness of little thought to him compared to the aching gap in his chest that stretches the further he moves away from Hob.
There are no nighttime visits from Dream, unable to look upon the man who holds his heart in the arms of another.
1989
Time becomes a meaningless thing in Burgess’s confinement. Sitting in the glass prison, Dream merely sits and stares. When he is not thinking of the terrible punishment he will inflict upon Burgess and his son - Jessamy’s blood still clouds the glass - he is consumed with thoughts of Hob.
Their last meeting had ended sourly and Dream wondered of Hob’s promise to still be there. Was he waiting now while Dream rotted away here? Or had he abandoned their meeting, his hate for Dream festering over the years?
And again, Dream thought of Hob with his lover. Did Hob still dream of him? Despite himself, Dream let his mind drift. Was Hob and his lover wrapped around each other, chasing each other’s pleasures? Did they whisper words of comfort and love against each other’s skin, promises of everlasting love that only Hob could upkeep.
Down in the basement, Dream let his mind wander, finding solace in a man with eyes full of a glowing warmth.
Present day
Lighthearted chatter and a smile that resembles the sun greets Dream as he steps into the New Inn pub.
“You’re late,” Hob greets and it is suddenly as if no time has passed. It is not even near the time of their next meeting but Dream has found Hob sitting here regardless. Almost - and Dream dares to hope - as if he was waiting for him, even after their argument and Dream’s failure to turn up on their last appointment.
Sitting across from each other, they smile and Hob’s talks and talks and talks. It is a river of sound that erupts from Hob’s mouth, catching Dream up on the previous century he has missed. And a lot he has missed, Dream realises with bitter amusement but he does not let the moment darken, instead eagerly listening to Hob’s chatter.
When the day and pub comes to a closing, Dream is not surprised he finds himself reluctant to leave Hob. He has missed Hob - he can admit that now, damn his pride - and does not want this moment to end.
Nevertheless, he wishes Hob a good night with a promise to meet the man again soon, wanting more than anything that Hob would mirror his feelings.
His promise to not visit Hob lasts longer than Matthew had guessed. Dream waits exactly ten minutes or what feels like ten minutes before he steps into the dreaming world of Hob Gadling.
A sudden apprehension overcomes Dream as he steps into a room he assumes is Hob’s. He has not visited his friend’s dreams for a long while and the nervousness bubbles up inside him. He feels like an intruder, spying on his friend’s dream just to see if he still dreams of another.
A moan sounding to Dream’s left is indication enough. He swallows and braces himself as he glances - and freezes.
On the bed Hob has his stranger’s cock in his mouth, bobbing his head with enthusiasm. His stranger is splayed out on the bed, all pale limbs and heaving chest as Hob brings him to pleasure. His midnight hair is splashed across the pillow and his face is contorted in ecstasy. And that is what makes Dream pause. Because Hob’s lover, the man he has been dreaming of since the fourteenth century, is Dream.
Dream can do nothing but stare at the scene before him and he dumbly wonders if that’s what his face looks like when he’s in the throes of pleasures, if that’s the noises he makes.
Before he can move, the dream of himself let’s out a cry as Hob wrings an orgasm out from him. Hob sits up, smiling - until he sees Dream staring back at him. He stands stiffly, his limbs rigid as a hare caught in headlights. Hob merely stares back, his face a mask of confusion before morphing into one of realisation and shock.
The dream version of Dream vanishes in a wisp of white cloud, leaving the two of them alone. If possible, it becomes even more awkward.
It is Dream who breaks the silence with a stuttering reply, his tongue tied in his mouth. Before a word can even leave his mouth, Hob grins at him with his beaming smile. He holds out a hand, worn and calloused by years and years of living life after life.
Dream looks at the outstretched hand then back to Hob, speechless. In Hob’s eyes is a promise, a promise of love and being loved. Of pleasure and comfort, of companionship. Dream has known this promise before, has had it broken, has broken it himself. He knows how bad this path could end if he takes it. But looking at Hob, at the man who will always choose life, will always choose him, Dream also knows how good it can be.
Dream reaches out and takes Hob’s in his own hand.