Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The pile of marking left to be done on Hob’s kitchen table had yet to grow any smaller, it was some sort of eldritch abomination of non-Euclidean geometry that meant when he removed something from the stack, the stack did not change. There were approximately sixteen hours before he absolutely, positively, had to finally have every last grade input into the web portal or he risked… a stern talking to, really, at best. His department head would understand if anyone ever brought it up, but he refused to be the problem child.

His rising stress on the matter was markedly influenced by his fiance who would stop whatever he was doing every half an hour or so to log into the student side of the web portal, only to sigh dramatically when there were still no final grades posted before finally pacing about the flat in a huff. It was incredibly distracting, really. One of the side benefits to living above a pub was that it saved on the heating bill and Morpheus had found he rather liked spending time at Hob’s flat for the cosiness of the thing compared to his open, but permanently draughty, floor plan at home. Hob found he enjoyed it because Morpheus’s rather lax attitude toward what constituted normal loungewear was increased exponentially by warmth.

Currently he was in his pacing about and straightening knick knacks that didn’t need to be straightened phase of trying to will his final grades into existence, but now shirtless and wearing only a pair of old jeans that had once been black but had seen better days - worn so soft and ragged as to be basically pyjamas. Until rather recently, they had barely clung to his bony hips, threatening to fall off, which could be fun in its own right, but with Hob and Lucienne’s rather insistent monitoring; Morpheus was very nearly what you could call healthy these days. Lean enough he would be in a bit of trouble if he got the flu, but the sharp angles of him had smoothed out into more rounded planes of muscle and Hob found himself staring blankly at the man’s arms at inopportune moments. Like now, as he was reaching up to straighten a framed painting on the wall that had actually been slightly crooked.

Still, it was a bit of a delight to see him be stressed in a normal way, for once, about normal things that were worries to everyone; instead of some life altering legal drama or past trauma rearing its ugly head. He was healthier in body and mind, although just as he still could see the outline of Morpheus’s ribs when he stretched too sharply, the hard edges of his traumas and anxieties were still there, beneath the surface. They would both take the little victories, however.

“No amount of frantic pacing is going to make them upload any faster,” Hob said, catching Morpheus on his way by with an arm around his waist.

He hauled him into a rather awkward hug; Morpheus standing and Hob still seated so that his cheek was pressed against his fiance’s stomach, the muscles twitching at being tickled by Hob’s beard.

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” Morpheus said apologetically, running his fingers through Hob’s hair.

“You absolutely did,” Hob replied, enjoying his little respite from marking too much to let the man go yet, “Were you like this the first time you were in school?”

“Oh yes, I was top of my class. Despite spending most of my time at sex clubs, I had high marks in everything,” he said with a chuckle that Hob could feel rumbling in him more than hear, “I think I’m also the first person to be awarded their degree posthumously and return for round two.”

“I’m reasonably certain those were both brand new sentences,” Hob said, craning his head back to look up at Morpheus’s cheeky grin without letting him go.

“Yes, I do that quite a lot really, author and all.”

“You’re a menace,” Hob lovingly replied, then heaved a sigh before letting him go.

Morpheus remained close, resting a hand on Hob’s shoulder. “You should take a break.”

“There’s not time! I did this to myself, and now I need to reap what I’ve sown,” Hob said, running his hands through his hair as if that would help his focus more than it had the past dozen times he tried it.

“No, I did this to you,” Morpheus replied in a pointed tone, “If I hadn’t needed your support, you’d have been at your current point days ago; let me help.”

“No, you’re a bloody student.”

“Not yours, unless you want to play pretend,” Morpheus said, pulling one of the unused chairs out with his foot and rather unceremoniously plopping into it, “Which you are rather a bore about, frankly. You finish the essays, give me the exams and key.”

He made an imperious gesture and Hob, exhausted, only hesitated a moment before handing him his test key and a stack of papers. Morpheus sat with one leg folded under him and the other foot somehow on the table in what could not possibly have been a comfortable position, and they worked in companionable silence until Hob’s phone rang. Morpheus pulled a face.

“Why do you allow that thing to make noise in my presence?”

“Some of us actually want to hear from people, love,” Hob replied, but he silenced it without answering, “I recognise the number.”

“Oh?”

“It’s that reporter from the Guardian,” Hob said, shrugging, “Wants my statement on your legal shite.”

“A charming technical term,” Morpheus muttered absentmindedly, attention still focused on the essays.

It was a delight to have his help and the sort of deliciously domestic moment that Hob had become more and more accustomed to of late. In the two months since their engagement, Morpheus had been putting a significant amount of effort into finding what he said was a feeling of equality in their relationship - which mostly meant pushing through his initial urge to be a fainting victorian maiden in Hob’s presence and instead pull his weight, on occasion, after realising he could very much have all the love and comfort he wanted without needing it. Whatever emotional high they were still riding since the premier had done them both good, but now with the end of term at hand they would have to start doing all manner of things they had been studiously putting off - like interviews, wedding planning, and a slew of pending appointments for Morpheus’s next book’s promotion as well as his legal matters.

They had mutually agreed, without really saying anything, to not ruin their good days with the bad things to come and left the Alex Burgess affair unmentioned and Morpheus’s father’s increasingly incensed attempts at getting more than polite replies about their family investments.

Between the two of them, they managed to finish the piles of marking before midnight - but only just. In the end, Hob had Morpheus inputting all the requisite scores into the computer while he annotated the remainder of the essay exams. Just under the wire, as it were. Morpheus clicked the laptop shut and grinned at him from across the table.

“Now I do mean to distract you,” he said, leaning back in his chair and giving Hob a slow once-over, to which Hob just sighed exhaustedly.

Morpheus snickered. “Oh ye of little faith. I was thinking of a hot shower and a good night’s sleep; I can wait until morning to be rewarded for my assistance.”

“Can you?” Hob asked rhetorically, “Your grades should be up too, love. Unless your lecturers are worse than me.”

“They have no excuse as I doubt they lost three days of their marking period to their partner’s mental health,” he replied snidely, but he did get up slowly like it was an abject chore to return to the sofa and open his computer again.

“I did no such thing,” Hob said reassuringly, “I work well while doing double duty as a pillow.”

He considered the papers and stapled-together essays that covered the table for a moment before quickly deciding they were tomorrow-Hob’s problem. For now he would be better served by putting the whole eventful term behind him and enjoying some much-needed rest before the ill-placed academic conference taking place the following weekend.

Morpheus managed somehow to take up the vast majority of the sofa with his sprawl, leaving Hob little choice but to physically move him, take his seat, and then be immediately subjected to said sprawl overtaking him again. He was aggressively refreshing the student portal, laptop tilted up with one hand as he wasn’t sitting up enough to see it otherwise. Eventually he made a soft noise of surprise, shut the computer, and blindly reached for the coffee table. Hob took it from him and put it down safely.

“That’s it, after all that drama, all I get is a ‘hmmm’?” Hob asked incredulously.

Morpheus shrugged and rolled over on his side, scooting a bit closer so he could wrap his arms around Hob’s waist and press his face into his side.

“Top marks, there is little to say for it,” he murmured in reply, “I only took three classes, if my performance was less than that it would have been cause for concern.”

“Morpheus,” Hob said, sternly enough for the other man to look up at him, “You started the term late, after a stressful time, had your setback with arbitration, were attending that outpatient thing every morning, the premier… Not to mention you’re working on your next book. That you managed to do it at all, much less well, would be impressive for anyone.”

Morpheus made a derisive noise at that. “You also endured all those things, new book included, and taught twice as many classes as I attended,” he replied, “So forgive me if I remain unimpressed with myself. I did what I set out to do, next term I will do more, and better.”

“Fine,” Hob said, deciding to let the matter drop for now; he was exhausted and had read so many essays in the last twenty-four hours that his eyes ached. “About that hot shower and bed?”

Morpheus was more than happy to oblige him; happily entwining Hob in his arms under the hot water and rubbing his back with gentle hands until some of the tension began to drain out of him. They curled up in bed just about the time the pub below was closing for the night, the faint music ended and distant voices silenced, which would ensure Morpheus slept well. They had found, in the last couple of months, that if they were staying at Hob’s flat it was best to stay up until close so the noise from below didn’t filter in and haunt his lover’s dreams.

The next week they would spend at Morpheus’s home, however; since Hob had no need to be near the university on a daily basis - what department meetings and staff training that trailed after the semester were at least mostly scheduled for the afternoon. It was as if they knew precisely how exhausted everyone was.

Hob awoke to find Morpheus already awake, propped up on one elbow beside him where he had clearly just been lounging and watching Hob sleep. Upon seeing his eyes open, he immediately leaned over and kissed him slowly and sweetly.

“You certainly needed your rest.”

Hob groaned and closed his eyes again. “No shit. What time is it?”

“Nearly noon,” Morpheus replied, lying back down half atop him now that such an action wouldn’t wake him, “Not to worry, our reservation is not until six.”

Hob had completely forgotten about their dinner plans because it was Morpheus who had made them, for once. Not as if they had any sort of regularity to their plans; outside of mandatory events for Morpheus’s press tour, Hob could count on one hand the amount of times they’d gone out anywhere other than the New Inn, and have fingers left over. After news of their engagement hit the media, a matter which still made Hob cringe a little, they had both been inundated by requests for a statement, and myriad offers which Hob found baffling and Morpheus sifted through with a posh detachment as if it were expected and yet somehow still not good enough for him.

A lot of them were about wedding resources; venues, caterers, obscure yet beautiful tourist destinations offering them a free honeymoon for publicity. Some were more to Morpheus’s tastes; clothing brands and designers offering him garments to wear and be seen, which he often gladly took, and sometimes even did his due diligence of wearing them to a book signing or even a walk in the park just to say that he had. The amount of restaurants so high-end that Hob had never even heard of them that offered comped meals in exchange for their very presence was baffling. Most of those were refused, as the combination of eating and the public were not two of Morpheus’s favourite things, but he had accepted one that had made it very clear that they were willing to accommodate any request - they likely meant dietary, as it had somehow made its way to the internet that he was vegan, which Hob assumed had something to do with the celebrity-watchers who now lurked all too often at the New Inn - but as it turned out they also were willing to accept Jessamy.

Morpheus had accepted the offer for the weekend after marking period was over as a celebration both of them having mutually survived the term, but also for their engagement which Morpheus seemed to have a smidge of regret about not announcing properly. Not regret for the photo, his reaction to that coming up in conversation was a mix between blushing and juvenile snickering, but for not making a grander show of things. His initial insistence that everything could be small and private and that he didn’t have enough friends for a big wedding had quickly diverged into considering a literal fairytale wedding in his home country over the summer - including not only a castle venue but also a private plane to ferry all their friends from England in for a weekend.

Hob had taken to just nodding his agreement, assumed Morpheus would tell him when they were leaving, what day had been chosen, and anything else he needed to know. It wasn’t that he was disinterested, far from it, but a day after discussing how the summer gardens of his family’s castle would be just perfect, Morpheus would have flipped back to having it done legally here in London and never stepping foot in his ancestral home again. Hob had a feeling it had something to do with long talks, in German, with Lucienne where he heard the word ‘father’ come up all too often.

In any case, Hob was not about to say no to a fancy evening out with his fiance - even if googling the restaurant made him flinch, again, at the fact that their only real dates so far that were only dates and not embroiled in anything else were a relatively low-end restaurant of his choosing, and the campus coffee shop followed by walks in the park. Morpheus said he didn’t mind any time Hob broached the subject and Hob truly did believe him, but there was an nagging, insistent voice in the back of his mind telling him it wasn’t good enough. Not that he wasn’t good enough, per se, but that what he had to offer wasn’t. The logical side of him said that was preposterous; Morpheus had more than enough of his own money and if he wanted to go somewhere fancy, they would.

“Plenty of time for a nap then,” Hob said, not at all ready to move yet.

Morpheus laughed softly and tilted his head up to look at him. “For you, perhaps. I will go home, I think,” he replied, “My outfit for tonight was delivered, Dee has it, and I haven’t seen her in over a week.”

“Tell her I said hi,” Hob murmured, “I’ll be over by four.”

“You best be; I need to make you pretty too,” Morpheus said, then leaned down to kiss him again softly before he climbed out of bed to dress and leave.

Hob was swift to fall back to sleep in absence, but by half three he was already letting himself in to the home he shared with Morpheus now more often than not - to be greeted immediately by Jessamy’s happy squawking of the call she’d assigned him months ago. She hopped along the back of the sofa to come as close to the entryway as possible without having to hop down and walk or try to bridge the distance on the wing. Morpheus ensured she flew daily, whether gliding down from the loft or being tossed in the air for a little aid in lift-off to fetch treats in high places, but despite his best efforts she would forever struggle with gaining altitude by herself. Hob approached her and crouched down so she could hop onto his shoulder.

Her noise had alerted Morpheus who learned over the loft bannister, smiling down at him. “She hasn’t said anything all afternoon,” he said as he trotted down the stairs to greet Hob with enthusiasm that belied the fact it had been only a few hours since they’d parted ways.

“You seem in good spirits,” Hob chuckled after Morpheus let him go, “Good news?”

Morpheus shrugged. “I suppose. I was discussing wedding matters with Dee, she and mum are close…. Closer than I am, at least, so she’s working on some arrangements for me,” he said, reluctantly releasing Hob and going to flop on the sofa instead, “How do you feel about the second-to-last Saturday in August?”

“I feel like that’s too soon to book everything; wedding stuff is usually a year or two out,” Hob replied, following him, then upon being glared at added, “You know I’d marry you anytime, anywhere, so if you can make it happen; make it happen. Just confirm that date so I can tell people.”

“You’re correct; but we have both the venue and the food on site and we have truly endless amounts of companies clamouring to provide everything else,” Morpheus said, “We would go ahead as soon as you’re finished with your work responsibilities and do most of the planning from there, so… a couple weeks?”

It was a question that wasn’t really a question; his fiancé would not be travelling alone especially into the lion’s den that was his family home. Hob rolled his eyes but any exasperation was good-natured. His summer plans involved working on his book which he could do from anywhere that had both wifi and electricity.

“Yeah, sure. I just… your father is still fucking threatening you, why do you want to put yourself through this?” Hob asked softly, “You don’t have to hold to any tradition if you don’t want to.”

“That’s just the thing,” Morpheus said, raising his head slightly to meet Hob’s eyes, “I do want to, sort of, I… I dreamed of getting married, as a child, and I suppose the fact that there was only ever a wedding and never a bride in these imaginings should have been a bit of a clue, but I was an idiot, so it wasn’t.”

“Not an idiot, comp-het will get you like that,” Hob said, “I assume daddy dearest didn’t instil in you any other possibilities.”

“No, no he did not,” Morpheus said with a wry smile, “And that’s half the point, really. I am, I think, the first person of my status and peerage to openly flaunt my sexuality, much less marry accordingly. It’s about making a point, I guess. Not merely to my family but other people like me who grew up without knowing it was possible, and to myself, after a fashion. If we marry privately there will always be a spectre over us questioning why; was it to accommodate my issues, or bowing to class expectations? I would not have that. You also deserve more than that.”

“You know I’m happy with whatever you choose,” Hob began, “But I would like to celebrate properly, especially if it makes you happy. I did the small sneaky wedding once and it’ll always be meaningful to me, but El and I didn’t really have anyone to share our happiness with, just us against the world. I have friends now, friends I consider like family who already consider you family whether you realise it or not; I’d have them celebrate with us.”
“August nineteenth, then,” Morpheus replied, and he was smiling even though he was no longer looking at Hob and had gone back to his rather boneless posture, looking up at the skylights. “My father will simply have to deal with a gay wedding happening in his backyard. With the amount of high profile guests who will need to be invited, he’ll have a hard time acting on his opinions.”

“I’m not above tripping an old man down the stairs,” Hob said simply, “If he deserves it.”

Morpheus snickered. “He’ll behave well enough when we’re there, hopefully. I think he’s hard pressed to decide whether he dislikes your working class background or your gender more,” he replied as he fished his phone out of his pocket and held it above his face.

“Telling him the good news?”

“God no, letting Dee know the date is good so she can sort the invitations. It’s a bit soon, but the posh guests will cancel any plans for the event of the season,” Morpheus murmured absentmindedly, most of his attention taken by his conversation with Dee.

“You make it sound like bloody Bridgerton,” Hob groused, but even as he said it he had the somewhat uncomfortable realisation that he was hardly off the mark with that comparison - class politics and court intrigue included.

They discussed a bit more wedding minutiae, and Hob made a group chat with his friends to give them something of a heads up on the matter. The chosen date was cutting it rather close to the start of term for those who were also academics, but at least some of that was mitigated by the offer of a private flight to ferry them back and forth as needed.

Something about Morpheus seemed lighter now, as if stating even a little regarding his complex feelings about his home and family, as they pertained to the wedding, was a weight off his mind. Hob couldn’t relate; his family had always been small and accepting enough and they expected very little of him besides being gainfully employed and not getting in trouble with the law. The strange push and pull of love and hate with people who had clearly hurt him, even if they hadn’t meant to, was something he understood only from media and a few self-help books he’d turned to back in the day. A part of Morpheus still clearly wanted their approval even if his logical side knew he was increasingly unlikely to receive it - the wedding was equal parts bowing to tradition and a middle finger to the whole lot of them. Which, he had to admit, was decently on brand.

As usual when they went out somewhere posh, Morpheus had picked an outfit for him. This time just a slim-cut charcoal grey suit with a burgundy shirt that had the sort of low stand collar that made it somewhat more casual and meant to be worn without a tie. He was learning things, slowly and, while he was entirely certain he could dress himself to his fiancé’s standards, it seemed to make Morpheus happy to dress Hob up - and show him off, but that was his words on the matter.

Morpheus emerged from the bathroom a while later having combed his hair for once and there was something sleek and sharp about him when he did so, accented well by a hint of dark eye makeup. He wore a long wrapped coat over slim grey trousers and slightly heeled boots, the coat cinched tightly at the waist and parted over the sternum in a way that made Hob reasonably certain it was meant to be a dress rather than outerwear.

“Very princess Kate having a goth phase,” he said teasingly, to which Morpheus gave a derisive snort in response.

“Please, don’t insult me; I find that comparison to be cruel and unusual punishment,” he retorted, “Besides, it shows off my necklace and that was most of the point.”

His ruby necklace was the only spot of colour on a triangle of pale skin framed neatly by the lapels of the coat, and was a fair enough match for Hob’s shirt. He was reasonably certain that Morpheus hadn’t actually taken the necklace off since Christmas morning whether it went with his outfit or not, and now he was intentionally choosing them to suit.

“You know you can wear other jewellery, I won’t be offended,” Hob said, settling his hands on his fiancé’s waist before leaning in to kiss him. Morpheus was always beautiful, but there was something especially so about this cold, sleek, public persona that never ceased to do it for him. Maybe it was just the dichotomy between regal fashionista and the man who had bought black throw blankets purely to not be forced into colour when he wore them about the chilly house like a cape.

“This may shock you, but I don’t have any,” Morpheus replied with a laugh, “Nor do I want any, unless something else catches your eye for me. I rarely even wear earrings because Jessamy can’t help herself.”

“Oh yes, our chaperone. I gave her supper,” Hob commented, “I’m sure she’ll think it’s all about her.”

“It is,” Morpheus said as he slipped out of Hob’s grasp to go fetch her, “Did you really think I was showing you off to London’s posh wankers?”

Hob rolled his eyes even though Morpheus certainly wouldn’t see him as he was too busy cooing over Jessamy.

The restaurant felt painfully expensive and Hob had the distinct feeling that if he touched anything it would break and he’d suddenly be on the hook for an astronomical bill greater than his yearly salary. They garnered no shortage of looks as they were led through the restaurant on what he surmised was a rather circuitous route; after all, what was the point of snagging the most exclusive of reclusive patrons if you didn’t get your money’s worth trotting them around?

They were given a table on the second floor, which was something of a balcony that wrapped around the open room below and looked down onto patrons and the dining room’s centrepiece; a sort of modern glass sculpture that glittered even in the dim lighting. The result was that they were both on display to anyone who deigned to look up, but no one was seated within earshot so long as they kept their voices low. Jessamy was wearing her harness and lead but hopped happily to the edge of the short glass balustrade, and Hob wondered if she’d try to glide down like she did from the loft at home. She wouldn’t get far of course, about a metre before bouncing back, but it would probably be hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” Morpheus asked, and Hob had to explain the very Looney Tunes-esque mental image he’d had of the raven taking a swan dive cut short. Thankfully he laughed instead of taking offence on Jessamy’s behalf - he was in a genial mood with the end of term and a month of free time between them and having to leave for Lichtenstein, but that alone didn’t quite explain it.

Morpheus chose a bottle of champagne for them and once they had been served, Hob raised his glass and asked; “What exactly are we celebrating?”

“End of term, my continued survival,” Morpheus replied, holding up his flute of champagne, then pointedly added, “Our engagement.”

“Yes, well, I think those go without saying,” Hob said with a grin, “I celebrate my beautiful fiancé on a daily basis.”

“Flattery.”

“It gets me everywhere.”

That won him an amused huff and Morpheus reached across the table to clink their glasses together. After sipping in companionable silence for a bit, Morpheus reached over to pet Jessamy’s head, scratching gently at her white ruff until she croaked joyfully. He was soothing himself, for… something.

“I did not tell you what had me out of sorts during marking period,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower despite the privacy of their location, “I had a meeting with my family’s legal team, about the hearing. It was a lot to bear and I… it need not be repeated. Despite my worry on the matter, it is good news, after a fashion. His hearing has been delayed for a further six months.”

Whenever possible he avoided uttering the name Burgess or even Alex out loud, which was understandable from Hob’s point of view, if not perhaps entirely healthy. There were a lot of people named Alex out there and he was bound to run into a few eventually. The delay came as a relief though; he couldn’t imagine having to deal with this accelerated wedding planning, Morpheus’s family, his own research project, and the stress and fallout of that. A stay of execution as it were, though sadly not Alex’s. Really it was only kicking the problem down the road but it was something; every additional day, week, or month that Morpheus had with his increased support system meant it would be less traumatic.

All things considered; he had taken the arbitration meeting immensely well - even if Morpheus hadn’t thought so. Unfortunately, the changed date meant it would hit again in the middle of a term when they would now both be entrenched in classes, albeit in different ways. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Their waiter approached for their orders, so Hob held his response until the man walked away again.

“Still a bit of a sword of Damocles there, but it’s good. We don’t need that along with the wedding,” he said, sounding as relieved as he felt, despite his worries for the future, “Any word on whether you’ll have to actually attend?”

Morpheus just shrugged, then sipped at his champagne again before replying. “I don’t know, maybe. One positive is that we will be married by then and I will be able to bring you with for support, presuming you’re willing.”

Hob levelled him with an incredulous stare. “If I’m willing. No, I’m going to throw you to the wolves on your lonesome,” he dryly replied, “Of course I’ll be there, anywhere you need me.”

“Hmm, yes, I assumed so but perhaps I like to hear you say it,” Morpheus murmured, “My knight in shining armour.”

“Oh, does your title retain the ability to actually knight people?”

Morpheus grinned against the rim of his glass, still reluctant to show his mirth in public. “My father can, I think, but respective to our lands and rights, not titled to the country as a whole - you need the ruling family for that,” he explained after a moment’s thought, “I don’t believe it’s ever come up.”

“Well, that’s not happening; he hates my guts,” Hob replied, “But I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

“When time finally puts him in the ground?”

“...Jesus, I wasn’t going to say it like that,” Hob said with a chuckle, “But sure, yes.”

“Pour me another, will you please?” Morpheus asked, pushing his champagne flute toward Hob and the chilled bottle that remained between them on the side of the table. Then he added, “I don’t doubt we can speed up the process depending upon how explicitly we kiss at the altar.”

Hob definitely went a little red at that, he could feel it, and he’d only had half a flute of champagne so he couldn’t even blame the warmth of alcohol. Mostly it brought to mind their rather unfortunate, if still hilarious, engagement announcement. If Morpheus and Dee were to be believed, that had nearly been enough to do the old man in.

Supper was an absolute delight. Morpheus ordered a second bottle of wine, a deep earthy red to compliment their meal, and they stayed slowly sipping it and picking at sumptuous desserts for hours. If the restaurant had wanted exposure, they were certainly getting their money’s worth. Perhaps they would come back here, if they could be guaranteed this sort of private table where they were far enough from others for Morpheus to feel alright being himself. It felt good, strangely normal outside of it being possibly the poshest place Hob had ever been, and he certainly could get used to this.

Their first date out had been similar and it was even more evident now how much the man longed to go out and do things that no one else would deem special, or difficult, but presented a struggle for him. The next day would no doubt be filled with silence and an unwillingness to leave the house, but it was worth it - he’d be fine again by the time Hob left for his conference the next weekend.

Morpheus was more than a little drunk, having had the lion’s share of the wine, and was smiling slightly at Hob with his chin rested on one hand, avidly listening. He was very good at leading questions and Hob had long since shed any concerns about boring him with his research; if he did, his love would say so, but he only cut in to ask a clarifying question before returning to nodding slightly. Whether he retained the information was anyone’s guess, but Hob was more than happy for the willing audience.

They left near to close, and if Morpheus leaned a bit more heavily on Hob’s arm than was strictly necessary, well - he was certainly not one to complain.

Chapter Text

Their next week spent at Morpheus’s home was interrupted only by Hob’s post-term faculty meetings and Morpheus’s own appointments, which Hob accompanied him to more often than not, even if only to sit in the waiting room. It was easier somehow to speak his mind clearly when he knew that, should he stray too far, Hob was a room away to comfort him. His therapist surely had some choice thoughts on the matter but kept them mostly to herself as she too saw the difference it made and seemed to deem it helpful in the short term, if perhaps less so objectively Besides, it was their couples therapist whose job it was to address their codependency, not Dr. Heron’s.

Thursday, however, saw him getting nervous and he had realised how fast his heart was racing until Jessamy was squawking and pecking furiously at his hand. Hob was leaving tomorrow morning for his conference in Manchester and Morpheus was doing his best not to be so obviously distraught about it. Hob had enough to worry about it, as he was currently annotating his presentation and making some last minute adjustments that likely weren’t needed. Far be it from him to judge, however - he had been known to make tweaks to his books in the last hours before sending them off to his editor even with the knowledge that there would be another chance, once it had been read through. That was what he should be doing now, in fact, rather than leaning on the loft balustrade watching Hob nervously run his hands through his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. Part of him dearly longed to go plant himself in Hob’s lap and kiss the worry away, but the rest of him realised distracting him now would only make it worse. They’d have a proper goodbye later, in any case, and that would have to tide him over.

For all that they spent time apart since they had begun their relationship, it was never far. Even after the gala when Morpheus had dropped off the face of the earth for a time, as he was wont to do on occasion, it had been with the knowledge that Hob was less than an hour’s drive or a phone call away at any given time. Now he would be several hours by train and completely beyond his reach.

“Morpheus, are you in there?”

He blinked confusedly, realising first that Hob was up beside him in the loft and secondly that it was growing dark outside when it certainly hadn’t been moments before. Hours before, apparently, although how he had lost them he didn’t quite know. Normally the vivid, dream-like fantasies he lost himself in were still present in his mind’s eye when he pulled out of them and losing time to nothingness wasn’t quite so sudden - or maybe it was, how would he know. Morpheus took a deep breath and nodded tiredly.

“I apologise, I was thinking,” he replied, knowing full well he had been doing nothing of the sort. Quite the opposite, in fact, but Hob did not need to worry - he needed to go and enjoy presenting at his conference to get the accolades he bloody well deserved.

“First time for everything,” Hob said as he wrapped his arms around Morpheus from behind, “You alright, my darling Dream?”

“Couching the forbidden question in both an insult and an endearment does not change its nature,” he replied sullenly, gratified by both the feel and sound of Hob laughing softly as he held him.

“I’ll take it as a yes then,” Hob said, pressing a kiss to Morpheus’s cheekbone, “I can hear you worrying from across the room, you know.”

“Doubtless, yes.”

“You know I’m going to keep my phone on, silent but on, and I’ll check after every panel,” he assured him, and the sweetness of it almost was enough that Morpheus did not rankle at its necessity. Almost. “And I’ll call you every night. If I need to, I’ll take the sunday night train.”

“No, you’ll stay and have fun with your colleagues after,” Morpheus said sharply, turning in Hob’s embrace to face him, “Promise me.”

“No can do, love. If you need me, I’m coming home,” Hob replied, “Simple as that.”

“Fine,” Morpheus relented, “Yet I aspire not to need you, in this only.”

“You have Jessamy and Dee, I’m leaving you in good company.”

“Indeed, and I survived many years before your arrival,” he said, tilting his head back to meet Hob’s eyes as he had tucked himself tightly against the other man’s body, “It speaks ill of me if I cannot manage a weekend.”

“You survived, now you thrive, there’s an important and not so subtle difference,” Hob said pointedly “It’s okay to be concerned.”

“I don’t require your permission.”

“Very well, my lord, then I won’t give it,” Hob replied, rolling his eyes.

“Hm, finally the respect I deserve. For my first decree; I want you to say goodbye to me properly,” Morpheus said haughtily, looking down his nose at Hob, “So that I can still feel it by the time you return.”

Hob’s startled expression every time their normal teasing took a sudden turn never ceased to please him. The outward look of his brain short-circuiting with sudden lust was gratifying in a way Morpheus could not quite put words to; he knew he was beautiful, or at least eye-catching, but knowing and acting upon that and truly believing it when he saw himself were two entirely different things. It was easier to believe that his lover, his wonderful fiancé, found him irresistible, and that would have to be enough.

He settled for Hob’s much gentler idea of a fond farewell in the end, although gladly took the concession of a rather vicious love bite on his inner thigh that he could still feel now the morning after as he flexed his muscles and stretched. Finding no one beside him when he stretched out his arms was a disappointment, but an expected one. Hob’s train had been very early and he knew better than to wake Morpheus from what restful sleep he managed to have.

On the nightstand was a folded piece of paper, standing up like a little tent, with a heart drawn on the front. He smiled with the fond remembrance of their first very odd little dinner date here, and how Hob had left him a note of reassurance. With a sigh he rolled over and reached for it, not knowing what to expect now that they were all that they had become. 

Inside were a few lines of poetry which Morpheus vaguely recognised as Whitman, one of Hob’s favourites, and a declaration that he had not, in fact, broken his promise to kiss Morpheus goodbye - he had simply not woken up for it, and Hob also considered all of last night to count. Morpheus chuckled to himself at that and, when he finally hauled himself up to get dressed for the day, slipped the note into his back jeans pocket out of a sentimentality he would prefer not to think about.

The one positive of being alone with his thoughts for a long weekend was he could get some work done. Hob’s presence was always welcome and wanted but unless he too was working, he was an overwhelming distraction - mitigated sometimes by Morpheus lying across his lap on the sofa while he worked. It was a toss up whether that would help or hinder concentration. Either way, it had been quite a while since he’d gone on what Lucienne termed a ‘creative bender’ and while a steady pace was eminently more healthy, sometimes getting lost in rhythm of creating was a balm to his frazzled nerves. There was an impending deadline for the next instalment of his series and he had said yes without question to illustrating new covers for a special edition set, as if he would have time for such things over the summer with all the planning he had to do.

First things first he saw to Jessamy and her breakfast, then his own and logged it into the blasted accountability app he’d been pressured into downloading, before getting out his art supplies - and a bottle of wine, as it was well after noon and that was more than reasonable. He didn’t plan on leaving the building over the weekend, so there would be no need for his medication.

He took to painting first which was a newer medium to him since he had taken a class the previous term, normally he sketched with pencil and charcoal, but he found it suited - the bright splashes of colour gave a sense of movement to his ideas. That he found he could create the impression of his subject working with his damaged hand and call it a stylistic choice had further inspired him and, for once, he wasn’t forcing himself to work with his off-hand. ‘Great promise’ was what his lecturer had said, baffled upon being told he had never touched paint as an adult. Now the backroom that previously had held only workout machines and laundry held a great store of stretched canvases, most awaiting his attention to be dragged out into the natural light of the great room but a few drying away from the possibility of a bird landing on them.

His home had been designed with first security in mind, then open air, then light. The tall windows on both sides of the lofted room and the skylights above provided perfect illumination for his work. It had never occurred to him during the retrofit but now it seemed very much meant to be; maybe a deep part of him had held this goal longer than he thought of it consciously.

Morpheus painted until he lost the light and instead of continuing under the artificial glow, merely laid down on the sofa and looked at the three easels set next to each other, holding their canvases that were meant to be both individual covers and one long tableau if seen together. The last was only a vague pencil sketch, the middle a smattering of base colour, but the leftmost piece was very nearly finished and it warmed his heart to look at it and consider how he had created it.

He very nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang and immediately realised, with a smidge of guilt, that he had hardly thought about Hob all day. Although, he had hardly thought of anything, really - he was nearly as lost in his own thoughts when drawing, or now painting, as he was when he needed the comfort of his mind to shield him from the world.

Fumbling, he knocked the phone from the coffee table to the floor before managing to grab onto it, realising that his overzealous feelings about painting with his left hand might have done him a bit ill, and finally answered. Of course it was a video call and he probably looked like death warmed over, but Hob had seen far worse - and he was already grinning when the call connected. It looked like he was on a hotel room balcony despite the still chilly spring weather. 

“Hey love, I know it’s early but I’m going out for drinks with some friends, didn’t want to leave you hanging,” he said.

“Ah yes, stuffy academics; well known for their wild partying,” Morpheus replied, rolling back over and holding the phone up above him, “You can wow them with your rant about first generation typefaces.”

“Whoa, hey, you said it was interesting!”

“You are interesting, the typefaces less so,” Morpheus corrected, “....But a bit, yes, though my opinions run only to the concept that old books are pretty.”

“Then I’ll spare you the details of anything that happened today,” Hob said with a grin, “Is that… were you painting or is this some sort of high fashion thing I’m too plebeian to understand?”

“What?”

Hob gestured to his own face and Morpheus wiped at his cheek only for his hand to come away with blue and purple smears. Ah, that would give him away.

“The cover art, for the special editions,” he explained, then sighed dramatically, “I should have been writing, but instead I spent all day on them.”

“You’re creating and that’s what’s important, doesn't matter what it is. I gotta go, I’ll text you when I get in though, yeah?” Hob said, glancing over his shoulder back inside the building, “I can’t wait to see them when I get home. Love you.”

Morpheus dropped the phone on the couch behind him and sighed contentedly. He felt…. Normal, for a given sense of the word, not that he really knew what normal was, but this was close, he thought. The desperation for Hob to come home was tempered now by a slight buzz from the wine he’d been sipping all afternoon while he worked, and the heady feeling of having made something. That he was used to from his writing, but it was different with art - which was why he had always sketched out any scenes that were giving him trouble, to work his way through them. The loft seemed much too far away to bother with, so he remained on the sofa with his gaze resting on his painting until he fell asleep.

Waking up mildly hungover on the sofa in yesterday’s clothes did rather inspire him to get his shit together, as it were. He didn’t feel like making tea, or coffee, and weighed the relative virtues of doing so against the horrors of going outside down to the corner coffee shop and paying someone to make him a better coffee for free. The notion that both Hob and his therapist would be proud of him for taking the initiative was the eventual deciding point - at least one of them would ask for an accounting of his weekend and while he thought doing nothing social, never properly dressing, and hyperfocusing on his work were all valid uses of his time, he was alone in that mindset.

Today’s weather was leaning a bit toward too warm for the peacoat he threw on over his jeans and t-shirt, but it was a short walk. Jessamy stayed behind as she had been quite happily vocalising to herself and carrying bits of shiny tat from one hiding place to another, and he hadn’t the heart to bother her. This was a trip he had made alone many times when even the spacious high walls of his home seemed to be closing in a bit.

Saturday found the shop busier than he would like and Morpheus felt rather out of place amongst those in line who either chattered to their friends or were focused, scrolling on their phones while he simply stood waiting. Surely he stood out as he always did, but no one seemed to pay him any mind. The barista grinned at him and repeated his usual order before he even needed to say it, so he just nodded slightly and smiled in turn before tapping his card to pay.

Once, years past, when doing this was a monumental effort rather than an inconvenience couched in a hidden hope for socialisation, she’d asked his name for his cup and clearly misheard over the hubbub. Now it was far too late to correct her and he was committed to being Murphy for however long she worked the establishment.

As he was slipping between patrons to the counter for his drink, he felt a hand clasp onto his arm and pulled away with a start.

“Lord Aeternus?” a smartly dressed young woman said, it was hardly a question.

Morpheus clutched his takeaway coffee in both hands and levelled his best glare at her. 

“I believe you are mistaken, pardon me,” he said sharply, brushing past her with all due haste only to be snagged by her grabbing the sleeve of his jacket when he was too swift for her to catch his arm.

The way his heart leapt in his chest even though she released it immediately had him panicking, his hands shaking. She wasn’t a fan, couldn’t be, anyone who professed to like him knew all too well he didn’t wish to be touched, even if only his clothes. That left… he didn’t know what, but nothing good. He was frozen, alone in a crowded room where the noise of chattering shopgoers faded into a ringing in his ears that crescendoed quickly only to be broken by her voice. She was trying to hand him something, an envelope, fairly shoving it at his chest.

“I represent the estate of—”

“Have you followed me?” he asked, aiming for stern but it came out breathless and wan even to his own ears. “Are you…”

She said something else he didn’t hear, what it was she was serving him papers for perhaps, but he was already pushing past her and out the door before he broke into a run, his coffee slipping out of his shaking grasp to splatter on the pavement in his wake. If she was following him, she wasn’t doing so at speed and there was no one in sight on his side of the block when he made it back home and let himself inside. The heavy metallic clack of the automatic lock slipping into place was a balm to his frazzled senses as Morpheus slumped to the floor, leaning back against the security door. 

In the silence of his personal sanctuary, the only noise was his own laboured breathing as he tried to calm it down, holding each breath on the inhale as long as he could before his body forced the exhale. He rubbed at his chest as if that could somehow stop his heart from racing. Not here, not now, not when there was no one else to bring him out of it. Where was his phone? Somewhere… over there, in the living area, and his meds were even further.

Morpheus sat for what felt like hours until his vision no longer tunnelled when he tried to stand and his fingers had stopped shaking enough to be able to untie his boots. They were left where they fell when he kicked them off and his coat too, piled on the floor for a future self whose nerves weren’t so ragged. The sun was high in the sky, listing towards the west. Perhaps it had been hours. There was some good light left, at least.

He was so tempted to call Hob but hesitated to pick up the phone; his love was giving some sort of talk this afternoon and the very last thing he wanted to do was interrupt it. He should call Lucienne, tell her someone had tried to serve him legal papers in person, but neither did he want to relieve the cold, pathetic feeling of terror at being grabbed at in public. She was not him, his coffee house was not that club, and they were miles and years away and yet still. Still the mere action of it nauseated him, or perhaps that was hunger.

There was only one thing for it, in the end. His work was waiting, his world was waiting - a place where nothing bad ever happened unless its evil was vanquished in the end…. Nothing bad to him, at least, his characters may feel otherwise. His hands were shaky at first until he found the rhythm of his movements, picking up on the still-wet canvas from the  night before and feeling a sort of zen fall over him. He stopped when the light began to change its angle in a less than fortuitous manner with the evening sun, but only long enough to see to Jessamy, turn on the lights, and open a twin to the wine he had started yesterday and then accidentally left out overnight on the counter. It was probably still good, but this one was chilled and fresh.

