There was the skin of some great beast beneath them, covered in smooth scales the size of dinner plates; a slayed dragon, Hob guessed. From somewhere distant, there came the slow-spreading warmth of a crackling fire.

The stranger was on his back, his wrists crossed loosely over his head, and it was a wonder that Hob had him, this marvellous creature, all to himself. Pale legs hooked about his hips, pulling him in and keeping him there.

"Oh, my God. You feel so good."

So good, inside. His companion smiled ever so slightly, that imperious little smirk, and Hob kissed him with all the passion of a thunderhead. Overcome by it. His tongue, like the rest of him, was faintly cool, and his mouth tasted of rain. How many centuries of this had gone by already? Hob knew every inch of the person beneath him, all the spots that made him quiver, all the ways he liked to be touched- and all the ways he didn't. The one constant in a world that was always turning over, always growing into something new.

"Ah, yeah, I love you. I love you so much."

Crystal blue eyes opened a little wider- what gall he had, to look shocked! Hob laughed, his joy a free-flying thing in his chest, so huge and honest the only answer for it was to kiss him again.

'I'll see you soon,' he thought, or perhaps he said, who knew; 'I know I'll see you soon, when I'm awake again.'

~

There came a brilliant blue-white light and a wind that smelled like thunder, and Hob thought he tasted the desert on his tongue. The entire room seemed to be vibrating, and all the guards had thrown themselves wisely to the floor, faces hidden as though in supplication. The only man still standing was Roderick Burgess, his arms outstretched above his head, mouth open in a horrified cry that could not be heard over the eldritch voice that filled every space left in the air.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF THE DAMAGE YOU'VE DONE?"

Hob looked up as best he could, still shielding his eyes from the scraps of broken glass the storm was whipping through the room, and he saw Morpheus rise, glowing, to his feet in the remains of the cage.

"ARROGANT, SELFISH LITTLE FLEA…"

Morpheus' eyes burned brighter than Hob had ever seen them do before, a pair of perfect silver suns, and in them was a fury unlike any a human man could ever muster.

"...THINKING YOU COULD DEMAND ANYTHING OF ONE SUCH AS I…"

He took one step from the cage, then another, the graceful stalk of a predator animal. Hob could barely breathe for how the wild wind whipped the air from his lungs.

"I SHALL MAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT A GIFT, AS YOU WANTED- THE GIFT OF ETERNAL SLEEP…"

Still Hob watched, rapt, as Morpheus raised his left hand, and the scent of burnished desert increased all the more until Hob was almost certain he'd choke on it, until his mouth was too dry to speak, let alone scream…

"...WHERE YOUR MIND WILL MAKE PLAY FOR MY NIGHTMARES."

He lifted his hand to his lips and blew, and something silver glimmered on the air.

Then the pressure of the storm became too much, and sheet lightning flashed out, turning the entire world- for a fraction of an instant- to pure, blinding white.

Then the light faded, and all that remained was the dark.

~

Water fell all around them in rivulets of silver and gold, gathering in a shallow pool at their feet. There was no sky, nor anything save the cool air and the countless tiny waterfalls, and a sleek grey cloud that seemed to encompass everything else.

Hob was on his knees, and there should have been some dissonance because he had never done this in real life, and because nothing about it seemed debasing in the slightest- all he felt was his own pleasure, and a fond amusement, the sweetness of seeing his statuesque lover lose himself so completely.

"How's that?" Hob asked, licking his lips, and he grinned when the other man groaned at the separation, long fingers tangling in his brown hair.

"Hob!"

And surely it was something to be proud of- pulling his own name in such ecstacy from that white mouth.

"Alright, alright, love. I've got you."

~

Hob blinked his eyes to clear them from the after impression of the flash. The storm had stopped, the dungeon fallen silent- Hob groaned and tried to stand, putting one hand on the damp iron of the prison at his side. Under his shoes the stone crunched with broken glass. The guards were all on the floor, prone, their limbs slack- and so was Roderick Burgess, his velvet robe in disarray, the master puppeteer with his own strings snipped.

And then there was Morpheus.

