Another Ghost Dragon Prompt? Indeed.
The Ward had made a mistake. Had stolen something that had caused the very Skies to lash out, entire worlds at risk from their actions.
Time Itself shrieked in rage at the loss of Its child, or at least that's how every magic user- and the speedsters, pale and shaken and looking sick- had described it.
Someone had taken the young prince of the Infinite, and it was not the Tyrant King, long since sealed away, that lead the charge, but the Queen Regent that many had long since forgotten.
Many forgot that it was not the Dark who courted Time, but Time who courted the Dark. That It was just, if not more so, merciless as Its partner, and would Devour worlds should Its child- still with newdeath soft scales- was not returned.
Which meant that for the heroes, there was now a Clock ticking down ever so quietly. They had to take care of what was a government branch, had to deal with consequences of going over the law, or their World would End in dragon fire.
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Hob will always be grateful that he and Dream got together before Dream's retirement, for so many reasons. One of them is this: that he knows what Dream of the Endless looks like when he laughs, when he's flustered, when he's flushed with pleasure, or warm from a hot shower. Because he knows these things he can fully appreciate the contrast in how Dream--just Dream, himself, not Of The Anything--looks in those moments.
Dream of the Endless had been a work of fine art that never cracked. Hob doesn't think he saw him blush once, ever. His skin was always pale and even, even when Hob made him smile, or cry out in pleasure, or warmed him by the fire. He was how he was.
This Dream, human Dream, his Dream, blushes so easily, and it's a delight. Even human, his complexion is very pale, so the slightest redness is stark on his skin. When Hob surprises him with a kiss he blushes high on his cheeks. When they're gasping for breath after sex--gasping for breath, another thing Dream of the Endless had never done--Dream's face will be flushed red and damp with sweat. He's embarrassed about it, which only makes the blush worse, but Hob finds it incredibly charming.
Or like now: when he's coming out of the shower. Hob has to stifle a laugh. The poor once-dream king's whole chest, neck, and face are splotchy and red from the heat. He does like his showers boiling hot, and he pays for it in this. It's rather un-sexy--Hob's sure Dream would prefer to swan out of the bathroom dripping in a more picturesque and alluring way. But Hob thinks it's all very cute.
Dream scowls at him as he laughs. "You are making fun. Cease that this instant."
"Sorry, Your Highness, it's just that you look like a calico cat that's gone through a forest fire."
Dream throws a towel at him before he's even had a chance to dry his hair with it. When Hob catches it, his scowl only deepens.
Hob steps into his space and starts drying his hair for him. "S'tough when you can't dictate every little bit of your appearance, isn't it?" He's not without sympathy. He knows that even now, for Dream, relinquishing the tiniest bit of control feels like losing a battle.
Dream pokes at one of the red patches on his skin, which is gradually fading. His fingertip leaves a white indent. "I do not know why the blood insists on continually traveling towards the surface. It has other business."
"Perhaps it's just greedy for warmth." He tousles Dream's hair, which earns him another pout. "Like the body it's trying to run, hm?"
"Body," Dream echoes, with distaste. He does not always like having one, Hob knows. Nor especially one that can show his emotions so clearly, and without his agreement.
"It looks good on you," Hob tells him, caressing his cheek. "Warmth. You know."
Warmth, and life. It's worth more than anything to see dream having these moments of life. An overly-hot shower. A blushing smile.
Hob kisses his cheek, and, predictably, he blushes.
"...Perhaps," Dream finally allows. The redness from the shower is fading, but the shade on his cheeks lingers. He's so unbearably lovely.
Hob kisses the corner of his mouth. Murmurs there, "Should we see just how much I can make you blush?"
"This fixation is discomfiting," Dream complains. But he follows agreeably when Hob takes his hands and draws him into the bedroom. He always follows in the end, even if he complains the whole while. Hob thinks that, deep down, Dream wants this life, even if it's sometimes all splotchy. It's just hard to feel like he can have it. It's new and still rubbed raw, and these little changes are as confronting as they are, secretly, comforting.
But Hob loves him in this life, and loves showing him how much he loves him. Especially when he can get that blush to rise all along Dream's chest and throat and cheeks and the tips of his ears. Because another thing that's wonderful about Dream's human body?
It takes kisses so beautifully.
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