Nothing broke his concentration until it was well and truly dark outside. Forcing away his thoughts and the shadow of the past was the only thing he found himself to be truly good at; that he was productive while doing so was a mere byproduct. He stared at the canvas, blinking, not knowing quite what had alerted him until the chime for the door camera rang again and he flinched.

He wasn’t expecting anyone; Lucienne called ahead, Dee would simply let herself in and she was off tonight. That was the extent of it, really. David knew where he lived but he couldn’t imagine the man being the type to try and intrude. Morpheus set his paintbrush down in a cup of solvent and wandered to the door, stumbling a little at the point where the higher kitchen and dining area stepped down into the living area. The camera chimed again before he made it to the little screen beside the door. It wasn’t the ring of someone trying to buzz him for attention but just the chime that came when anyone lingered particularly long outside his door.

It was the same woman, this time joined by two others and they seemed to be arguing with each other. They had been following him, them. Or they knew where he lived, but that was unlikely. He was very private, a business address was used for near everything. The one who had grabbed him leaned closer, having clearly spotted the camera, and said something he couldn’t tell from her lips.

His heart was thundering in his chest again even as he told himself he was safe inside, where no one could get him. Alone. He rubbed his arm where she had grabbed him as if he could feel the ghost of a touch even now, and couldn’t he always?

“Hey, where you going, aren’t you coming back with me?”  

A placating smile, a polite tone. It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary back then, either. 

Why had she fucking touched him?

They still hadn’t gone away, even stymied by the inability to gain entrance to even somewhere they could leave their papers.

He stumbled over his hastily discarded boots in the entryway and nearly fell, cursing under his breath as he hurried away from the door, from them, from the memories assaulting his mind. Thankfully he had the presence of mind to grab his phone before dragging himself up to the loft, to the furthest, highest point away from the door and anyone behind it.

Hob answered immediately, his cheery greeting drowned out by Morpheus’s hasty, confused rambling as he tried to explain what had happened, that nothing had happened, and yet everything had. A lawsuit, clearly, but that was not the point. They had been watching him, following him. How long had they been following him, and who? He’d been at the park the other day while Hob was at therapy, had there been someone in the park watching him? No one knew where he lived, so how could they know. How could they come here and touch him.

Eventually he became aware of Hob’s voice again, stern but soothing as he tried to bring Morpheus’s attention around to something, anything, that wasn’t a stream of consciousness. He was out of breath again, but now at least he was lying down, curled up on Hob’s side of the bed, and he didn’t have to try and get up.

“Good… good that’s better,” Hob said, once it was only the harsh sound of his own breathing for a while, “Can you answer a few questions for me?”

He nodded an answer and only belatedly realised that was worthless in the current situation. “Yes.”

“Are you safe, you’re locked in?”

“Yes.”

“No one hurt you, correct - just brought up…” Hob hesitated on the other end, “The past?”

“They’ve been following me, Hob,” he choked out, followed by another pause.

“I know. I’m gonna call Merv when we’re off the phone,” Hob replied, “And Lucienne. They could serve you through the post, so it’s intimidation however they want to spin it, or… or private investigating, or something. We’ll make it stop. Do you have Jessamy with you?”

“Downstairs.”

“Okay… You’re in bed then? Good,” Hob said with a sigh, “Do you need me to come home?”

Morpheus hesitated in answering. Yes, the answer was undoubtedly yes, but Hob deserved better than that. He took a deep breath that became something more embarrassingly like a sob that likely mitigated the believability of his next words.

“No, no I want you to stay, it’s important,” he replied softly, “I will be fine, I needed to hear your voice.”

“Any time, love. I’m done for the day, so I’ll stay on the line as long as you want,” Hob reassured him, “I’m glad you called, before it got too bad. Did you take your meds? … Morpheus?”

He sighed heavily and rolled onto his back. He had taken some earlier before he started painting, but even now his hands shook too badly to hold the phone - he’d merely left it beside him on speaker.

“What you have me carry is in my bedside table, you don’t need to get up,” Hob continued, “Take your meds, get comfortable, I’ll tell you about my day, alright?”

Morpheus didn’t reply with words but he knew what shuffling noises and the slide of the drawer would be enough to tell the other man what was happening on his end. He counted out two of the little white pills and threw them back without water, for which he would have to get up and that certainly wasn’t happening.

“Would it help to see me?” Hob asked, after waiting a good while for an answer and getting none.

The notification popped up to turn the call to video, and Morpheus leaned the phone against a pillow and hit accept. It was mostly dark now in the loft, but Hob had the lights on in his hotel room to be seen clearly enough and was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, phone resting on his drawn up knees. If anything were enough to calm Morpheus’s racing heart, it would be that smile.

“Hey beautiful,” Hob said, and Morpheus scoffed.

“Lies.”

“Well, mostly I see a shadow so I’m going with what I know,” Hob replied, “Do you want me to text Dee, have her come over?”

Morpheus shook his head before realising Hob likely couldn’t see it. “No, she’s at the hospital. Still doing rounds if they’re short-handed, even though it’s not her job.”

“Yeah, sounds like Dee. I’ll have her come check on you in the morning, how’s that?”

“Fine,” Morpheus sighed softly, feeling a lot more languid all of the sudden. “Tell me about your day.”

That Hob was more than happy to do, and Morpheus listened to his rambling explanation of the talks he had sat in on and interesting questions posed toward other specialties in his field. His heart wasn’t pounding anymore and the cadence of Hob’s voice, long-honed by giving lectures, lulled him quite easily back into a sense of comfort that had been missing for days. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

Chapter Text

Hob talked until Morpheus was well and truly asleep before ending the call later in the night than he probably should have gone to bed, and even then he still had to call Lucienne, straight to voicemail given the hour and he didn’t feel it was urgent enough to keep calling until her emergency settings let him through. Mervyn didn’t answer either, but his number was redirected to the security company where there was always someone up and watching the cameras. They promised to look through all the footage after retrieving the images from the door cam to match up, and handle matters with the police. Serving papers wasn’t the issue, that was legal enough, but finding an unlisted address via stalking was another matter entirely and that they could get the police involved with. Not that Hob had a great deal of faith in the police for a variety of reasons, not least of which being they hadn’t found Morpheus for three bloody years and had declared him dead rather than continuing the search.

By the time he actually got to sleep it was well past two in the morning, but he did text Morpheus a few reassuring details from the security company - including that they would be sending their own men to keep survey the area and watch over him in person - as well as a sappy little message that he deleted and reworded a few times before deciding it didn’t matter, he was a sap, and Morpheus would appreciate the sentiment.

His alarm rang far too early the next day for his sleep-deprived brain, and he had under three hours before he had to give a talk about a paper he had co-authored that had generated some substantial buzz in the field. Over breakfast he texted Morpheus again, still sleeping apparently which was good, and then shot Dee a quick reminder to check in on him once she too was up. Someone needed to drag him out of bed after an episode like that. Part of him wished he’d hopped a train immediately last night so he could do it himself, but Morpheus had insisted again and again before he left that Hob was not to abandon his trip unless Morpheus himself very specifically asked. That was a boundary he did not intend to stomp on; independence was important and it boded pretty well that his fiancé had had the presence of mind even in his panic to tuck himself in bed and make a phone call. It was an improvement, for sure.

Right before going on for his lecture he checked his phone again to find nothing yet, sent Morpheus enough ‘love you’ text for good measure and steeled himself for his panel. His co-author had been unavailable to attend this year so it was an hour and a half all on Hob’s shoulders.

That turned more into two hours, as he got snagged in the entryway by a couple of people he slightly recognised from previous years’ panels who had extended questions that went beyond what was covered by the end of the session. When they eventually parted ways he had a potential lead on an author for his next paper and the reignited feeling that there was such a great deal of information he would never have time to learn even if he lived forever.

He checked his phone on the way to the hotel’s lobby restaurant, but all plans of a quick lunch and an early beer fled immediately upon seeing a half dozen missed calls from and more texts from Dee, a lot of them just empty of substance like she was trying to get his phone to ping enough for him to notice. The sound had been turned off in his bag while he spoke. Immediately he called her back, she picked up before the first ring had even finished.

“Where are you?” she asked immediately.

“Uhm…Manchester, I’m at a conference,” he tentatively replied, “Why, what’s happened? Is Morpheus okay?”

Silence greeted him for a long moment and he heard muffled talking like she’d put the phone in her to silence it rather than muting.

“Sorry,” Dee said when she returned, “Drop whatever you’re doing, go to the airport. By the time you get there the jet will have landed, I’ll text you the flight information.”

He very nearly dropped the phone, his mind suddenly crowded by intrusive thoughts of everything that could possibly have gone wrong. Morpheus hadn’t texted him back, but he’d thought nothing of it.

“Dee,” he said sharply, though his voice wavered, “Is Morpheus okay?”

“Yes, well… He’s still unconscious,” she admitted softly, “I’ll explain what we know when you get here, alright? Get to the airport, father’s jet is on its way now.”

Somehow that was even more horrifying than the prospect of Morpheus in hospital; if his father cared enough to facilitate anything, Hob didn’t want to know how dire the situation was. Yet, he did. The taxi to the airport was both the longest and shortest of his life as his mind spun through the possibilities, coming back again and again to a familiar pain that he had long since stuffed deep down inside in his daily life. He should never have left London, should have noticed that something was off.

The quick flight from Manchester back to a private airfield outside of Heathrow was both the longest and shortest flight of Hob’s life and he remembered precisely none of it, his mind preoccupied with disjointed thoughts that he couldn’t quite grasp and keep ahold of. Dee was waiting in a sleek black car on the airstrip, and he must have looked even worse than he felt because as soon as he slid into the back seat beside her she made a soft, sympathetic noise and hugged him tightly.

“Who’s with him now?” he asked, the first coherent question he could put together.

“Lucienne,” Dee said as she pulled away, “She’s still in charge of his medical decisions, he’s in good hands; he’s at my hospital.”

Hob nodded his understanding of that and turned to look out the window. He’d gotten his initial panic and tears out on the plane, blessedly left alone by the minimal flight crew, now he was left feeling numb and hollow, and rather like he was floating.

“What happened?” he murmured, not turning back to Dee; her soft empathy was too much.

Dee sighed heavily. “I checked on him this morning and he was non-responsive,” she said, hesitating as if there were more to it than that, and likely there was but she didn’t want to shock him any further, “I performed CPR until the ambulance arrived. There’s uhm… security and lockdown measures for that, in his system. They get there fast. He’s stable but hasn’t woken up yet.”

“I talked to him last night… God, maybe, I don’t know twelve hours ago? He was freaked out but fine,” Hob said, voice rising in pitch as he tried to contain the fear welling up within.

“We’ll know more when we get there, they were still running tests,” Dee said reassuringly, “That’s good though, that timeline, he may not have been down for long then depending on when he… took whatever he took.”

That brought Hob up short in his anxiety spiral and he blinked at her rather stupidly for a moment. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Morpheus could have done this to himself, tried to escape whatever danger he felt he was in by any means necessary. His first thought was that it had been his heart; that unexplained something that hurt too much to talk about due to Orpheus’s death. For all that he trusted his fiancé, he knew better than to take any brushed off assurances of being fine at face value - he never dwelled long on any discussion of his physical health, whether that be in regards to food or anything else.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Hob said defensively, cutting Dee off again when it looked like she was about to countermand him, “he didn’t do this to himself.”

Dee’s expression went tight but she just nodded and they rode the rest of the way in silence. Lucienne was talking quietly to a doctor when they came into the room, and they began explaining test results and prognosis once Hob had been introduced as Morpheus’s fiance. He heard very little of it, his attention taken over entirely by the sight of the man he loved looking ghostly pale against the crisp white sheets of a hospital bed. The intrusive idea that Morpheus would hate the fact that he wore a blue hospital gown almost made him laugh, or sob, he wasn’t sure which.

He looked as if he were peacefully sleeping which was far less a comfort than most would take it as. Morpheus was rarely that peaceful; twisting and mewling in his sleep with dreams that he swore he didn’t remember upon waking, but Hob wasn’t so sure. He only approached this level of relaxed if he were tightly wrapped in Hob’s arms, or had taken pills. This was very much the latter then, brought to its ultimate end.

Hob heard some of what was said around him, about the potent mix of drugs and alcohol that suppressed breathing and lowered the heart rate. Now there was line for oxygen beneath his nose but his chest rose and fell steadily enough, albeit shallowly, and the monitors beeped in the slow plodding manner they were meant to, showing the base metrics of human life.

They left him alone, Dee squeezing his shoulder softly and murmuring something; a promise to be back, he thought, but he didn’t really hear it - merely nodded his assent and didn’t move from the chair he had pulled up beside the bed. Carefully, he took Morpheus’s chilled hand in both of his and bowed his head, staring at the floor. Leaving was not an option. He would be here for as long as it took; he would be here when Morpheus woke, but watching him was too much.

Somehow he had avoided hospitals entirely since he’d been released after the accident; he didn’t live a particularly dangerous life and no friends had been in long enough for a visit. The last memories that he had thought long since faded were now pushing to the fore; the cheery bright walls and generic art print on the wall had mocked him in every moment of clarity he had as the pain meds had worn off - a forced positivity of environment when it was anything but. It had been him in the bed then, recovering from the shrapnel of glass and metal that had been painstakingly removed from him. No one had sat at his bedside; the only one who would was in intensive care on another floor with her life force slowly draining away. He had begged to see her but couldn’t be moved, the fragile sutures holding his insides together wouldn’t have withstood the change to a wheelchair and the trip across the building.

In the end he had seen her once more on a tablet screen; his Eleanor hooked up to so many machines with a ventilator mask covering most of her face, the rest so bruised and bloodied to be almost unrecognisable. There had been no point in seeing her at all and even now he wished he had left well enough alone; let the last image of her in his mind be anything but - even her shouting at him for being late, the hard set of her annoyed expression, those would have given him some comfort.

He had asked for Robyn then, and the nurse just shook her head. The full truth of what had happened, their injuries, wouldn’t be told to him for days until they’d weaned him down on the narcotics from delirious to the edge of too painful to think. A social worker had delivered that message in as gentle terms as she could and then left him alone in the world with nothing but the chasm of his mind. He was pretty sure that generic floral print on the wall was the same damned one he had nearly glared a whole through until his release, and now it was back to mock him.

Hob didn’t even notice Dee’s return until the scraping sound of her pulling up a chair next to him pulled him from his melancholic musings. Immediately she leaned over and put an arm around his shoulders. Twice in one day she’d hugged him, and he absentmindedly realised they’d never so much as shaken hands, prior, for all that he would deem her a friend.

“You should eat something, or get up and take a walk about,” she said, leaning forward slightly to try to catch his eye, “You’ve been here for hours.”

“And I’ll be here until he wakes up,” he quietly replied.

He looked up not to Dee but to Morpheus, who had not so much as twitched in all the hours he’d sat next to him. The room was starting to get dark and he was starving, having been too nervous about presenting on his paper without his co-author to have had more than a cup of coffee for breakfast. Leaving wasn’t an option.

“That might be a while. Hours, days, we don’t know,” Dee said softly, then handed him a tissue.

Hob hadn’t even been aware he was still crying, but now he was acutely aware that he had been here for the better part of a day, unmoving, lost more in the memories of the past. His guilt was compounded not just with his absence from Morpheus but that he had spent this time thinking more of Eleanor and Robyn than his still-living partner. Morpheus deserved better than that, better than him were he honest with himself.

“I talked to his attending, you know, doctor to doctor,” she continued as she rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back, “His stats look good, but… his heart did stop, and we can’t be sure for how long, or if it did any lasting damage.”

“To his heart, or….”

“His rhythm is good, actually, but they’ll want him to get a chest CT because of his ongoing issues,” Dee murmured, “But it’s just that if he wakes up, he might not be the same.”

“When he wakes up,” Hob stubbornly retorted, and Dee stopped her gentle petting and squeezed him again, apologetically.

“When,” she replied, “I’m sorry, I… I’m used to couching things as what-ifs to my patients and their families, false hope is worse than no hope at all. He’s stronger than even you know; you don’t know much about his recovery, but I was there for all of it. This isn’t the worst he’s been through, not by a long shot.”

“I just can’t believe he’d do this, I…” Hob trailed off, the words refusing to come out how he meant them, then plaintively added, “We have plans. Plans he made and fully intended to follow through on… I’m going to marry him. There’s no reason, no…. Point.”

“Recovery’s not linear, you know that,” Dee murmured, “It’s not the first time, it might not be the last, all we can do is be there for him to get through it and do better.”

Hob nodded and said nothing, his gaze fixed on Morpheus’s slack, peaceful face. He should never have left; this could all have been avoided if he had stayed behind, or come home despite his fiancé’s protestations.

“I covered a twelve last night, so I’m going to go take care of Jessamy and try to get some rest, and I have to talk to our father,” Dee said, sitting up a little straighter, “I pulled some strings; they won’t kick you out after visitation’s over, just stay in this wing where the nurses have been informed, yeah? I’ll bring you a change of clothes in the morning.”

“Thanks, for everything,” Hob whispered hoarsely, and Dee swooped in for a real hug which he finally reciprocated this time.

“You’re good for him, he’ll be okay if he has you,” she said before standing up to leave.

As she reached the door he almost begged her to stay, to not leave him alone with his thoughts in this hellhole, but she’d been through it too. She had been the one to find Morpheus, to try to keep him alive in those harrowing minutes before the ambulance came. Dee deserved her sleep and as much as he needed it, he wouldn’t be getting any of his own, of that he was certain.

By the time the morning sun peeked in the windows, Hob had moved past exhausted into something jittery that was probably anxiety but indistinguishable from restless energy. If he’d slept it had only been in quick, uncomfortable moments as the visitor’s chairs weren’t meant for long term use. A few times he’d gotten up and walked around the room to stretch his legs, once he’d gone down the hall to a vending machine for a bottle of water and upon turning around was acutely struck with the memory wandering down a hall so similar to this, dizzy and addled by pain meds, asking for help, for directions, only to find out for the second time that his family was gone.

He didn’t leave the room again, and Morpheus did not move.

Lucienne arrived early, impeccably dressed as always but her usually placid face was tight with worry. She didn’t stay long, citing something Hob didn’t really listen to about legal matters. There was probably some press to deal with as well, if anyone had found out - he didn’t want to ask because knowing would make it much worse.

A nurse came to check on her patient and startled at finding someone else in the room, but didn’t question him. Whatever Dee had said or done had seen to that, but in a way it made him feel more like a ghost here that they all just ignored him and let his presence be. Getting in an indignant argument about his right to be here might not make him feel better, but it would certainly do something. It would be something more than watching and waiting while they hung a new IV drip to keep Morpheus hydrated, counting the seconds until they left so he could take that cold hand again and warm it with his own.

He thought back to the day before he left, replaying in his mind their every interaction he could remember, looking for something, anything, that could have tipped him off that everything was about to go wrong. There was nothing that stood out but then, there was no normal with his mercurial partner, every day was a toss up when something so simple as dropping a tea cup could set him on a downward spiral. It had been a good day, by his measure; they had talked and laughed and made love. Hob had found one of those little notes in his pocket, scrawled in a hurried hand, about love in absence - he had kept them all over the last few months and was starting to think if he put them all together they’d eventually be something like a sonnet. It was still in his coat pocket, wherever his coat had ended up. Still in Manchester, presumably.

Their first call had been nothing out of the ordinary; short but sweet, teasing, and Morpheus had given him one of those rare, unguarded smiles. Neither of them could have seen anything coming; maybe that was on him, if they had been followed. He should be more alert than that, more aware of his surroundings, but that had never been his speciality - Morpheus felt some added level of security with him because of his past, he knew, but the vast majority of his military career had been at home, not looking over his shoulder for enemy combatants. Still he felt he should have noticed someone lingering in their neighbourhood, or his; for it was far more likely that whoever it was had merely followed him from the New Inn right to Morpheus’s door.

Their second call also hadn’t seemed amiss. He had been proud of Morpheus for doing what he had; removing himself as far from the situation as possible and seeking help. That was everything he was supposed to do and it never ceased to warm his heart when the man he loved so deeply reached out and saw him as his source of safety. It was more flattering than any profession of love or devotion. Hob needed to be needed, and Morpheus had calmed quickly listening to his voice. When he’d ended the call, after listening to Morpheus’s quiet, even breathing for long enough to be sure he wouldn’t wake, it had been with a sense of confidence and calm that he’d gone to his own rest.

Hob looked down at Morpheus’s hand in his - his left hand that he had shattered in his bid to escape from the Burgess estate. He was so pale that the scars were hardly visible unless you knew to look for them, but the slight twist and crookedness of his fingers was much more obvious. Hob ran his thumb over his knuckles and then traced the bent line of one the bones in the back of his hand. Morpheus had survived far worse than this, he would be fine. He had to be.

That was how Dee found him still, thinking over their every interaction going back days to weeks to find some sign, some warning that this was coming. Back when they had first begun dating, Lucienne had been convinced his absence meant he’d hidden himself away to die and Hob couldn’t get that out of his mind. When Morpheus had done this before, he’d tried to ensure that no one was there to stop him, but Hob couldn’t relate that mindset to how his fiancé had been talking about when he came home and all that they had to do to prepare for their wedding. His Dream wouldn’t leave him like this.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dee asked, collapsing tiredly into the empty chair beside him. She was carrying a duffel bag that she dropped at her feet.

Hob shook his head. “Don’t think you’d want them,” he hoarsely replied, “It’s been a long night.”

“Yeah… me too,” she said, “I talked to our father, and mum.”

With both Dee and Morpheus it was always ‘mum’ but never ‘dad’, always ‘father’; a level of formality above their other parent. From everything he’d heard, it was well-warranted.

“He’s in town then? The plane, I assume that was already in London,” Hob asked, “To get to me so fast.”

Dee nodded tightly. “He had a quarterly meeting with Morpheus and his financial advisors for tuesday; might come as a surprise but Morphy’s pretty good with investments.”

Hob couldn’t help but smile slightly at that. “If you say that again louder he’ll wake up just to throw something at you.”

“Oh I’m counting on it,” she replied with a grin that managed to make him feel a little bit less alone, “I talked to his doctor. Vitals look good, they’re gonna steal him away for an EEG later to see what’s going on in his head.”

“Is your father coming to see him?”

Hob would rather not think about the possibility that Morpheus’s mind was more than just asleep. A heavy silence lay between them before Dee replied.

“No, I don’t think he will. You know how he is about… everything. He doesn’t exactly believe in the validity of mental illness,” she said, “He’s already gone to his legal team and drafted a request for an emergency conservatorship hearing; Lucienne’s with our side prepping or else she’d be here.”

“Fucking Christ, its hardly been twenty-four hours,” Hob said, putting his face in his hands, then running them through his hair once he’d composed himself, at least slightly.

“The devil works fast, father works faster,” Dee muttered, “But with Lucienne as his medical proxy, it’s unlikely they’ll grant a hearing while he’s in the hospital.”

“We don’t even know if he’s going to wake up, and he can’t be arsed to even come see his fucking son.”

“It’s a tough thing to see a family member like this,” she rather diplomatically replied, “I still see my goofy little brother in him, and it hurts to know that someone so thoroughly stole his happiness that he is the way he is.”

“Pretty sure ‘goofy’ is another moniker that would make him walk out of hell to trip you down the stairs,” Hob said wryly, but his smile quickly became a grimace as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes again.

Dee’s arms were around him immediately and she held him tightly until he got a better grip on his emotions. She pulled away but left her hand on his shoulder, a solid, comforting presence.

“You should shower. I brought you clothes, and a phone charger; not sure if there’s anyone you need to contact with your whereabouts. I’ll stay with him, okay? Take a few minutes for you. You’re no good to anyone if you wear yourself too thin,” Dee said gently, “He’d want you to take care of yourself.”

She was right enough in that, and it wasn’t as if he’d have to go far - there was an attached bathroom only a few feet away. Hob nodded and took the offered duffel bag, ultimately deciding to take his time. Morpheus had not so much as twitched a muscle all night, the chances of him waking up while he was in the shower were slim. The near scalding hot water soothed at least a bit of the tension out of his body, the muscles of his back were taut with stress and sitting bent over in a chair all night. It also soothed the ache in his head that came with crying; something he hadn’t done in years, at least not like this.

His reflection in the mirror afterward was a bit less haggard; fresh, more comfortable clothes helped rather than the rumpled blazer he’d been wearing to give his presentation. There was no way Dee could have known, but the burgundy jumper she’d brought for him was one that Morpheus always said brought out the warmth in his eyes. He scraped back his damp hair into a bun with the hair tie that permanently lived on his wrist now that he kept his hair just long enough to use it, not all of it reached but it was at least out of his face.

Dee was sitting cross legged on her chair when he returned, beside an empty space where Morpheus’s mobile hospital bed had been. He remained standing, having had quite enough of hunching in an uncomfortable chair for the better part of a day. Right now he felt equal parts exhausted, hungry, and brimming with nervous energy.

And guilty, there was more than a little of that mixed in as well and he was struck with the sudden urge to confess. It wasn’t until midway through his shower as he was replaying their last conversation in his mind that something clicked in his mind.

“This is my fault,” Hob said, coming over to stand beside Dee, “No don’t give me that look. Not for… not being there, or anything. I told him to take his meds; I didn’t realise he was drunk. I talked him through making sure he was safe, telling him what to do… I didn’t know he’d already taken them, he just… he trusted me and did what I said.”

He paused, blinking away the unbidden tears once again. “He relaxed so quickly, fell asleep on the call… I took it as a bloody compliment,” he continued, and even he could hear the derision in his voice, “He was fucking dying and I went to bed with a job well-done.”

Dee’s expression was unreadable as she watched him and her kind, dark eyes seemed to look into the depths of his soul. Hob looked away.

“No, no we’re not doing that,” she said sharply, “Look at me. Robert? No, you had nothing to do with this; you were doing your best to help him. You couldn’t have known what he was doing before you called, what he ate or drank, or took. If anything, it just means it was a mistake and he didn’t want to hurt himself; that’s a good thing.”

She paused for a moment, brow furrowing, then pulled out her phone to text someone as she continued talking.

“That’s a very good thing, actually. Do you know what his dosage is for the diazepam?” she asked, still looking at mobile, “Is Heron the prescribing doctor?”

“I… I don’t know,” Hob replied, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone, “They’re very small, if that helps. Normally he takes two at a time for a panic attack, but I don’t know if that’s what he’s supposed to do.”

“I’ll have Lucienne get the info from Heron, we’ll find out.”

At his rather blank expression she clearly realised that he needed a bit more explanation for the medically uninformed.

“If he took double his normal dose, it’s the alcohol with it that’s really at play here,” she said, glancing down at her mobile as it dinged, “That bodes a lot better for his prognosis than if he downed a bottle. I looked when I went in but I couldn’t find where he keeps anything. You gonna be okay if I leave you here for a bit?”

Hob just nodded, not sure what to think, or feel. If anything he just felt kind of numb, like he was watching this whole conversation, this whole situation, from somewhere just outside himself. It was bad enough to sit here alone with Morpheus here but not here, but alone entirely waiting was almost worse. That made it more like… before. The paramedics had brought him and Eleanor into the hospital on gurneys side by side. He had reached for her as she was hurriedly wheeled off in another direction, her injuries far more severe. With no family to speak of he’d been alone with his grief for nearly a week before someone in his department had found out what had happened, why he had suddenly disappeared.

They had sent him flowers. Morpheus liked flowers, or at least he liked his houseplants, he should get some to put some life into this miserable space and differentiate it from every other hospital room in his mind that was the same but not the same.

A couple of orderlies wheeled Morpheus back a quarter of an hour later and hooked him back up to the monitors, nodding to Hob before they left. He felt like just another piece of furniture, but at least they let him stay. There were a lot of horror stories out there about how queer partners were treated by the medical establishment; maybe the fact that both their patient’s proxy and his sister looked nothing like him had aided in smoothing that over as well.

He plugged in his dead phone and cringed at the number of notifications that popped up when it finally came back to life. All he had the emotional fortitude for were a few quick texts to the key friends who would let the others know what they needed to, but even then he stayed light on the info. If the media hadn’t heard of what happened yet, it was best they kept it under wraps entirely. Morpheus didn’t deserve that scrutiny, and he certainly didn’t need to wake up to that. He was in hospital, that would have to be enough.

All there was to do after that was wait. Hob was very good at that, but not when he was tormented by memory every time he closed his eyes or so much as blinked. The images of Eleanor wouldn’t leave him alone, his heart ached and he longed to be home, either home, or anywhere but here. Leaving was not an option, so he stayed - through the change of shifts, through meals brought to him by Dee and Lucienne, and late in the evening he was rewarded with the news, via Lucienne, that the brain scans had looked good. Normal, ostensibly, and were he feeling the barest bit like himself he would have quipped that Morpheus was anything but.

He was not feeling himself, so that thought died before it reached his lips. The warm spark of hope furled in his chest and fueled him through another near sleepless night spent in an uncomfortable chair. Eventually he did find a few hours sleep, pillowing his head on folded arms where he rested them on the edge of the hospital bed.

In the first dim light of dawn he was still dozing, somewhere between sleeping and waking, when the hand still tightly clasped in his twitched sharply. Only once, but Hob was already wide awake, searching Morpheus’s pale face for any sign of movement and seeing none. But his chest rose higher with each breath than it had before, he thought, cursing himself for not taking better note of things. He hardly remembered the past two days like a fever dream, conversations with doctors blending together with memories of the past in a way that left him almost surprised when he looked to his love and saw that he was so peacefully asleep, as if he expected the horrible injuries that haunted his dreams.

Morpheus didn’t move again but Hob’s attention was riveted, he spoke softly but surely of nothing and everything, hoping he was listening, somehow. He wanted Dee to be here, to tell him that was a good sign that the heart monitor was beeping faster, that he was going to wake up soon. They had a wedding to plan.

Chapter Text

Awareness returned very slowly in the warring sensations of soft sheets and cold surroundings, followed by the oppressive beeping like a ringing in his ears. It took Morpheus’s bleary mind minutes of lying in a half-alert drifting fogginess, where the light hurt his eyes even though they were closed, to gain the coherence necessary to recognise that noise as indicative of a heart monitor. Then awareness returned very swiftly.

He winced against the midday brightness and tried to raise his hand to shield the light, finding very quickly he could not and tried the other instead - which pulled at the line in his hand. The slight stab of pain was grounding and he gasped, only to choke on that breath with pain in his chest. He struggled to sit up, scrabbling uselessly at the front of his hospital gown that now pressed uncomfortable across his throat as he moved and tried to see what lay beneath. Was it his heart, had the damage of his captivity finally caught up with him? Or worse, was he like Orpheus?

Gentle hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down, which did nothing but spark a pang of fear beneath that pain. They stopped then and let him sit, wrapped strong arms around his body and murmured words into ear that he could not parse, though he was certain he knew the language. How he was certain of that, he didn’t know. Eventually he reached back with strangely numb hands, tangling his fingers into the man’s shirt. Hob’s shirt. He was the only man who would be here with him, if he’d been hurt.

After a few failed attempts to summon words from his mind to his body, then finding his mouth too dry to speak, he whispered, “Bright.”

The other man froze for a moment, then let out a soft, relieved laugh. “Oh… yes, I’ll get the lights, but I need to let you go, love.”

This time he exhaustedly submitted to being laid back down, his head swimming with the movement, and moments later he could tell even through closed eyes that the lights overhead had been turned off. Next were the sound of shades being let down over the window and footsteps returning to the bedside. He cracked one eye open to see Hob standing by the side of the bed, looking unrested and a little dishevelled, with a worry in his expression that made Morpheus more sick to his stomach than the vertigo.

Hob sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand, looking pensive.

Morpheus licked his cracked lips with a dry tongue that had little effect. He brought his free hand up to rub at his chest but he didn’t feel any bandage or sharp pain at the action; just the same dull ache.

“I need to call in your doctor, but… I don’t want to, yet,” Hob said quietly, his voice wavering.

“What happened?” Morpheus managed to get out, opening his eyes again.

There was nothing he wanted more than to go back to sleep but his mind was moving too swiftly. If he slept now, would Hob be there when he woke up? Was Hob even here now or was this just another figment of his fractured imagination like when he had been certain he’d seen Orpheus beside him when the boy had already been dead for weeks and he had not yet been told. His mind had offered him many strange comforts only for them to be torn away by the realities of doctors and pain and far too many questions.

When he looked down at himself now, however, he didn’t look the same as he had then.

“Well, we were hoping you could tell us that,” Hob replied, reaching down to card his fingers through Morpheus’s hair. If this was a delusion he was quite happy for it to continue.

“What… year is it?”

A long pause and a look of concern followed that question.

“It’s still the year of our lord 2023, you haven’t missed much, no new PM in the interim,” Hob eventually said but his lightheartedness had a worried edge to it.

“I was talking to you.”

“Yeah… It’s been a few days,” Hob murmured, stroking his hair again and clearly hesitant to elaborate. There were unshed tears in his eyes.

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of two people in scrubs, a man and woman, who were far less gentle in what felt like a flurry of questions to which he had hardly any answers. He locked eyes with Hob, who had been shunted to the side but was lingering as close as he could, and got an encouraging smile for his efforts.

There wasn’t much Hob could offer besides what comfort his presence could bring. The doctor and nurse had their priorities; checking vitals and cognition, but he could see Morpheus become more and more flustered with every gentle, probing question that he didn’t have an answer to. They informed them both they’d be returning shortly to run some tests, likely after contacting Lucienne, and they were left alone in the absence of noise and efficient medical hustle.

Morpheus was breathing heavily, but steadily, the rise and fall of his chest measured but his hands were shaking - the verge of panic attack for which Hob could give him nothing now, besides his presence. He rubbed at his chest again and lifted the neck of his hospital gown, craning his head back in an attempt to peer underneath. That finally clicked in Hob’s mind and he reached for Morpheus’s hand, gently pulling it away and twining their fingers together. Having his touch returned in a surprisingly strong grip was gratifying in a way he could not begin to process.

“CPR, chest compressions; you’re a little banged up,” Hob explained as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, “It was Dee though, until you got brought in, if that helps.”

It didn’t seem to; Morpheus just stared blankly at him for a long moment, but he did stop trying to look. He looked defeated, exhausted, and scruffier than he had likely allowed himself to be for the better part of a decade. Hob thought he was beautiful still, and more so now that there was a spot of colour in his cheeks, even though stress had brought it on.

“What happened?” he asked again, and Hob sighed.

“You uhm… You took too many pills,” Hob said tentatively, “But you’re going to be alright.”

That was clearly a shock, and Morpheus stared at him with a dumbfound expression that morphed slowly into something more like fear. His grip on Hob’s hand tightened and his breathing picked up pace again. Fuck, that wasn’t good. Maybe he should have left the explanation to the medical professionals. Where were they, anyway? They should be back and doing… something, to make this all better.

“I didn’t… No, no that’s… not right,” Morpheus muttered, pushing himself up to a sitting position, hunching over himself as he tended to do when the weight of his panic was crushing down on him. He said something else that Hob couldn’t catch; not English but too mumbled in any case.

Hob leaned awkwardly over and pulled him into a hug, careful of the IV line still attached to the back of Morpheus’s hand and the air of general fragility of uncertain provenance. Despite Morpheus’s rising panic and the circumstances of the last few days, it felt wonderful to hold him. He was warm and familiar and even the threat of a panic attack was only evidence that he was not only alive, but still himself. His frantically whispered explanations, interspersed with god knew what, were rising in pitch. Hob rubbed his back gently in an attempt to calm him down.

“I’m not… mad at you?” Hob said, half a question as he tried to decipher some of what Morpheus was stressing about, “I just need you to be okay, and come home soon, love. That’s all I want.”

Morpheus nodded, face pressed against Hob’s neck, and slowly his breathing began to return to normal and the heart monitor sounded a bit less frantic.

“I would never leave you,” Morpheus murmured, then pulled back enough to meet Hob’s eyes, “I promise… I didn’t, I wouldn’t do this.”

There were almost certainly better ways to have told Morpheus how he had come to be in hospital, but Hob wasn’t a therapist, and he was absolutely at his wit’s end. While the very last thing he ever wanted to do was trigger Morpheus and set him down a road to panic or make things worse; his response had been very real and very truthful. Hob needed that, after all of this; it didn’t quite assuage his own guilt but if the very idea of having attempted suicide stressed Morpheus this badly, he believed him.

“I know,” Hob replied quietly, then leaned in to press their foreheads together, “And I would never leave you either, by any means.”

At that he relaxed a little, moving to rest his head on Hob’s shoulder in what couldn’t possibly be a comfortable position but after lying prone for days maybe he was happier doing anything but. Hob just held him, one hand carding through hair that rather desperately needed a wash and rubbing his back with the other, until the doctor returned with Lucienne in tow. She stayed, but the doctor and orderlies took Morpheus with them, much to the man’s protests.

Hob collapsed back into a chair and looked up at Lucienne, a relieved smile on his face, “He says it was an accident.”

Lucienne nodded.

“I had hoped,” she said, sounding as exhausted as he felt, “He is many things, but being prone to lying is not one of them. Convincing the medical establishment of that, however, is another matter entirely, given his history.”

“He’s changed quite a lot.”

“In a way, yes. He’s a bit more like he used to be, before everything,” Lucienne replied, “Carefree, at times, and I do hope this does not set him back. Are you going to be alright if I follow after them? I’m the one that must approve everything, but I know you are… uncomfortable in this setting.”

“Did Dee tell you that?” Hob asked, curious.

“No. I know enough of your history, what there is to know without asking you, and I’ve seen you the past few days,” she said, not unkindly but he still felt all too seen, like he was a boy and a teacher had caught him misbehaving in class. Hob was far too tired to analyse that feeling.

“Fair enough. I’m fine. More than fine now that’s awake and seems… himself,” Hob replied, as ‘normal’ was a bridge too far to describe Morpheus even at the best of times. “I just couldn’t rest until I knew.”

Lucienne’s soft smile broadened at that. “I understand. Once he’s back, you should go home and rest. You’re no use to him too tired to function,” she suggested, “I’ll stay with him.”

Hob considered it, he really did; the thought of lying in a comfortable bed and getting some real sleep was painfully enticing, but in the end he shook his head. Not after seeing that Morpheus’s first response to waking up was panic, and confusion - waking up anywhere but his own home always seemed to destabilise him, and these sterile surroundings would do nothing to help. Morpheus’s memories and associations with hospitals were every bit as traumatising as his own. Now that his fiancé was awake, Hob had something to focus on besides the past - the future had twisted into something unknowable and threatening in the last few days and now had become clear again.

“No, I can’t. He didn’t know where he was, when he was,” Hob replied, “The last thing he needs is the stress of waking up and mentally being back after his rescue. You were there then and so was Dee, but I wasn’t, so… I’m the anchorpoint of where he is and what happened.”

Lucienne sighed, but nodded her understanding and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze before she left. This time when he was alone in an empty hospital room his mind was not plagued by the horrors of his past; there was a strange elation in knowing it was ostensibly over and now just a waiting game until they cleared Morpheus to go home.

He texted his friends who he had been mostly ignoring. All their messages to him were ones of support for which he was thankful; the quiet ping of a notification telling him someone was thinking of them, hoping for the best, had knocked his attention out of a downward spiral more times than he could count over the past few days. They had sent flowers too and then, after Hob said something in a group chat about Morpheus and his houseplants while thanking them, had sent the plantable sort instead of cut arrangements. Whether Morpheus would want them for the spirit in which they’d be given or wish to have no memories of this was a toss-up.