He stood stock-still, expressionless, his hand still raised, fingers folded slightly as though he had just let go of something. Hob opened his mouth to speak- to call out to him, perhaps- and Morpheus wavered, suddenly unbalanced, and Hob's own body was moving in response before his conscious mind even realized what was about to happen-

-Morpheus tipped over sideways and Hob caught him, gathering that frail figure in his arms before bare skin could find the broken glass. He weighed nearly nothing, as though he were a doll, all hollow porcelain inside. Hob was almost afraid to hold him too tightly lest the force of his human hands crush something. Bend a feather out of shape on one of those broken wings.

"Okay, okay," Hob said, and Morpheus' head came to rest on his shoulder, the feathery hair brushing against his neck and cheek. "I've got you."

Morpheus didn't say anything, but Hob could feel the chill in him, for it leeched like metal right through Hob's clothes. There came a strong desire to stay here, to hold him- just to hold him, until he warmed. But-

"We need to get out of here," Hob murmured, and he began to lift Morpheus as gently as he could, unsure of whether his companion could take his own weight. "There'll be others coming soon enough, I expect."

Morpheus stood on shaky legs, most of him still held up by Hob, silent. Hob dared look across at him and found those pale blue eyes very wide. He was breathing now, fast and shallow, so high in his chest each gasp was nearly invisible.

"There won't be," he whispered. Still, he acquiesced.

Hob helped him across the stone, wincing every time a bare foot came down close to the broken glass, and when they reached the moat Hob lifted him over with hands on his waist. Morpheus didn't seem to feel any of Hob's urgency, picking his way through the prone (and breathing) bodies of the guards with an expression of vague distaste. He did not look at the fallen Magus, and cocked his head only once at the boy Hob had forgotten, who lay with his eyes closed against the stairs.

"Are they just sleeping?" Hob asked, which was probably a foolish question.

"Yes," Morpheus murmured, and something in his voice was dark- almost malevolent. "... sleeping."

He wavered again and his hand closed over Hob's, ice cold and clutching, trying to hold himself up with trembling muscles. They had reached the base of the long stone stairs and Morpheus looked up them with an expression unmistakable for trepidation; without thinking Hob scooped him up into an embrace, one arm under his thighs and the other steadying him at the waist. Morpheus made a tiny, surprised noise Hob was certain he'd never heard before, and cold hands settled at his shoulder, in his hair.

"Just duck, love," Hob said to him. "I've got you."

It was only about halfway up the stairs that Hob's conscious mind caught up to the events and he realized what he had said, what he was doing. The last time they had met Morpheus had bloody well scolded him for insinuating that they were friends, nevermind…whatever this suggested.

But the expected reproach did not come. Hob could only hear his companion's shallow, pained breathing, only feel the tremor running through all his hollow limbs. The grip Morpheus had on his hair was as weak as a kitten's. There were far more important things to worry about than his breach of etiquette.

At the top of the stairs Hob paused in the open doorway, listening for footsteps in the corridor, for shouts- but the manor seemed to have fallen silent, eerily so. All Hob could hear was the distant singing of a gramophone, still playing some tinny dance record. The party couldn't be over, could it? Just minutes ago (though it felt like hours now) it had been in full-swing.

There was a pile of discarded coats on a nearby couch and Hob deposited Morpheus gently there, picking through for one that looked warm. Morpheus could barely stand, braced half on the back of the couch and half on Hob's arm, looking vaguely about the room with clouded eyes. Hob chose a long russet-fur coat, probably belonging to an old dame, and wrapped the surprisingly docile god in it, doing up a few jewelled buttons to protect his modesty. Not that that was the biggest concern at the moment. Hob was becoming increasingly alarmed by Morpheus' silence, by the way his head lolled as though his neck hadn't the strength to hold it up. Water droplets gathered on his forehead and upper lip- something like sweat, but probably more like condensation, like rain on a windowpane. Hob gently lay the back of his hand to Morpheus' forehead, and the cold there burned so shockingly he had to withdraw almost at once- a fever that froze.

"Are you alright?" Hob murmured. "Hey, hey. Are you still with me?"

"Too much," Morpheus' lips were dry, and he blinked once, so slowly Hob wasn't sure if his eyes were going to open again. " Without my tools… too far, cursing them all."

Hob saw something shift in the corner of his eye, the tiniest movement- when he turned to look he felt a shock, for suddenly he realized that they were not alone in the house as he had assumed. There was a woman lying on the couch beneath the coats, young and blonde, her breathing slow and her eyes flickering behind their lids.