The quiet tapping of shoes on the linoleum floor broke his concentration and made him look up; both Dee and Lucienne wore more sensible shoes and no one else knew where Morpheus was to visit. The tall, thin intruder wore a sharp grey suit and was strangely polished in a way that reminded Hob of Morpheus when he dressed up for something - albeit with more colour.

“Well… Isn’t that a disappointment,” the stranger said in a sibilant voice, looking at the empty space where Morpheus and his hospital bed had been wheeled away from, then to Hob, “Morgue, or?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Hob shot back, the sheer bone deep exhaustion that kept him in his chair also kept this asshole from losing a few teeth for that comment, “Get the fuck out.”

“Oh dear, manners, manners… You are exactly as advertised on the tin aren’t you? Common as dirt. I think you can address me as Lord Aeternus, although that’s a bit of an outdated title, but something you should be used to at least.”

Hob just blinked at them for a moment, internalising that information. There was only one other Aeternus sibling who lived in London as far as he knew; the one he knew the least amount besides that they’d given Morpheus Jessamy, albeit as an insult.

“You’re the asshole one, then,” he said with a sigh.

“One way to put it, I suppose. Everyone’s got one,” they replied, holding out one manicured hand to shake, “Epithumia, unfortunately, and you still have the misfortune to be my brother’s boyfriend, I presume?”

“Fiancé,” Hob corrected sharply, ignoring it.

“Semantics,” they replied, waving a hand in a vague gesture, “So where is he?”

“MRI, among other things,” Hob said gruffly, “He’s awake, if you care.”

They raised one sharply-lined eyebrow at Hob and had the decency to look slightly offended at the implication; but only slightly.

“More than one might think,” they replied pointedly, “I can hardly needle him if he offs himself, where’s the fun in that? Just didn’t expect this with him being so deliriously besotted and in all the papers, did you say something to him? Not laugh at his bad jokes? Get tired of him moping about?”

“Morpheus didn’t hurt himself, get the fuck out. Or I’ll make you,” Hob threatened, still not moving from his chair but ready to, if he needed. He wasn’t going to simply take this bullshit; Morpheus could defend himself if he were here; with his quick wit or, if his stories about his sibling were to be believed, his fists. Yet he wasn’t here, and Hob was.

“Fine, fine…” they said, rolling unnaturally coloured eyes - Hob wondered how much Epithumia would look like their older brother were it not for the contacts, bleached hair, and cosmetics. Rather a lot, he thought, but maybe that was the point.

“I’ll tell him you cared enough to come by.”

Epithumia paused at the doorway and looked over their shoulder, “I’d prefer you didn’t, can’t let him know anyone gives a shit. He might start thinking he’s worth something.”

Hob was left to mull over that bizarre interaction until the hospital staff brought Morpheus back; awake but eyelids drooping like he was holding on by the barest willpower. He reached for Hob, who took his hand, and closed his eyes a moment later.

Lucienne followed in a moment later and, at her prompting, the doctor explained their current findings and prognosis with enough terminology that Hob felt mildly overwhelmed - but that was likely just the sleep deprivation rearing its ugly head. What sunk in completely was that Morpheus was fine, he would be fine; no apparent cognitive damage as he apparently hadn’t gone long at all without breathing before Dee found him, although they would be monitoring him and he and Lucienne were tasked with keeping an eye out for any changes in behaviour or motor skills. He would be following up with a cardiologist, neurologist, and his existing panel of mental health specialists who had already been notified of the circumstances.

Morpheus had insisted again to the in-house crisis team that he had not tried to kill himself, although what exactly had happened was a blank space in his mind. He remembered getting coffee and speaking to Hob from bed, and nothing else of that day and little even of waking up before they wheeled him off for tests. That was likely to persist for a few days, they said; after-effects of the overdose could be a little unpredictable on the short term memory front. Once he woke up and consistently remembered what had gone before, he could go home.

Hob thought that was something of a tall order; Morpheus barely knew where he was any time he woke up outside of his home and this place made him flashback to his first recovery, after his escape. He’d be far better off at home but that would mean being monitored there by medical professionals ruining the sanctity of Morpheus’s privacy, and that was even worse when it came to bringing up old memories.

He ignored Lucienne’s repeated suggestion for him to go home and get some real rest. That was something he could do tomorrow, hopefully, if Morpheus was awake and aware - better to leave him with his sister than have him come to alone.

Supper time came, marked by a nurse bringing a tray for Morpheus that he certainly wouldn’t eat even if he were awake to do so. Hob texted Dee about bringing some takeaway, after her work day was finished, from the one restaurant he could nearly always get Morpheus to enjoy.

Now that he had woken, and spoke, and been shown to be well, Hob didn’t mind waiting by his bedside. Now his mind turned to better things; the ghosts of his past vanquished again by this much desired but unexpected twist to the familiar tale. This time he wouldn’t leave alone, he would go home with his family intact, such as it was - small and damaged but still family.

He was reading a book on his phone when Morpheus shot back to awareness suddenly, gasping for breath from a nightmare and clutching at his chest again as if newly surprised by the pain of his bruised ribs. There were tears in wild blue eyes, although some tension left his shoulders when his gaze landed on Hob.

“You alright, love?” Hob asked, cringing even as he said it; the forbidden question. Of course he wasn’t alright; he was in the hospital, confused, and scared.

“They were following me,” Morpheus choked out, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.

They had taken out the IV line now that he was ostensibly going to be awake to eat and drink on his own. It was a small thing, but one that made him seem just that smallest bit more himself and no longer hampered his movement.

“Yes. But not now,” Hob said as he quickly got up and moved to sit on the bed instead, “You’re safe.”

“How long have I been here?”

Hob sighed softly. There it was; he didn’t remember their earlier conversation, then. Best he didn’t find out again why he was here until he had to. The last thing his love needed was more panic.

“A few days,” Hob replied, “We’ll be able to go home soon, once they decide you’re ready. You were up earlier, do you remember?”

Morpheus’s brow furrowed and he looked down at their clasped hands. Slowly, he nodded and his expression tightened further.

“I… I am so sorry,” he eventually whispered, almost too quiet to be heard. Rare words from him, a true apology. “That you thought I would leave you. I told you before where I stand.”

Hob brushed his thumb over Morpheus’s engagement band and nodded; he remembered that odd conversation all too well.

“You don’t want to exist, but you’re not going to do anything about it,” Hob replied with a wry smile, “I know. The worst I imagined was that you had been struck by a sudden urge you couldn’t manage, never that it was intentional. Even if that were the case, I wouldn’t love you any differently.”

“So you still wish to marry me?” Morpheus asked rather flatly, as if putting an inflection to it whether hope or fear or wry amusement, would be too telling.

“Of course, idiot,” Hob said, leaning in to give him a quick, chaste kiss, “You’re the love of my life. The universe gave me a second chance, and I’m not letting you go unless you ask me to.”

Morpheus huffed a laugh and leaned into him, burying his face into Hob’s jumper.

“I am a bloody idiot,” he said, his voice muffled, “I never meant to do this to you. You weren’t supposed to have to deal with… this aspect of me.”

“I did realise it was a possibility, you know. Especially after our second date when Lucienne was so upset,” Hob replied, “I accepted it as a part of you. One I hoped never to see but, technically, I haven’t.”

“Correct.”

“Then you don’t need to apologise any more, love. You just need to feel better and come home; Jessamy misses you.”

Morpheus laughed softly and he sounded a little choked, like he was hiding his tears by keeping his face pressed to Hob’s chest. He rarely cried, truly cried, not just welling tears or panic and he hated it; so Hob was not about to comment on it, or bid him to move until he was comfortable.

Hob was still holding him when Dee arrived with takeaway in tow. She paused at the end of the bed and grinned at them.

“Hello little brother, good to see you awake and being your usual self.”

Morpheus had ignored the sound of someone entering the room, as his consistent politeness to staff and service workers did not extend to medical staff who he liked to pretend didn’t exist. A fair response to trauma, but Hob found it amusing in a weird way. Her voice got his attention quickly enough however and he pulled back, not enough to leave Hob’s embrace but enough to offer her a watery smile. From his red-rimmed eyes it was obvious he had been crying, albeit quietly, but he was finished now.

“You mean having a mental breakdown?” Morpheus asked snidely, resting his head back on Hob’s shoulder.

Dee rolled her eyes and set the takeaway bag down on the end of the bed.

“More like doing your best to crawl into Robert and wear him like a jacket,” she said pointedly, “I think the breakdown is rather warranted, at the moment. Who am I to judge.”

“Is that not what sisters are for?”

She made a dismissive gesture and started going through the food she’d brought in; handing Hob his usual and setting hers on the spare chair, before offering a takeout container of Morpheus’s favourites to him with a flourish. They ate mostly in silence; Morpheus still brooding, Hob exhausted, and Dee clearly rather lost in thought. Both of them were paying attention to Morpheus however and eventually he noticed and sneered in their direction while still only picking at his food.

“I would eat more at home, wearing real clothing, with Jessamy and my peace,” he pointed out, jabbing his fork in Dee’s direction, “When can I leave?”

“When your doctor says so,” Hob replied, “When all your tests come back. Tomorrow, maybe. I can get you some clothes, there’s no reason you can’t get dressed.”

“You would have to leave, and I dislike that as a concept. So I will suffer.”

“Yes, my lord,” Hob said dryly, trying not to smile, “I’ll text Lucienne instead, better?”

“Much.”

Eating and a small measure of snarking at his sister was enough for Morpheus however. His exhaustion still worried Hob but he didn’t know enough to know if he should be concerned, or if it just made sense considering he spent a few days on an IV drip and minimal sustenance. After supper he only added a few quiet smarmy comments to their conversation before falling asleep again. Now he looked peaceful, in comparison to the days prior; curled up on his side and looking far more comfortable. Hob didn’t realise he was watching him so intently, until Dee spoke.

“You look at him like he’s the only thing that matters,” she said softly, “You should see your face.”

“He is most of what matters, if I’m being honest,” Hob sighed, then added, “I just want to take him home.”

“The sooner the better, not just for his mental health but unfortunately PR reasons too; it looks better for the hearing if this is a minor inconvenience. I looked at his results with Lucienne, he’s fine. Healthier than he has been in a while actually,” Dee replied, “As long as tomorrow morning he remembers today; no reason he can’t be released.”

Hob nodded and finally turned his gaze from Morpheus’s peaceful face, to Dee. There were so many thoughts swimming around his head, and his only coherent ones involved a desire to go home and sleep, but only if Morpheus could join him. The rest were a cacophony of new noise and old memories that were in conflict with each other.

“It’s not going to go our way, is it, the hearing?” Hob asked eventually although he didn’t want to know the answer more than he already did by the grim face Dee pulled upon hearing his question.

She shook her head. “Probably not, no, but I have a plan for that. Try to put it out of your head for now.”

“Little chance of that.”

“Oh come on, think about your wedding colours or something, centrepieces,” she teased, and Hob did smile slightly at that although it was something he had very little input about.

“No need to stress him out more with my lack of artistry,” Hob said as he stretched, and yawned, and preemptively regretted spending another night half-awake in a chair. Needs must, however, and leaving was hardly an option.

Dee stayed late into the night, stating that she had wanted to speak to her brother privately and was waiting for him to wake up, but Hob was reasonably certain her concern was for him and she was being polite about it. Her presence was a gift in any case and passed most of the quiet night hours that had haunted him the most with good company; leaving him in far better spirits for the changes ahead.

Chapter Text

With Dee’s contacts at the hospital, she was able to pull some strings and allow Morpheus to be released a little earlier than his primary doctor would have liked. With the caveat that, as she lived across the street and was eminently qualified, she would check in on him frequently - along with 24-7 monitoring in the form of Hob staying at his until further notice. Morpheus was too tired to have feelings about that one way or another; neither the delight in knowing he had his fiancé all to himself for once, nor the biting guilt that he was puling him away from his work even more than usual. Not even the lingering sense of doubt that had reared back up in him since he had woken that this was a turning point of some sort, the last straw or close to, and that things would change now. He was doing his best to take Hob at his word; that this changed nothing between them, or about them, but the fear that gnawed in the pit of his stomach was only on hold, not gone.

They were escorted out a back way, through the ambulance bay, so that there was no chance of him being sighted and any particularly unfortunate photos taken. For that he was very grateful and also for Hob not even questioning it when he laid down in the back seat and rested his head on the other man’s lap. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lucienne in the front seat turn away, a soft smile on her lips. She would tease him later, surely.

Hob awoke him at their destination and half-dragged a bleary Morpheus inside. The converted warehouse was blissfully empty of all the noises and smells and other sensory horrors of the hospital, but also… disconcertingly clean. Someone had been in and tidied away while he was gone. Dee, probably, doing her best - but it still bothered him that anyone had been through his things while he was not there to have any say in the matter.

He blinked confusedly at hearing his name being called by Hob, who had clearly been trying to get his attention for a while. Had he zoned out so completely, or just fallen asleep on his feet. The weak smile he managed to summon seemed to assuage Hob for a moment, but only just.

“I don’t know where my head is at,” he said by way of apology, “What did you say?”

“Just asked what I could do for you,” Hob replied before pulling him into a tight embrace. They hadn’t much chance for that since he woke; Morpheus was either in bed, sleeping again, or pulled away for more testing than anyone not as high profile as himself would ever be offered. “Do you want to go straight to bed, or… Hot bath? Food?”

Options were not something he needed at the moment, making a choice far beyond his abilities. The idea of food, however, made his stomach roil and he shook his head - realising only belatedly that that was hardly a yes or no question.

“Clean clothes, bath, shave,” he eventually replied once he had pulled his thoughts around to the idea, “Not necessarily in that order. The exact opposite order, I think.”

Hob laughed softly and leaned in for a quick kiss. “You get that started, I’ll fetch your clothes.”

He pulled away from Morpheus, the hug turning into holding both hands in his. Hob raised the left hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, right above his ring. “And you bloody well better leave the razor where it is, please. I’ll help you with that.”

That startled a huff of laughter out of him, and he rolled his eyes - heartened a little by Hob’s teasing grin as he let him go.

Showering in the hospital had seemed a task more likely to raise memories of the past than do anything beneficial for him, so he hadn’t, and normally he was the type to be fastidiously groomed - uncombed hair aside. A long soak for muscles left sore by days of inactivity was just the thing.

Hob returned with a small stack of folded clothes and his favoured cardigan which he set on the black marble countertop. The room was already steaming up from the near scalding water pouring into the bath and it obscured Morpheus’s view of himself in the long mirror above the sinks. It was an unfortunate coincidence that he was both vain enough to want to see and primp himself, and sometimes also made so uncomfortable by his reflection as to avoid it entirely. Today was more the latter; he knew without sight that the dark circles beneath his eyes and days worth of stubble were doing him no favours in looking like himself - the self in his head that never quite existed yet he did his best to mimic. No, he would look more like he had in those long, painful months in the hospital after his return.

“Hey, where’s your head at?”

The concern in Hob’s voice got his attention swifter than the words, and Morpheus shook his head. “Here,” he replied and found it to be true enough, “Just… the mirror. Not today.”

“Or just after you feel more yourself,” Hob said, ever the optimist, as he steered Morpheus back to lean against the edge of the counter, his back to the mirror.

Hob had scoffed at Morpheus’s reluctance to trade his fancy filigree-handled straight razor for a more modern, safer sort, until he had realised he enjoyed the odd little domestic intimacy of helping on the days where Morpheus’s hands shook enough to make it a dangerous game. Now he was more thankful than ever for his partner’s gentle hands; a grounding touch in a very ungrounded time. There was too much swirling around his mind to even acknowledge his appreciation.

“Do I need to check in on you, make sure you don’t fall asleep?” Hob asked once they were finished.

“I won’t, but… if it makes you feel better,” Morpheus offered as he stripped off his clothes to get into the bath. It was almost hot enough to hurt and he hissed at the sensation, but it was also the most awake he felt in days. “Or stay and chat, if you’re going to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Hob asked, schooling his expression.

“As if I’ll disappear should you leave the room.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want you out of my sight right now.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, Hob. It was an accident,” Morpheus muttered, sinking lower in the water, “I shan’t say it again.”

“No, not like that, I… It was a stressful couple of days,” Hob said, sounding as exhausted as he looked, “I worried for you, I still do, and not because of any assumptions about what happened, just because I love you.”

Morpheus sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of being enveloped by warmth. Hearing Hob say those words would never get old, even if the context was not entirely a good one, today. Still it was a reassurance that Hob would not be the one to disappear.

“I have suffered worse and lived to tell of it,” he replied tiredly, “I am well; I feel fine, merely tired. By morning, everything’s going to be quite normal.”

“Remarkably optimistic of you.”

“I did not say that normal was something to be enthused about.”

That got a laugh in response, and Morpheus very nearly smiled. He heard Hob’s footsteps approach, and then the man kneeled down beside the big clawfoot tub and leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

“Yell if you need anything,” was all he said before leaving Morpheus to gather his own scattered thoughts.

He stayed until the water began to cool and then refreshed it with more heat to actually scrub himself clean, so it was well over an hour before he finally had dried and dressed and made his way back to the land of the living to crash ungracefully down on the sofa beside Hob. Immediately he was pulled into a tight hug, his back to Hob’s chest while the man rested his chin on his shoulder. It was so simple to settle into him and relax, and pretend that there weren’t a hundred pressing matters that they needed to discuss.

“Jessamy is upstairs and fed, I ordered in groceries so I can cook us something you like later,” Hob said after they had sat for a while in companionable silence, “Can I get you anything?”

“No… Nothing,” Morpheus replied quietly, “You don’t have to stay, you know, I can manage - I’m fine. I’ve already taken enough of your energy.”

“You were just released from hospital and I promised to be by your side,” Hob scolded him, “I’m going absolutely nowhere.”

“You have work, I know you do, please don’t… don’t abandon your duties because of my fuck up. Your deadlines are as important as mine,” Morpheus said pointedly, “I’ve taken enough of your energy the last few days, I’m fine now, truly. All I need is time.”

Hob was quiet for a long moment then said softly, barely above a whisper; “Please, let me have this.”

That brought Morpheus up short so that he tensed for a second and Hob was quick to loosen his hold as if he expected him to get up and leave, as if he had anywhere to go - or anywhere he’d want to go beside his lover’s embrace he’d been properly denied for days. It hadn’t occurred to him until now how precisely this would have weighed on Hob; not merely the acute fear of Morpheus’s safety, or his sanity, but also what had happened long before Morpheus was ever his concern. So addled was his own mind with the muddled memories of his recovery, every time he woke a horrid return to the worst days of his life, that he hadn’t realised it had been much the same for the one he loved. Hob, who had ostensibly lost more than he had in that very building.

The care and affection showered upon him wasn’t merely for his own benefit. It never was, Hob bought his own peace with acts of service and Morpheus had been doing his best to try and respond in kind when such things didn’t come naturally to him in the least. He was physically well, all things considered, mentally…. Well enough. He should be the one doting on Hob, after this.

He didn’t know what to say, his imagination running wild. In the still quiet of late nights in their bed, Hob had eventually told him the whole story, not merely the main points of accident and loss, but his own agony that haunted him when he wasn’t distracting himself with work, research, the pub, or now; Morpheus. Hob hid it well and held it deeply, but Morpheus knew better than anyone that you could never fully control when your past would rear its ugly head.

Would that he was better at this, being the consoling one. Morpheus twisted around in Hob’s embrace until he was more sitting in his lap than lying on him, now facing the man’s open, worried face. His every emotion was written plainly there; fear, pain, regret. For him, or for those ghosts of the past?

“I am so sorry,” Morpheus whispered, looking deeply into his eyes, “I didn’t think… about you.”

Hob let out a harsh bark of a laugh and pulled him close again, pressing his face into the crook of Morpheus’s neck where after a moment, he was pretty certain he felt tears against his skin. Hob was the strong and stoic one, this felt wrong in a way he didn’t know how to fix.

“I should have, I… I will in the future,” Morpheus promised, running his fingers through Hob’s hair, “You didn’t let me see, in hospital, or maybe I was too blind to see it.”

“Rare, but still there,” Hob replied, and it took him a moment to hearken back to their conversation about triggers, months ago, when Morpheus had filed them away for later; fireworks, hospitals, driving, to studiously try to avoid. There had been a few times since that he’d wanted to ask Hob to accompany him to appointments or medical centres and refrained, for his sake. Would that he had thought, had been rational enough to avoid this.

“I know,” he said, for lack of anything better - all that poetic grace that Hob praised him for was gone; he was no good at this. “Whatever you want, whatever makes you feel better, if it’s within my power to give, I will.”

Hob made a choked-off little noise and pulled back, and while his eyes were red-rimmed he looks more himself again - stuffing those feelings back inside, for all his insistence to Morpheus that crying would make him feel better. Rules for thee but not for me, apparently; or he wished to do so in private, which he certainly wouldn’t deny him.

“Let me love you the way I need to, alright?” he asked, bringing one hand up to cup Morpheus’s face softly, “I just need to know you’re here.”

“So long as taking care of me helps,” he needed confirmation of that right now, even though he knew the answer well enough, “It’s not dredging up old ghosts?”

“This is the opportunity I never had, after,” Hob replied with a soft, sad smile, “To put things right again, so let me just be what I need to be. I need to do something or I’ll go stir-crazy.”

“Please don’t ‘organise’ my things.”

Hob laughed, not a bitter sound this time, and pressed a quick kiss to Morpheus’s lips. “I won’t, promise,” he replied, “But I am going to make you dinner, whichever you like.”

There was a small repertoire of meals that, to his ongoing surprise, Morpheus found he genuinely liked, and Hob was ever willing to wear those recipes out although he hadn’t managed it yet. Morpheus had sustained himself on the same few foods for years so he was quite happy to eat the same meals in rotation, and it meant that when Hob said whatever he liked, they had the limited ingredients for them all. Yet another thoughtful thing he could never hope to match; all he had to offer were words and even those were better spent in quiet contemplation where he could write them down for his beloved.

“The chickpea tagine then, I think,” he said, picking one at random as he didn’t really care, nor was he hungry - but then, that wasn’t new, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all,” Hob replied, but didn’t seem willing to displace him from his lap for a while. He just held Morpheus close like he’d disappear if he let go.

Not that he minded; normally he worried about Hob finding him clingy, so Morpheus was more than happy to sit in companionable silence with him for what felt to him like moments as he was very nearly asleep in his arms, but was more likely hours. Eventually Hob shifted his weight beneath him and sighed.

“I should start supper.” He sounded regretful about the notion.

Morpheus kissed him on the forehead and climbed off his lap. Standing up brought a wave of darkness to his vision that he furiously blinked away, hoping he didn’t look as dizzy as he was. Food would help, and more rest in abundance. He offered Hob his hand, which he took but didn’t put any real tension on to stand.

Watching Hob cook was always fascinating to him, so Morpheus was eager enough to follow. He hopped lightly up to set on the edge of the kitchen island, across from the stove and prep space, and made himself comfortable enough while Hob set about pulling out ingredients. It was always a little reminiscent of their first real date and it warmed away a little of the chill in his heart. Food was good for the soul, not just the body, or so Hob was fond of telling him.

“You know,” Hob began as he started chopping up the vegetables that went with the chickpeas, “I was thinking, and then I did a little checking… Turns out we had some crossover in recovery, back then. You were there longer, before I was and then after, but still. Weird sort of fate, innit?”

“Would that I had met you then.”

“God… absolutely not, I was a mess,” Hob said, glancing over his shoulder and giving Morpheus a self-deprecating smile. Having something to do with his hands and to occupy half his mind seemed to free his tongue. “I wouldn’t have helped, then, or even known what to do. Not for years. I was stark-raving mad in a way you’ve never been, they had to tell me multiple times that I’d lost them, and it… it hurt the same as the first, every time. There wasn’t room in my brain let alone my heart for anyone else’s tragedies. I know you now, and that’s what counts. I think we met right when we were meant to.”

“I love you,” Morpheus offered quietly, not knowing what else to say.

Hob paused in his actions and Morpheus watched the tense line of his shoulders soften ever so slightly. “I know, I love you too.”

Dinner was spent on the sofa watching the sort of history documentary Hob loved to hate, despite Morpheus’s usual derision for eating anywhere other than at the dining table, properly. If there were any time for small concessions it was now, and there was something to be said about close enough beside each other to feel Hob’s warmth through his clothes.

When they went to bed, far earlier than usual, Hob held him tightly and in the dark, still hours he spoke at greater length about what he had lost, what he had seen and felt and relived the last few days. It was only right that he should know, Morpheus thought, after all they had been through together and all the horrors of his own past he’d laid on Hob’s mind over months they had been together. He wished he could do more, be a better comfort, do something other than be held and listen. It was so little to ask, after all that Hob had done for him.

Not until it was very late did he think about where they were, that he had talked to Hob on the phone right where they now lay until he faded into a sleep he wasn’t meant to wake from. Hob felt him tense up and paused in his monologue - not the horrors of loss now, but an older, softer story from when times had been good to him. Morpheus had rather enjoyed hearing more about young Hob; normal things he and his mates got up to on base, or on campus. He had never had such experiences and they were foreign enough to him to seem nearly fantasy.

Hob’s hand ran soothingly up and down his back. They had moved from Hob’s nearly crushing embrace to more of their usual; Morpheus half atop him, pillowing his head on Hob’s chest.

“Nothing,” he said softly in reply to Hob’s unspoken question, “Keep going.”

Something in his tone must have amused Hob, because he huffed at that and tacked on a ‘yes, my lord’ to the reignition of his tale.

Morning found them in better spirits, as did the next, and the next. What newfound knowledge he’d been granted of what he liked to think of as Hob’s soul weighed on his mind but not in a dark way, but somehow strangely soothing. He had bared his own scars willingly enough, feeling that Hob needed context before even considering that they should be together. It had finally been returned and now they held each other’s stories; not the public versions but the truest, deepest heart of their collected sorrows. A burden shared was a burden halved, as Hob was so constantly willing to remind him.

There were changes now too; the neat little row of pill bottles was gone from the kitchen countertop, rescue medication from the nightstand and firmly in Hob’s possession. What replaced it was a daily marked pill container with everything sorted out morning and evening. It made him feel positively ancient, like it should be filled with dementia medication, or whatever else old people were ailed with. He also felt chastened, and every time he took a pill the stupid black case - of course it was black, because Hob had found it for him - was a mocking reminder that he couldn’t be trusted when left to his own devices. One step forward and several back, once again.

Although needing to ask for his rescue meds was an exercise in understanding. If he truly needed them, Hob would give them without question, but he seemed to have an unerring eye for when the crisis could be abated by holding him and wheedling out what was wrong, if it weren’t immediately obvious. It was enough, more often than not. Even when they tried to re-establish his meagre foothold in the neighbourhood some two weeks after his release from the hospital.

Morpheus had been determined not to let his one small joy be ruined. Even when he was barely able to function he had talked himself out of the house, down the street, to the coffee house that was remarkably inviting when it wasn’t filled with the morning rush. When it was he had always taken his coffee to go and drunk it halfway back up the block, in front of the flower shop that always had simple bouquets and flowering plants outside during weather good enough for it. Most of his house plants had come from them, when he realised that he lingered an awful lot and looked stranger than he had any right to. His near obsession with the leafy subjects of his little realm came later.

Hob fairly dragged him from the house, his determination stymied by the time for action, but he succeeded in the end. He did need fresh air, after all. It was half nine, well past the morning commuters, and the level of activity in the shop looked… Acceptable, from the outside. Daunting, perhaps, but it had been worse by far on that fateful day. There was no one he saw whom he recognized even in passing, save for the staff.

“You ready to go in?” Hob asked, bumping his shoulder against Morpheus’s gently. If they had brought Jessamy she would have taken offence to that action, but they had not. She had alerted to enough in the past few days that he could notice her stress, and spare her the trouble. A quick trip, coffee to go, and then he could lose himself in his work again.

He nodded in reply to Hob who gallantly opened the door and ushered him in with a teasing mock bow. Morpheus rolled his eyes.

There were a few people ahead of them in line and he stayed half-turned, sheltering against Hob as if he’d be buffeted by the wind if he didn’t. This was his place, and it shouldn’t make his hands shake and his knees weak. He should have told Hob what he wanted before they came in because now his mouth was dry and he had no words to give anyone.

When they came to the front of the line, rather than asking for their order, the barista slid two finished drinks across the counter to them. One was tagged with his painfully misspelt moniker, and the other only with a smiley face. Morpheus realised then he had never managed to internalise the woman’s name, even though it was spelled out on a name badge attached to her black apron. Hailey. He would try to remember it.

“We were wondering when we’d see you again,” she said, “On the house. Sorry about last time, I… we saw what happened. Manager banned those bitches, just fyi.”

Morpheus nodded tightly and picked up his drink. “It was busy, I did not think anyone saw,” he replied awkwardly, mind filling with the realisation that everyone in the shop that day had seen the start of his panicked fleeing.

“Well, you’re kinda our favourite regular, don’t tell the others,” she said conspiratorially, “And you kinda stand out, no offence.”

Hob snickered, and Morpheus belatedly wished he’d the presence of mind to elbow him.

“Thank you,” he said, finding that he very much meant it, and then in a moment of boldness rarely known to him he decided to set a long-running misunderstanding to rights, “Ah, so… This isn’t my name, really; Murphy.”

The barista, Hailey he reminded himself, grinned at him. “Oh come on, it’s at least a little funny, yeah?” she replied, “Figured you wouldn’t want me yelling your real name out and then it just sorta stuck.”

That sent him back into baffled silence for a moment before he asked; “You know who I am?”

It was Hob who replied, unable to contain himself. “You’re not exactly subtle, love.”

“He said it, not me,” Hailey said with a wink, before scooting over to the other register to help the next customers who had just entered.

They still left, sticking to their original plan, rather than drinking their coffees in house. Hob linked arms with him so they walked slowly by necessity, Hob enjoying the lovely morning and Morpheus begrudgingly admitting to himself that he needed the fresh air and rather loathsome sunlight.

“They knew this whole time,” he said eventually, pausing as they passed the flower shop. The simpler bouquets of carnations were a splotch of riotous colour that drew his eye.

“Yeah. Hard not to, ‘specially back when you moved in and the news was fresh in people’s minds.”

“But… they never told anyone,” he said, brow furrowed in confusion as he mulled over this new enlightenment. “No one’s ever come to my place, no media, solicitors, not until, til…”

He trailed off and Hob kissed him on the cheek. “Why would they? Some people are just decent, love,” Hob replied, deciding it was better not to bring up exactly why they’d been decent, at the start, “You do realise though; you’ve gotten to do something painfully, abjectly normal for years. Next you’ll be fetching your own groceries.”

“Absolutely not.”

Hob laughed, then held his coffee out for him to take with a promise that he’d be right back. He ducked into the flower shop, leaving Morpheus alone with his still confounded thoughts for an exceedingly long few minutes before he emerged again with a bouquet of red roses in hand, which he presented with a teasing flourish. Only then realising both of Morpheus’s hands were full; so he snatched back his coffee quickly so that his partner could take the flowers.

Morpheus’s gaze flicked from the flowers in his hand to Hob and back again, before asking; “Why?”

“Because I had the sudden realisation that… we’re not how you dated before. So, I didn’t want the only time you got flowers before our wedding to be in hospital,” Hob explained, sounding almost sheepish, “And they’re beautiful, like you.”

Morpheus didn’t have an answer to that. It was true enough; he’d only ever received flowers in some of the worst times in his life. He’d given many, as he was more than a little drawn to overt gestures, and sometimes had been a bit desperate. He was still desperate, albeit for far different reasons and Hob was doing his best, often unknowingly, to calm that gnawing fear that he was not enough, or all too much. He hugged him, a bit awkwardly with bouquet in one hand and half-finished coffee in the other, and kissed Hob in a way he hoped could explain his thanks and appreciation better than the words that failed him.

Of course, Hob would never expect anything of him, no thanks or praise required, only his presence. His existence. He was a comfort to a man who had his life so well in order. The very idea was breathtaking.

They walked home slower with Hob’s arm around his waist, bumping against each other every few steps, but he was not about to complain.

“You know,” Hob began, when they had reached the entrance to his building and Morpheus was busy punching in the code, “Flower shop folks know who you are too.”

“No, I’ve had enough revelations for one day.”

Hob laughed brightly at that and barely waited until the door had shut behind them to kiss him again.

Chapter Text

Hob attended the meetings of Morpheus’s legal team with Lucienne and Dee in lieu of the man himself actually attending. After his run-in with the process servers, not only was he loath to leave the house for anything that was already upsetting, but his general level of functioning was… somewhere back mid-press tour, if he were to put a label on it. Unfortunately the need to discuss the conservatorship hearing without him rather exemplified the reasons for the hearing, and everyone knew it - but Morpheus was slowly relaxing and far happier to hear the summarised version at home; usually either in bed, or curled up on the couch with a cup of calming chamomile tea.

It didn’t look good for their side, and they were definitively pursuing an affirmative defence. Everyone involved at least accepted, if not agreed, that Morpheus would benefit so long as the conservator were Dee rather than his father. He was happiest and most like his former self, according to his sister, when he was free of duties surrounding himself and kept to creative pursuits or duties involving others - his financial acumen and investments were in their pile of evidence as to why he was quite competent enough to speak on his own behalf at the meeting.

Pursuant to their more positive outlook on his functionality, Hob did accompany – or drag – Morpheus along to another soiree for the non-profit he and his father endowed. Though a far less ornate event than the gala, being the centre of attention for his philanthropic endeavours rather than anything he had created unnerved Morpheus to the extreme. To his great credit, he didn’t show. His thin veneer of social grace passed the vibe check as Hob put it, much to his obvious annoyance. The rescue meds did make an appearance, but preemptively, and they made nice for the press in fancy suits and showed the younger Lord Aeternus fully recovered from his as-yet-unclarified accident and feeling quite well, thank you very much.

That he spent the next four days in isolation speaking only to Hob, and that via text and video call, was no one’s business but their own.

Somehow he still had the energy to wedding plan, and Hob was bombarded with pictures of flowers and table settings and even cutlery for some godforsaken reason. All were sent to his phone while he worked at the desk downstairs and Morpheus remained in bed with his newfound Pinterest account and one new contact in his phone - a wedding planner whose fee he’d casually told Hob over dinner purely to cackle like a fiend when he choked on his wine at the number. That sort of response never got old, apparently.

One thing he did not share was the personal statement he was preparing for the hearing. He would be present and forced to listen to all arguments against his mental competency, which Hob was already bracing himself for, only to have to stand up and speak in his own defence. All he could hope for was that Morpheus summoned a bit of his latent rage and channelled that through; a bit more of that ‘words ca’t hurt me’ attitude that had carried him through the end of the press tour and beyond until they’d had this most recent setback.

Despite all the stress, Hob found he felt better. This was his element if he were honest with himself; busy, running every which way with a full calendar, and focused so intently both on his work and on the care of his partner that his mind didn’t have a lot of time to slow down. When it did, the dread crept in. As much as Morpheus was terrified of the hearing going the wrong way, so was Hob but he kept it on the inside quite a lot better - and likely had a bit more faith, given that he was privy to all the legal discussions. Still when he was not at the home they now shared more often than not, when Morpheus needed space or some early morning meeting at the museum he was still working in curation with made proximity a priority, the silence of his flat and an empty bed forced him to imagine again a possible future without the man he loved.

It would be easier if he couldn’t imagine it, if his life was now so entwined with Morpheus’s that there was nothing else, but he could. He had learned all too well what it was to love and lose and the spectre of it haunted him nonetheless, no matter how often he hashed it out with both his personal therapist and the couples counsellor whose appointments were now foremost in his calendar. Awareness of his issue was the first step, but he seemed to be tripping on the second, or any further for that matter. Either way, it would all be over soon and then they would be off from the relative safety of London back to Morpheus’s homeland for the remainder of the wedding prep.

Or not, a tiny, derisive part of his brain reminded him, and Hob tried to push it down again with more success.

Morpheus wanted privacy the night before the hearing which Hob did find surprising, but the text he received late in what was clearly a sleepless night for them both read ‘thank you for understanding’ and that was some reassurance, somehow. Mostly he thought Morpheus would prefer he didn’t see him cry, but he wouldn’t state that assumption aloud.

His fiance’s red-rimmed eyes the following morning spoke well enough.

Morpheus wore a trim and traditional cut black suit and blue shirt that matched his eyes; rather plain for him, and colourful, but he looked… normal, as much as he could, and respectable. After he clung to Hob for several long minutes on end, Hob kissed him then held him at arm’s length to look him up and down.

“Don’t you look like a proper little lordling,” he said teasingly, and Morpheus gave a bleak little laugh.

“I am certainly trying.”

“You are,” Hob said reassuringly before dragging him to the bathroom to run a wet comb through his hair a few times to tame the mess - one thing he’d forgotten, as it clearly wasn’t part of his usual morning routine.

He was silent on the way to the courthouse but, to Hob’s surprise, not in his usual distant or dissociative way. Instead he was thrumming with energy, bouncing one knee and tapping his fingers on the leather seat beside him until Hob took and squeezed his hand. That got him an appreciative smile, although the jitters didn’t stop. Jessamy was unimpressed, and any attempt Hob had made to tame Morpheus’s hair was going to be undone by her preening before they were even seen by anyone in power.

Hob had never been to court; his one and only citation had been pled and paid by post so his only reference were the procedurals on the BBC that were his guilty pleasure background noise while he wrote exams or created PowerPoints for his lectures. Somehow he hadn’t even asked what to expect outside of the actual facts to be presented. Shockingly it had all been kept rather hush-hush until the night before when someone had leaked something online and the twittersphere lit up about it. Lucienne had made the executive decision not to inform Morpheus of that, even if Hob found the trending #FreeMorpheus as amusing as it was distressing. That meant the media had encamped the proper distance away from the building. Though Hob and Dee and Lucienne did their best to block their view, no doubt they ended up with something printable, or postable, he really didn’t know if this was the sort of gossip to make the actual society pages or just the gossip rags.

Their legal team were already there ahead of them, and Hob waited down the hall and around the corner with Morpheus so as not to run the risk of being intimidated by his father prior to the hearing itself. No one was sure if he would be in person, as he had filed a request to appear via video conference, but Lucienne had looked up the flight plans of the family jet and found that it had landed at a private airstrip outside London two days prior. Playing head games with his mentally ill son who he professed to care for was even more abhorrent than the face of this situation, if anyone asked Hob’s opinion - which they notably hadn’t. As Dee had put it; he was present to be pretty and silent. He was of no true legal relation to Morpheus as of yet, an engagement was hardly binding, and was there as a guest of the court - although he too had submitted a written statement of his observations of Morpheus’s mental state.

Sitting on opposite sides of the small court room across from the elder Lord Aeternus’s legal team was a little disconcerting for Morpheus - he knew the barristers at that firm, if not perhaps the ones that dealt with family law. It was a betrayal in a way after the firm’s strong defence against Paul McGuire’s nuisance suit, but they were contractually obligated to their primary client, after all.

Hob had kind of started to zone out waiting until Morpheus’s sweaty grip on his hand tightened as the doors opened again, but it was not his father - only someone he didn’t recognize that sat on the plaintiff’s side. Morpheus heaved a sigh of relief.