She wasn't the only one. Now that Hob looked, he saw them everywhere- a fat man sprawled out on the floor, a young couple slumped against the wall, an elderly dame in a chair with her cheek pressed to the table. All the partygoers, asleep, struck down where they stood.

An enchanted castle- the revenge of Sleeping Beauty.

There came the sound of fluttering wings.

Hob looked up in time to see Jessamy fly down from the rafters, an excited caw in her throat.

"Your Majesty!"

She landed on Morpheus' shoulder and pressed herself into the crook of his neck, beak plucking at his hair. "You're free!"

"Jessamy," Morpheus whispered, the soft edges of his mouth turning up into a smile. "Yes."

Hob saw it coming before it happened: the tenuous balance Morpheus had struck with the couch gave way as his knees buckled, not strong enough to hold himself upright even with assistance anymore. Hob lunged forward and caught him with a swear, mind suddenly full of images of things shattering, porcelain and glass and bones. In his arms this time Morpheus seemed even less present than before, suddenly there was more to the damn fur coat than there was to him. The white of his skin was nearly transparent, like parchment with a few too many layers peeled away.

"You need a doctor," Hob said helplessly. "Or- something."

"No human doctor could help him," said Jessamy, adjusting her wings nervously.

"I must return… to the Dreaming…"

Morpheus' voice was hardly more than a sigh in Hob's ear- and worse, what he said Hob wasn't able to understand.

"No, your Majesty," said Jessamy, answering what Hob couldn't. "If you are like this- the trip might be too much for you."

Something in Morpheus' face darkened, the very faintest of far-off thunderclouds; of course, he didn't like being told 'no'.

"Your Majesty. Please."

And it must have spoken to their relationship- or at least to the depths of Morpheus' illness- for at that the venom retreated, the shadows pulled back behind his eyes. Morpheus extended one pale hand and Jessamy hopped over to nuzzle it, a gesture unmistakable for that of a vassal bestowing their king a kiss of fealty.

"Go to Lucienne," Morpheus commanded. "Prepare my kingdom… tell her what is become of me."

Jessamy did not protest this time, rather she bowed, and took flight without another word. Hob heard her wings beat as she flew up into the rafters, and then with a soft gust of wind she was gone- escaped through an open window, perhaps, or more likely a shadow.

"Hob Gadling."

Cold hands found and framed his face, the icy pads of Morpheus' thumbs following the path of his cheekbones.

"...take me away from here."

Another imperial command.

Well- it wasn't like he wouldn't obey.

~

Hob could tell the space around him was cavernous, and something about it reminded him of a church, or if not that then a throne room. The light was all ajewel, rays in every colour Hob could name and a good few he couldn't, stained by the glass of windows so tall he couldn't see the tops of them. The steps upon which they sat might have been hard, but nothing was ever uncomfortable like this, not really- after all, Hob knew he was dreaming.

"I'm sorry I upset you," Hob whispered to the ear of his pale companion, and he kissed him there, sucked once at the lobe, just enough to summon a sweet shiver. "Last time. I didn't mean to."

"Hmm."

The whisper of a bite against that pale throat, a press of lips to the exposed blue-black jugular.

"Forgive me?"

Hob could feel the ragged pulse of his companion's pleasure, could see it in the faint haze of his eyes.

"Perhaps… if you keep doing that."

Hob laughed against him and did as requested, and when his hand found its way down between the knees of the other man he was rewarded with the faintest noise of surprise, and helplessly, he laughed again.

"You're sweeter here. Like this."

"Impudent. I am not."

"Yes, you are."

The stone beneath them seemed to have melted somewhere along the way and now it was a bed, black silk sheets and a canopy made of spiderwebs, but Hob was too busy kissing to mind the difference. When his companion broke away it was with a strange look, curious and almost wary, and Hob thought he saw foreign stars where his pupils should have been.

"Have you forgiven me yet? For my 'impudence'?"

He almost smiled, the stranger, and he rolled his head to the side in an offer Hob took with relish.

"Yes," came the sigh against his ear, almost too quiet to be heard. "You see, I was afraid… afraid that you were right…"

Perhaps this was a thought, not spoken aloud- perhaps Hob hadn't been meant to hear.

No matter. This was a bedroom; they were here for better things.

~

They managed to make it back to Hob's flat without causing much fuss, which seemed a small miracle. On the drive to London Hob kept expecting to hear police sirens, or someone shouting at them to stop- but perhaps it was too early for that. There had been no one left at the manor to call for help, after all.

(And if this thought was chilling, Hob pushed it from his mind. He had seen worse.)

And there were more important things to be concerned with. The way that Morpheus trembled, buried in his fur coat, was one; his strained breathing another. Hob thought all the way back about taking him to a hospital regardless of what Jessamy had said, before reminding himself sternly that she was right; a normal doctor could only cause more trouble. Still, wouldn't some kind of doctor be able to help? Hob knew a bit about human physiology- he had studied doctoring fifty years ago- and he knew that the body could betray its owner in very unexpected, time-sensitive ways. Appendicitis. Dry-drowning. Infections of the blood.

(Shell-shock.)

Could something be seriously wrong with Morpheus, wrong inside, somewhere neither he nor Hob nor the loyal Raven were able to diagnose? Had the wizard's magic broken something in him? Could he be dying right now, as Hob watched him, unable to do anything to help…?

Had Hob arrived too late to save him?

Dawn was just beginning to show the edges of her golden hair as Hob settled the car in the street outside the apartment building, turning off the ignition. There didn't seem to be any police about- only a few vagrants, and they surely wouldn't care, if a man was seen carrying another in next to no clothing.

"Where…?"

The first word he had spoken during the entire drive.

"Oh, this is my place," Hob said, and it was almost embarrassing how his voice took on a certain bedside-manner, as though he was talking to an injured animal. "It's not very impressive, but, er…it's safe."

Morpheus nodded once, which seemed acceptance enough. When Hob opened the passenger-side door Morpheus reached out for him like a child with those willowy arms, wrapping them about Hob's shoulders. It felt like carrying cold air. His hair, where it pressed to Hob's cheek, was unbearably soft.

An image rose in his mind: he had kissed Morpheus here, on his throat in precisely this spot, had buried his nose in that hair while his hips thrust into-

-but no.

(Surely not.)

(Unless-)

Hob carried this weightless burden up the stairs with no effort, fumbling only with the keys in his pocket. Once inside, with the door closed, he felt a sudden, surprising relief- back in familiar territory. The night had been a little too long.

Without stopping to question himself Hob took Morpheus to the bedroom and deposited him there. Pale, glassy eyes watched him, and that dark head lay limp on the pillow. Hob pulled all the covers up over him, not bothering to remove the coat, surely he needed all the warmth he could get. Wherever Hob's fingertips brushed that white skin they burned with the cold.

"What can I do…can I get you some water, or something?"

A terribly feeble attempt. Morpheus shuffled onto his side, rubbing his cheek against Hob's pillowcase, feline.

"I am not human, Hob Gadling. I need no human remedies."

"You need something, though."

"Hmm."

Hob waited a moment more, and when Morpheus offered no suggestions for non-human remedies he got up and went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. He wished he had a little more in his pantry- but bachelor pad, and all that. After looking despairingly into a few cupboards he settled on toast with marmalade, one piece of which he ate himself the moment it popped from the toaster. The other he placed onto one of very few clean plates, and when the kettle was done he made black tea in one of very few clean cups, and into it he ladled a dollop of honey. A child's cure for the common cold. Foolish. He felt he had to do something, though. Anything to busy his hands and ease the whirling of his thoughts.

When the breakfast was made he brought it to Morpheus' bedside. In the interim he had shifted out of the coat somewhat, lying curled on his side with his face half hidden by the blankets, one glowing eye still open and staring out at nothing. Without asking, Hob sat in the hollow left between his knees and elbows. The mattress dipped under the weight of the man, where it hadn't at all for the god.

The king, that was. The King of Dreams and Nightmares, or so Jessamy had said. The king of what worlds passed by the human eye, in all that time spent in bed.

(And Hob knew already what that fair figure looked like in bed.)

"Tea?" Hob offered. "To warm you?"

"No."

So much for that.

Morpheus was still trembling, and Hob saw more of that condensation forming across his skin, leaving a sheen on his pale cheeks. His fingers twitched feverishly, held lax on the coverlet by his face. Hob reached out a hand of his own, hesitated for an instant, and then closed his own warm palm over Morpheus' cold one.

Perhaps it wasn't the time or place. Hob was a little past caring, though.