Short-lived, however, as shortly after the judge herself arrived the door creaked heavily open again to admit Lord Aeternus himself. Hob glanced at him long enough to note the strong family resemblance; straight nose, sharp bone structure, and icy blue eyes that on this older man seemed cold and calculating rather than sparkling like his son’s. Morpheus, however, could not take his eyes off the man as he walked down the open aisle to join his legal team. If looks could kill, the man would have died the second the door opened. He did not so much as glance at his son, which both angered and pleased Hob in a way - he hoped that action was driven at least partially by guilt. His relationship with his parents had been complicated, but even after their worst rows he couldn’t imagine his father willing to ruin and dominate his life for the sake of appearances. It would be easier if the man truly cared and this was a misguided attempt to get his son the help he needed, but he had help surrounding him at the moment, evident in the candid statements of his doctors and mental healthcare team. Morpheus had read them all at Lucienne’s behest to be aware of what was to be said of him in court, and despite his misgivings it had lightened his heart a little to see it so clearly stated that he had improved, that he was better.

That they had noted a marked improvement over the last seven months, even through temporary setbacks in treatment, gave Hob more joy than it likely should, given the present circumstances.

To his great credit Morpheus remained still and stoic while his father’s side presented their material. There were tears in his eyes but they did not spill over, and only the occasional tensing of his hand in Hob’s grasp showed that he was present in mind as well as body. Hob wondered if there was some level of stress after which he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, dissociate. A fight or flight response where retreat was no longer an option.

Despite Lucienne’s careful prep along with their legal team, somehow Hob had it in his head that this would be like what he was used to seeing on television; but it wasn’t a trial or anything of the sort. The burden of proof was different and both sides agreed, albeit in different ways, on the fact that there was an issue here. Lucienne had long since had legal power over a variety of Morpheus’s affairs but it wasn’t a true deputyship and Morpheus retained a say over most things - it was for his convenience, or in case of incapacitation, more a servant than a guardian and only slightly beyond what Hob had come to realise most ridiculously wealthy people had for simplicity’s sake.

The elder Lord Aeternus harboured a clear dislike for Lucienne, as part of their stance floated the idea that a lesser guardian was clearly insufficient as she had allowed Morpheus, under her supervision, to become a complete recluse and endanger his health. Those damned beach photos from the press tour when Morpheus had been at his worst, mentally and physically, made a reappearance and, much later near the tail end of their argument for Morpheus’s incapacity; the damned instagram story ‘announcing’ their engagement. In this context, they both cringed a little - even if it was still Morpheus’s phone lock screen to this very day. When all was put together and presented in brief, even Hob had to admit they weren’t, technically, incorrect save for snidely laying blame at Lucienne’s feet for anything. She was a saint, as far as Hob was concerned.

But that was why they had angled for an affirmative stance, rather than to have the request thrown out entirely. Morpheus’s behaviour, what could be seen of it by the public, was erratic. Between one event and the next he was either a charming socialite or too overwhelmed to speak, hastily exited before he made a scene.

There was a small recess between the two presentations, requested by Morpheus’s team, as their client had gone rather white and the last thing they needed was for him to have a panic attack in the courtroom and prove their opponent’s points any more thoroughly. Their barrister led them to the small prep room they’d made use of earlier in the morning and let them be. Hob could hear Lucienne and Dee talking in hushed voices outside but couldn’t make out the actual words. All he could really hear was Morpheus in his embrace, trying to control his breathing and force himself to be calm; a task at which he succeeded admirably, in Hob’s opinion. They had only a quarter hour and it was with great difficulty that he coaxed his fiance out of his arms. Though he said nothing, only took Hob’s hand in his again, a tenuous, shaky grip, his reason was obvious enough; he feared that freedom being taken from him.

When they returned to the courtroom, their opponents were already seated with Lord Aeternus looking stormy as ever and glaring daggers at his son’s side. Their legal team had already sat, Hob and Morpheus returning just under the wire for the time given to them, but it wasn’t Dee or even Lucienne who’d raised his ire - someone else had joined them. Hob’s first instinct was protective, aggressive, and very much wanting to tell Morpheus’s sibling to go fuck themselves but then his rational mind kicked in. Crass asshole or not; they were here, and they were on his side.

“Hey big brother,” Epithumia said softly from behind them as they sat down, almost too quietly to hear. This would certainly make the wedding more interesting.

Morpheus let out a mumbled “Hello” but had time for little else as proceedings were to begin again, this time on a lighter note.

Their affirmative response focused steadily on the upward trend of Morpheus’s wellbeing with the affidavits from doctors Heron and Jayalingam suggesting that he was on a road toward recovery; a very long road, but making progress nonetheless. They presented Dee and the benefits that she held over returning Morpheus to the care of his father. If nothing else her medical degree and proximity should be enough, Hob thought, though if it would be better or worse had they known she alone had saved him from his overdose was debatable. Their team’s ability to provide safety, stability, and as little change in routine as possible seemed to darken Lord Aeternus’s mood even further.

Hob felt a strange sort of thrill at the realisation, when one lawyer leaned in and whispered something in the old man’s ear, that this was unexpected in its entirety. They had thought Morpheus would fight the very concept, stubborn bastard that he was, and fail. Morpheus realised it too and, although he was still pale as a ghost and his hand was shaking, there were no longer tears in his eyes and his tight expression was grim, not scared. There was that spark of rage, of smug superiority, that had been distant, if not missing, of late.

What felt like ages was in truth merely minutes before they were done with their argument, and all that was left was Morpheus’s own statement. It had been hardly an hour, including their recess, after weeks of studious preparation and months of discussion in anticipation of the worst.

Morpheus stood and stepped forward to speak, outwardly calm although Hob’s well trained eye saw the tremor of his lips as he gathered himself to speak. Despite his discomfort his tone was firm, yet beseeching, and he steadfastly addressed the judge without ever looking over at his father and their legal team.

“I am not here to deny, or argue, against the matter at hand,” he began, “The misfortunes of my life have allowed for a great deal of self-inspection and while I have railed against it at times, I am now, perhaps more than ever, aware that I need help in my day to day life in ways that others do not.”

“What I ask is for those assembled here to understand the extent of that need. I do not wish to disparage anyone’s attempt to help me, but it is my firm belief that being under the care of my father, returned to my home country, I would be more likely to wither and die than flourish and recover,” Morpheus continued, pausing for a deep, steadying breath, as he tried to summon up the part of him that was ever so capable of giving lectures, “My assistant, sister, and medical team can attest that since my acute recovery I have changed little, and struggled much, until recently. My father does not approve of many things that make me who I am; of my sexuality, or how I dress and present myself.”

“However, those are things that have brought me solace and now happiness,” he said, “I have made of myself something to be proud of; I am loved, and I am cared for. Having a partner has shown me how far I have recovered as well as how far I have yet to go; he is committed to helping me every step of the way and I deeply resent the implication that my relationship and how I choose to present it exemplifies my disability. I have built a life here that may not be perfect but it is mine, and I am content. In the past six months I have resumed my public life and charitable works, completed an international press tour, returned to university, and gotten engaged. These are all marks of progress that I believe will continue should I be allowed to remain in London, under my sister’s guidance and with my partner’s support. So I ask today, should it please the court; do not take from me what I have spent a decade struggling to attain; do not steal my joy.”

He looked like he was unsure what to do with himself after his speech, so he stood there a moment in the newfound silence of the courtroom, before hesitantly sitting back down. Hob took his hand immediately and gave him a reassuring smile.

Hob had expected a recess of some sort while a decision was made, but maybe that was just his tv-focused understanding of how court proceedings worked. If money and prestige had gotten them to a hearing within a matter of weeks rather than months, perhaps it also bought immediate decisions. Only once before in his life had Hob been so relieved as he was to hear the judge’s decision, and that was when he had finally woken in the hospital. He didn’t hear the rest of the man’s speech, nor her response or anything their legal team said, past granting Dee the position of deputy in charge of her brother’s affairs. His mind was preoccupied with the relief of knowing they would not be parted.

Morpheus sagged against his side, his stoic pretence giving way now a decision had been made and he felt no more need to hide. Hob wrapped an arm around his narrow shoulders immediately, held him close, and studiously ignored his hitched breathing as Morpheus tried not to cry out his pent-up emotions. Lucienne was the one to gently herd them out of the courtroom itself, back to the antechamber where they had taken their recess. It was smaller, quieter, and here there was no opposition looking at them. The last thing Morpheus needed right now was his father glaring daggers at him.

Shooing away Hob’s offer of a chair, Morpheus just leaned against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He was trying his best to control his breathing, counting in and out, in and out. Hob took the chair instead, sitting with his back to the conference table and watching his fiancé as he slowly relaxed. The others filtered in and he ignored them, eyes only on the man he loved who was not so much trying to ward off a panic attack as much as letting out weeks worth of stress - his eyes were still closed, but there was the slightest smile on Morpheus’s lips and that was a good sign.

The tapping of heels on the stone floor alerted him, however; a heavier step than Lucienne or Dee and it could be only one other. Morpheus cracked his eyes open and sighed, seeming to fold in on himself as he pulled away from the wall to stand straight again. The challenging look on his face made Hob proud, even if he knew well enough that it was a veneer of control. A few minutes of the heady feeling of victory wasn’t enough to assuage weeks of acute terror and months of stress. The presence of his sibling didn’t help.

“Why did you come?” Morpheus asked, tone so flat that Hob hadn’t the faintest clue of his real emotions on the matter.

His sibling sat on the edge of the conference table in a prim pose that seemed remarkably contrived, but for whose benefit was unclear.

“Father requested that I come and show my support, so I did,” Epithumia replied snidely, “He simply failed to clarify which side he preferred.”

“Then you’ve succeeded in spiting our father, leave.”

“Oh, brother dearest, that was hardly the point,” they said, tilting their head slightly and looking at Hob, “Did your little boy-toy not mention I came to see you in hospital?”

Morpheus was surprised at that, his annoyed expression furrowing into something more like confusion and he looked between the two of them before his gaze rested on Hob, accusingly. Hob raised his hands in a gesture of supplication and shook his head.

“Uh, they didn’t exactly say anything I was about to repeat to you in the state you were in”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Epithumia replied, rolling their eyes.

“I’m sure,” Morpheus said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Why?”

“You already asked that”

“I am asking not why you are here, but why you care,” he said sharply, “After all these years.”

“Is it not enough to miss the way things were?”

“No.”

“Have it your way,” they said with a sigh, hopping down off the table, “Guess I’ll see you at the wedding, if I’m invited.”

“You are,” Morpheus said, his voice softening a little as he belatedly added; “Thank you.”

Epithumia pulled a disgusted face and scoffed as they straightened their jacket. “Gratitude doesn’t suit you in the least, stop trying,” they said, somehow managing to make it sound like an insult, before sweeping out of the room to leave Hob and Morpheus staring at each other, and the others pretending like they hadn’t just witnessed the entire verbal sparring match.

“What, and I cannot express this enough, the fuck is wrong with your family,” Hob said and knew he sounded every bit as exhausted as he felt. Morpheus’s wry little laugh in response, however, was gratifying. He came back to the table, shoved a chair out with his foot, and plopped down next to Hob with an exhausted sigh, but offered no explanation real or in jest.

“Ready to go home, love?” Hob asked, reaching for his hand.

Morpheus shook his head. “Not just yet,” he replied, “There’s one more thing I would take care of since we’re already here, just need to go down the hall.”

“Oh, do you need to sign something? I thought since this is kind of happening to you, not from you that you didn’t actually need to do the paperwork.”

Morpheus made an annoyed face at being reminded of his current legal predicament, but it was a brief grimace and then gone again - replaced by something a little mischievous. He stood and offered Hob his hand in an unnecessarily gallant gesture. Stress was still evident in the lines of his body and the tightness of his jaw, but Hob was struck by remembrance of his words in the courtroom ‘do not steal my joy’. Clearly he was doing his best not to allow them the smallest foothold in their failure.

He gestured for Dee and Lucienne to follow and they did, talking to each other in low voices which Hob didn’t even want to eavesdrop on - they had a lot to sort out now between what was covered by Lucienne’s job and what was Dee’s purview. Instead he focused on Morpheus who looked nervous again.

“Did you know; Lichtenstein still does not have marriage equality?” he asked, glancing over at Hob as they walked, “We are a little bit backwards, I suppose, for all our wealth and social standing. I have hopes that my example may help change that.”

“That uh, doesn’t surprise me, given that people like your dad have power,” Hob said, squeezing Morpheus’s hand and feeling unduly comforted by the smile that spawned on his partner’s face.

“A fair judgement. The point being however that we may have our celebration and ceremony there, but our marriage must be registered here; where you are conveniently a citizen,” Morpheus said, pulling up short in front of a closed door which bore a sign saying Registrars Office. He looked very pleased with himself.

Hob didn’t know what to say, or how to react. The emotional whiplash of the last few hours was like nothing he had experienced before. He’d woken up this morning with the very real fear that Lord Aeternus would win and steal Morpheus back to some high tower like a rotten fairytale, never to be seen again, and now they were… here.

“We’ll just be registering today, our officiant will sign off at the ceremony to make it official, but… I thought it a good way to celebrate, if things… went as they did,” Morpheus continued, hesitant at Hob’s lack of response, but that unsurety in his voice snapped him out of wherever his mind was wandering to. He pulled Morpheus into a tight embrace that was eagerly returned with almost crushing strength when Hob meant to release him. “I was so afraid to lose you.”

“I know, love. Me too,” Hob said softly, “I expected it to go our way but, if it hadn’t, I’d have never given up on you, you know that right?”

“Yes. Why else are we getting a marriage licence?” Morpheus asked, his teasing tone no doubt to deflect emotions he had just barely gotten under control.

“Oh, well, you did say something about my being a citizen. That desperate for a blue passport, are you?”

Morpheus gave a choked laugh at that and finally let him go. When he pulled back it was clear he was doing his best not to grin like a loon. That heady feeling of victory was back, then. Good. Dee and Lucienne had caught up with them. Sensing that everyone was in a bit better of a state, Dee draped an arm around both of their shoulders. No doubt she would take her newfound power with all due seriousness, but she was first and foremost Morpheus’s favourite sibling and would always act as such.

“Well, are you gonna go in?” she asked teasingly, “Or just stand outside making eyes at each other?”

“I think you have to come with, now,” Morpheus said, tilting his head to look at her, “Do you approve of this union?”

Dee ruffled his hair affectionately, much to her brother’s chagrin, but it did put him back to his more usual appearance. Coiffed, formal Morpheus was an image Hob would much rather associate with their date nights than the day’s fiasco, so a small part of him was thankful for the change. The last month and a half had been a true test of their relationship, more than the press tour or anything else they had endured, and here they were standing strong. Hob pushed open the door and gestured with a flourish for Morpheus to enter.

“After you, my lord,” he said, and almost managed not to laugh at Morpheus’s exasperated eye roll.

Chapter Text

Without the anticipatory fear hanging over him, Morpheus hardly knew what to do with himself. They had filled out their paperwork, promptly handed to Lucienne to be in charge of, and then they were free. Well, free for a given value of the word. Dee had assured him over and over that nothing had changed, nothing would change, unless he willed it or desperately needed it. Lucienne was of a mind that he needed to return to the program he’d been in after the press tour to regain what weight he had lost in the last month’s stress and try to instil good habits in him, again. Morpheus found he had no real opinions either way on this or on anything else at the moment; he felt rather numb sitting beside Hob on the ride home - to the New Inn for now, he needed a change of scenery.

Hob respected his need for silence as he always did, ever aware of his shifting moods and the occasional need to simply not be present, for a while. The car ride wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten undressed and tucked into Hob’s bed. It should be barely past lunch time but the angle of the light through the windows told him it was much later. His head was pounding.

“Hob?” he tentatively called out. Surely he was nearby, but he could be buried in his work, or have run down to the pub.

His absence from the daily workings of it had been entirely of Morpheus’s doing for which he felt no small amount of guilt. Immediately he heard footsteps from the livingroom and down the hall; an instant relief even before Hob’s worried face appeared in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, love, I meant to come in and check again soon so you didn’t wake alone,” he said, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed, “Just couldn’t sleep earlier, and figured you needed it.”

Morpheus nodded and didn’t move from his comfortable hoard of blankets. There were certainly more of them here than when he had first stayed over.

“I did, and it was… fine, waking,” he said, offering Hob a weak smile, “Smells like you and that’s enough.”

Hob ran a hand through his hair and Morpheus closed his eyes again. He could easily sleep for the rest of the night, but just as easily get up and try to be productive enough that his mind was occupied. Sleep had been a way out of overthinking things, of remembering things, but now he needed to focus or else those memories would overwhelm him. Hob’s gentle touch was a good place to start.

“I had no idea how I would feel after this. I thought I would be upset, rankled by– by being so publicly told I don’t know how to live my life,” he said quietly, “On the contrary; in a way I feel lighter.”

“You can focus on the things that make you who you are, let someone else take care of the rest,” Hob replied, “You’re still finding out who you are and once you do, maybe it’ll be time for Dee to step down.”

Morpheus nodded, searching Hob’s face for… something, he didn’t know what. Disapproval maybe, though he knew it wouldn’t be there. He felt lighter, yes, but also a little ashamed like he had circled back around to his starting point, in a way. That was not aided by all that the court building had dredged up. It wasn’t even the same courthouse from the original Burgess trial but those hallowed halls all had the same aura to them; places of stress and pain and suffering that he almost thought he could feel - but it could have been just his own emotions so dissociated from himself as to apply them to others. Dr. Heron would be proud of him for that assessment; giving it a real world cause not feelings and fantasy. He sighed.

“Does it bother you?”

Hob gave him a scathing look. “I signed the licence, didn’t I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is. If I had any misgivings about your mental or legal situation, I wouldn’t be so ready to bind myself to you for the rest of our lives,” Hob replied, “Needing help isn’t something to be ashamed of; in fact I wish you’d let me help you more than you do.”

Morpheus scoffed at that and rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling and suddenly missing his skylights at home; he preferred to see the stars, such as they were with the light pollution of the city.

“I would not burden you further, forgive me,” he said after a moment, “It’s not a fair line of questioning, merely my history coming to the fore again. Courtrooms for me are… not unlike hospitals for you.”

“Oh…” Hob said softly, more a punched out breath than a word, and then he was instantly beside him, pulling Morpheus into a tight embrace and pressing a kiss to his temple, “I should have thought of that, I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You can’t protect me from every pitfall, there’s far too many.”

“No, but I can catch you when you fall.”

“I don’t remember getting home, really, or in pyjamas, or in bed,” Morpheus said, squirming in Hob’s embrace to face him, “You did catch me.”

“Maybe I did, but…”

Morpheus silenced him with a look. “That’s enough. You’re enough,” he replied, “If you need to do more to make yourself feel better then I am more than happy to indulge, but this is all I really need.”

“You always know just what to say,” Hob mused, twining his fingers through Morpheus’s hair again until he felt the other man relax into him.

“Poet, it comes with the territory.”

“Prat.”

Morpheus snickered at that and again marvelled at how his darker thoughts were so easily dispersed by so little in Hob’s presence. They were still there, creeping in the edges of his mind, but when Hob was near, holding him or merely talking to him, it was like they held no sway - the man he loved was a light in the darkness, chasing the shadows away. He forgot for a while to be scared, or worried, or crushingly sad until that focus was gone and he was left to the devices of his own mind. That he would, on a near daily basis, have to forgo those feelings of lightness that replaced his troubles irked him more than it had any right to. He wished he had the words to express as much to Hob, but they failed him in this all too often.

That was why he wrote poetry instead; some which he gave to Hob, slipped into his coat pockets or the pages of a book he was reading, and some in notebooks that his lover wouldn’t dare peek at without permission. Someday he would show it all to him, lay his soul as bare as he could, and show him just how truly unhinged he was about their love. When he proposed he had told Hob that he was his home and it was such a painful understatement despite the fervour of the proclamation.

He was brought back to the present moment by Hob’s concerned tone. “Where you at, love?”

“I apologise, did you say something?”

“Nothing that really needed an answer,” Hob said genially, “You had that look you get.”

“Ah, yes, well… It has certainly been a day.”
“Yeah… figured you needed some time in here to decompress, or just be alone,” Hob said, “Before you throw yourself back into everything.”

“Perhaps,” Morpheus replied, turning his face to look up at the ceiling rather than at Hob, “I will have to stop that soon enough, so it is best I don’t.”

“Stop… what exactly?”

“Throwing you out of our shared home on a whim,” he said with a self-deprecating little huff.

Hob was quiet for a long moment, thinking before he spoke, and Morpheus had the feeling he was in for a lecture. For the life of him he couldn’t fathom exactly why, in this case. He hadn’t said anything particularly negative about himself.

“Why would you have to do that?” Hob asked instead, propping himself up on one elbow to look down on Morpheus so that he couldn’t easily escape meeting his eyes, “You need space sometimes, that’s okay - especially since you’ve been better about texting me now and not just ghosting.”

“But you’re meant to live with me full-time; I can’t just order you around and out of my presence like a subject in my realm,” he dryly replied.

“True, I’d prefer you ask politely,” Hob teased, and Morpheus glared at him. “I own this place outright, no need to rent out the flat, and it’s not like I’m bringing everything. The furniture stays, the home goods, most of my books honestly unless we’re gonna start a library. A ring didn’t change your need for solitude; a piece of paper or a ceremony won’t either.”

“It isn’t fair to you.”

“How about you let me decide what is and isn’t a problem for me.”

Morpheus sighed and finally sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms. Leave it to Hob to be equal parts understanding and infuriating, all at once.

“Tell me, when it is a problem,” he said, his voice more stern than it needed to be, but it had been a very trying day.

“If it becomes an issue, and that’s a very big if, I will,” Hob replied, “Either way, not something to worry over now. You’re just hyperfocusing on a future problem because the last big one is out of the way.”

“You sound like Dr. Heron.”

“She says smart stuff,” Hob said, before sitting up then climbing back out of the bed now that Morpheus didn’t seem to be in such a cuddly mood.

Nonetheless he looked bereft at his leaving. “Here I thought you were coming to bed with me.”

“I have to go downstairs and tend bar actually; Amy’s out,” he regretfully replied, “I figured you wouldn’t mind, out of sorts and all, and we’d celebrate tomorrow.”

Morpheus rolled his eyes. “I meant to sleep, you fiend,” he snickered, “You do what you need to do, but… take your phone?”

“Or you could come with me,” Hob offered, then defended himself at his lover’s clearly disgusted look at the idea, “I’m sorry I hadn’t thought about the courthouse thing when I said yes. Bring a book, and Jessamy, it’s a weeknight. It would do you good; last time you were anywhere but my bedroom or yours was weeks ago.”

“I was at the courthouse this morning.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, pedant.”

“I don’t find that to be an insult.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Hob raised his eyebrows at him, and eventually Morpheus heaved a great, put-upon sigh and climbed out of bed. He had long since stashed some clothes in Hob’s closet for his increasingly more frequent visits and quickly dressed in comfortable black jeans and a cashmere sweater which had been Hob’s but had been annexed for his own wardrobe as it was black and the sleeves were long enough for him to pull down over his could fingers. Hob grabbed him by the waist as he passed by to leave the room and reeled him in for a lingering kiss.

As much as he hated to admit it; Hob was right. If he hid himself away from the world right now he would spiral, he knew that well enough. He might anyway even being as cognizant of it as he was. Going out even in such a small context after their win in court was the right public relations move to make as well; trying to show that he was fine, unruffled by the nascent trauma of his father trying to stuff him back in a box he never truly fit in to start. His fragility had been on display, it was time to show a little strength, such as it was.

Jessamy made excited little croaking noises as they walked down the stairs, despite having been indignant about having her harness put on. She alone was unaffected by the drama of the day, incapable of knowing the context and reacting to Morpheus’s most stressful situations in much the same way she did his at-home annoyances.

The pub was busier than it used to be, still benefiting from the publicity bump of his presence and relation to the owner, but by far less busy than it had been on the weekends. He took a spot at the end of the bar where it wrapped around to meet the wall. That way his back was to the wall, Hob to his right behind the bar, and most of the room in clear view. He’d brought a small black spiral-bound notebook and pen rather than reading material, but wasn’t sure he’d actually even attempt to write or jot down any ideas - mostly it was a conversation deterrent in case his dour demeanour were insufficient.

A few of the regulars filtered in soon enough. While he barely recognised them, Hob greeted them like old friends - already pouring pints even as they sat down. It was entertaining just to watch his lover be in his element; with people, telling stories and listening to theirs, engaging in a way that was so foreign to Morpheus himself. Even before everything he had been more an observer of social situations, a participant but not the catalyst - he’d never struck up conversations at clubs or parties, only ever let himself be approached and sometimes he’d deign to respond if the speaker had been attractive enough. All his friends then had been people who sought him out, dragged him out of his shell as it were until he gave of himself to them. All but Lucienne had done so for selfish reasons, as she was the only one who had come back to him upon his return when he had little left to give anyone.

His darker thoughts were interrupted by Hob setting down a glass of sparkling white wine in front of him, and he managed to summon a smile of thanks before taking a sip and nodding his approval.

“Never carried sparkling til you showed up, ‘cept New Years,” Hob said with a grin, “Do you want supper?”

Morpheus pulled a face and shook his head, which made Hob’s smile falter. His real customers satisfied for the time being, he leaned over the bar, resting his elbows on the polished wood. “You didn’t eat this morning, then slept. You really should,” he said quietly enough not to be overhead, not that anyone was listening over the hubbub of the bar.

“Or what, you’ll cut me off after a glass?”

“No, you’re safe to drink because you also haven’t taken your meds,” he replied pointedly, “But I’d be more inclined to bring the bottle if you’d eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You never are.”

“Hm, you do have a point,” Morpheus said wryly, leaning back against the wall as if some space from Hob would end this conversation, “Dee is going to make me return to the clinic, so your concerns will be moot soon enough. Let me have my way, for once, as it won’t happen again for a while.”

Hob seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. But I’m bringing you a snack, in case you change your mind.”

Hob was called away before he could summon a snappy retort to that and was busy enough with customers for long enough that he flipped open the cover of his notebook to absentmindedly jot things down. Jessamy’s excited noise for Hob alerted him to his presence, and he nonchalantly pulled his notebook closer, placing his hand over the page, as Hob set down a plate of vegetables, bread, and hummus - an item specifically on the appetiser menu because both he and Jessamy could be convinced to poke at it.

Hob gave him a questioning look. “Writing super private things in public?” he asked, “More scandalous poetry?”

“You like my scandalous poetry, do not pretend otherwise.”

“You like dodging questions.”

“If you must know, I’ve been putting down ideas for vows as they come to me, not just poetry,” Morpheus answered, letting through a hint of a smile that he couldn’t resist.

“You could make those scandalous too,” Hob said with a wink, before getting called away again down to the far end of the bar.

Morpheus watched him go, watched him talk with his hands and light up with energy at being with people. Social interactions being energising instead of draining was so baffling to him it was like watching a nature documentary. When it was Hob’s colleagues, or the smaller group that had met here a few times – David, Riley, Claire and Lucienne – he almost understood, but to have so broad a swathe of acquaintances. Baffling, but enjoyable to watch nonetheless.

He was only half paying attention to what Hob was doing, leaning on the bar and chatting with some younger patrons that seemed more friend than customer, and the other half on the metre of some lines he’d written down a few days before. Not the scandalous type this time, however. As ever he was alert for anyone taking notice of himself as anything more than a part of the decor.

“What about your mysterious boyfriend, Rob? He can fill out the team.”

“It’s mysterious fiancé to you,” Hob replied to the man, grinning, “And I doubt you’d convince him.”

Curiosity piqued, Morpheus set down his wine and leaned ever so slightly forward but not so much as to look too interested in joining this conversation. “Convince me of what, may I ask?”

“Oh god, he is real!” the man replied with mock horror, and Hob snapped a bar towel at him.

“You’re a fucking arsehole,” Hob said to him, without any real heat to it, before turning to Morpheus, “Rugby pub league, love, not exactly your purview.”

“Hmmm, I think not,” he said, returning to sipping his wine and eyeing Hob’s cohorts with mild distaste, “I haven’t done sport a day in my life and I’m not about to start now.”

“Scott, by the way,” the man said, giving him a jaunty wave, “I’m sure you’ve heard all about me.”

He had, come to think of it, heard a few stories about Hob’s rowdier group of friends rather than the academic ones. How anyone could have so many friends was still a mystery. Still, he replied, “Can’t say I recall.” Which triggered another round of hassling Hob, and freed Morpheus from the focus of humanity once more.

Morpheus stayed in the pub a handful of hours which was, for him, quite a feat. It was partially aided by the fact that Hob did keep filling his wine glass upon seeing that he ate at least a little. Eventually the constant noise, and the bar filling up so that he had much less of a buffer between him and the next patron, drove him away back upstairs. He didn’t like to be stared at and the more people in the pub, the more eyes on the black-clad weirdo who stood out so much from those around him. Not to mention Jessamy, who drew attention everywhere they went.

Returning to bed felt more like an accomplishment now rather than hiding from the world. Hob had been right, though he was loath to admit it; going out and trying to do something normal had helped. He’d hardly thought about anything in particular, just floated along on a haze of bubbly wine and the occasional poetic thought while observing Hob do what he did best. That was something he very much hoped he could get used to, in time. In fact, he planned to. Hob intended to keep an active role at the New Inn, and Morpheus liked to watch him. The less than helpful part of his mind offered a ‘when I’m not dragging him down’ but he did his level best to ignore it.

Slowly the noise from below that kept him awake tapered off toward close, which came much earlier on the weeknights then the friday and saturday nights he usually spent. Soon enough he heard tired footsteps outside in the hall and the beep of the security door as Hob put the code in wrong once, then twice. Then a thump that he assumed was kicking the door out of frustration, before Morpheus dragged himself up and down the short hall to let him in.

“Tasting your own wares, were you?”

Hob grumbled at him as he kicked off his shoes. “You’re one to talk,” he replied, looking Morpheus up and down.

“You dragged me from my convalescence, I didn’t intend to get out of bed before morning,” Morpheus said, trying not to grin at him. Hob looked tired, physically so, but he was energised in the way he became from being around people, friends or the friendly public. That combined with the slight flush to his cheeks from drinking with the pub staff made him far less care-worn than he had been of late. He tried not to think how the reason for such weariness had been his own troubles – Hob would say their troubles, surely, even if Morpheus were the cause of them all.

“You sound like a fainting victorian maiden.”

“Yes, so don’t make me swoon and need to be carried,” he said dryly, grabbing Hob around the waist and pulling him in close, “Right now I think you’d drop me.”

Hob raised an eyebrow at him, clearly taking it as a challenge. Before he could do anything but yelp in surprise, Morpheus found himself unceremoniously hoisted over Hob’s shoulder to be carried down the short hallway. Hob none too gently deposited him back on the bed where he landed with a huff that managed to extinguish his drunken laughter for a moment. Whatever maudlin thoughts had been assailing him were long since chased away.

“You dropped me.”

“Where you wanted to go; that hardly counts,” Hob replied, looking very pleased with himself.

“It does. Come here.”

It was not a request and Hob looked amused as ever when Morpheus took that tone with him, but he did as requested; joining him in the rumpled bed and pulling the other man to him. Morpheus was on him in an instant, pressing close and twining his fingers into Hob’s hair to drag him in for a kiss. He needed not only to chase the rest of the shadows away from his mind but to remind himself that this was real, they had won, and there was very little to fear for the moment. The last few weeks had been so stressful he’d had little of the compulsion he normally did to drag Hob off to bed at the slightest provocation, or no provocation at all, his treacherous body unwilling to bend to his more rational mind that had told him to enjoy what he had in case he would be forced to lose it.

Apparently his mind had wandered too far down that route. Hob stopped kissing him and pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, gentle fingertips wiping away tears from his cheeks that Morpheus hadn’t even felt begin to fall. The questioning look on Hob’s face brought back that careworn aura that he had been so happy to see lift. Morpheus looked down, away, suddenly finding the collar of Hob’s shirt to be very fascinating.

“I am… overwhelmed, that’s all. The hearing, everything up to it; I’ve not been myself, been able to be myself,” he murmured, then rather more cheekily added, “Then you went and got me drunk.”

Hob chuckled at that and kissed away the tracks of tears on his cheeks. “Just checking,” he said as he ran his hand up and down Morpheus’s back in a manner that started as soothing but quickly became more exploratory, slipping below the waistband of joggers he had worn to lounge around in. “Happy tears are fine, love. You have the luck to be a very pretty crier.”

Morpheus made an indignant noise and pushed Hob away so he could sit up. “The least you could do is give me something worth those tears. Take your shirt off, I’ve had too much wine to do buttons.”

“Is that a royal edict?” Hob was still snickering at him even while he did as asked; stripping off his shirt along with the rest of his clothing and throwing it in the vague direction of the laundry. A problem for a future version of him. Currently he already had the warm, lithe body of his lover pressed up against him the moment he rejoined him on the bed. It was more than a little gratifying to have someone so drop-dead gorgeous, and widely considered so, act as if he were completely irresistible. Hob knew he was handsome, in a normal sort of way, but sometimes he did wonder exactly how Morpheus saw him.

At the moment that thought was quickly stripped from his mind along with most others, replaced by the warmth and weight of his lover on his lap and the tantalising, teasing touch of his hands as Morpheus explored his body with the same enthusiasm he had since their first night together. Now they knew well exactly what the other liked and yet it had never become perfunctory for either of them.

Morpheus nuzzled against the pulse point of Hob’s throat, kissing upward to nip at the juncture of jaw and neck before biting down hard enough to make him yelp. That reaction only got him a soft huff of laughter and another bite - lower, but still not low enough to be hidden, and there he latched on and worried at the flesh with his teeth, then lathed over it with his tongue to sooth the imagined hurt. Hob gave a thready sigh and ran his fingers through Morpheus’s hair encouragingly for a moment, before tightening his grip to pull the other man off of him. He looked very smug.

“It is not as if you have any classes,” Morpheus said, at Hob’s admonishing expression. Cocking his head to the side, he tugged against Hob’s grip on his hair, and ran his tongue over kiss-swollen lips, looking thoughtful. “If you don’t like it; do something about it.”

That was as much a command as a challenge. Morpheus was ever reticent to ask outright for what he wanted, he much preferred teasing and goading his lover until he got exactly what he wanted without having to express himself. Hob knew it too, and thankfully took being ordered around as proof that Morpheus wasn’t too drunk to know exactly what he needed.

Right now, that was being tipped back off of Hob’s lap to lie beneath him while Hob returned his eager nips and kisses tenfold, trailing worship down his body until Morpheus could finally, truly relax for the first time in so long he could hardly remember. Only once he had gone completely pliant under Hob’s attentions was he finally rewarded by his lover licking slowly up the length of his cock where it lay ignored and leaking against his abdomen. The gasp he made at the sharp shock of pleasure was rewarded with a chuckle, before Hob took the head of his cock into his mouth to suck. He took it no deeper, still teasing after all the waiting, and it wasn’t until Morpheus felt the tentative intrusion of a slicked fingertip at his entrance that he realised Hob wasn’t merely teasing him - just distracting him in pursuit of a bigger prize.

He was already relaxed and found it easy to focus on the heat of Hob’s mouth and the sharp spike of pleasure every time he swirled his tongue over the tip of his cock. Hob’s hair had fallen out of its tie and Morpheus brushed his fingers through it lovingly before tucking it behind the man’s ear. For once he wasn’t inclined to hurry his lover through prepping him; they had very different ideas of what was enough, Morpheus rarely won but Hob was often forced to compromise. Tonight he simply let the tension leave his body beneath the careful touch, knowing full well there was a blissful expression on his face all the while as he let himself be cared for.

Eventually Hob slowly drew his mouth off of his lover’s cock to press kisses to the soft skin of his lower stomach instead, before moving up Morpheus’s body. He was already sitting up to meet him; feeling bereft at their bodies no longer being connected in any way and wanting it back, and more, as swiftly as possible.

“How do you want me, love?” Hob asked, nipping at the soft skin below Morpheus’s ear as he spoke.

He whined in response and closed his eyes. “Don’t ask me questions right now.”

Hob chuckled at that and kissed him, softly at first but then licking into his mouth to make it a thorough claiming. Tonight would be his call then, not something he would he complain about.

He turned Morpheus in his embrace, pulling him back down to the bed to lie in front of him. Hob had long ignored his own pleasure, so focused on his lover’s comfort he had not given a hand to himself, and now he groaned deeply as he pressed his over-sensitive cock against Morpheus’s ass. They both needed this, but he had wanted to lavish attention on his love who so deeply deserved to be pleasured. There was no doubt in his mind that Morpheus would do the same for him soon enough, as if the privilege, the honour of burying himself to the hilt in that hot, pliant body wasn’t enough.

Morpheus keened sweetly at being entered and twisted his neck, trying for a kiss that couldn’t quite reach. Hob nuzzled the back of his neck instead, whispering nonsensical endearments as he began to move. One hand, arm pinned beneath his lover’s weight, wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close while Hob ran the other teasingly up and down Morpheus’s body. First teasing his sensitive nipples before sliding down the sharply muscled plains of his body to rest, fingers splayed, just above the base of his cock. Morpheus bucked his hips and pushed back against him, murmuring some plea for… something. More. Less. Everything all at once.

There was no denying him anything. Hob picked up the pace of his previously lazy thrusts, setting a steady rhythm that was still enough to make his lover mew desperately every time his cock nearly slipped from the cloying warmth of his body. Not until he could feel his own orgasm approaching did Hob wrap a hand loosely around his lover’s cock; not stroking, only providing what friction his own thrusts provided.

Morpheus reached up and grabbed onto Hob’s embracing arm as if he could somehow force him closer, meld their bodies even more together than they were. His other hand he brought down to touch himself, twining his fingers with Hob’s and forcing their grip tighter, faster, chasing his orgasm with increasing fervour even as his soft, breathy whines sped up in time with his lover’s movements. He had lost himself completely to the pleasure, letting Hob do as he chose and trusting that he would enjoy every moment of it, but now he needed more, as much as he could have and still more.

He spilled over their joined hands with a muted cry, muffled as he had turned his face to his pillow despite there being no one near to overhear them. Hob fucked him through it, only a few more hard thrusts before he came deep inside his lover. The only sound left in the room was their own harsh breathing for a long moment before Hob sighed heavily and slowly relaxed his tight hold on Morpheus, who slumped bonelessly back against his chest.

“I want to kiss you,” Morpheus murmured a few minutes later, in explanation to Hob’s disgruntled noise at him squirming in the other man’s embrace. He felt truly relaxed for the first time in weeks and more than anything did not want this moment to end.

They kissed lazily for what felt to him like hours but was more likely only minutes, until Hob tilted his head back and gave him a questioning look. “What are you grinning about?” he asked teasingly, “You look entirely too pleased with yourself.”

Whether it was the aftershocks of pleasure or relief, or the high of everything having worked out right, for once, Morpheus wasn’t quite sure. All three, maybe. Still he felt content, and lighter than he had in a very long time.

“I’m going to marry you,” he said, having no other explanation.

Watching Hob’s sleepily amused look break into a grin was precisely what he needed.

“Yeah… you are.”

They were silent again for a while, before Hob slipped out of his embrace to go clean up. He considered following him but knew that if he didn’t, Hob would come back and care for him in yet another way. Tonight he would forgive his own laziness in favour of enjoying being pampered; wiped clean with gentle hands and tucked against Hob’s chest to sleep off the weight of all that had happened that day.

“I wish it were you,” he said in the quiet dark, not sure by Hob’s even breathing if he was still awake or not. He was, but only just.

“Hmm?” he asked wordlessly, nuzzling against Morpheus’s hair, “What was?”

“In charge of my life. It feels so… I don’t know; wrong, perhaps, to be beholden to anyone else.”

Hob sighed heavily, and he wished he hadn’t spoken; but if he could not be honest here in the dark then where could he be?

“You don’t wish that, not really. I don’t want to make you do anything, my sweet Dream,” Hob said softly, “I can’t as it is. I can only try to tell you why you should, urge you to make good choices, for me. For us. More often than not you do, or else you’d be truly insufferable.”

Morpheus’s huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh but almost made Hob pause a moment before continuing. “If I had the sort of power to make you do things; to go back to the clinic, as you said – you’d resent me for it in time. Mixing that sort of control and the love we have would ruin it; that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Dee’s your sister, if you’re not a little exasperated with her then she’s not doing the sibling thing right. I promise I won’t collude with her unless I really, truly need to; but I do ask that you keep listening to me when it’s serious.”

“I do listen to you, even if I don’t do as you say,” Morpheus replied quickly, his grip on Hob tightening slightly, “Your words hold greater power than you give them credit for.”

“Good to know, sweetheart.”

“Mm, no.”

“No?”

“I still don’t like that one and you know it, don’t tease me, I’m fragile,” Morpheus wryly retorted, “Sweetheart makes you sound like you’re my grandmother.”

Hob couldn’t help rolling his eyes despite the fact that his lover wouldn’t see it in the dark. “Right, sure. Gorgeous and beautiful are fine, sweetheart is out, sweet dream is in,” Hob replied like he was ticking off a list.

“Correct.”

“Then go to sleep, my darling Dream, and leave the rest of the philosophising about your life for the morning, hmm?”

“I am still unsure of ‘darling’,” he said thoughtfully, and Hob groaned.

Morpheus did at least listen, and consider, and eventually when the rest of the ghosts of worry in his mind were banished by the comfort of his lover’s arms, he slept. They had won but one battle in an ongoing war, but the rest of it could wait til morning.

Chapter Text

With the stress of the hearing now a thing of the past, Hob had been hoping life would settle down for a while. Not too long, he liked a bit of adventure, but long enough to catch his breath, as it were. Progress on his book was falling behind, a feeling he knew Morpheus related to all too well, and he was frankly sick of being on edge twenty-four seven waiting for the other shoe to drop. He told his therapist as much and they parsed out that he was still holding onto a lot of unresolved grief surrounding Morpheus’s stay in hospital and all that had dredged up within him. A part of him that expected everything to go wrong still tried to convince him he’d wake up one day to find that it had. Waking up instead to his fiancé curled up in a ball at his side, face pillowed on his shoulder, assuaged a bit of those feelings but they lingered nonetheless.

Watching Morpheus through himself into wedding planning with a gusto usually reserved purely for throwing himself at Hob helped, but even that was… a lot. In the past week he’d had to redirect panic at the fate of the jungle of houseplants when they, Dee, and Lucienne would all be gone, the aftereffect of a phone call with Lord Aeternus senior that left him unwilling to do anything for days, and now the mortifying ordeal of wedding invitations.

While Hob had absolutely no qualms about marrying the man, he was starting to think that maybe ‘yes, dear’ shouldn’t have been his answer to every increasingly grandiose aspect of the event. All he wanted was for Morpheus to be happy at the event, and comfortable, but the spectacle of the wedding as he wanted it to be - public, a statement to class and station - clearly terrified him on some level as well. Going over the guest list had been arduous. Hob had no family to speak of and Morpheus insisted he invite anyone and everyone he wished to; the private jet would take two trips if need be had been his only answer to Hob’s initial concern about the guest list.

Where Hob had little family, Morpheus had many obscure and barely-acknowledged blood relatives across various noble families and the rest needed to be invited for appearances sake. However, he had very few friends. The few cast members of his tv adaptation that kept in touch regularly made the list, plus their partners, along with two of the crew. Besides which, Lucienne was his only other real friend - anyone else was a mere acquaintance. Seeing their personal guest lists side by side as he worked with Lucienne and the wedding planner view zoom had clearly settled him in to a strange downward spiral of thought that Hob was getting better at identifying before it got too far out of hand. Usually.

Today it was starting to get out of hand.

The wedding invites had arrived from the printer; of course they were posh, custom things on plushly embossed heavy stock with hand-drawn calligraphy inside citing the desire for one’s presence at their nuptials. Honestly, Hob couldn’t imagine the uni friends he still played football with to do anything but mock him for eternity after receiving what looked like a letter from His Majesty the king for their wedding. Even so, he could admit that they were gorgeous and the gothic lettering was more than suitable to Morpheus’s taste even if he had bowed to convention and accepted white paper.

Lucienne was doing the final check of names against the list and popping the envelopes through a little printer she’d brought for the purpose that printed the mailing address in a font similar to the calligraphy but more legible for the automatic mail sorting. Of course there were more than a few invitations being hand delivered, and wasn’t that mind-boggling. Some things, Hob just didn’t want to know the cost for, and that was one of them. GOing through this process at dining table for lack of a better spot for it in Morpheus’s home was perhaps not the wisest choice. After every few names discussed and envelopes stuffed, by Lucienne of course not her boss, he got up and paced nervously around the room trying to steady his breathing with the help of Jessamy clacking at him from his shoulder.

Hob was doing his best to try to ignore it in the same accepting way Lucienne was, but the frequency increased along with the length of his little forays into imagined non-existence until he figured he should probably intercede. So much for working on his book today.

“Dream, love, you’re going to wear a rut into the floor at this rate,” he said, reaching out to snag the other man by the sleeve as he passed by, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No.”

Not exactly the response he was looking for, normally he at least rose to the joke, but at least Hob had his attention.

“How about a break for now, I’m sure Lucienne can make sure we don’t have too many people you hate to dodge at the reception,” he continued, reeling him in closer by a hand tangled in Morpheus’s jumper, “Let us help.”

Morpheus shook his head slightly, looking away. “It needs to be–”

“Perfect, I know,” Hob said without even a hint of teasing in his tone despite how many times Morpheus had said as much to him, “It will be, because you’re there and we’re getting married. Everything else is just set dressing, okay? Everything and everyone. We’ve been over the list a dozen times, so has Lucienne, and Dee, and the planner. No one’s snubbed, everything’s fine.”

“I cannot merely…” Morpheus began indignantly, then paused and sighed heavily, “It’s such short notice.”

“You’re the one who chose the date, love,” Hob said wryly, and saw out of the corner of his eye that Lucienne was packing up her things. She caught his gaze and smiled slightly. He nodded to her in return.

“Before this grew into more than close friends and family,” Morpheus pointed out miserably.

Hob was still holding him by his jumper, Morpheus now half leaned over the back of the sofa towards him as if gravitationally drawn to his presence. Maybe he was, it would explain a lot, really. Lucienne had packed away all her things and was stealthily letting herself out, bless her. After all of this wedding prep she truly deserved a raise from whatever Morpheus paid her to a truly ungodly amount.

“Come here,” Hob said, tugging him closer.

“What–” Morpheus began, cut off by Hob leaning up to grab and pull him over the back of the couch.

He yelped loudly and Jessamy fluttered away with a squawk, landing indignantly on the coffee table atop Hob’s reference material where she paced about, croaking at them. Morpheus landed in a tangle of limbs atop Hob, nearly knocking the breath of him. Despite the discomfort it did the trick however, and now his lover was laughing if only from the shock of it and not any true mirth. Hob grinned up at him.

“Now that I have you, relax,” he said, squeezing Morpheus a little tighter, “And breathe.”

“A difficult proposition given that you are pressing the air out of my lungs.”

“Oh shut up, you like it,” Hob replied, not relenting even a little bit until he felt the other man begin to relax. “Do you want the lecture now, or later?”

“I don’t think a lecture is warranted.”

Hob hummed his disapproval of that answer and Morpheus jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Stop that! You’re pushing yourself too hard, you need to learn to delegate tasks and focus on yourself a little before you burn out,” Hob said, his stern tone enough to make Morpheus raise his head slightly to look down at him.

“The one thing you may always count on me to be is self-absorbed,” he replied tauntingly, “Already done.”

“That you can’t distinguish narcissism and self-care is… certainly a thing,” Hob said, rolling his eyes, “I think that lecture is warranted.”

“No, no, take a joke please,” Morpheus groaned, laying his head back down on Hob’s chest upon deciding he had absolutely no desire to move despite laying his full weight on top of his partner. Hob put him here, and he could deal with it.

“Allow me to enlighten you,” he continued, making himself more comfortable with the sort of squirming that made Hob grumble good-naturedly, “Of a theory of self that I’ve been workshopping under better names with Dr. Heron but I like to deem it the ‘piece of shite at the centre of the universe’ theory.”

Hob gave an undignified snort and Morpheus shushed him.

“I may think I am a disgrace to my name and to the concept of society as a whole, unworthy of all that I receive from others, and a failure in all that I do…. but by god I am better than everyone else while doing it.”

“That’s… You know, that might actually be an improvement,” Hob said slowly, “Fuck. I hate that I love that, but I don’t get where it applies to wedding planning.”

“That would be where it gets more complex,” Morpheus sighed, very put out by being forced to explain himself further, “I’m not–”

“Feeling worthy of the attention and help that Lucienne and I are trying to give you, so self-sabotaging in miniscule ways that will build up until you need to stay in bed for a week to recover?” Hob offered, and Morpheus nodded against his chest.

Hob rubbed a hand slowly up and down his back in a soothing manner before he continued, “You’re paying a wedding planner seven figures, let her do her job, love. Make the decisions when they’re handed to you, let us get them to the point you need to decide.”

“It will be much simpler once we are on site. At least, in the planning aspect,” Morpheus replied, “We will have my family to contend with, however.”

“How big is the castle?”

“Big enough to hide from them,” Morpheus confirmed, “....I hope.”

“And does it have wifi?”

That won a defeated chuckle from the man in his arms and Morpheus nodded the affirmative. Jessamy flapped the short distance back from the coffee table to the sofa and hopped her way up Morpheus’s back to preen at his hair, both a soothing gesture and somehow a little proud as if her master being relaxed had been all her doing. Hob would let her have the win.

“For the rest of the day, no wedding talk. You’re going to eat lunch, and then work on your book or art or do anything else that doesn’t pertain to plans,” Hob said confidently, “It’ll do you good.”

“Hmmm, do you count as pertaining to our plans?” Morpheus asked primly, lifting his head again to look down at Hob and dislodging Jessamy as he did so - her indignant croak accompanied by flapping away again to the coffee table where Hob had been so foolhardy as to leave his watch. Well, he knew where to look for it when it inevitably disappeared.

“As a pure technicality, yes,” Hob said with a grin, “For the purpose of your question… I think we can make an exception.”

Or several. They certainly didn’t manage any discussion, wedding planning or otherwise, for a very long time. A scant few days remained until their departure for Morpheus’s home country, a place he’d hardly seen for more than a day or two around holidays for two decades, and distracting him was as much a joy as it was a necessity.

Packing for the trip was another stressor entirely as there was only so much Lucienne was capable of handling at one time, and Hob’s assurance that he’d sort it out was met with the sort of wry look over the top of her wire-frame glasses that Hob knew better than to take too seriously. Still so little trust in his sartorial capabilities, even after being dressed like a doll by Morpheus for the last several months. The man in question had given him a near-mirror of Lucienne’s expression, minus the glasses, so he was more than happy to just throw his hands up and let his fiancé handle things - which resulted in another visit from the stylist, a whole new wardrobe that he could best describe ‘old-money prat’, with perhaps a bit of flare not make them look too discordant as a couple.

Lucienne would stay behind for another couple of weeks yet, much to Morpheus’s relief that Mervyn’s security people wouldn’t have to be trusted with his precious plants for too long. Each one now had a little label stuck into the soil with care instructions, and if one of them met their demise by natural causes unrelated to being watered properly or not, Hob was pretty sure there’d be some sort of lawsuit. At least if Morpheus was projecting his frustrations and insecurities onto his plants and into his art, it kept him viably clear-headed about most other things. Hob was doing his best not to praise him for it as that would only make him aware and less likely to continue, but seeing Morpheus throw himself into creating rather than a self-destructive spiral was heart-warming to the say the least.

That positive outlook lasted all the way up until they were on the plane, alone, and waiting for permission to take off from the private airfield west of London. For this jaunt they hadn’t even had to brave Heathrow, no matter how much of the process could usually be skipped with private flights. No staff had been included on the flight, merely the pilots up front and he and Morpheus and Jessamy in the back - the latter passenger he was reasonably certain was being effectively smuggled into the country, but whether there could actually be repercussions for that was a question Hob was sure would be answered with more revelations about his fiancé’s social standing.

“If you keep pacing around, you’ll get knocked off your feet when the plane starts moving,” Hob said from the long sofa that lined one side of the plane. He had already dipped into the bar stock, if only because Morpheus would be unlikely to make that first move even though he’d wish to, and popping champagne corks was from his purview. Although, Hob had put a splash of orange juice in it so it technically now counted as a breakfast food.

“It’s my plane, they’ll make an announcement first,” he said but he did pause, then sigh, and morosely stalk over to plop down next to Hob and steal his champagne flute, which Hob passed over without complaint.

“I think I have reason to be nervous,” he said, after draining the glass and handing it back to Hob.

“You do, I mean your dad’s an asshole and there’s no way that’s gonna go well when he basically tried to Weekend At Bernie’s’ you for the public eye.”

“What?”

Hob rolled his eyes, “I’ll add it to the ‘films you’ve missed’ list, bit less high-brow than usual. Insult though, at him.”

Morpheus nodded slightly, but if he had a smarmy reply to that it was replaced by an announcement from their pilot and corresponding jerk as the plane lurched into motion to taxi toward their assigned runway. Soon the sprawl of London was far beneath them and growing fainter by the moment. For better or worse, they were underway.

After watching England disappear in favour of the choppy grey of the channel far below, Morpheus kicked off his boots and laid down on the sofa, using Hob as a pillow with the correct assumption that he would simply move his laptop out of the way to accommodate. It wasn’t a particularly long flight, but he was still trying to get some work done. Productivity at the castle was a nebulous prospect, he’d picked up enough from Lucienne and Morpheus’s calendar discussions to know that it wasn’t just going to be lazing about by the pool until the wedding itself. With Morpheus having hardly been home for decades at this point, there was more expected of him than he had anticipated while making this decision.

Hob rested his hand on Morpheus’s chest, where the other man immediately covered it with one of his own and heaved a put-upon sigh.

“We’re to have formal supper with the family tonight, that’s always a fucking delight,” he said, sounding pre-emptively exhausted despite having gotten more than enough sleep last night - he’d been much more amenable to taking his meds lately, still cowed a bit by his accident and the extent to which that had upset Hob.

Of course he didn’t know the entire extent, it wouldn’t have benefitted anyone at the time. Hob would talk to him about it eventually, after the wedding when their life together had calmed down to the extent to have more emotional conversations that weren’t crisis-evaluation and response.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise,” Hob said cheekily, trying to lighten the mood as Morpheus casually swearing meant he was rather wrung out about something even if his tone remained casual.

“You are not the one I’m worried about,” he muttered in reply, “Epi’s there already, and when the twins get each other going it’s a sight to behold.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Hob said, and it was truly meant not just a consoling platitude, “I assume this won’t be like…. Normal people staying with family, where you’re in each other’s space and expected to hang out at all hours.”

“You assume correctly,” Morpheus said, tipping his head back slightly to look up at Hob, “My rooms are on the opposite wing of the castle from my parents, always have been. Our attendance is required at several different supper parties, a few private events in our home and that of others, and I will be required to do a little song and dance at a few affairs of state.”

“If you told me that meant literally, at this point I’d believe you.”

Morpheus gave a rather undignified snort at that. “Hardly. I will be as miserable as possible without creating any international incidents,” he replied, “I have unintentionally skipped out on a great many social experiences that are nearly requirements to my station and I have been made very aware there will be far fewer concessions for my… issues in the future given what I have shown myself capable of. Exactly as I feared.”

“But you are capable of it, just hurts for now. Someday hopefully it won’t,” Hob reassured him, “You know I’m by your side anywhere they’ll let in my plebeian arse.”

“I would not dare to call your arse plebeian, does it a great disservice,” Morpheus replied, “Though never engaging in a little indecorous behaviour on a private jet does put you at a questionable level of social status from which you may only recover by remedying the situation immediately.”

“....Christ,” Hob said with a chuckle, leaning back against the sofa, “I would ask why you are the way that you are but I really don’t want to know. Fuck, is this why we don’t have flight crew?”

Morpheus had already sat up and scooted closer to press into Hob’s personal space, nuzzling his face into his neck. His muffled “Perhaps” accompanied by the brush of lips to his pulse point and Morpheus’s icy fingers on his chin, tipping his head back. Relaxing into the onslaught of his attentions came remarkably easily; Morpheus sliding into his lap and pressing him back into the plus leather cushions of the sofa as he tangled his fingers in Hob’s hair. They kissed until both were desperate for air and Morpheus looked so smugly pleased with himself that Hob couldn’t help but laugh.

“You devious bastard. Half a mind to call you nightmare instead of Dream,” he said, looking up at Dream’s bemused grin. His pupils were blown wide and a flush of red across his cheeks nearly matched his kiss-swollen lips.

“No, not devious. Devious would have been packing lube in my computer bag. I do not always plan my desires ahead of time, sorry to disappoint,” Morpheus said primly, “But we will have to make do.”

“Gladly.”

Hob already had his hands buried in Morpheus’s messy hair; with all the other stressors going on, he hadn’t cut it lately as suffering the touch of another wasn’t in the cards. As such his hair had gone from merely messy to wild and shaggy, which suited his increased penchant for eyeliner very well. To his surprise, Morpheus slid his hands up Hob’s arms and delicately pried his grip away, giving him a very pointed look.

“In a moment,” Morpheus reassured him with a devious grin, then he was sliding with liquid grace out of Hob’s lap to kneel before him on the floor, shoving his legs apart with a hand on either knee.

Hob swallowed heavily, catching Morpheus’s besotted gaze. No matter how many times they had done this it hadn’t lost its spark; if he hadn’t been hard before the mere sight of his lover on his knees would have managed it, much more so him leaning forward and nuzzling his face directly against the hardness straining at his trousers. They had hours to themselves and Morpheus was intent on taking his time, mouthing at the line of Hob’s cock until he groaned, which triggered a low laugh from Morpheus.

Clever fingers worked at the fastenings of Hob’s trousers, freeing his cock to the cool air for only a split second before his lover took him to the hilt with no warning. So much for teasing. Hob bucked up into his mouth instinctively, having expected more warning. Morpheus slowly withdrew, grinning around the thick cock in his mouth, immensely pleased at shocking a response out of his lover. One hand he brought to wrap around the base of Hob’s cock, the other reached for Hob’s hand to slowly bring it back to his hair. The quavering moan of encouragement he gave when Hob tightened his fingers back into his dark locks gratified them both - Hob’s cock jumping against where it was barely held within Morpheus’s lips. He was flicking his tongue against the slit to drive Hob mad.

Despite his near painful deathgrip on Morpheus’s hair, he let his lover set the pace. The pull at his scalp was more for Morpheus’s benefit than his; the illusion of control and submission that were truly anything but. As much as he always insisted and urged Hob on to be rough with him, to pin him to the bed and fuck him to the point of tears, there never came a moment where it wasn’t a demand.

Finally after what felt like ages of straining up into Morpheus’s mouth, pressing against his lover’s hand holding his hip in a vice-like grip to stop his movements, Morpheus finally had mercy on him. Slowly, painstakingly, he slid down the length of Hob’s cock until it was fully sheathed in his throat, Morpheus’s nose pressed against his pubic bone where he groaned at the delightful smell of musk and sex. Ever so slowly, Morpheus released the pressure with which he was holding Hob’s hips in place. Hob could feel the shifting muscle of his lover’s throat as he swallowed convulsively and tried to relax, giving himself over for Hob to end things as he saw fit.

Hob brought his free hand down and trailed his fingertips up Morpheus’s neck to the hinge of his jaw, petting absentmindedly and more than a little frantically as he bucked his hips up against his lover’s hungry mouth. He couldn’t quite thrust deeply in this position, but Morpheus met his movement and kept him deep; and deeper still when Hob gave in and clutched at his hair with both hands, pulling him infinitesimally closer at the moment he came. Morpheus swallowed around him eagerly until he was spent then, rather than teasing him with threat of overstimulation, pulled back and sat on the floor, propped up on hands splayed out behind him as he tried to catch his breath.

If his hair was messy before now it was abjectly wild, his eyeliner smudged by watering eyes, and he grinned up at Hob with reddened lips. Hob’s head was tilted back against the sofa and moving was hardly an option, even to ogle his lover, so he watched him through heavily lidded eyes as Morpheus’s narrow chest heaved.

Eventually Morpheus at least felt like moving, slowly sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. When he climbed back onto the long low sofa it was with far less grace than he had left it, but he returned his head to pillow on Hob’s thigh - this time curled up on his side. Hob’s fingers returned to carding through Morpheus’s hair once he had set his clothes to rights.

“What about you, love?” he asked, caressing first Morpheus’s cheek before running his fingertips lightly over his lover’s lips, so gently Morpheus shivered at the tickle of his touch.

Morpheus huffed and rolled onto his back, glancing up at Hob with a disconcertingly self-satisfied look on his face. “That was entirely for my own indulgence,” he said, a raw edge now to his husky voice from the misuse of his throat that was nearly enough to raise Hob’s interest again.

“Ah, yes, for your mental health,” Hob said dryly, gratified by Morpheus’s chuckle in response.

“And so that I have something to hold over you later when I’ve been stressed within an inch of my life and you think I’m too upset to know what I want,” he snidely replied, “Besides, what is the purpose of a private jet if not this?”

“You’re a menace to society,” Hob muttered, too blissed out to rise to the bait of Morpheus’s words. The only sticking point they’d had in their physical relationship had been Morpheus wanting him when Hob hadn’t the faintest clue where his head was, and whether it was even in this reality. You win some, you lose some, and it had never truly rose to the level of argument.

“I am about to be a menace to high society in particular,” Morpheus pointed out, then hesitated for a moment - just long enough for Hob to guess something was coming that had been deemed a post-coital topic for mildly manipulative reasons. “I have an appointment to speak before the landtag in three days… It’s like parliament.”

“I didn’t get a history degree without knowing what ‘landtag’ means, thank you,” Hob said dryly, “Why are you… getting involved in politics.”

“As there are only two noble families, we all rather are to some degree,” Morpheus replied with a shrug, “I am petitioning for a change to legislation on marriage equality.”

“Fucking Christ, Morpheus,” was Hob’s exasperated rejoinder.

“Under the current law, that too would hardly be allowed.”

In Morpheus’s defence, Hob did laugh but it was a near thing, and a little choked. “I take it you’ve known about this for more than three days?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me before now?”

Morpheus sighed and rolled back over on his side, arms wrapped around himself. He hadn’t meant to discomfort him, but Hob had a feeling the conversation would have regardless. Maybe that was more the reason he set aside his own pleasure for now; too caught up in his own mind to enjoy his own body, so he would enjoy Hob’s - certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“I was not entirely certain they would agree to a special session, but there were other matters brought up that allowed for it, so now it is certain,” Morpheus murmured, “I want you to come with me.”

“Of course,” Hob replied without hesitation, but then added, “If you expect me to say anything, you better have already written it.”

“Absolutely not. I will speak, you are there to be pretty and silent.”

“Not sure what it says about me that I’ve never been arm candy in my life before I met you,” Hob drolled, “Still not sure how I feel about it, honestly.”

“Mmm, you have the arse for it,” Morpheus said, “Why do you think I dress you so pretty?”

“For your own amusement and arousal, mostly.”

“....You aren’t wrong,” he admitted, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

One more emotional crisis averted by humour, for the moment at least. They had three days and no doubt half of the pinched-face typing Morpheus had been doing lately was about his potential address to parliament more than the impending deadline of his first draft. Shocking as it was that Morpheus would put himself forward willingly for such a personal and public event, Hob was more than a little touched. Now with their jokes and their teasing wasn’t the time for it; his fiancé always got a little tetchy whenever Hob pointed out or focused on what to anyone else would be grand gestures, but Morpheus considered it to be only what was expected of him. That he would try to win the right to marry in his own country by facing so many of his fears was the grandest gesture of them all; Hob couldn’t help but grin for the rest of the flight.

Chapter Text

They landed on a private airstrip from where they could have taken a helicopter to the castle directly and saved a great deal of time, but Morpheus thought that was better saved for a later date. There was something to be said for seeing the countryside pass by at ground level; brilliant green valleys sloping sharply up at the edges toward craggy peaks, the roads twisting and following snow-melt streams until they were forced to backtrack in s-curves to gain height against the mountain edges. He had seen it before of course but it had been years, over a decade since Morpheus had returned at all and nearly two since he had spent more than a matter of days in his home country. For all that his parents expected his loyalty to family and to tradition, they’d rather ruined it by sending him off to boarding school so far away. His most formative years when he was maturing and discovering the truth of himself were spent far away in England, at a school far too traditional for the likes of him and Epithumia, but it shaped them nonetheless.

While his introspections were far more melancholy, Hob was delighted with everything more even than his usual. They sat side by side in the back of a slick black SUV, Morpheus leaning his head on Hob’s shoulder and stroking Jessamy’s feathers softly. Hob had rolled down the window to enjoy the sweet mountain air and was watching the passing countryside with rapt attention. It was the right choice then to take the car, which also meant they had some more time alone before having to face the assembled family.

He had nearly fallen asleep by the time Hob spoke, no longer solely captivated by their surroundings. “It’s beautiful here, now I get why you were so insistent on the venue,” he said teasingly, and Morpheus gave a noncommittal noise in return before summoning the will to speak.

“I have missed it, but the beauty of my homeland did not outweigh my desire to stay home, until now,” he replied, “I still would rather be home with you.”

“Just give the word and I’ll make enough of a scene to get us kicked out.”

“Of the country, or the castle?”

“For you, anything,” Hob said, turning his head to press a kiss to Morpheus’s forehead, “I happen to know my fiancé has all the bail money I’d ever need.”

Morpheus chuckled darkly and closed his eyes again. Though the flight was short and the time difference negligible, he was exhausted to the core and preemptively more exhausted at the prospect of the expected niceties with his family. How did one greet their father mere weeks after an attempt to ruin one’s life? He’d posed the question to his therapist to receive mostly platitudes and a promise of emergency consultation should he feel himself too out of sorts to manage with the tools he’d been given. The press tour had been overwhelming yet far less personal, and his surroundings had been his own to retreat to; here he would be in a home that held far too many ghosts.

He felt the car slow and turn, then begin to climb steeply upwards. Nearly there. He sat up and yawned, looking out the window at the pine forest that nestled on the hill leading up to their estate. While he had prepared Hob, a little, his gasp upon seeing the castle for the first time was still immensely gratifying. It had always felt a little odd to Morpheus to be proud of things that were his family’s, not his, because what had he done to earn a castle built hundreds of years ago? But now he felt just a twinge of pride at how Hob’s face lit up, mostly in knowing that his fiancé’s delight had more to do with the provenance of the castle itself and the history that lay within it rather than the opulence it implied.

Their car drove up into the carriage loop nestled within the right-angled shape of the castle’s main buildings. Over the centuries it had been added to and changed, but they managed to hide most of the modern amenities from the sight of initial approach - those were on the levelled portions of the hillside behind it.

Hob leaned in toward the window, craning his neck up to look at the building as the car came to a halt. “Jesus christ, Morpheus,” he breathed.

“Yet another surprise you may have averted by judicious use of google,” Morpheus replied primly as he ran a hand through his hair uselessly. Why he bothered he didn’t know, he cared at once absolutely not a whit how his family thought of him, and all too much - enough so he had toyed with the idea of changing into a suit when they landed but had decided against it. He wasn’t playing heir or politician today, merely tired traveller.

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Hob groused, but he was grinning.

The driver came around and opened first Morpheus’s door then Hob’s before setting to work with their ample luggage. Hob came around to offer Morpheus his hand as he dallied in leaving the vehicle. He took it and did not let go.

“Just do as I do,” he murmured, “Don’t offer a hand unless they do first, and if you would like to prevent further issues I would suggest you call my father ‘sir’.”

“Not by title?”

“Oh by all rights you should, but I’d rather die than hear you address that bastard as ‘your grace’, besides which you are family and he should expect no more respect than he’s due by me, for which ‘sir’ is absolutely a stretch,” Morpheus said sharply as they approached the intimidating iron-banded doors, one side of which opened at their approach.

Rather than any of the Aeternus family, a tall, reed-thin man with greying blonde hair appeared and bowed slightly to them.

“A pleasure to see you again, master Morpheus, it has been too long.”

“Lucien!” Morpheus exclaimed, somehow not having thought to see the same butler from his teen years still running the house. Excitement quickly followed by shame at not having kept in contact at all, but the man gave him an encouraging smile as they were ushered inside.

“They are awaiting you in the formal parlour,” Lucien said, glancing between the two of them, “I trust you remember the way.”

“Of course, I… I missed you,” Morpheus stammered, “I apologise, I didn’t think-”

The old man waved off his apology in a far less formal manner, as if he had passed some sort of test to not be kept at arm’s length in formality.

“Head in the clouds as ever, I expect. Morta kept me well-informed on your whereabouts,” he said, then turned to Hob who quickly decided to forgo Morpheus’s advice or assumed it only applied to the family and offered Lucien his hand, which the butler took after a moment’s surprise. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gadling. Now, best not to keep them waiting.”

Lucien left them to their own devices to step outside; Morpheus could hear him nattering with the driver as he led them further through the grand entrance hall. Hob was looking around with stars in his eyes at the castle itself, so he was content to drag his heels for the moment - his father could stand to wait.

“What are the chances your butler and your PA have the same bloody name?” Hob asked with a chuckle, “Is this some rich-kid thing, give all the help the same name?”

“You know well enough Luci isn’t the help, neither is Lucien. To my generation at least,” Morpheus replied, taking his hand again as they walked, “But I see your point. They both have the dubious honour of knowing more about me than my parents combined.”

He led them around a corner to hall that ended in a massive stained glass window and, on either side, archways leading off into the formal receiving parlour and a drawing room, respectively. A black-suited valet was lingering, waiting to announce them. It irked him a little that if his parents insisted on such formality they had not also bothered to do them the honour of greeting them directly. They rarely did things by halves, so leaving their guests to make their own way was a deliberate slight that could be waved away under the pretence of Morpheus being family. The meeting would not be here were that the case, nor would his father’s valet be cutting a precise bow before going to announce their arrival by full styling - another slight, to grant him every aspect of his purview only to make contrast to mister Robert Gadling and his lack thereof.

Morpheus kept his hand tucked into Hob’s elbow as they entered, and breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t everyone, and that Dee had flown ahead and was already present to keep the peace. She gave him an encouraging smile. The very last thing that he was emotionally equipped for after a day of travel and weeks of stress was being confronted with his entire family, so seeing that besides Dee and his parents only Potmos was there to greet them was an unexpected boon. He was the most rational of the lot, and closest to Dee besides himself as he was the only one to have much memory of their pre-adoption life.

“Good afternoon father, mum,” he said, nodding to both of them, “Robert; my mother, Lady Nyx Aeternus, and my eldest brother Potmos.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hob said, politely enough but Morpheus knew him too well not to hear the sharp edge to it.

“We have yet to be formally introduced as well,” his father said, rising from his armchair to greet them.

“I would say a court of law is quite formal enough,” Morpheus replied sharply, only to flinch at his mother’s exasperated sigh.

“Must you, dear. Morta promised you would keep the peace.”

“I am merely stating fact, if you dislike it I apologise for the inconvenience,” he said smoothly with a tight smile and to his own great credit bit back the rest of the vicious things he longed to say, it would do no one any good. He refused to make the introduction for his father, however, and that gave him a tiny, petty spark of glee.

“I do regret the circumstances in which we first met,” Lord Chronos Aeternus said, with no inflection which at all implied he was sorry, but offering a hand which Hob gamely shook was a gesture that showed an attempt at… something. Morpheus was under no illusions he would ever be particularly happy about his life choices.

“Yes, bit unfortunate, that,” Hob said politely, and Dee rolled her eyes at them behind her father’s back.

“I do expect to see the both of you at supper; Epithumia is out, but intends to bring his girlfriend I believe, and the girls will have returned from the city by then,” Chronos continued, though he had little to say as the awkward manipulation in lieu of introduction was the extent of his power play for the moment. “Don’t be late, I would like to know Mister Gadling better. It has only been a few months, after all, we’ve heard very little.”

“Of course,” Morpheus replied, inclining his head slightly, “It has been a tiring day, so I fear you will have to excuse us both for the moment.”

“Oh come now, darling, don’t be rude. Tea will be here in a moment,” his mother crooned, and Morpheus clenched his jaw tightly.

“No, I believe I will retire…. Oh, wait, I forgot that’s hardly my decision anymore,” he said, turning to Dee and giving her a pleading look, “May I please be excused.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and the instant reddening of his father’s face most gratifying. Dee just put her head in her hands. “By all means, go,” she muttered.

For all that he felt no small amount of guilt for throwing her to the wolves, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room with Hob in tow was the most gratifying thing he had done in a very long time. A solid second place, right behind beating Hob to the proposal.

“I’d ask if you have a death wish but I don’t think I want to know the answer,” Hob said quietly once they had cleared the room, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had thought to follow them.

“No, I think you do actually,” Morpheus said, slipping his arm around Hob’s waist now that they weren’t making formal introductions, or anything near to it, “With you around, not so much.”

Any reply to that was cut off by the sudden appearance of the valet who had announced them. He was young man, though Morpheus’s ability to judge ages was rather skewed by his long absence from society at large. Younger than him, at least, and not staff he recognised from any previous visits. He looked nervous.

“If you’ll follow me, sirs,” he said, his english accented but clear.

“I know my way to my rooms, thank you,” Morpheus said dismissively.

“I was directed to escort you, I apologise,” he replied. Ah yes, new enough to be loyal and participate overmuch in his father’s games, then. Chronos very much intended for them to feel like guests rather than family, or hoped to overhear by proxy some tidbit of information.

Luckily the family wing was not too far a walk, and though Morpheus could likely wander it blindfolded he had not consciously thought about the route for many years. One long hall ran like a straight shot from the top of a grand, winding staircase of dark wood to the far end of the wing. It was dotted here and there with gilt-framed paintings and tapestries from the family’s extensive art collection, which caused Hob to slow for a look much to Morpheus’s amusement.

The valet opened a door halfway down the hall and inclined his head politely at their approach. “Master Morpheus, your suite,” he said politely, “Mister Gadling, this way please.”

Morpheus let out an incredulous noise. “Pardon me? Absolutely not, fetch his luggage.”

“I was instructed to–”

“I don’t give a damn what my father said,” Morpheus cut him off sharply, “Fetch his things.”

The young man stammered something unintelligible and Hob sighed, disentangling himself from Morpheus’s clutches.

“It’s alright, love. Lead on,” he said, stepping between them and turning to the man who didn’t deserve to be put in the midst of a family feud. Relieved, the valet proceeded on and Hob winked at Morpheus, mouthing ‘I’ll be right back’.

If he’d half his wits about him, Morpheus would have thought as much himself - his protests, relayed to his father, only proved that the man had gotten under his skin. Twice now in half an hour at best. He hadn’t expected things to go his way, but not quite like this.

His rooms had hardly changed since last he had visited, nearly fifteen years ago and even then he had stayed only one night. There was ample room in the castle such that even with seven children there was no need to repurpose any of their private spaces. Not that it had ever been allowed any childish whimsey, so there was little to repurpose. The drapery and linens were still the same shades of deep blue and stormy grey, a concession made as he hadn’t been allowed black. He had struck back on that decision by painting the plaster upper half of one wall, above the dark oak panelling, in a fantastical mural that no one had ever bothered to paint over even in his absence. That at least was a comfort. He sat down on the footboard of the high bed, dangling his feet and staring at the world he had dreamed up and painted over twenty years ago, lost in imagination.

Jessamy’s sharp squawking from her carrier brought him back to the present and unknowable period of time later. His luggage had been unpacked ahead of him, no doubt stowed in the closet between the bedroom and en suite, but his dear raven had been left in her carrier on the far side of the bed. Better than let loose, he supposed. The only people here he would trust with her were Lucien and Dee, and he doubted the head of household himself had seen to his things.

That was where Hob found him the better part of half an hour later; sitting on the floor, back to the bed, with Jessamy on his lap replying in croaks and clicks to his words as if she were truly contributing to the conversation. He smiled up at Hob weakly and his fiancé seemed relieved to find him as he was. Luckily he had missed the part where he’d stared into nothing for a while and briefly considered crawling into a hole to die.

“Sorry, someone put all my shite away and I had to find it all,” Hob said as he dropped down to sit on the bedside rug beside him, and Morpheus was more than happy to be pulled into a fierce hug - though Jessamy was less thrilled with being forcibly displaced and let her displeasure be known.

“There’s a dressing room through there,” Morpheus murmured, waving vaguely in the right direction as he buried his face in Hob’s neck, “For your things.”

“Later,” Hob replied while he rubbed a soothing hand up and down Morpheus’s back, “I love you, you know, and I’m proud of you standing up to him, even if you were a prat about it.”

“You like it when I’m a prat.”

“I do, not precisely like that, though,” Hob admitted, “Can we have this conversation not sitting on the floor?”

“If you insist,” Morpheus grumbled as he disentangled himself from Hob to stand and stretch, then he offered Jessamy his hand and took both her and the carrier over to set on a desk where she wouldn’t be a nuisance for the time being.

“Did you paint this, as a kid?” Hob asked.

“They wouldn’t let me paint my ceiling like a night sky, so I did that instead.”

“That’s fair though, you know there’s not old growth forests large enough to supply the sort of beams and boards used to construct the interior of places like this? It would be defacing a piece of history,” Hob replied, looking up at the arched ceiling.

“Yes, well, when you’re a child watching television and everyone has posters and you have whitewashed walls and a Monet, you don’t quite understand the value,” he retorted. “All the normal child things had to stay in my dressing room, once I was too old for the nursery playroom.”

“Explains a lot about you, actually.”

Morpheus sighed and abandoned Jessamy to her snacking so he could go kick off his shoes at long last and flop on the bed which was at least as comfortable as he remembered it. One good thing from home.

“All you will learn here informs who I am. Wait until you meet the rest of my biological siblings tonight; if it were not already apparent that I was a hairsbreadth from breaking before I was ever taken, they’ll show you it’s genetic and my parents aren’t fit to breed,” he grumbled, “I love them, my siblings, but… none of us are alright.”

“I’ll keep my Habsburg comment to myself,” Hob replied as he came to sit by his side, “For now.”

“You’re lucky I’m pretty.”

“Understatement of the century,” Hob said, then leaned over to kiss him soundly, “You’re beautiful, handsome, perfect.”

Morpheus scoffed, but accepted the additional quick kisses that accompanied every word.

“I am sorry that you must deal with this; I begin to question my resolve,” he said eventually, once Hob had settled in beside him. More than anything else, he knew when to be a comforting presence and when to give him the space he needed. Right now he needed to be held; the juxtaposition of comfort in this place that had long felt more like a cage than a castle brought his mind out of the past.