"Morpheus," he murmured, as gently as he dared. "Are you still angry with me, for before- for what we discussed in 1889?"

Morpheus blinked another slow, aching blink. For a moment, Hob didn't think he was going to answer, but-

"No," he whispered. "We already…I have already forgiven that trespass."

Hob's fingers closed a little tighter around that cold hand. Morpheus shifted on the covers, freeing both eyes to meet Hob's gaze.

"...did you forget?"

And there it was. A truth so huge it could crush.

"I didn't," Hob said, the words oddly stilted in his mouth. "I thought- I, uh, that happened in a dream."

"In the Dreaming."

"Right."

A moment of silence. He shouldn't push it, probably, but- bloody hell, he had to.

"So, that means," six hundred years, one would think he'd be better with hard conversations. "Everything that happened- everything I dreamt, it's all…it was all real?"

Morpheus gave him a rather cool look, the kind an aristocrat might reserve for a poorly-behaved party guest.

"Of course."

Of course. As though nothing was more obvious- but of course, this creature wasn't human. Hob should have known better by now than to expect a human understanding of the world from him.

"Humans may choose to disregard their dreams," Morpheus continued with haughty finality, "...but that doesn't mean they aren't real."

"Ah."

Hob felt the dizziness that tended to accompany any revelation. He suddenly had a very new understanding of what had happened to him, these last six hundred years. Of just what his life had been.

"And…you didn't…mind?"

He had to be absolutely sure.

Morpheus' lips parted, and Hob thought he saw it for the first time- the traces of something shy. The tiniest touch of embarrassment. Well, thank Heaven he wasn't completely beyond that.

"...I am not often dreamt of," said Morpheus slowly. "Not… as I am. It was… flattering."

"It was more than that," Hob said, and a chuckle forced itself from him unbidden. "Those were quite the dreams, honey."

"Hmm."

Hob laughed again, helpless to it, that half-abashed, half-scornful expression. It wasn't a bad thing to know, Hob realized, just a surprise- and then something else occurred to him.

"I didn't really notice before, but- but these last ten years I haven't dreamt at all," Hob said. "Nothing- not even nightmares. I- you know, I missed you."

Silence.

"That's…is that how long you've been…?"

But he didn't need an answer to that question. The murderous shadow that crossed Morpheus' face was explanation enough, and the confirmation felt like ice pouring down Hob's back. After experiencing it first-hand, Hob wouldn't wish an hour of drowning on anyone- some tortures were too much to bear. Ten years of it- naked and alone in that cage-!

"What did you do to them, back there?" Hob asked, his voice distant from his own ears. "...to the people who captured you?"

Morpheus cocked his head, a gesture that made Hob think very much of corvid birds.

"I sent them to my kingdom," he said simply. "To the hospitality of my nightmares."

"For how long?"

"Until they die."

As matter-of-fact a statement as if Hob had asked him the weather.

"Good."

Hob looked down at the fragile, powerful being in his bed- the stranger, his friend, his lover. He felt, as a storm-surge, a cocktail of strong emotions; protectiveness, sure, a surprising satisfaction at the revenge- and a certain tenderness, also. An affection that left the space around his heart warm.

Hob reached out to smooth a palm over that feathery black hair, and Morpheus' eyelashes fluttered. The sun had risen outside, and the stain of yellow light as it came through the window cut across the blankets like a knife. In such a light, the vicious night-creature in his bed looked very nearly domestic.

"Can you sleep?" Hob asked him, and the words came out the softest of whispers. Morpheus' lips twitched in faint amusement.

"...I am always asleep."

(Which was another way of saying he never was.)

"Alright. At least- try to rest, yeah? And tell me? If I can do anything."

Morpheus nodded and released a shuddering sigh, rubbing his face against the pillowcase again. Hob had mind to fetch a washcloth to wipe away some of those feverish dewdrops that had accumulated across his skin- something to do, anything to do. Perhaps he ought to turn on the radio as well- see if anyone had yet found the manor of Roderick Burgess.

Hob stood, and made it as far as the doorway before a soft voice stopped him:

"Hob."

"What is it?"

Morpheus was watching him, and though the dawn was bright the little star in his blue-black eye was brighter.

"My name is Dream. My truest name, that is."

Hob smiled. There was the warmth again.

"Dream it is, then."