“It’s never too late to elope,” Hob replied, but they both knew it for the joke it was. “I know better than to take what your dad says to heart; he can’t change what we have, nothing anyone can say or do will come between us, you’re my Dream and I’m not letting you go.”

“I know.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No.”

Settling in from travelling proved difficult with the spectre of dealing with family for a full formal dinner looming ahead of them. For all that they would keep to their manners, he had no doubt the slights would be many and equally aimed at him and Hob, who didn’t deserve to be mixed up in any of this. The hours ticked by and found them in a familiar configuration; Morpheus curled up beneath the blankets while Hob sat at his side tapping away on his laptop, being the far more productive of the two. He’d hardly noticed the time passing; a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it transition from showering in the midafternoon to dusk falling outside.

Morpheus gave a miserable groan and rolled out of bed to stand to his feet and stretch. Behind him he heard Hob’s laptop click shut and be set aside on the bedside table, followed by the rustling of covers and then a warm embrace from behind. Hob pressed a kiss to his back between his shoulder blades before gently shoving him off in the direction of the dressing room.

“I assume you don’t trust me to dress myself.”

“You assume correctly,” he replied.

Family dinner was media event for which he had to pick and choose items with care, but the judgement of the internet was nothing in comparison to the judgement of his siblings or, worse yet, his parents. What they thought of his husband-to-be shouldn’t bother him nearly as much as it did, and yet here they were with him irked again by people not seeing Hob as he saw him. First the fans, then the media, now his family. Loyalty meant something very different to the Aeternus family at large than it did to him.

Morpheus dressed in a simple black dinner jacket and trousers with an odd, alternatively cut dress shirt he’d become fond of enough to buy several of - nearly all shades of grey, but one he wore now that matched the blue of his eyes well enough. When he returned carrying Hob’s clothes, dug out from the far less organised side where Hob had haphazardly stowed his luggage for the moment, his boyfriend’s raised eyebrow gave him pause.

“What?” he asked, looking down at himself, “Don’t worry, I haven’t made you match.”

“Nothing, just… kinda normal for you, is all. Is that because of your feeling a need to dress for appearances sake, or have they upset you?”

“Please don’t try to psychoanalyse me right now. Sometimes a suit is just a suit, and you should put yours on and comb your hair.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Hob teased, but he stole a kiss along with the proffered clothes to soften the blow of his words.

Even Hob’s outfit was more demure than his usual choice; an evergreen jacket, white shirt, brown trousers - something that the man would be more likely to choose for himself and not as fancy as the dates they’d normally get dressed up for. There were unfortunately certain standards and expectations that, should they fulfil them, everything would be much less stressful. Rules were good, Morpheus liked rules, because if he followed them then no one had any need to be angry at him - in theory, at least. With his family, the rules changed by the minute.

“Once you’re settled in, I’m going to need a tour,” Hob stated as they made their way back from the residential wing toward the formal dining hall, “This place is amazing.”

“I intend to show you the library tomorrow,” Morpheus replied, “Barring any disasters this evening.”

“Large scale ones, at least.”

“Yes, quite.”

A different valet than the one who had led them upstairs opened the gilded door to the dining hall with a flourish upon their approach. Hob gave his hand an encouraging squeeze as his step faltered. While he had managed to sit quietly and answer only direct questions enough to get through many business luncheons with his father and legal team, and Epithumia, over the years, this was another matter entirely. The whole family together hadn’t happened in over a decade, due entirely to his own absence. He was dressed like the heir their wanted yet for all his care in getting ready and planning, he still felt like he was wearing a costume. After all it was a performance they were looking for, not his real self. His parents expected a man who never existed, was never allowed to exist, to join them - not the disappointment that he had become.

Chapter Text

Hob could feel Morpheus’s clammy hand shaking in his as they approached the dining hall, and he felt a little bit of guilt for how overwhelmed he was by it all. Knowing academically that his fiancé was borderline royalty and had grown up in a castle was one thing; being there, led about by uniformed servants and bowed to, was something else entirely for which he was woefully unprepared. What little he had seen of Morpheus’s parents did not engender a feeling of familial appreciation, to put it lightly, and if they couldn’t manage an introduction without trouble, supper boded very ill indeed.

The dining hall was grand; carven stone of the centuries-old building updated with more modern chandeliers and gilt-edged mirrors between equally golden wall sconces. Absentmindedly he wondered if they were all gold-plated, then realised he didn’t need to wonder; brass was probably far too passé. A long, narrow table in the centre of the room was set with silver service and fine china. Dee was already seated, speaking in quiet tones of a language he didn’t recognise to Potmos who looked as bored as he had when they were first introduced. When they entered, she looked up and grinned at them. At least someone was welcoming.

Morpheus seemed to know where they were meant to sit, or perhaps he didn’t care, as he pulled out a chair politely for Hob and then slipped into his own across from Dee a bit off centre toward the head of the table.

“Are we early, or is fashionably late a real thing?” Hob asked brightly, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere of the roof.

“I think they factored in potentially having to drag Morphy in kicking and screaming,” Dee replied, and Morpheus pulled a face at her for the nickname, “I’d like to apologise in advance.”

“Your apology is not the one I require,” Morpheus muttered.

“Yes, well, none of us will be getting any acknowledgement, so best put a pin in that, shall we?” Potmos replied, “Don’t start anything.”

“He started it.”

Dee leaned her head back against the chair and sighed heavily, “If he starts it, let me end it, and we’ll drink about it later, deal?”

Morpheus glared and said nothing as the door opened behind them again to let in the rest of the family. The parents sat at either end of the long table, as far apart as they could which Hob rather thought said a lot about the situation as a whole. Epithumia next to Dee and their father, then the three siblings he hadn’t met; one who was clearly the other adopted sibling, bigger and broader than the rest of them and bucking the formal dress code more than a little as he nearly dragged in his sister who was delicate, pale, and looked an awful lot like Morpheus save for her dyed hair and she only shared one stormy blue eye, the other was hazel green. She plopped into a chair by their mother and wiggled her fingers in a wave at Morpheus who smiled and returned the gesture. The last sister looked as if she’d combined all their mutual misery at the concept of this dinner and decided to show it on her face; she kicked the chair to Dream’s left out to sit down and said nothing to anyone.

Sensing the overall awkwardness of the room, Chronos signalled to some staff that Hob could not see and wait staff appeared out of nowhere to pour wine. For all that he had, at Lucienne’s suggestion, done a bit of a brush up on etiquette - which was to say, watched some youtube videos because he’d never been to anything fancier than the occasional fundraising gala - he still wasn’t quite sure on the utensils or why they needed so many wine glasses. Different courses, presumably, or just for building a little wall against the hostility on the other side of the table.

“Is Jessamy settling in?” Dee asked brightly, breaking the almost painful silence. Hob couldn’t help but wonder what the staff thought of the air of hostility that surrounded their employers as they came around with delicate plates of some amuse-bouche that he couldn’t begin to identify.

“She is quite the international bird of mystery these days,” Morpheus replied, as he sipped his wine, keeping the glass in hand rather than setting it back down to eat. He was folded in on himself for all that he was doing a commendable job of looking casual; his free arm wrapped around himself like he was chilled.

It was Chronos who picked up the thread of conversation, addressing Epithumia in German and slowly dragging the others into the conversation. Hob had been doing his very best to learn, not only for Morpheus but because he was pretty certain the DuoLingo owl would appear and shank him if he broke his streak - but hearing a localised dialect of it spoken more casually and swiftly made deciphering somewhat difficult. He’d only been practising with Lucienne as the whole thing was meant to be a surprise for Morpheus, though he was still toying with the wisdom of that surprise being his vows versus something more private.

To be quite honest, Hob was rather content being seen and not heard if it got them through supper unscathed, though he listened in a bit harder upon occasionally hearing his name bandied about. Somewhere between the soup and the appetiser he realised Morpheus hadn’t touched any of his food so far, not so much as raised a fork to taste it and he mentally kicked himself for not noticing earlier. The food was amazing and he was, admittedly, a bit of a foodie and happy to -politely- shovel it in without much thought; he had just assumed accommodations would be made for his fiancé’s needs as was apparently not the case. By his count and assumption they had nine courses left to sit through with Morpheus pointedly not eating and glowering at whatever his father was prattling on about - they couldn’t possibly make it without an explosion of some kind, even if it weren’t Morpheus who started it.

Chronos said something that included his name, but he hadn’t been dialled in to the conversation enough to catch the words - though now he was perked up and listening. Morpheus slammed his near-empty wine glass down with enough force to rattle his cutlery, glaring at his father with a level of vitriol Hob hoped never turned on him.

“The very least you can do is speak in a language we can all understand. If you wish to disparage my fiancé; be a man and do it to his face,” he snapped, and Epithumia immediately tittered and hid their smirk behind their wine glass.

“Imagine the presumption to marry into this family without being arsed to learn our language,” Chronos replied drolly, “It’s an insult.”

“He already speaks multiple languages, we merely happen to share only English. It’s not exactly a barrier to communication.”

Chronos leaned in slightly to catch Hob’s eye and raised an eyebrow, “What languages would that be?”

Hob, shocked at being addressed in the middle of this father-son spat, stammered for a second. “Uhm, middle english and… classical latin,” he replied.

“Useless.”

“Very useful in his academic sphere,” Morpheus retorted, and Hob rested a hand on his knee under the table. As gratifying as it was to be defended, they really weren’t worth arguing with. Not at supper, and likely not ever. Morpheus shot him a weak smile.

“In all fairness,” Epithumia replied as they fidgeted with their empty wine glass, “He hasn’t had much time to learn, after all it's been, what… six months?”

“Nine, and nearly a year by the wedding,” Morpheus said, glaring daggers at their sibling who smirked wickedly in response. After the hearing, they’d been texting occasionally after their show of support, but apparently couldn’t be trusted not to antagonise the situation further.

“Hasty though, isn’t it?” Aponoia said gruffly, the first words she’d spoken all evening, “I just mean… Well, what’s the chance the first person you meet in a decade is the love of your life. Pretty slim. Are you sure you haven’t just latched on because he was the first to be nice to you? It’s a lot of circus just to get divorced in a couple years.”

Hob was still reeling and formulating a response in his head when Morpheus shot to his feet, shoving his chair back with a clatter, glaring murderously at his sister. Across the table, Dee caught Hob’s eye and shook her head slightly though she didn’t intervene. In all honesty, they deserved what they were about to get, he just didn’t want the fallout or the emotional crash to be something he wasn’t entirely capable of dealing with.

“So what if he is?” Morpheus hissed at his sister, before turning his attention back to his father at the head of the table, “Someone bloody well had to be, wasn’t going to be any of you. Epi, you live twenty minutes from me on the metro, the rest of you have a veritable fleet of private jets, and I’ve seen nothing of you all in a decade save for some… some finance meetings, until you decided to try and shove me back into your preferred little box.”

Lady Nyx sighed heavily from the far end of the table, “Morpheus, darling, please sit down.”

“No! I’m not continuing this farce any longer; sitting here and smiling while you chatter about how much I’ve ruined my life - you ruined my life, all of you,” he continued, breathing heavily as he struggled not to give in to his rising panic. Confrontation was not his strong suit. He reached blindly for Hob who took his hand on instinct. “You stopped looking for me, you had me declared dead, you…. You disposed of my things.”

“You,” Morpheus said icily, turning on his father again, “I’m not an idiot, I went through the records for the foundation when I took over. You broke bread with that monster while I was starving to death in his cellar, many times. If you’d an eye for anything but money, looked more thoroughly at his sudden donations and saw the guilt they spawned from, maybe you’d have found me in time to become half the man you wish I was.”

Morpheus yanked his hand out of Hob’s grasp and stalked away, flinging the grand door of the hall wide in his wake while the valet who’d been waiting outside scurried out from underfoot lest he be run over. Hob took a deep breath, pushing back his chair as he set aside the fine linen napkin from his lap.

“Well then, I’ll see you all in the morning,” he said with a false cheer that hid both his glee at Morpheus speaking his mind, and fear of the fallout, then decide a little salt in the wound couldn’t hurt - so he added in German; “Do us all a favour and don’t demand our presence again if you’re not serving a damned he can eat, yeah?”

Epithumia crowed wickedly at the realisation and nudged Dee with their elbow, but she didn’t find it half as funny as they did - she just looked exhausted. Must be hard being the only normal person in the family. He didn’t wait to see what anyone else had to say on the matter; the silence was deafening enough.

Finding his way back through the castle was its own difficulty, but he managed mostly by the waypoints of art that had caught his eye on the way, only to find the door locked once he’d meandered his way back to the family wing. He rapped on it gently with his knuckles to be rewarded with some shuffling noises from within and the slide of an antique bolt lock before Morpheus peeked out through the door, only opening it a crack until he saw who was on the other side.

To Hob’s surprise, it didn’t appear that Morpheus had actually given in to tears beyond watery eyes - he appeared shockingly composed, all things considered. Still, he kicked the door closed and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Proud of you,” he whispered against his fiancé’s ear, “They’ll sit with that for a bit, I think.”

Morpheus gave a dour laugh before pulling away. “No, I don’t think they will,” he replied, beginning to wring his hands nervously until Hob grabbed them, “I… I should text Dee, that’s not about her; she paid investigators from her own funds, kept some of my stuff–”

“Then she knows it's not about her,” Hob said reassuringly, “What your miserable little sister said was unfair to you, and your response was… more composed than they deserved.”

“Do you think she’s right?”

Hob hesitated a moment on how to answer because on hand, yes she likely was, to an extent. He’d be lying to say it handed planted an irksome seed of doubt in the back of his mind, compounding how out of his depth he felt in all of this. At home in London, having coffee dates between classes and quiet nights relaxing about the New Inn, it was so easy to forget that Morpheus was so much more than he was, easy to feel that they were on the same level. Every part of this trip and wedding planning was a stark reminder that they came from two very different worlds.

When he didn’t respond immediately, Morpheus’s expression tightened and he pulled his hands away sharply as he stalked towards the dressing room. Hob followed only for the door to be shut in his face. Wonderful.

“Dream, love, this isn’t helping,” he said wearily, “In a way she is right; is there someone a better match for you out there in the world? Probably, there’s eight billion people on this planet and the sheer hubris to think I’m the best of them is beyond me, but something doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be good, or what you need. Perfect for you would probably be someone without the emotional baggage that compounds yours, but no one’s perfect, and imperfect love is still more than most people get in this life.”

No reply was forthcoming from inside and he sighed heavily, leaning back against the doorframe. Might as well get comfortable, chances are he’d be there a while.

“What matters is that I can picture us growing old together, it doesn’t matter how we started,” he continued, “I take what we’re doing very seriously. I have doubts about a lot of things, and insecurities about more, but I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t think I could sort my shit out and be the husband you deserve for the rest of our lives.”

Silence. Then a few minutes later, Morpheus opened the door from within and emerged having changed out of his dinner ensemble into a t-shirt and a pair of Hob’s pyjama bottoms. His perfectly coiffed hair was now mussed, and Hob couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle it further which brought a very weak smile to the other man’s face.

“I apologise, for denying you your supper,” Morpheus said as he crossed the room to hop up on the edge of the bed. It was barely an apology and very much not meant for the food, but Hob was willing to take it in the mood it was meant.

“You were very brave,” was all Hob had to say in reply, unable to contain his fond smile, “It’s also pretty hot; you yelling at people.”

Morpheus huffed derisively, but his expression softened and he tilted his head in an affectation that Hob would bet money he’d picked up from Jessamy. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that. Now, I need to find you something to eat.”

“No, you don’t need to take care of constantly.”

“I do when you won’t do it yourself, I get you don’t feel hungry but at this point it’s been pretty much a full day. Man cannot live on wine alone,” Hob said as he crossed the room to unplug his phone from the charger. There were a few recent messages from Dee, which he’d read on the way.

“I beg to differ.”

“Then you cannot live on wine alone. I’m gonna go find the kitchen and scrounge something up.”

“I can show you the way.”

Hob shook his head quickly. “No, you should relax. Text Dee if it’ll help you feel better, or Lucienne. I saw where the servers were coming from, not hard to extrapolate where kitchens are.”

“Oh, not some medievalist inherent understanding of castle structure then?” Morpheus teasingly replied, and Hob rolled his eyes.

“Pretty sure this place has been added onto over the better part of a millennium, I’ll be surprised if the stairs don’t move when I’m not looking. Hang tight, I’ll be back in a bit, phone me if you need to?”

“I am not in danger.”

“Didn’t think so, but we can talk while I cook, just saying.”

Before leaving, Hob returned to the side of the bed and leaned down slightly to steal a soft, lingering kiss. Sometimes the physical reassurance meant much more than words to Morpheus, and he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t help him too.

He read the texts from Dee on the way, finding himself content with the fact that she was nearly as pissed off as he was. From what he could guess from her typos, she was texting under the table but he hesitated to ask if they’d actually carried on with dinner or if she were with the parents in one of god knows how many formal and informal parlours. Reading that everyone was a bit shaken gratified him. They fucking should be. Morpheus was always reluctant to go into detail about any of his family but Dee, and for good reason. The sibling they had an ongoing feud with not visiting made some sense, despite Epithumia being the only one who seemed to be trying at all. The others hardly had an excuse for not at the bare minimum writing him, or even emailing; or taking a moment out of their life of leisure to visit their shut-in of a brother.

His phone buzzed again after he had finally stopped texting and walking when Dee hadn’t replied for a while.

‘No one else knew about the Burgess donations. He was at the board meetings/lunches with father. There’s more, don’t tell M rn. Ep’s pissed and wants to talk to him once he’s calmed down tho, let him know?’

Whatever the ‘more’ was, Hob was reasonably certain he didn’t want to know either in the interest of not coming to blows with his soon to be father-in-law. He shot back; ‘Will do. Sorting out food now for the world’s most expensive Tamagotchi’.

Dee liked his response and sent nothing more. Oh to be a fly on the wall in whatever hellscape of a family discussion was going on right now. If it knocked a little sense into any of them, it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. They wouldn’t be able to take two months of this; it hadn’t even been a day and Morpheus had managed two altercations, mostly with his father, but he’d dragged the rest of the family in as well. Back in London while discussing the lead-up to the wedding, it had been easy to laugh at the idea of traumatising the senior Lord Aeternus with their very presence but the reality was a bit different.

As he’d expected, he found the kitchens easily enough at the end of a narrow hall around back of the formal dining room - whose doors were now thrown wide to show the empty room beyond. They hadn’t finished, then. That none of them had been able to enjoy the supper which had, intentionally he was rather sure, excluded Morpheus gave him no small amount of vicious glee.

Loud chatter filtered out of the kitchens, but ground to a half the moment he entered and everyone left turned to stare at him. Hob gave them an awkward little wave.

“Hey, uhm, I’m very sorry but my German’s a travesty. English, anyone?” he asked, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Yep, all of us,” a tall woman with close-cropped dark hair replied, “What can we do you for?”

“I don’t mean to be a bother, I know you’re nearly done cleaning up, but Morpheus has some specific dietary restrictions that I don’t think were communicated to you,” Hob said, doing his best to be tactful, “He couldn’t eat at supper and we’ve been travelling all day; would you mind if I use the space and make him something? I’ll put everything to rights when I’m done - I own a restaurant back home, so I know how it is.”

“Ooh, what restaurant?” the man washing dishes asked, pausing a moment.

“Not anything like what you’re thinking,” Hob replied with a grin, “It’s just a pub, kitchen clean up duty’s about the same though, no doubt.”

“Honestly, good to know you’re not some pretentious wanker,” the tall woman said, “There’s enough of them here. Lauren, head chef, by the by.”

“Pleasure,” Hob said, taking her proffered hand though he was curious how openly derisive she was of her employers, given their status. Of course, she could probably have heard the shouting from here - it happened rarely enough but when Morpheus was truly angry he could make his voice carry.
Lauren leaned against a shining stainless steel countertop and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, restrictions. Got a list? I’ll whip up something that abides.”

“I don’t, actually,” Hob replied, thinking it through in his head. It’d be easier to just list off what he would eat rather than playing a process of elimination.

They settled on vegan with minimal ingredients as a starting point, and Hob stayed well out of Lauren’s way while she got to work and vetoed anything she asked about that wasn’t currently in his fiancé’s repertoire of acceptable meals. When laying it out for someone else, it did sound a little unhinged, but they were working on it, slowly. With all the court stress, then the wedding, trying to expand his palate had fallen by the wayside a little.

As she worked, they talked around the others who were still cleaning up the kitchen for the night. The head chef had taken over for her predecessor about six years prior so she had never seen the heir in the flesh, though of course everyone who didn’t live under a rock knew of him. Hob still occasionally felt like an idiot for having had no bloody idea; celebrity headlines never much stuck in his mind. Apparently the prospect of their eventual employer not being a complete asshole had given them a little hope for the future - the elder Lord Aeternus was a particularly prickly boss, by all accounts, and they rotated general staff in the castle at a rate that was borderline unseemly despite the good pay.

The easiest way to find out all the juicy information on any given situation was to get in good with the staff. Whatever NDAs or just class expectations of propriety didn’t entirely extend to Hob, it seemed. He couldn’t help but think this was probably the first time in a good while that anyone had been normal about a special request, and the idea of nobility genuinely thinking they were better than anyone by virtue of blood in the modern era was so laughable to him that it probably irked him more than it should. Wherever Morpheus had gotten his habit of being polite more to service workers than authority figures, it wasn’t from being raised in this home. Maybe they were just less intimidating. Hob put that one in the back of his mind for later discussion when Morpheus wasn’t one more snarky comment away from patricide - although that would rather charmingly go with the whole vibe of the place.

Hob declined help in carrying food all the way back up to the family wing, though was delighted to take advice on a shortcut through one of the many, many strange passageways that structures this old were either built with or managed to strangely accumulate over the years. It wasn’t the dusty cobweb-strewn secret passage he’d kind of been hoping to discover, but that was probably for the best.

Morpheus was no longer sitting on the bed, though that was little surprise. Hob hadn’t gone through all the rooms of their suite earlier in the day, only walked through the dressing room to the bathroom and back, having left the door on the far side by the fireplace untouched entirely - a sitting room or study, probably, repurposed from a child’s playroom once its occupant had grown. Although he could hardly picture a little Morpheus doing something so mundane as playing with toys.

“I’m out here,” Morpheus called from the balcony, and Hob set the covered tray on a side table to head outside unencumbered.

Morpheus was leaning slouched against the balustrade, shoulders hunched as he rested on his elbows and stared out over the swiftly darkening valley beyond. The view was incredible even while losing the light. Hob sidled up and took a similar position beside him, bumping Morpheus’s shoulder with his own. If he wanted to brood, he could brood; that he was doing so without anything self-destructive or clear dissociation after what he’d gone through was a win. Although Dee’s text kept popping to mind, the cryptic ‘there’s more’ was going to sit with him until he figured it out.

“I used to sit out here all night in the summer as a boy,” Morpheus murmured, “Fantasised about jumping off.”

“And here you said you were fine as a child,” Hob said wryly, it was clear enough from Morpheus’s tone that he hadn’t meant anything by it.

“Not like that, idiot. I thought about flying far away from here.”

“Mmm, lead with that bit next time.”

Morpheus scoffed quietly and resumed his unexpressive perusal of the landscape, his face impossible to read. Hopefully he wasn’t still lingering on what was said earlier about the coincidence of their meeting. If something were cutting enough to linger in Hob’s mind he could only imagine it weighed more heavily on his fiancé who felt everything far more acutely than he would ever admit to. How long had he kept his outburst at supper bottled up with no venue in which to let it escape?

“They named me after a winged god who could shape himself to be whatever he wished, then locked me in a cage of their expectations when I showed a modicum of similarity to my namesake,” Morpheus said softly, “No wonder I’ve been confused all my life, about everything; what they wanted, what I wanted, what was possible.”

“You were meant to be free, that much is obvious.”

“And yet here I stand,” Morpheus replied, “Not physically here but… generally. I’ve built myself a bigger cage, still no flying.”

“Maybe, but you are shaping yourself in ways that make you happy now,” Hob pointed out, “I’ve seen you light up with joy more than once as you got to indulge yourself with your fancy clothes and makeup. Your home is a refuge now, not a cage. You’re keeping others out, not yourself in.”

That earned him a noncommittal hum in response followed by another long stretch of much more companionable silence. Whatever Morpheus was hoping to hear, Hob had hit on it at least partially.

“I think they knew I was gay before I did, thus… everything,” Morpheus said, leaning heavily on one elbow so he could make a vague gesture with one hand to encompass the plethora of subjects best left to the lie for the evening.

“Maybe. Or at least suspected from stereotypes, which is almost worse,” Hob replied, and Morpheus nodded.

“I’m going to take your name,” he said eventually, turning away from the darkness to watch Hob’s response, “At least by deed poll, when we get back, it’s not practical to change it for everything but common use is enough. Who knows, maybe the association will help boost my grades.”

It would be a lie to say his heart didn’t jump in his chest at the admission, now spoke seriously and not their occasional joking about the matter, but for all that he was given to the occasional flight of fancy Hob was, at his core, a practical man. He stood up from his spot leaning against the stone balustrade to fit himself against Morpheus’s back instead, slipping his arms around his partner’s waist.

“So long as you’re doing it to make you happy, not to spite them,” he said, before pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Morpheus’s neck, “I would be honoured.”

“Yes, you would,” Morpheus replied haughtily, and Hob muffled his laughter against his lover’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

They managed to hide out for the next day mostly in their suite and a library Morpheus had been eager to show Hob which looked like something out of Beauty and the Beast - which he noted, much to his partner’s amusement. Which of them was the beast was up for debate. Lucien had popped in on occasion, sometimes bringing tea, and Hob had the distinct feeling that he was playing guard to keep the more troublesome members of family or staff otherwise occupied as, despite this being Morpheus’s favourite part of the castle, no one found them until Epithumia on the third day. The sigh that Morpheus let out upon seeing his sibling enter was so dramatic that Hob almost laughed.

He still didn’t know what to make of the contentious relationship between the two siblings. The story Morpheus had told him months ago about an injured Jessamy being a gag gift had predisposed him rather poorly but for all his cruel words, Epi was the only one besides Dee who had seemingly cared at all that Morpheus was in hospital, and taking his side in court was unexpected to say the least.

They clearly felt rather unwelcome and paused halfway between the door and the cluster of armchairs where Morpheus and Hob had been reading. It wasn’t quite hesitation in their posture, but something adjacent to it.

“Dee sent me to give you a heads up, so no shooting the messenger,” they said dryly, smirking at Morpheus who kept the same carefully blank expression. “Mother is planning a proper engagement party for the two of you; I think with an SEO goal considering what comes up when you search anything about you right now.”

Morpheus stuck a finger between the pages of his book and closed it pointedly before looking up at his sibling. “That could have been a text.”

“I texted you yesterday.”

“Yes, and I read it,” Morpheus replied, “I didn’t think it required further discussion.”

“It’s called a soft opener; you say something agreeable or vaguely conciliatory, get a response, have a chat,” Epithumia replied, rolling their eyes, “This is why you never had any friends at school.”

“No, I had no friends because I was a vicious little shite about anyone trying to call me Morph, and had I submitted myself to the indignity of a nickname I’d have had more friends than you, Epi,” he said dryly, “Your point?”

“It sucks and it's not actually about you, so I intend to make a nuisance of myself - that’s your warning,” they replied, “And I wanted to talk to you… I owe you an apology.”

The words came out stilted, and Epithumia held their head high, looking down their nose at Dream in an expression that said he should be thankful - but Hob rather thought it looked fragile, or like a cat all puffed up to intimidate. Morpheus was unimpressed and made a vague gesture as if to say ‘continue’, which was one of those rare moments that it was easy to see the actual nobility in him. Someone much like Morpheus had probably sat here in state hundreds of years ago making much the same gesture to poor supplicants.

“You know we ran in some of the same circles after school, the same clubs,” Epithumia began, “I knew Alex, very well. And Paul. Too well, in fact. I attended their wedding…”

They let those words hang in the air for a moment and Hob took a deep breath. It had taken over a day before Morpheus had been willing to leave their rooms for fear of bumping into his family, this was the absolute last thing he needed.

“I didn’t know, but I… We had that row, when you kicked me out of your house, and I’d complained to him. It was just one of those things between mates, things you’d never think to say again, or think about saying, because it was anger had and done with,” they said, “But I wished very loudly for you to just fucking die; to go away and never come back and stop living your stupid double life that you expected me to cover for. And then you did, and I danced in a banquet hall above where you were starving to death and I didn’t think to miss you anymore, not after a while.”

Morpheus’s jaw was clenched tight, his knuckles white where he clutched the book and Hob didn’t know whether to reach out for him or leave it be. He looked ready to bolt but holding himself back through sheer force of will, not wanting to show weakness in this age-old sibling rivalry.

“I have yet to hear an apology,” Morpheus gritted out in the low, dark tone that Hob had heard only rarely but still made him uncomfortable.

“I should have known, and I’m an idiot. I held losing my titles against you when you came back, for no fucking reason; you clearly don’t want them and they’re hurting you while freeing me,” they replied, “I can’t take anything back, so either we move on or we do not.”

Morpheus swallowed heavily and gave his sibling a slow onceover before opening his book again in a clear sign of dismissal. “You still aren’t standing up in my wedding,” he said, glancing up briefly at Epithumia, “But I take your point.”

“That’s not an apology accepted.”

“No, nor is it forgiveness. What I hold against you is mostly unrelated,” Morpheus replied, gaze turned steadfastly on his book, “But it is appreciated.”

Epithumia stared at him for a long moment, clearly caught off guard by his response, before making a considering face. That was probably more than they should have expected, all things considered.

“Party’s this weekend, invite your friends if you’ve got any,” they said dryly, then turned on their heel and stalked back out of the room. The ancient oaken door shut behind them with a creak of old iron hinges.

Morpheus set his book aside on the low table before him and remained hunched over, elbows on his knees. His hands were shaking. Immediately, Hob was at his side; crouched on the floor at his knee and taking his partner’s cold hands in his. That faraway look which usually said Morpheus was not exactly there had returned, and Hob sighed. All he could do was wait and talk to him in a low, soothing voice until his fiance’s eyes focused again and he took a deep breath, a bit more animated than he had been moments prior. Hob had to remind himself that was improvement; vast improvement on where they had been mere months ago. This was the improvement that had allowed Morpheus to attend lectures and studio classes and get those top marks he was so eager for. Self-correction in a reasonable time period had been the rather amorphous goal set for him by Dr. Heron, and he was managing it even under stress.

“I’m very proud of you,” Hob said, leaning up and forward to kiss him on the forehead, “Do you wanna get out of here, get some air?”

Morpheus nodded slightly, his rather glassy gaze fixing on Hob for a moment before he stood and tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders. Hob almost asked if he wanted to talk about it before he stopped himself. Of course he didn’t want to. He would later, probably at four in the morning when he couldn’t sleep and poked Hob awake, but that was the way of things.

“Perhaps in both a figurative and literal sense. I could use to get out of here, and I had been intending to show you our estate,” Morpheus replied, keeping Hob’s hand firmly clasped in his as they left the library.

“Our estate?”

“Yes. It’s not exactly a castle, was rented out to some very rich family from Switzerland, but no more. Did you think I held a title merely by association?” he asked, “I was granted lands when I reached adulthood and the minor titles that went with them. That’s what Epi was talking about; I was declared dead, they received that portion of the inheritance, and it was given back when I returned.”

Hob made a noncommittal sort of hum to that; thinking there was just one more thing that the elder Lord Aeternus had managed to fuck up. Morpheus had been in no state to fulfil most of the duties that came with that prestige for years, at least not those that took him out of his sanctuary in London. He could see why though, given what little he knew of Morpheus’s sibling - a recluse and a creative was a bit better for media purposes than a, for lack of a better term; drama queen.

“Ideally we would take a helicopter to it but I am not overly fond of them,” Morpheus replied, “But we could drive, it’s about an hour and a half. Just far enough to give us ample warning and discourage anyone from disturbing us on what suffices for a honeymoon.”

“You sure you want to go somewhere?” Hob asked, reasonably certain his lover was just throwing himself into another task or idea to get his mind somewhere else, “We should find out about this party, what we need to do, if anything, and make sure you’re ready.”

Morpheus gave him a scathing look. “You mean ensconce me back in our room to rest so I don’t cause another scene,” he replied wryly, and Hob sighed.

“Look, I’m just trying to help,” Hob said, exhausted. Morpheus had been getting little sleep, so he’d been getting little sleep, and he was starting to wish they’d just eloped and been done with it, no matter what fairytale wedding ideas Morpheus had been holding onto. If they were going to be stumbling into one of Morpheus’s many pitfalls through no fault of their own by going to the library of all places, there was nothing Hob could do to protect him. Feeling powerless was not something that plagued him often, but here Hob was very much in over his head.

“I know,” Morpheus murmured, “You are. I can’t hide myself away; I speak before the landtag the day after tomorrow and I am not allowed to fall apart until that is over. I don’t even know if they will listen to me.”

“They’ll listen.”

Morpheus gave a dismissive snort, and Hob took a deep, steadying breath. “Do you want my reasoning on that, or do you want to feel sorry for yourself?” he asked, not exactly unkindly, but there was a bit of an edge to it despite his best efforts.

“I know the reasoning, I’ve thought it through myself, yet I have my doubts. Can we just forget this morning happened?”

“Sure,” Hob said, slipping his hand out of Morpheus’s grip to slide it around his waist instead. He had yet to fully get back to that good place he’d been in before Morpheus was hospitalised, and had found the little things needled him more than they should. It wasn’t his partner’s fault; Morpheus had become far more cognisant of Hob’s needs and limits in a very short time, but this place didn’t bring out the best in either of them. The last thing Hob wanted was their wedding memories to be marred by the family.

“Then it’s settled. I need to call Lucienne, and then lets go to the greenhouse,” Morpheus decided.

“Going to steal your father’s plants?”

“No. Well, yes, but not now,” Morpheus replied, smiling sightly at him, “That’s where the outdoor pool is, I think we could use some relaxation, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, yeah we could,” Hob said, leaning in to steal a kiss and immediately gratified by the little, relaxed change in his fiance’s expression. A little actual holiday would do them both good.

Their luck held in that no one but Dee and Lucien sought them out for the rest of the day, or the next. They chose to forgo any proper mealtimes, with the kitchen accommodating and sending food up to their sitting room directly. Hob was still busy with his book; so lying in bed with his notes and working on the citations for bits he’d already written was what he’d truly intended to do with their summer away. Doing so with Morpheus comfortably wrapped around him, fluctuating between naps and quiet discussion about their wedding, which seemed to keep his stress at bay, was even better - and quickly smoothed over any of the small annoyances they’d been having with each other.
Morpheus was awake before dawn on the day of his speech to the landtag; dressed in a clean-cut suit and white shirt with the sort of collar one didn’t wear a tie with. He said ties made him feel more nervous, and he needed to focus on his words. He’d written a speech to memorise but Hob hadn’t been privy to any part of it, which he found a little concerning.

Jessamy was as annoyed with the early start as Morpheus, after he’d kept her up sitting on the balcony the night before. Hob made a mental note to find her some shiny things in recompense - avian overtime, if you will. She was putting in more work than Hob and their therapists combined, and he did occasionally wonder at how well she took to being (gently) hugged. He’d done a fair bit of research into corvids after he started seeing Morpheus, but their social nature in captivity and their training capabilities were far less clear than for their wild counterparts. She would be coming with them to the parliamentary meeting, though they had discussed it at length to come to this conclusion. Morpheus was reasonably certain no one would say anything due to who he was, unlike the court hearing in London where it would have been to his detriment.

The same driver who had picked them up from the airport was waiting with a sleek black SUV in the carriage circle of the castle’s courtyard. Jessamy was happy to be outside and squawked happily as she flexed her wings in the stiff breeze. She was wearing her harness and lead, as Morpheus trusted her perfectly in London but this was a strange new place for her - and he was now a bit paranoid, all things considered. It also seemed to make those who would otherwise reject her presence say nothing. Hob had said they should get her a little vest that says ‘service animal’ on it, but Morpheus had made a disgusted face, likely at how unfashionable such a thing would be.

Once they were settled into the backseat, with Jessamy freed of her lead and hopping around the seat between them, Hob looking Morpheus over carefully. He bore no outward signs of stress but that didn’t always mean anything; internalising was something of a superpower for him.

“So, how far are we from Vaduz?” he asked to break the silence.

“You really did no research before arrival, did you?”

“I wanted things to be a surprise, let you show me your world,” Hob replied with a grin, “I read up on the history and social structure, geography isn’t precisely my strong suit.”

“About an an hour and a half,” Morpheus answered, leaning forward to take off his suit jacket and lay it over the seat in front of them. “Long enough to overthink my plans. I’ve already written and introduced the legislation, months ago, they’ve discussed and are listening to my speech as a formality before the vote.”

Hob blinked at him. “...You did what, now?”

“It’s a direct democracy, anyone can propose legislation,” he said with a dismissive wave, “I was merely more eloquent about it than most, and was able to piggyback on the previous attempt. It can still be vetoed, after the vote, because we are also a monarchy and the man in charge is very old. I think in general many here don’t understand why ‘separate but equal’ is nothing of the sort, a registered partnership is… it’s not enough.”

Morpheus took a deep breath and shakily let it out. He had to be concise and level-headed about this, not angry. Not flighty. And most of all; appear as much in his right mind as possible. The media gossip surrounding him had not been entirely favourable of late; his hospitalisation equally rumoured to be the result of drugs or his health problems, depending on the rag reporting it. That combined with the court case against his father, and… well, there was only so much that fluff pieces about the upcoming wedding without word from either of the grooms could do in recompense.

“I hate that the farce of a wedding with Calliope was held in better esteem than us,” Morpheus said, his tone softer, “You are everything to me, and you deserve everything I can give you, you deserve the recognition for who you are and the new life you have given me. I want to introduce you as my husband, not some lesser title.”

“Dream, love, come here,” Hob said as he scooted closer across the bench seat toward the other man, carefully picking up Jessamy and setting her in his previous place on the way.

Morpheus folded into his arms as if he were meant to be there. Maybe he was; embracing him always felt like coming home, in a way. That was what Morpheus had said when he’d proposed as well, in slightly different words; they were home to each other, no matter where they were. The proper title and recognition might be important to Morpheus, and Hob could understand why, but he himself didn’t care beyond what it meant to his partner. He knew his own value, and what they had between them, and that was more than enough.

He rubbed his hand soothingly up and down Morpheus’s back, humming a wordless tune until he felt the tension slowly drain out of his partner’s body. Speaking before the landtag had seemed an unwise decision for Morpheus’s mental health and a part of Hob stood by that; but if it was successful then maybe it would do wonders for him.

“This will be the second time they’ve voted on marriage equality,” Morpheus said eventually, “Likely the second time in favour, but it can still be vetoed. My hope is that with my being the second most powerful man in this country someday, that it will not happen again just to keep the peace between our families.”

“Would make parties a bit awkward,” Hob replied, and he felt Morpheus’s silent laughter in response. Definitely relaxing then. Good. “I suppose you’re a bit more palatable to the sort of person who’d nix marriage equality than whatever it is Epithumia has going on.”

That got a snort of actual laughter out of Morpheus, who finally sat up straight enough to rest his head on Hob’s shoulder rather than be burrowed against his chest; a more comfortable position to spend the rest of their drive.

“You would think, would you not?” he asked dryly, “I think Epi’s proclivities are easier than mine to ignore. If you wipe off the makeup, that is. Father refuses to acknowledge their pronouns, and it doesn’t really work in German in any case; Dee said her go-to is just to choose male or female with wild abandon, but father would never. They are in a long term, committed relationship with a woman so it is easy for him to overlook the obvious and see a straight son who is doing what the family wishes.”

“I don’t even know your sibling and I’ve seen them on the cover of the Sun at least half a dozen times for… some bullshit or another,” Hob replied derisively, “Don’t you have a PR firm, reports?”

“Oh absolutely, but that would require father to acknowledge that his straight, upstanding son is an incredibly queer, pansexual disaster,” Morpheus said, “Were Epi still the heir, there would be trouble. When they held my lands and title, they hadn’t come out yet. It was the cover of my rescue and recovery that they used to let the media and family ignore their coming out, and they have pointed fingers at me ever since when they need a scandal to go away.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t in the apology,” Hob muttered.

“No, neither was the insult Jessamy was intended to be, or many other things besides,” Morpheus murmured, “And yet…. It was a start. We used to be very close, in school, they’re only a year behind me. We were each other’s main ally and confidante, even in university. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t make Calliope and I work; I think that was what broke us apart - an inability to understand that not everyone was like them, and the resent for me needing their help to work around it. That was a long time ago.”

Hob nodded and looked away from Morpheus to the beautiful landscape passing by outside. As much as he loved London, he could get used to this if Morpheus ever wanted to come home. That mention of an estate had been rattling around in his head for days now.

“It was and it wasn’t,” Hob replied eventually, “Your missing years don’t count to you, and your recovery barely; you’re only just working through things now that Epi had a decade to sort out. It’s okay if you’re not ready to forgive.”

“I know,” Morpheus said softly, “But I want to be. I had a lot of grudges for a lot of people, and they all felt…. Very pointless, and far away, when the main weight on my mind was thirst.”

He sat up straighter and shook his head as if to clear it. Hob moved with him and kept an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders; wondering again if this was going to be too much for him. The hits just kept coming and there was no good place to retreat. Even with the press tour Morpheus hadn’t needed to be this socially ‘on’ for such broad swathes of time. Already, since their court prep, he had become more gaunt and pale again despite Hob’s best efforts. Lucienne would be arriving soon and hopefully with the aid of her pseudo-doppelganger they would be able to take charge of what Hob could not.

“How very magnanimous of you. Whether you forgive them or hold that grudge til the day you die - old, and with me, mind you -, I’m here,” Hob teased, leaning in press a kiss to the arch of his cheekbone, “We’ll get through this and everything else.”

“That I do not doubt, only the state in which we do so,” Morpheus replied, offering Hob a rather wan smile before looking out the window.

The city of Vaduz was now in view up the valley; city being a rather generous word for the little capital. Hob had looked it up; just under six thousand people, smaller than his neighbourhood back home in London, nothing more than a sleepy alpine town at most times. It was easy to look at from afar and feel like you’d gone back in time. For all that he loved London, Hob was reasonably certain he could be happy here too.

Chapter Text

Morpheus hadn’t walked the streets of this city since he was a teenager. Being back now felt rather surreal, as well as open and exposed in a way he could not fully express. Here he was safe, immensely so. The country, and much more so the city, were incredibly small and while he had been absent the news had not. He had chosen to walk and get fresh air on their way to the parliamentary building rather than just being dropped off at the door, and everyone they passed nodded politely to him. Whether that was recognition, his appearance and Jessamy were enough to assume yes, or just the friendliness of a tighter community, he had no way of telling.

There was no possibility of running into someone troubling here, of media and paparazzi or anything else. No doubt some fans of his books, or the show now that it had done so phenomenally well in its first season, but polite enough not to bother him. If he stayed longer, perhaps they would. Perhaps not. He sighed, more than a little relieved, and smiled at Hob who looked like he too was beginning to relax. The guilt at pushing all of this; his family, the wedding plans, travel, and now politics still weighed heavily on his shoulders but Hob loved him, of that he was very certain, even if Morpheus had given him cause not to like him very much lately. Soon it would be all over except for the celebration, and then hiding away with his husband until work called them back to London.

They paused in the broad square outside the unassuming yellow brick building which housed the landtag, and Morpheus looked at it with trepidation. He’d only been inside a few times; a primary school tour and then tagging along after his father on very brief and rare visits home once he was only enough to be shipped off. There was a sense of deja vu about it all, after so long away.
“I’m not sure what I expected. Bigger, maybe,” Hob said, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.

Morpheus huffed. “Well, unlike your bloody useless parliament back home, our landtag has only twenty-five members and tends to get things done promptly,” he replied, “Very efficient, all things considered.”

“Until your monarch has a bad day and undoes it all.”

“...Point taken, but perhaps keep the anti-monarchist sentiments limited to Charles and his ilk, most of us rather like ours,” Morpheus said dryly, “He’s better than my father, at least. I suppose I should apologise in advance that you won’t understand most of the proceedings, or my speech.”

Hob smirked at him before leaning in to steal a brief kiss. “More than you might think, love, but don’t worry; I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

Inside was very quiet; the distant noises of a standard office and one bored receptionist who perked up and smiled gamely at their arrival. The landtag was already in session, Morpheus’s speech and accompanying legislation already debated was but one thing on their agenda and he did not need to be privy to the rest of it. They had arrived early enough to be politely prompt, but not early enough to give Morpheus much time to overthink himself. Left at the doors to the main council chamber they were instructed to wait until called. Once alone in the hallway, Hob turned to face him and took both of Morpheus’s hands in his.

“I will be right behind you, the whole time,” Hob promised, “And you are going to be fantastic, making your dreams a reality.”

“Hopefully,” Dream said quietly, “I read all the statistics, the previous referendum. I wish to be the last generation to have grown up without full equality here.”

“You tell them that,” Hob replied, squeezing his hands, then letting go as the door opened and an aide ushered them inside.

The council chamber was just as he remembered it to be from years ago; quite literally nothing had changed that he could tell. Quick and efficient they may be, but some things moved slowly here. The assembly sat in the round, and Morpheus had a moment of panic that they would want him to stand in the middle to speak - swiftly corrected when he was ushered to to a podium at the far end of the room. Clearly they did not have non-member speakers particularly often. That pang of adrenaline had his hands shaking and Jessamy croaked in his ear, sensing his distress. Deep breaths. This was no different to giving one of his guest lectures, less difficult even; the audience was smaller, no one would ask him to sign things, and he was here to present on a subject even more near and dear to his heart.

Hob stood off to the side with the aide who had brought them in and several staffers; he caught Morpheus’s eye and winked. Reaching a hand up to his shoulder, Morpheus moved Jessamy down to perch on the podium and be a little less obtrusive, less focal.

“Good afternoon,” he began, turning his attention to the gathered legislature, “I thank you all for allowing me this time to discuss the equality referendum awaiting your vote today. You honour me with your attention, and I promise I shall be brief.”

“Our people enjoy one of the highest standards of living in the world; a life of peace and prosperity where we are free to pursue that which fulfils us,” Morpheus said, pausing for a couple of heartbeats to focus; he hadn’t done this in a while - speaking engagements had fallen by the wayside in favour of attending university and preparing for court, then the wedding. “Save for those of us who by circumstance of our nature are not afforded the same rights and respect as our fellows.”

Besides minutes taken by staffers there would be no record of this, no video, only the word of those present and that gave to Morpheus a bit more confidence, and freedom, than speaking anywhere else. He walked a very fine line between professional and overtly personal in his reasoning; how he had stayed in England after his return because a part of him did not feel fully welcome in his home country now that everyone knew the truth of his identity, and how the excited joy of of impending marriage was tempered by having to sign the legal documents in a land in which he was a foreign national, afforded his residency by virtue of fame and station. He was here now with the man he could call husband in one country, but not the other.

They all knew the facts, the support of their countrymen, as this was not the first time a vote had been called on the issue of marriage equality. What they had lacked before was the human element, a face of the movement; something more tangible to drive home the point that this was injustice in its purest form. Until he and all those like him were afforded the same rights and titles and papers as everyone else, pride in the achievements of their country was wholly misplaced. What good did wealth serve when young people grew up to leave and never return, not for work but because they respected themselves too much to accept their love being second-class.

“I had forgotten, in my absence, what a beautiful land I come from,” Morpheus said, smiling ever so slightly. It was important to end what some could see as a political offensive on a high note. “And how much fond memories of our mountains and history had permeated my work to its core. I hope that I did those borrowed aspects justice, as they are an intrinsic part of me in much the same way as my identity. In the future, I dearly hope that all of me is welcome here. Thank you all for your consideration.”

A heartbeat of silence was followed by polite applause, and Morpheus bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. He hadn’t looked at faces as he spoke, he never did, but now he could see that those in the crowd ranged from ambivalent to… receptive, or at least politely smiling. That would have to be enough. His hands were shaking, balled into fists with the nails cutting painfully into the palms of his hands. When he spoke on his work he always walked, pacing the stage and gesturing to keep that nervous energy flowing somewhere other than deeper inward. Here he had been denied that aid. He wasn’t even certain how he had gotten out of the council chamber until he became aware of Hob’s warm hands cupping his cheeks and Jessamy preening his hair with fervour.

“I… don’t,” he began, but Hob shushed him, shaking his head.

“You did fine, wonderful, even. I think you’re allowed to have a little panic about it,” Hob replied, “Do you want to sit?”

Morpheus blinked at him stupidly for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Outside,” he said, and Hob let him go - taking his hand instead as they left the building for the broad open square outside. Jessamy croaked and flapped her wings at the breeze that ruffled their clothes and her feathers.

Taking a deep breath, Morpheus closed his eyes and held it for a count of five before letting it out. His hands still shook, but less. A rattling noise alerted him to Hob’s presence; his partner was holding up the little silver pillbox that he had entrusted to him long ago. A sharp nod was all it took for Hob to hand him his rescue pill, which he bit into despite the bitterness of it. No matter what the bottle said, it worked faster that way. In his experience. Very ample experience.

Hob slipped an arm around his waist, pulling Morpheus against side and humming a wordless, meandering tune until he began to relax, feeling a little floaty. The panic was still there but muted now in a familiar way.

“I want to go home,” Morpheus said quietly.

“To England?”

“Well, yes, but more pertinently the castle,” he said, tipping his head back to look up at Hob, “How much of it did you understand?”

Hob reached around and pulled the phone out of the inner breast pocket of Morpheus’s jacket to text their driver, who would be nearby. Neither Dee nor anyone else in the family had blown in his little surprise, and he wasn’t sure how much to let out just yet.

“As much as the DuoLingo owl allows,” Hob replied, grinning, “Enough to get your point, more than enough to think about how sexy the tone of your voice is in German. I think you argued your case well, and there’s no reason to go against the legislation.”

“It’s mostly the same as the previous referendum; save that the former included marriage rights but skimped on others… The improved version covers some aspects of medical care, adoption rights, things like that,” Morpheus said softly, biting nervously at his lip as he did so, “I worry I dug its grave by reaching too far.”

Hob was silent for long enough that Morpheus looked over to him with concern and found himself unable to parse the expression on his face. He really had been asking too much of him recently. “Hob?”

“Is that… that something you want?” Hob asked in return, his tone unreadable.

“...Adoption?” Morpheus replied, a baffled expression on his face, “I am far too messed up for that, likely always will be, but you can ask me again in a decade if you like. This isn’t all about me.”

Hob pulled him closer against his side and pressed a kiss to Morpheus’s hair, which was now returned to its usual messy state thanks to Jessamy doing her best to be helpful. “Alright,” he murmured, “Things we should have out there, you know, before we’re married.”

“True.”

He had never thought to consider Hob’s feelings on the matter; they had talked about his lost family but that was a grief still too near more often than not, and one that Morpheus understood deeply.

“You’re enough for me, my sweet Dream,” Hob offered, face still buried in Morpheus’s hair, “In every way. You know I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t think we could be happy together, just as we are, for the rest of our lives.”

Despite the adrenaline running through him still, the run-off from the burgeoning storm of stress that had finally, almost, passed, those simple words warmed his heart and Morpheus couldn’t help but smile. Enough. When had he ever been enough, on his own, without having to try? Never before, in his recollection.

“Because you are a hopeless romantic,” Morpheus replied wryly.

“Hopeful,” Hob said as he pulled away, tapping Morpheus on the nose with a fingertip before they parted, “Our ride is here.”

Morpheus slide in to the backseat of the SUV and after unhooking her harness, raised a rather fluffed out Jessamy to ride on Hob’s shoulder rather than his so he could lie down across the seats until his meds kicked in properly. Or, lie down as much as possible. He had too much leg so it was mostly an inelegant sprawl with his head resting in Hob’s lap. This was regular enough for him now, almost every event they had ever departed from saw Morpheus trying to calm himself down and a long-suffering Hob carding his fingers through his hair in a way that usually helped.

Just as we are, for the rest of our lives. The words echoed through his mind again, both comforting and strangely upsetting all at once, that Hob would have to deal with this, forever. Whether or not he minded it, or that Morpheus helped when Hob’s stresses rose to the fore, it still felt like too much to ask of anyone, much less someone he loved. It was that line of thinking that had him ghosting Hob for weeks earlier in their relationship but that was not an option now, for better or worse. Likely better.

“You’re thinking way too loud,” Hob said, and Morpheus tilted his head slightly to look up at him. “Wanna share with the class?”

“No.”

“It’ll make you feel better.”

“Doubtful.”

He repositioned himself more comfortably and sighed. Damn the man, but Hob was probably right. “I was thinking that I don’t want you to have to deal with me as I am, forever,” he said quietly, “I want to be better, for this to be a more equal partnership. Even here with my family treating you like detritus, you are ever caring for me.”

“I’m a caretaker, love, it’s what I do,” Hob said, shrugging, “You’re getting better, week by week, month by month. You can’t see it before you are too dialled in to your weaknesses to see your strengths. I remember very clearly the man who was having a breakdown in my office over going to a gala, stepping out for something not fully in your control for the first time, and here you are after speaking before a parliamentary body over legislation you wrote.”

“Drafted,” Morpheus interrupted, “Then passed to my lawyers who brought it more in line with what was necessary.”

Hob snorted derisively. “Drafted, then. Christ, you pedant. You get what I’m trying to say.”

“I do, thank you Hob,” he replied, lips curling up in the slightest of smiles before he continued, “This trip… I am on edge, teetering, and I’m afraid to fall back into how I used to be. Not just at the start of us, before us.”

“Hey, not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

“Nor do I want you to fight all my battles.”

Hob stopped petting Morpheus’s hair and moved his hand to rest on his chest, over his heart; a warm and solid presence that nearly always calmed him. This time was no exception.

“I rather like being your knight in shining armour, but watching you stand up for yourself never gets old,” Hob said with an almost wistful tone to his voice, “To your family, the media, the landtag. You have no idea how sexy your confidence is- yes, even if you fall apart a bit after. We’re only human.”

“Hmm, speak for yourself,” Morpheus replied, much to Hob’s amusement, before they lapsed into comfortable silence again. He was starting to feel artificially calm, thanks to the rescue pill, and he nearly dozed off by the time they returned to the castle. After the stress of the morning, anticlimactic after how well his speech had gone, Morpheus wanted nothing more than to relax - either in bed with Hob, or on the balcony reading with a nice glass of wine to keep his nerves calmed. Both, maybe, in whichever order Hob found appealing.

That was not to be, however. They made it through the grand entrance hall and up the sweeping staircase, only to be caught by Epithumia before they managed to turn off toward the residential wing in peace. His sibling fell in step with the two of them, linking arms with Morpheus much to his annoyance and full-bodied twitch at the unexpected touch. If his sibling noticed, they didn’t react.

“So… Favourite brother mine,” they began, with a grin that was entirely too bright for whatever devious plan they’d cooked up in their head, “I was talking to some friends, and Unity, and we realised you need a stag party.”

“No,” Morpheus said sharply, tugging his arm out of his sibling's grasp, “Especially not whatever your idea of a good time is.”

“We used to have much the same idea of what constituted fun,” Epithumia replied, “Time for a return to form, and it’ll be better than whatever engagement party hell mother has planned.”

“He said no, what part of that isn’t clear?” Hob snapped at them, and Morpheus flinched at the anger in his voice.

They hadn’t spoken at length about the revelations of Epi’s pseudo-apology, just the insufficient nature of it, but Morpheus realised now that they probably should have. Hob processed things very differently than he did, and if he was holding that sort of anger then Morpheus had a feeling he was being rather numb - the other stages of rage and sorrow often followed. Hob wrapped an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders and pulled him close, glaring past him at his sibling.

“It’s been a bloody difficult day and you’re not helping. Fuck off,” he continued, in a tone that brooked no arguments from Epi, who looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment, then rolled their eyes with an exasperated expression.

“Fine. See if I ever do anything for you again,” they said scathingly, “I’m just trying to make this normal for you, Morphy, one normal fucking thing so you won’t look back on this in a few years and wonder why you were such a killjoy.”

He felt Hob inhale sharply, and Morpheus shook his head to stop him before he could speak. Epi had always gotten plans in their head, grandiose usually, and pitched a bit of a fit when things didn’t go precisely in the manner they desired. Maybe this party was a reasonable idea, but he wanted nothing of the sort.

“Yes, because someone killed my joy a long time ago, far more thoroughly than you ever have. Your services are not needed,” Morpheus said darkly, watching his sibling’s face flicker from annoyance, to hurt, and then something unreadable before they spun on their heel and stalked away without reply. That hardly boded well; they always preferred to have the last word.

The sharp tap of his sibling’s shoes echoed in the cavernous hall and for a moment Morpheus couldn’t hear his own laboured breathing, wasn’t really aware of it until he heard Hob’s whispered ‘fuck’ and was pulled more tightly against the other man. Hob was warm in the cool air of the castle that always seemed a little chilled despite the season, his fingers were gentle carding through his hair and whispered meaningless words of encouragement until they faded away behind the ringing in his ears, as if the whole world had tuned out to silence so profound it sought to fill itself. Hob was saying something to him, and Morpheus just shook his head, hiding his face against Hob’s neck and unable to draw any words in return.

How they made it back to their suite of rooms was a vague assorted of disjointed images in his mind, filtering back in as bits and pieces as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over and listening to Hob who was knelt on the floor in front of him, holding his hands and talking quietly. Hob’s hands were warm, his own were shaking, and he couldn’t understand what his partner was saying. His breathing quickened, and Hob squeezed Morpheus’s hands, stopping the flow of speech and giving him a bright smile.

“There you are, love,” he said softly, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“That’s not english.”

“Well, that was. Before it too, actually, just not the modern sort. Wracking my brain for a recitation and the only offerings were Chaucer and Motley Crüe lyrics so I picked the one least likely to offend your sensibilities,” Hob replied, sitting back on his heels more comfortably now, “How are you feeling?”

“Disappointed.”

Hob’s smile faltered, and he shook his head. “Don’t be, unless it’s that you didn’t slap them,” he said, “You’re good, you’re back, faster than usual.”

“I….” Morpheus began, looking around the room as he tried to put his thoughts in order to remember how he’d gotten here. He knew the steps, but he hated losing time and having nothing to show for it, no new ideas or fantastical images he wanted to draw. Pure panic, without the dissociative daydreams, made him feel even worse. “I thought I made it out.”

Hob shrugged. “I don't think you came all the way down in the car, lowering your dose is good overall but maybe not for the rescue. Later, we’ll discuss that later,” he said, groaning as he stood up from the floor, making Morpheus wonder how long he’d been down there. “For now; you’re shaking, and pale, and you’re going to lie down.”

“I can’t, my shoes-” Morpheus began, as Hob let go of his hands so he could gently rid him of his suit coat, then his shoes, before pushing his shoulder to urge him to lie down. He went easily enough, sprawling out on the bed and staring up at the ancient beams of the ceiling. Distantly he heard Hob murmuring to Jessamy, the plink of pellet food falling into her bowl, then the room darkened except for the light coming in from the balcony as Hob pulled the curtains before joining him. By now he felt he shouldn’t be surprised by the way Hob took care of everything, yet he always was. Dr Heron had told him time and time again that he was unlearning years of dehumanisation, and those feelings of surprise, or shame, or guilt, were abjectly normal when faced with being treated as someone of value.

“You with me, love?” Hob asked as he rested a hand on Morpheus’s chest; both a calming gesture and likely checking to see if his heart was racing, figure out where he was in the cycle of panic and calm.

“Not dissociating; thinking about you,” he replied sheepishly.

“A win is a win,” Hob said, clearly amused, and took that statement as an invitation to crowd into his personal space, pulling Morpheus into his arms and kissing his cheek. “When do we find out? The results of the legislation, I mean. I don’t suppose they take very long on votes and compilation.”

A distraction. Distractions were good. Morpheus rolled over and pressed his face into Hob’s chest, feeling his arms immediately adjust so his partner could rub his back soothingly. Myriad memories flashed through his mind reminding him how Hob needed this too, wanted to feel needed. Maybe not this much, he was still healing too, and the resurgence of his struggles had been Morpheus’s fault as well. The cause and apparent solution to many of Hob’s problems. He would have to trust that Hob told him when he became too much; a conversation they’d had months ago, but it stuck out in his mind enough that he knew it must also have lodged in Hob’s psyche.

“A few weeks, most likely, the session itself has three more days, then voting, then passing it up the chain for pass or veto. Our prince normally bends directly to what the landtag has decided, but he can do as he wishes, and has before,” Morpheus said, his voice muffled by Hob’s shirt but they were close enough in the quiet of the room for him to be heard clearly enough.

Hob made an affirmative noise and stayed silent for a while, but Morpheus could tell he was thinking. His anxiety said that was ominous, the more rational side of him merely curious.

“You know, love, if you want to live here even part of the year I will find a way to make it work,” Hob eventually replied, “Quiet summers for research could be nice. I understand why you want it precisely official, I do, but I know my value, Dream. What the paperwork of one country says about my status doesn’t hurt me, what matters is we know we belong to each other, body and soul, regardless of where we reside.”

Morpheus finagled his way out of Hob’s embrace enough to look down at him and meet his eyes. “So we do,” he said quietly, “I truly did not realise until coming here again in person how much the world of my writings was simply home… That has skewed my intentions more than a little bit, I must admit. But my building is still my sanctuary, the New Inn is still my home, for this draughty old castle or my private estate to be anything similar will take time, stress, and struggle for which I am unsure I possess the will.”

“Some day then, maybe. Or not,” Hob said with a shrug, “We’ll figure it out when the time comes, but until then I think you need to turn off that brilliant brain of yours for a while and just relax.”

“A tall order.”

With the upcoming party, Hob was all too right. Without the stress of the previous days, both from travel and family, the fallout of his speech wouldn’t have been so great as it was, nor would Epithumia’s needling have gotten under his skin so efficiently. His mother’s intentions, he believed, were at their very base level, good. She wanted to celebrate her son, not exactly for the marriage she disapproved of, but that he was to her eyes whole and hale and better again - how else to prove it to their peers other than showing him off? Turning all eyes of the elite on him, for an event that was all about him, was daunting indeed. Clearly she had planned it far longer than he’d been privy to, likely since the wedding date had been decided, and that meant the guest list would be vast, and exclusionary to anyone he actually cared about.

As much as he hated to admit it, maybe Epithumia was on to something. Not in the way they thought they were, of course, but if they were going to have any sort of party it should include Hob’s academic friends, the few from his pub league he regularly went to concerts with, David, Claire, and their partners. Not a bunch of fellow nobility he hadn’t seen in decades. Morpheus would apologise, per se, and whatever private flights and club scene Epithumia had been thinking was out of the running; but they could do something for himself and for Hob once guests started coming in for the wedding.

“You’re doing it again,” Hob said, bringing him back to the present where Hob was looking up at him with a bemused expression, “Overthinking.”

“Yes,” he replied simply, before leaning down to kiss him, “You should find a way to make me stop.”

Chapter Text

For all that they had been informed of it barely days in advance, the plan for an engagement party was suspiciously well-plotted. Morpheus had kept himself out of the way of the hustle and bustle, hiding up in his rooms to the point Hob had likened him to a fairytale princess in a tower - a comparison that, while he glared at him for, Morpheus found to be rather apt, all things considered. He was something of the sort and his near-hibernation of isolation since escape years ago was a decent analogue for eternal sleep awaiting true love’s kiss, but he couldn’t find a means to express that in a way he knew wouldn’t make Hob look worried.

Hob was probably right to worry. Isolating himself when he dwelled in a large, airy building with all the necessary amenities was one thing, locking himself up in a suite that carried as many poor childhood memories as good ones was decidedly another. Assuring Hob he was fine, he had shooed him away to enjoy the library again, or the art and artefacts that were littered around the castle as a whole. It was all of great personal and professional interest to his partner and Morpheus felt no small amount of guilt for keeping Hob cooped up as well.

It also had the added benefit of feet on the ground, as it were, reporting on party preparations. His mother had wheedled some plans out of him upon agreeing on the date and the use of the castle for the actual ceremony and reception, and she put that to good use now in decorating with the intended wedding colours of red and gold. Red and silver would have flattered him better, and his mother had commented as such, but the ruby red was for him and the cheery gold for Hob as even he realised that having everything black was a bit of a downer for a wedding.

After a veritable team of workers cleared through the castle scrubbing everything cleaner than it had been in centuries, decorators arrived with bunting for the archways and on the morning of the party; a truly ungodly host of flowers - mostly deep red roses and sprigs of cheery yellow accent. Morpheus had watched from the position of leaning on the carven stone bannister of the grand staircase, close to the wall so he could easily disappear down the hall if any unsavoury family members were to make an appearance.

“If this is for an engagement party, I can’t imagine what the wedding decor will look like,” Hob said to announce his presence, before leaning on the bannister beside Morpheus and slipping an arm around his waist.

“I do believe they’ve scrubbed the stonework enough it’s a different colour.”

Hob huffed amusedly and nodded, looking out over the tableau. People were scuttling back and forth and through the great open doors of the foyer they caught glimpses of the same outside. The weather was ideal and it would be something of a garden party as well as indoors. Not a formal supper party, too many guests for that on short notice - although how short that notice was, Morpheus had his doubts. This had likely been in place for weeks, before their arrival, and Lady Aeternus had simply not seen fit to inform him prior so as to avoid any histrionics. In reality, she only avoided seeing them which, to her, was likely the same thing.

“It’s gonna be alright, love,” Hob said eventually, “I’ll be with you the whole time, and it’ll be good practice for the wedding. You did the premier, you can do this.”

“I am not what any of these guests expect,” Morpheus replied, “And I suspect that half of them find our relationship distasteful for myriad reasons.”

“Oh, well, then we can play a fun party game of ‘classist or homophobe’,” Hob retorted, “You know your value, and I know mine. Anyone else can stuff it.”

“Agreed,” Morpheus said, turning just enough to smirk at Hob, “For all that Epi is an unmitigated arsehole, they have a horse in this race as well and far fewer qualms about making a scene so we may have some entertainment beyond a string quartet.”

“Not a full chamber orchestra? Plebeian,” Hob replied dryly.

“Don’t be silly, that’s for the wedding.”

“...Christ”

“Just kidding. Come on, we should go get ready,” he said, sighing as he stood up and took Hob’s hand. This would never become anything less than wondrous to him, leading his fiancé around arm in arm, as if everything were right with the world, even when nothing was.

Morpheus had planned ahead in packing, with the same stylist he’d worked with for the premier and assorted other media circuses. While he hadn’t counted on this particular party, he had counted on a few formal dinners, both within and without the castle, and prepped accordingly. A part of him wanted to bow to expectation and wear a simple suit that was none of said outfits to avoid the ire of his parents and gossip of out of touch elites who for all their wealth and fashion would see him dressed extravagantly on the arm of Hob in a tux as something feminising and thus negative when it was neither.

Hob must have picked up on his turmoil a little, as he pulled Morpheus into his arms once they were alone in their suite again. “Stay out of your head, Dream,” he cautioned, punctuating his words with a kiss, “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“The juxtaposition of that nickname and telling me to stay out of my head is rather incongruous, don’t you think?”

After an exasperated eye roll, Hob released him. “Pedantic Nightmare then, better?”

“Much.”

In the end, after a very long and nearly scalding shower in which he spent a lot of time overthinking things until Hob joined him to drag his attention decidedly elsewhere, Morpheus decided to wear one of the stylist’s choices. It wasn’t anything too outrageous like he’d worn to the premier, despite an urge to cause trouble. He would leave that to Epithumia, for now at least as he retained a vain hope that if he could behave, so would his parents and they could leave the inflammatory sniping for another time.

The high-collared red shirt was soft, flowing fabric was just shiny enough to catch the light, and just over-designed enough that it sat comfortably on the line overtly feminine but straying far enough from classic menswear as to make a statement. At least some of the guests would appreciate it for being straight off a runway, but he could already imagine the derisive look on his father’s face - a mental image he very much tried to push away as he finished dressing. Slim-cut black trousers that, with the shirt tucked into the high waist, accentuated his proportions nicely and his favourite heeled boots completed the look. The dress shoes provided looked uncomfortable and this whole night would be uncomfortable enough.

Hob caught him looking in the mirror with a pensive expression and wrapped his arms around Morpheus’s narrow waist from behind and kissed the side of his neck.

“You have come a very long way since I first met you,” Hob said, a note of pride in his voice that warmed his heart even if an equal part of him disliked being praised for that which should simply be expected.

“I have always dressed well going out, even if only to the coffee shop, you simply met me when it was cool enough out to always be wearing a coat,” he replied, meeting Hob’s eyes in the mirror.

“Eh, your clothes were full of holes for our first real date.”

“And I wear those same clothes to this day unless I am trying to impress. Your point?”

Hob reached up to turn his face with a gentle hand on his cheek and kissed him properly, slow and sweet. Seeing themselves in a mirror made Morpheus realise they truly were a lovely couple, complimentary at least when they were dressed like this with Hob in a slim cut suit with a red vest beneath it to match. Morpheus had made him forgo the tie with the insistence the waistcoat was enough and that it was their party, they could dress how they wished and Dream wished him to look exactly as he did.

“My point,” Hob said when they broke apart, “Is you gripe and grouse and crack sarcastic jokes about attending a party, rather than breaking down. I’m proud of you, I know you don’t want to hear me say it but I am, alright? Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow, or any other day that throws you off, I’m still proud of you. Proud to be with you.”

“I would hope so, you’re stuck with me forever,” Morpheus replied, but he took Hob’s point well enough. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, but his therapist had made him all too aware of late when he expressed worry over this trip, over ruining the wedding that he wanted so badly, that he had by far exceeded all goals and expectations they had set. There was nothing to be done about outside forces running through his life like a whirlwind at times, but he himself was doing well enough.

“So I am,” Hob said, before stealing another kiss. “Is Jessamy accompanying us tonight?”

Morpheus shook his head. “No, she deserves a little rest and I am near enough a refuge that should aught go poorly, I can run up here and escape,” he replied, lips pulling into the slightest smile, “This is, ostensibly, still a controlled environment. The vast majority of these people, outside of their plus-ones, I know or have at least met, they are vetted, and they should know better than most not to say anything traumatising. Catty possibly, homophobic almost certainly, but it was a strange blow to our community for one of us to…”

Trailing off and biting his lip, Morpheus looked away, back to Jessamy. Her presence would help him feel better, if only because he could swing every conversation around to her - but she did need a rest and what comfort he would gain would be mitigated by his parents disapproval of him bringing an animal around. Their opinions of service animals were very low. That she could alert to things like his heart rate that he hadn’t noticed was irrelevant to them; they saw the whole situation much the same as a child lugging a toy everywhere they went.

Clearly sensing the downward spiral, Hob reached out and tipped his face back toward him for another distracting kiss. “Hate to tell you love, but ‘your community’ isn’t immune to anything, including guillotines.”

Morpheus let out a startled laugh. “Hob!” he exclaimed, still snickering, “Please keep the ‘eat the rich’ sentiments on the inside.”

“Oh, I’ll just hone it to a more figurative manner and save it for after the party,” Hob replied with a wink, before letting him go. “Shall we, or are you planning to be fashionably late?”

Morpheus rolled his eyes at Hob’s innuendo, then looked at the door with no small amount of trepidation. For all that he despised the concept of a party right now, he did have to admit it had its virtues - mostly in that it would mentally prepare him for such an event where he, and Hob, were the centre of attention even more so than the series premiere. The last thing he wanted was to have to flee his own wedding in a panic because the focus was too much. He could see it happening, had dreamed as much more than once.

“Dream, love?”

Hob’s coaxing voice knocked him immediately out of his reverie and he nodded tightly. “It’s going to be alright, you’ll be fine,” Hob said, turning Morpheus to face the door and releasing him from their embrace to lightly rest his arm around his waist instead.

“Nice mantra.”

“Thanks,” Hob replied with a wink before guiding him out the door with no small amount of force to get him moving. Jessamy croaked out a farewell that made Morpheus wish he’d brought her, but too late now.

The noise of guests arriving didn’t reach them until they were in the main wing of the castle, then the low murmur of voices interspersed with the distant sounds of string music grew as they walked toward the grand staircase Morpheus had been lurking to the side of earlier. Below, the grand front doors were open and people were milling back and forth below, dressed much as the crowd at their first real, formal date. Hopefully this would go much better than the gala. Of course, it had ended very satisfactorily in bed with Hob confessing his love, so a repeat of that part wouldn’t exactly go amiss.

“At least we managed to convince her that a formal dinner was not required,” Morpheus muttered as he people-watched.

“Your presence will still be noted if you don’t go downstairs,” Hob chided, taking Morpheus’s hand in his and tugging him gently toward the stairs, “If it’s too much we’ll just join whoever’s out in the back garden and get some air, come on.” For his part he was mostly looking forward to the canapés and the people were merely an obstacle in the way.

Morpheus hadn’t thought he could hide, wished for it perhaps, but not expected it. Still the number of people who needed to wish him well in person, at length, while shaking his hand or touching his shoulder was enough to make him feel he was about to vibrate out of his skin. Knowing what had happened to him and internalising what that meant as far as interacting with him had clearly not been a process most of his supposed peers had gone through. Or, like many in the media, they thought since he had managed his media tour, university, and now this that he was cured, for lack of a better word, from…. Whatever they thought his malfunction was. No one had ever really clarified and Morpheus had thought it too personal to ever talk about in interviews. Perhaps he should, in a roundabout way.

After seeing Morpheus’s face upon having to shake hands with people properly, Hob did a marvellous job of ensuring he always had a flute of champagne in one hand, the other firmly clasped in his own, so all Morpheus needed to do was raise his glass in a little toast to those who wished them well. That and chat politely, which he had found was an ability coming back to him in bits and pieces, thanks to trying not to be a complete mess at university. His fellow students had been young, a decade his junior or more, and they might know him a little from his face being in the media, or his name as the creator of their new favourite television show, but they were a little too young to remember what had happened to him as a major media event. It had been refreshing when a discussion about preferred brushes didn’t loop back around into wanting gritty details of his imprisonment.

No such luck with these people; even if they didn’t ask, he could see it in their eyes that they wanted to, they wondered. The growing sympathy in their gaze was too much to meet with stoicism that it could see right through. He hardly heard Hob ask him a question over the thrumming pulse in his ears that drowned out everything else. Then he was being led by the hand from the bright chandelier-lit inside to the swiftly growing dusk outside where the traditional garden concourse had been lit intermittently to allow partygoers to walk the grounds and enjoy even after dark. Even here there were waiters and food and another string quartet whose gentle tones floated away on the breeze rather than reverberating in his mind like the musicians inside had.

“Better?” Hob asked, smiling gently at him. Morpheus nodded mutely, letting the relative silence wash over him for a moment and soothe his frazzled nerves. That hadn’t been much more than half an hour, forty-five minutes at best. Being congratulated on his work at the premier had been easier, that was about something he had done more than something he merely was - in this case, capable of finding someone to put up with him.

“As ever your tactical exits are a skill for which I could not have chosen a better partner,” he said, before offering Hob his hand.

“You know, ‘yes’ is a complete sentence,” Hob replied as he gamely took it and led them off through the garden; they’d spent a fair amount of time on the grounds, mostly with books that weren’t really meant to leave the library, and Hob knew it as well as Morpheus now with how long he’d been gone.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Morpheus retorted, smirking at Hob’s exasperated sigh - antagonised for once by his humour, he thought, not by his failings. A pleasant enough change.

They walked in silence for a while, holding hands eventually becoming Hob’s arm around his waist and Morpheus leaning into his warmth despite the pleasant summer evening. Dusk was rapidly deepening and the lighting decorating the garden was doing a bit more heavy lifting, making it look like something out of a fairytale. Quite apropos, in many ways; handsome knight at his side included.

“It’s still not too late to elope, just saying,” Hob murmured.

“It is, I’ve already had my outfits delivered.”

“Plural?”

“Yes, well, you did not expect me to simply wear a tux, did you?” Morpheus asked dryly, much to his partner’s amusement.

In answer, Hob pulled him close and kissed him softly. Morpheus was ever shy of any public displays of affection, but there were few people around and this party was for them, anyway. If ever it were appropriate, it was here.

“I expect the unexpected,” Hob said, smiling against his lips, happy just to hold him for a moment before they went back inside for another round of congratulatory small talk from people whose opinions were often a little too plain on their faces.

Morpheus was the one to pull them back inside eventually into the brightly lit hall, then the large formal parlour they hadn’t even made it to on their first round of obligatory niceties. Hob kept his hand at the small of Morpheus’s back in a soothing reminder that he was not alone, a firm presence at his side to smile and deflect. Hob’s experience schmoozing alumni and sponsors went a long way in this world as well.

They made the rounds a bit easier this time; the wine having had time to go to his head enough that Morpheus was a little less stilted, and Hob was now if not exactly in his element, at least confident enough that his usual level of extroversion was enough for these people. Tone down the slang, add a few big words, and Morpheus could see the bartending side of Hob come to the forefront; the one that always knew what to say to a good story or a rough one, how to rile up a party or deescalate patrons gone too rowdy. Very few of these people had ever been to a pub like his, and fewer would recognise that person even if they had.

In his rather aggrandising view; Hob slipped into this society almost effortlessly and Morpheus was reasonably certain that all and sundry would be ready to trade him out for Hob at any of their future events. He could hardly blame them.

“You look a little winded, brother dearest,” Epithumia murmured in his ear, having appeared all too suddenly at his side. Taking their brother’s arm, they tugged him towards the hallway, “Come along!”

“No, I… Hob,” Morpheus replied, startled, but not wanting to make a scene about being dragged off.

“He’s a smart boy, he’ll figure it out,” Epi said even as they gave Hob a jaunty wave that Hob answered with a wide-eyed look of concern. Once they were out in the hallway, Morpheus was released from his sibling’s custody and glared Epithumia down indignantly.

They merely rolled their eyes, making a dismissive gesture as they brushed past him. “I am doing you a favour, big brother. People who matter are in the study with old cigars and older scotch,” they said pointedly, “In the low light, quietly. Not everything’s a trap.”

“Not everything may be intended as such,” Morpheus said, watching Hob’s approach over Epi’s shoulder and seeing the relief in his fiance’s eyes as he realised they weren’t arguing. Openly, at least. Not yet. The night was still young and his sibling was an unrepentant bastard.

“Give me the benefit of the doubt for once in your damned life,” Epithumia replied, but there was no heat in it; they just led on down the hall to the doors of another, smaller parlour that was much more the atmosphere of an old-time gentleman’s drinking club. Hob muttered something about seeing this on Bridgerton as he caught up and put his hand on Morpheus’s shoulder reassuringly.

Inside sat his father and a few older men that Morpheus swore he knew but couldn’t quite place. Most likely he hadn’t seen them since… well, since his first wedding. That didn’t bear thinking about. Potmos was sitting by an unlit fireside, reading, glass of honey-coloured liquor in hand and well ignoring everything going on around him. Not for the first time, Morpheus found himself extremely jealous of his older brother. When he was antisocial, he was simply being himself. When Morpheus did so, it was some mark of failure and trauma. Olethros was nowhere to be seen, so the younger contingent consisted of he and Hob, Epithumia, and a handful of men he had known from school, some who he’d wondered about. None of whom had ever reached out to him, after. Morpheus held loyalty very high in his regard and those who couldn’t be bothered to care or do more than gossip when one of their own was hurt lacked it entirely.

Whether they meant to or not, Epithumia had drawn him into a proverbial den of vipers and not even the glare he sent their way seemed to dull their cheerful grin. He sat with Hob on a low leather sofa where immediately one of the staff appeared out of nowhere to offer tumblers of whisky which Hob took with interest and Morpheus took mostly to have something to hold onto and an excuse not to speak. The amber liquid held very little interest to him because he knew very well that he was on the alert yet relaxed area of tipsy where it was best he stayed to prevent any panic attacks or loosening his tongue more than was wise.

His father had acknowledged their presence with a nod of his head and a tight-lipped appraisal of Morpheus’s appearance that made him feel all too seen, but hadn’t missed a beat in his conversation with his own friends - something about stocks and investments that, if he listened, Morpheus probably would have had a little interest or insight to, but he wasn’t listening. It was easier to let the couple of discussions float on around him and absorb their stories, catalogue the information, and use it later as needed.

The conversations twisted and dipped away from the trappings of wealth to other equally ephemeral things; the weather, travel, catching up on family affairs after not having seen everyone all together in ages. For all their prestige, the Aeternus family did not regularly host, it seemed. Morpheus had assumed he simply wasn’t invited, and he wasn’t plugged in enough to media to know otherwise. Hearing his name brought him to full awareness, to see a glass being raised in his direction by one of his father’s friends, Richard something or other, shipping magnate. “It’s nice to celebrate something for a change,” he said, nodding his head toward them, “I swear half the time I see any of this crowd, if it’s not on the water it’s a damned funeral.”

“Last year was that garden party, that little chateau in Bordeaux,” one of his old school friends replied, gesturing like he was trying to come up with some more information about it, “Opposite, I think. Someone’s birthday.”

Epithumia made an undignified noise. “Yes, celebrating Lady Tillsbury’s affair baby, charming time until someone let that slip,” they said, rolling their eyes, “Morphy, you missed a hell of a time.”

Morpheus glared at them for the nickname and sipped his bitter whisky. Very much not his preferred drink. “A great loss, I’m sure,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at his sibling, “Will the next party be for you and Miss Kincaid? I do recall Morta saying she was of a mind to start a family.”

A low blow, possibly, but if people were focused on Epithumia’s flavour of the month partner then they would stop looking at him.

“Perhaps,” Epithumia replied, tilting their head to the side a little. That smirk boded ill for everyone; hopefully their apologetics still had a hold of them. Morpheus raised an eyebrow challengingly but if Epi saw any bait to take, they didn’t try it.

Hob rested his hand on Morpheus’s leg and shot him a look. There were far too many years of family sniping underpinning every interaction he had with his siblings, except for Morta who he was reasonably certain had done nothing wrong in her entire life, much to her siblings chagrin.

“What about you two, then?” the elder Lord Aeternus asked, gesturing with his cigar from where he was holding court leaned against a decorative writing desk no one had likely used since the late 1800’s. “There’s a lot of options for you people these days.”

It took Morpheus a couple of beats to realise that his father was addressing him and Hob, and for a moment he just blinked at him in surprise, trying to gather words. His father knew all too well what the loss of Orpheus had done to him, had known it well enough in advance to be the one who chose not to tell him right away, lest it impact his recovery, and stole the opportunity for closure out from under him in doing so. There was no way, no possible way, that he hadn’t also done as thorough a background check on Hob as Lucienne had done at the start. Morpheus had done so to ensure his own safety, his father would have done so for leverage, at best. At worst, he didn’t want to guess.

This was the worst, probably, blind-siding them about children knowing full well Hob had lost a family in the worst possible way. The room closed in upon him again and Morpheus was only vaguely aware of Hob’s hand on his knee squeezing tightly, whether to ground him or warn him off of letting his temper explode, he wasn’t sure. One downside to recovery was the urge to respond in aggression rather than fear, reaching for a control he did not have over a situation he did not want to be in.

Before even realising what he was doing, Morpheus was on his feet and glaring at his father, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Do you…” he began, letting out an incredulous laugh, “Really think I am in any state to raise a child, do you remember what you tried to do just weeks ago? I can’t take care of myself, but a bloody heir is certainly on the table.”

His father sighed dramatically and motioned for him to sit back down, not bothering to move from his relaxed posture which managed to enrage Morpheus even more. “I am merely saying that Robert could-”

“I am not marrying to foist on him the work of a child he had no part in making or choosing,” Dream cut him off sharply, “You know what he’s been through, why would you think this is the appropriate venue to-”

“Oh for the love of god, shut up,” Epithumia drawled, so unexpectedly that Morpheus paused in his righteous indignation, not sure what to do once he had been derailed. Hob tugged on his sleeve, but he remained standing. Sitting back down would be admitting defeat, somehow.

“Father, you really should know better than to ask that sort of question in polite company,” Epithumia continued, fixing their predatory gaze across the room on the elder Lord Aeternus who looked like he was starting to regret his offhand comment, “We share a floor after all, and I am quite certain they’re trying."

What stilted conversation had been ongoing in an attempt to annoy the growing altercation paused immediately, the silence broken only by the sound of Hob trying desperately not to choke on his drink. Morpheus gaped at his sibling for a moment, feeling his cheeks go quite red before he sat down, looking mortified. All eyes were not, however, on him, but on Epithumia instead who was absolutely preening at the drama, because there was no other reason for them to be very nearly posing on the arm of their chair. They were fucking enjoying this.

“Ask an inappropriate question, get an inappropriate answer,” they said with an elegant shrug, before turning unnaturally golden eyes back to Morpheus and Hob.

He had always thought Epi chose the contacts, and their hair, simply to do their best to look like they weren’t siblings, after many school years of being too heavily associated. Now Morpheus was reasonably certain the eyes at least were meant to make them look uncanny and predatorial; an aesthetic that he himself could very much get behind. Epi winked at him and held out his glass to the staffer who had been pointedly ignoring the whole exchange and doing his best to keep a straight face.

“So, Robert, I heard you have a book coming out soon,” Epithumia said smoothly, “Morpheus isn’t the only author in the family anymore. Care to enlighten us?”

“Ah… well, ‘soon’ is a bit of a misnomer; I have a publication deadline that I hope to meet,” Hob said awkwardly, clearing his throat, “I’m a little behind schedule, wedding planning at all.”

“He let you plan… anything?” Epi asked, smirking, “Morpheus, you have changed.”

“I took his interests into consideration,” Morpheus replied, slowly beginning to relax although his heart was still racing. Conversation had resumed around them, a low, almost pleasant buzz of soft voices suitable for the study. It might be a lion’s den in here, but it was an improvement on the assault to his senses that the main party was. There would be gossip in the morning for sure, but for now no one even looked at him askance - his father would bear the brunt of it, with honourable mention to his wicked sibling who was still smiling that Cheshire cat grin.

Chapter Text

Being in residence at the same venue as the party had both its positives and negatives. They could leave any time they wanted, but unfortunately doing so required weaving their way back through the whole crowd to the main foyer to get upstairs and head to the residential wing of the castle. Hob had kept Morpheus tucked tightly against his side in the study, sipping on old whisky, until his relaxation started to lean towards drunkenness and he figured it was time to get out of there before his charming fiance said something decidedly unhelpful. He had been very consistently taking his medication, which meant drinking much less under Hob’s watchful eye, and the resultant lowered tolerance.

Hob elbowed him in the ribs and nodded toward the door, Morpheus blinking at him daftly for a moment before picking up what he was implying and rising to make his polite excuses. Epi snagged him by the arm in passing to reel him in for a hug that made Morpheus stiffen and freeze, which his sibling either didn’t notice or didn’t care about, because they were too busy whispering something in his ear while making decidedly uncomfortable eye contact with Hob. Despite the fact that Epithumia was on their side now, or at least their own side was temporarily aligned with Morpheus, something about them made Hob twitchy. At first he’d thought maybe he needed to examine some internalised prejudices but had quickly come around to the idea that no, Epithumia made him uncomfortable purely because there was an air of deviousness around them that Hob just couldn’t ignore. That and the smirk that was so familiar and charming on Morpheus’s face caught him somewhere between annoyed and suspicious when mirrored on his sibling.

“The word you are searching for is backpfeifengesicht,” Morpheus said quietly as they navigated their way through the milling crowd of people who were now simply enjoying the party for what it was, irrespective of its original purpose as very few had stopped them since leaving the study.

“What?” Hob asked stupidly, glancing over at Morpheus, because frankly he hadn’t been thinking about much at all besides the fact that events with his fiance were much easier with Jessamy to tell him if anything were going wrong and distract his partner from getting too far into his own head. The family brought out Morpheus’s fight instinct more than flight, and Hob found he could be proud of him and exasperated at the same time.

“It means something akin to a face that irks you in a way you can hardly resist slapping them,” Morpheus replied then added, rather unnecessarily after that explanation, “Epithumia.”

“Yeah… just about does it,” Hob said, trying to hide his smile. Morpheus did not try, but seeing him smile - even for tipsy and petty reasons - in public was heartwarming. Now if only he could see the progress he was making, and not focus on the panic that still overwhelmed him. “I don’t suppose there’s any sneaky back ways through this place to avoid the crowd.”

“No, well, yes but not in fancy clothes and without great effort,” Morpheus replied dryly, “And the crown prince is here, so I believe I am both legally and socially obligated to pay my respects and restrain myself from mentioning the pending legislation that is well within his power to veto. It would be a rather dick move to come to my engagement party and then deny me marital status, so I will take his presence for a win until further notice.”

Hob snorted at hearing Morpheus poshly intoning the phrase ‘dick move’, which got him a stern glare in response, which only made him chuckle more. Alright, maybe Morpheus wasn’t the only one who’d sat and drank for a bit too long… before meeting the sovereign of the country. Fantastic. They hadn’t at all covered this in their social class prep, which had mostly been Morpheus shrugging at Hob’s increasingly nervous queries and telling him he’d be fine, just use the forks from the outside in and smile politely at everyone.

Given that at home, Morpheus was prone to eating everything with the one spoon that didn’t match the rest of the cutlery and glared insidiously at anyone who glanced his way, Hob was unsure of the wisdom of taking that advice. Luckily for him, the prim older man Morpheus made a beeline for greeted him politely in German so Hob was able to play the dumb Brit and offer that smile and nod and pretend the conversation was beyond him, which wasn’t entirely untrue. A few well-planned words and passing phrases was one thing, but speaking swiftly like a native speaker was another entirely, and DuoLingo hadn’t exactly prepared him for alternative dialects. He did catch a few words that pinged in his brain about legislation and the landtag before Morpheus actually shook hands with the man, a first for the evening, although when he turned away he grimaced, the faintest of shudders going through him. Hob was distinctly reminded of how he always made sure there was a buffer between him and fans at book signings, and how Morpheus carefully handed books back to people in a way that their hands rarely ever brushed.

As much as it pained him to see the man he love be so unsettled still by the smallest things, Hob was more than a little smug about the fact that Morpheus melted so quickly under his touch and had nearly from the beginning. He took advantage of that now by slipping an arm around his fiance’s waist and leaning in to speak privately to him. “You’ve done so well tonight, love,” he murmured, not even disheartened by Morpheus’s dismissive huff in return, “You haven’t got punched anyone, which I consider an impressive display of restraint.”

“I came very close to violence.”

“And I find that incredibly sexy, if ill-advised,” Hob replied quickly, to which Morpheus’s pinched expression relaxed. On anyone else it would have been a smile, but that was beyond him for the moment. They really did have to get out of there if Morpheus was visibly at the end of his tether.

Hob guided Morpheus through the crowd with a firm hand on his lower back until they managed to meander their way back to the grand staircase and up to where the noise of the crowd assembled below quickly faded away. The thick stone walls of the castle muffled noise as well or better than any modern insulation, giving the illusion of privacy. There, Morpheus began to lead, striding with purpose ahead of Hob down the long hall, heeled boots echoing on the stone floor as he lead them down a few turns until there was no sound at all except the ambient noise of an ancient building. There he plopped down heavily onto a decorative settee that deserved more deference than that for its age and leaned his head back against the wall with a heavy sigh. Hob paused in front of him, amusement playing across his features as he watched his partner decompress and shift back from his public persona.

There was always something a little stiff and formal about Morpheus anywhere outside of bed, but usually in a way that was sarcastic and biting, and utterly amusing. How he folded in on himself around people to become something quiet and meek more often than not just made Hob sad, despite all the progress he’d made. He’d had more than a few long talks with his therapist about the ups and downs of committing himself to someone who, for all his brilliance and power, needed a life partner who would also be a caretaker in many respects. For all that they had rushed into this relationship headlong, they had also thought it through. Hob, perhaps, a bit more than Morpheus.

“I’m alright, stop looking at me like that,” Morpheus said quietly without opening his eyes.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I can feel your concern and I assure you that I am merely irked by my father’s hubris and otherwise well enough. That went better than I expected; the one positive of parties amongst this crowd is that the reason for their existence is oft not the focal point of them. Half the guests could not care less that I’m marrying again, and the other half wishes to gossip about it,” Morpheus replied, yawning widely, “It has gotten some curiosity out of their system before the wedding at least.”

“I take it everyone here tonight is on the guest list?” Hob asked.

Morpheus cracked his eyes open slightly and squinted at him, “You were emailed the finalised guest list weeks ago.”

“As if I can put any of those names to faces outside my mates.”

“Touché.”

Morpheus reached out a hand to Hob who took it and helped haul him up from his erstwhile fainting couch. He was about to start heading off back to their rooms when Morpheus pulled him into a tight embrace and kissed him soundly; slow and deep and promising all at once until they both were left out of breath. Hob tilted his head forward until their foreheads touched, a grin slowly spreading across his lips.

“There’s my sweet Dream,” Hob said softly, raising a hand to cup Morpheus’s face and rub his thumb over the high arch of his partner’s cheekbone, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Morpheus replied after a huff of wry laughter, “more like a nightmare tonight, and I would apologise for it if I didn’t plan on being so again at every function I am required to attend.”
.
“Sweet Nightmare,” Hob corrected himself before stealing another lingering kiss. He had expected this night to end with Morpheus curled up in an anxious ball or ignoring existence in favour of Jessamy, so this diversion was all too welcome.

He pushed aside the hint of worry that came along with Morpheus’s advances after a stressful situation. The only panic attack that had threatened had been quickly averted, hours ago, so he was more than cognisant of his actions. Morpheus would hate that he even had this thought process still, but it had come about through valid concerns. Although now, Hob found it much easier to set those concerns aside as the man who had advocated for himself before his country’s government and planned their entire wedding could certainly make choices about what it was he wanted.

“Care to take this back to our rooms? I don’t think your wretched sibling needs any more fodder for their teasing,” Hob said, but didn’t let go just yet, savouring the moment. Every time they got to go out, to do something ostensibly normal, and it went well Hob felt his heart lighten.

Everything was going to be okay, they were going to be just fine. Even if Morpheus didn’t want to hear it, Hob took note of every step. If this is how much better his beloved was after nearly a year, how much would he flourish in another year? In five? Ten? Someday he would manage to drag Morpheus out of his willing blindness to see how far he’d come, and the depths of pride Hob held for him.

Morpheus nodded slightly and turned away from Hob, their hands still joined as he led them down yet another back route through the castle. For all that he hadn’t lived here in decades, Morpheus remembered every inch of it with alarming clarity. Hob tried to pay attention to the twists and turns every time they went off the main halls but more often his focus was on his boyfriend who seemed increasingly more at home here, in what was and eventually could be again, his home - relaxing in a way he hadn’t on any of their other travels, in a way he had not anywhere but his home in London, as far as Hob had seen before.

They emerged through a narrow archway on the far end of the family wing they were staying in, near a floor to ceiling turret of windows that ended the hall and were definitely of a much later era than the original build of the castle itself, though the stone perfectly matched. Their footsteps were muffled now by the carpet that ran down the long hall over the flagstones and the party was far enough away to be gone entirely from hearing. With no one else in residence, it was almost eerily quiet and Hob felt that speaking would break the spell of the place; until either of them broke the silence they could be somewhere far away in the castle’s history. Maybe that was why Morpheus liked it so much, despite his family’s presence.

“Hob, that’s us,” Morpheus broke the silence, tugging his fiance’s hand as he passed by their door. When Hob turned to grin sheepishly at him, Morpheus looked eminently amused. “And you thought it was I who had drunk enough to be unwise.”

“It’s not the whisky, just my thoughts,” Hob apologetically replied, “That this place is… escapism, of a sort, like your dream realm.”

Morpheus huffed as he dropped Hob’s hand and opened the heavy old door to their suite of rooms. “Maybe for a history nerd,” he retorted, “For me it’s just… Everything, and nothing, all at once. Good memories, bad memories, and all the fantasies I had as a child worming their way back into my mind, the stories of them. I have found myself inspired here, though I haven’t found the time to write.”

“That’s good though, let's make that time,” Hob said, grabbing Morpheus gently by the waist and turning him back around as he pushed the door closed behind him with his foot, “Not tonight.”

“No, not tonight,” Morpheus agreed, before stealing another soft kiss. He closed his eyes, smiling slightly, before worming his way out of Hob’s embrace to slip off his shoes and begin undressing; his fancy clothes earning themselves a bit more respect than being tossed on the floor, these days. Hob leaned back against the door and watched the man he loved more than anything else in the world strip down until he was wearing nothing but the ruby necklace he hardly, if ever, took off, his movements graceful and methodical and far more confident than they used to be. Morpheus caught him watching and raised an eyebrow, looking Hob up and down as if to say aren’t you a little overdressed?

“Hey, you told me on the second date that looking is free,” Hob pointed out, still watching as the other man crossed the room and climbed into bed in a far more provocative manner than was truly necessary. Whether or not he’d admit it, Morpheus liked the weight of Hob’s gaze on him almost as much as Hob enjoyed watching him.

The light in the room was low; one lamp that had been left on so they wouldn’t be stumbling about in the dark or turning on the lights and bothering Jessamy when they returned, and beams of moonlight streaming in from the tall, narrow windows and dappling his lover’s already pale skin in shades of silvery blue. He was beautiful and Hob found himself caught for a moment between a pang of desire and pure aesthetic appreciation the likes of which Morpheus rarely allowed without complaint. The physical scars of his imprisonment had faded and Hob didn’t often notice them - ghostly lines on already pale skin - but they stood out in his lover’s mind more than they likely ever had in body, even when new. His flirtatious confidence had its limits, though Hob rarely stumbled upon them.

Morpheus sprawled back against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, sinking into them and spreading his legs provocatively, knowing full well the vision he made against the dark covers of the bed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hob watched his narrow chest rise and fall, noting not for the first time how much stronger he looked. Healthier. Despite the stress of the last few weeks, he was improving day after day and becoming more himself. How his shoulders had broadened and the musculature of his arms and chest gained definition was enough to make Hob’s breath catch and a pang of lust shoot through him.

“I would prefer you do more than look, I did not drag you back here simply to put on a show,” Morpheus said derisively as he ran a hand lazily down his chest and lower, taking his half-hard cock in hand to tease himself even as he teased Hob.

“No, but you can keep doing that for a minute,” Hob replied, gaze locked onto Morpheus as he was finally drawn into action; pushing away from the door to strip off his clothes with far less finesse. The rumpled suit would survive just fine on the floor for the evening, he had far better things to do.

A moment later he was crawling on the bed to join his lover, straddling his lover’s thighs and leaning down to kiss him - still unhurried but deeper now, teasing open his lips for a proper taste, chasing the hint of whisky and sweet wine left in him. Hob ran his hands slowly up Morpheus’s sides, brushing thumbs over his nipples to feel his lover shudder beneath him, before cupping his face in one hand and tangling the other in his dark hair. The sleek, coiffed look of the early evening destroyed in an instant as Hob ran his hand through Morpheus’s hair, mussing it back to its usual chaos that he found so endearing.

Morpheus ceased touching himself in favour of settling his hands comfortably on Hob’s waist as he sighed contently against Hob’s lips. They simply kissed for a while, languidly at first and then with more urgency until they were breaking apart to pant heavily against each other before diving back for more. Every time they kissed was a revelation, even now nearly a year later, and Hob could lose himself in it every time. How Morpheus melted into his touch and made quiet, greedy noises and nipped at his lips every time he pulled back for air like he couldn’t get enough never ceased to to drive him wild. His lover joked often enough that he had a decade to make up for when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, often not for the first time in a given day, but there was a bit of truth to it nonetheless.

“What are you thinking tonight, love?” he asked softly, tilting his hips forward to grind his erection against his lover’s stomach, trapping Morpheus’s cock between them as he moved which pulled a breathy, needy sigh from the other man.

After settling his hands lower on Hob’s hips and tugging his lover into himself to encourage him to keep moving, Morpheus leaned his head back against the headboard and replied, “This is enough, so long as you keep kissing me like that.” He smiled crookedly up at Hob, a rare, completely unguarded expression that made Hob’s heart ache.

“As you wish, my lord,” Hob teased, leaning forward and propping himself up on one elbow on the pile of pillows so he could both kiss his lover more easily and rock their hips together, chasing that tantalising friction. It wasn’t a particularly swift way to climax, not when he was so spoiled by Morpheus’s willingness to get on his knees or beg to be taken, but there was a different sort of intimacy in the slow gentleness of it all. Enough. Not every encounter needed to be mind blowing passion, sometimes they needed to simply be here in the moonlight and marvel that they had somehow, against all odds and probability, found each other.

When they next parted for breath, Hob busied himself kissing down Morpheus’s neck and nipping lightly at the tender skin to hear his lover groan softly, grip tightening on Hob’s hips until his nails dug into the flesh. Hob obliged him by grinding harder against him, the slide of their cocks against each other aided by the growing slick of precome between their bodies. He trailed his lips down from the soft skin below Morpheus’s ear to his collarbones, worrying the flesh between his teeth just enough to leave a lasting, reddened mark below the line of most shirts he would wear.

Morpheus had admitted to him in the afterglow of their lovemaking once that being left with something after they were done, beyond the satisfaction or occasional ache of the act itself, helped ground him, helped remind him that he was real. That they both were real. Hob had tucked that away and internalised it, never letting Morpheus escape entirely unscathed whether the marks he left were high and proud on his neck so Morpheus could see them when he looked at his reflection, which was sometimes a stressful act for him, or hidden beneath his clothes only to feel. The latter were the choice of late, given all the public appearances.

He moved a little lower, sacrificing the friction they both wanted for the ability to reach Morpheus’s chest and lathe his tongue over the now more defined edge of his pectoral muscles, taking a moment to pause and deliver a sucking bite to his nipple until his lover whined and bucked his hips up against him - a futile gesture with Hob comfortably pressing him down into the mattress. Hob laughed softly and pressed a gently kiss to his sternum, hearing Morpheus murmur something he couldn’t quite make out in a breathier version of that stern, dry tone he used when he was flexing his power, such as it was, to get what he wanted.

When Hob simply continued to tease him with tongue and teeth, Morpheus reached a hand between them to wrap around their slick cocks, pressing them both against the taut muscle of his lower abdomen to provide a tight channel for Hob to thrust into despite the change in position. He groaned low in his throat and closed his eyes, focusing on the pleasure over tormenting his lover. Gratified by that sound, Morpheus shifted his grip to stroke only Hob’s cock, ignoring his own need for the moment, and watching the play of expression across Hob’s face as he touched him in the expertly practised way that had become second nature to him.

Hob hung his head, forehead pressed to Morpheus’s chest where he could hear and fairly feel his lover’s heartbeat, and closed his eyes. He was close and knew Morpheus could tell by the faint shudders that ran through him because he kept backing down, slowing his strokes and pausing to squeeze him, then rub his thumb in slow circles over the tip until it was Hob’s turn to whine low in his throat.

“Nightmare might well be more appropriate,” Hob hoarsely whispered, to be greeted by his lover’s rough laughter and his free hand carding through Hob’s hair even as he continued his teasing touch.

“Then kiss me again and maybe I will let you… wake.”

Hob pressed his lips to Morpheus’s chest again and followed his trail back up, biting at the sharp line of his collarbones again before raising his head enough to meet his lover’s waiting lips. This time Morpheus did not back down but sped up his hand’s movements until he dragged Hob over the edge and continued, stroking him slow and smoothly through the last dregs of his orgasm, hand warm and slick with his come. He didn’t stop until Hob was shaking with the overstimulation.

Only then did he raise his hand to his mouth and begin to slowly lick his hand clean far more provocatively than was necessary. Hob groaned at the sight, his cock twitching in a valiant effort considering how hard he had just come. Morpheus knew precisely how beautiful he was, flushed with arousal and abandoning his cool outer persona to delight in his baser desires. Definitely a dream, not a nightmare.

Morpheus tangled his fingers in Hob’s hair again, tugging lightly before urging him down his body wordlessly; a command Hob was more than happy to fulfil. He kissed his way down his lover’s body, more swiftly than he would have liked to thanks to Morpheus’s insistent touch, and settled between his spread legs. Later he could no doubt convince his lover to let him worship his body properly, Morpheus rarely turned down the option of a second round in the dead of night. When he took Morpheus’s cock in his mouth he groaned low, relaxing as his lover used his grip on his hair to slowly push him down until Hob swallowed him entirely, throat convulsing.

He lay mostly still, Hob’s hands braced on his hips to hold him there while he pleasured him rather than letting his lover chase his end. Morpheus was just tipsy enough that he wanted to be both in charge and not particularly aggressive about it. The tight grip on Hob’s hair loosened and he pet him encouragingly instead in gentle, uneven movements as the majority of his attention was focused on sucking each of his fingers into his mouth in turn until every taste of his lover was gone from them. Hob could tell when he was close from the slow, rhythmic flexing of the muscles beneath his hands, the barest of movement submitting to Hob keeping him still while his desperation bled through into action.

Hob took him deep again, no longer teasing, and stayed there, letting out a toneless hum until Morpheus whimpered and spilled down his throat, and into his mouth as Hob pulled away, grinning up at him. Crawling back up his lover’s body for a kiss was second nature to him now, Morpheus wanted always to be held close and touched until the last fading sparks of pleasure were gone. He wrapped his arms around his slighter lover and rolled them over, dragging Morpheus to lay contentedly on top of him.

Peaceful silence stretched between them as both their breathing and heart rate slowed, neither feeling the need to speak. Their bodies were in tune enough to speak for them until they were more than ready to break the moment and clean up. Slowly, Morpheus pushed himself up on one arm and grinned down at Hob. His hair was back to complete disarray and he looked more himself again.

“I’ll be more apt to behave in public if you always reward me like that,” he teased, his soft intonation seeming loud in the deep stillness of their quarters, “I suggest you keep it in mind.”

Hob barely resisted rolling his eyes and instead simply stretched out comfortably beneath him. “As my lord commands,” he retorted, “I am naught but your humble servant.”

“Best not forget it.”

Chapter Text

With a successful engagement party, by the standards of anyone involved, behind them, a lot of the pressure was off as far as Morpheus’s family was concerned. Or, at least that was how it seemed to Hob. He’d even run into Nyx while wandering the halls of the castle, admiring the priceless art, and she’d been reasonably polite. He got the feeling that she wasn’t deeply involved in her husband’s plots to control their son, but being a supportive bystander wasn’t exactly an exemption from responsibility. Hob had wondered often where Morpheus would be in his recovery if he had been loved from the start by someone other than one sister who couldn’t always be there for him. A lot of time had been lost that he would never get back, and the more he recovered the more Hob could tell it weighed on his fiance but he was loathe to bring it up, put words to it, even with the intent of making sure he talked to his therapist about it.

Morpheus had ensured he tag along to all the meetings with the wedding planner and various artisans involved in the whole affair. An effort at inclusion that Hob appreciated at its face value, but mostly he sat holding Morpheus’s hand and nodding along to discussions too rapid for him to follow with his six months of DuoLingo knowledge. If he hadn’t been so intent on making it a surprise, he could have been practising with Morpheus for months, but now the cat was out of the bag and he was still inept. He thought it would be easier, what with the Germanic roots more evident in Middle English than modern English and how easily he had learned that dialect. Of course, he’d been in his teens and twenties then and there was probably something to be said for brain plasticity and a decade of stress dampening his language-learning prowess.

Still he was at least somewhat invested in Morpheus’s ideas for flowers and decor and enough cake to feed the entire country. (not a particularly impressive feat, given its size, Morpheus had wryly retorted when he said as much). His first wedding had been a small affair and he would have been happy enough with the same, but he understood why Morpheus was so invested in every little thing being perfect, and having his hands in all of it. A point of pride, and a proof that he was better, whole and hale and who he was supposed to be.

This morning’s task had been tasting approvals for the meals and hors d'oeuvres which for which Morpheus needed his attendance, since his own meal would be made specifically to his requirements. It would all be phenomenal, Hob was sure; his growing rapport with the kitchen staff assured him of that. They were consummate professionals, but also seemingly a bit invested in the one Endless child who deeply appreciated their efforts. Morpheus had followed along with Hob once to quietly thank the head chef, Lauren, for accommodating him. She had wisely kept her feelings on his family not accommodating him to herself.

Having their lordly employer sitting crookedly on a kitchen stool sipping tea and observing them all while Hob tried dish after dish was definitely disconcerting to some of the staff, and Hob was having a hard time keeping a straight face. It taken all of a moment for Morpheus to choose from the couple of dishes they’d been making him for his fare, and hand all power over to Hob to veto things. As much as he might be a foodie, the realm of formal dinners for nobility or Michelin-starred fare was… not precisely his purview.

“It isn’t that difficult, yes or no,” Morpheus said snidely.

Hob rolled his eyes. “I offered to just call it good at the registrar’s office, this is on you love,” he replied, “At this point I don’t think I can differentiate between anything I put in my mouth.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow at that, and Hob willed him to be quiet. Lauren chuckled and set down a serving tray of tiny dessert cups in front of him, behind the current three tasting plates he’d been picking at. “We can go through the rest another day, nothing is particularly difficult to acquire so we don’t need too much advance notice.”

“Well, I’m here now, so lets go with yes, no, yes,” Hob said, pointing to the dishes in turn, “No real reason, just not my favourite.”

“That’s reason enough,” she said, whisking them away to leave him with the desserts. Why there were this many desserts when wedding cake was also on the menu, he had absolutely no idea.

“Just wait until we go over the wine pairings for it all,” Morpheus said, still watching him with that unerring, bird-like gaze. Filling in for Jessamy with the intensity, since she was upstairs in their suite doing whatever mischief she got into when they weren’t around.

“That I might be more qualified for.”

“So you think, you haven’t met our sommelier.”

“Genuinely, I hate that you have… a family sommelier,” Hob replied heavily. Marrying into this absolute mess was going to change a lot of things, even as it changed very little about their daily life, and he was starting to think he needed to have a call with his therapist more than once every two weeks.

“Hate the concept, not the reality, it is rather nice,” Morpheus said as he hopped down off of stool, lured by dessert. Hob wasn’t sure which of the dishes were vegetarian and which weren’t, but Morpheus had no doubt seen the specifications of it beyond the brief description Lauren had given when she served them. He grabbed a spoon and tried the first one, something red and mousse-like that looked to have gold leaf on it. Very thematic for the wedding colours.

“I thought we could go out to the solarium after this, enjoy the pool and gardens while most of the family is out,” Morpheus said after making a thoughtful noise upon trying the second dish, “Jessamy would like to be out and about in nature I think, she needs enrichment.”

“You have a solarium, with gardens.”

“Yes, of course, where else would you put an indoor pool in a mediaeval castle?” Morpheus asked, sounding confused until Hob met his eyes and he smirked at him. Menace. “Even in your wanderings, I doubt you’ve seen everything.”

“I’m rather opposed to opening closed doors, given… you know, your family.”

“A valid stance. All of these, I think,” Morpheus said, turning to the chef, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“For you, sir? Never,” she replied with a wink, which made Morpheus look flustered. It never ceased to amuse Hob how his partner melted for the smallest hint of praise or appreciation. He’d been able to push away his original reaction of sympathy that such a thing was so foreign to him, and instead appreciate the shy delight that bloomed on his face upon the realisation that people genuinely liked him, not merely tolerated him; a fact that Hob was going to hammer home as often as he needed to. Morpheus had a lot of kindness in him to share that he hid behind his stoic shell of fear and awkwardness, and Hob looked forward to a lifetime together of coaxing him more and more out of that shell.

Their footsteps echoed heavily on their way back to their suite. In times long past, the castle would have been bustling with staff and courtiers of all kinds, while now it was home to a handful of people and staffed by a skeleton crew in comparison to the lords of old. Modern amenities did make the upkeep of such a property a triviality in comparison. The anachronism of wandering about the castle, lost in the history of it, and stumbling upon someone hoovering the rugs had stuck with him for days.

“Do you mind if I bring my work along?” Hob asked once they had gotten in, and Morpheus was digging through the closet muttering to himself. At home everything had a place and was always in it, and he still hadn’t gotten over all of his things being put away by staff.

Morpheus poked his head out of the adjoining wardrobe room. “Not at all. I should do the same really, but I’d rather read. My publisher is being rather understanding about moving the deadlines a little. I think they are confident that I can and will catch up and submit in time,” he said, “I found your swimsuit but not mine.”

“I didn’t know I’d brought one.”

“This is why I planned your wardrobe,” Morpheus replied before returning to his search, emerging a few minutes later and tossing Hob’s suit to him. “There’s a dressing room attached to the sauna, we’ll change there.”

Hob tucked the garment into his laptop bag and shouldered it. He was likely far more behind than Morpheus, who wrote in fits and starts and managed more in an evening sometimes than Hob did in weeks. Of course, research work was a bit more methodical and he was slowed down by the constant checking and double checking of the sources, proper citing, footnotes… It was probably a good thing Morpheus had solidly taken the reins of wedding planning.

The way to the solarium was through a large set of wooden double doors that had always stood closed, so Hob had walked by them a dozen times and thought little of it. Behind them was a far more modern foyer that was only making a token attempt at matching the stone and wood of the original building, leading off to a changing room and presumably the sauna on one side and opening up onto a patio under the greenhouse glass. The solarium could more rightly be called something like a botanical garden, if not for the lap pool and overly designed lounge chairs square in the middle of it, detracting a bit from the natural style of the landscaping.

Morpheus knelt down and deposited Jessamy near the edge of the garden and she squawked at being displaced from his shoulder, but quickly occupied herself with hopping into the underbrush on her own little adventure. Hob left him there to go change before setting up in one of the chairs at the edge of the pool, figuring he would reward himself for a bit of work done with a swim, then back to it, and again, as long as they decided to stay. It was bright and sunny but early enough still that the larger bushes provided a bit of shade over where the loungers sat lined up by the edge of the pool.

He’d expected all of the wedding lead-up to cut into his work time a lot, but still he was further behind than he would like to be for how late in the summer it was. They were now beginning to abut the time where he needed to review his curriculum for the coming term and make any needed changes, incorporate new sources, and make sure the quizzes were at least shuffled a bit so last year’s marked copies were useless. Upon hearing footsteps, Hob glanced up and was instantly transfixed by the sight of his now mostly-naked fiance heading over from the changing room to join him. Morpheus noticed him staring and rolled his eyes as he flopped down on the lounger beside Hob, and turned his face slightly toward him. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Yes, well, you did once tell me that looking was free,” Hob replied, turning back to somewhat shoddy scan of a primary source he had zoomed in on his screen.

“I would prefer you look when I’m trying to be attractive,” Morpheus said, something a little bitter in his tone that gave Hob pause, but he let the silence between them breathe to give his partner the space to continue, or not. Most often it was not. “My scars don’t often see the light of day.”

Ah, that again. Morpheus flipped wildly between extremely body-confidant and provocative in dress and action, to more self-conscious than Hob knew how to handle, though he had long since learned to studiously avoid mentioning or focusing any attention on the physical scars of his partner's trauma. They were faded with time and, besides the time-worn mark around his wrist from being shackled which he hid with a watch worth more than the GDP of some small island nations, they had been well treated in short order and nothing more remained but pale silvery lines against already white skin. Of course, Hob had never known Morpheus without them.

“Well, you know I won’t complain if you want to walk around shirtless more often,” Hob genially replied, “They are far more obvious to you than anyone else, who’d be more shocked that you’re as pale as you are and not a ghost than anything else.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true.”

“Probably,” Morpheus said with a sigh, “It’s that… I know this is not exactly public, nor technically outside, but still different than wandering about your flat, or mine. I feel exposed.”

“This is supposed to be your home too, might just need time,” Hob said, looking over to offer him a smile, “Or put a shirt on, if you can’t relax. Anyone would just assume you’re trying not to become a lobster, or burnt up like an ant under the magnifying glass of the greenhouse.”

Morpheus glared at him and opened his book to studiously ignore Hob in favour of some flavour of fantasy world, which he was at this point rather used to. At least it was a book and not in his own head. The ever so slight upward tilt of his lips let Hob know his teasing had landed properly, so he turned back to trying to decipher the text he was looking at.

In such manner they could have passed a truly lovely afternoon, had it continued to go uninterrupted. There was always a chance anywhere in the castle as most of it was comprised of common spaces, but most of the Endless clan had intuited that giving Morpheus space so he didn’t snap at anyone was the wisest course of action. The two exceptions to that being his youngest sister who seemed to have no comprehension of the concept of personal space, and Epithumia who simply did not care what anyone was doing or what they thought of their intrusion into what was clearly a comfortably private moment.

“Dear god, have you really not seen the sun in the past decade?” Epithumia asked dryly, the sharp tap of their dress shoes echoing on the tile surrounding the pool as they approached, “If you blinked in a snowstorm you’d be invisible.”

“That’s idiotic, I have black hair,” Morpheus replied without looking up, “Leave.”

“Oh Morphy, it’s my garden too, don’t be like that,” they said, coming to a halt a few paces from their brother, very notably outside of arm’s reach.

“You aren’t dressed to swim unless you’re going to traumatise us with a view of your arse, so there’s no need for you to be here.”

“You’re not fun, I was here to speak to Robert anyway,” Epi replied, looking Hob up and down appraisingly in a way that said clearly without words that they were not particularly impressed with the sight.

Hob slowly closed his laptop with a sigh and looked up at them. He and Morpheus had discussed a few times what Epithumia’s game was, and neither had come to a full conclusion, besides possibly ‘chaos’. They weren’t on their father’s side, and were far too intelligent not to realise they continually said triggering things in their brother’s presence. Still there was something about them that Hob couldn’t help but like, which made him feel a bit disloyal somehow, so he settled on exasperation for the feeling of the day.

“I’m gonna echo Morpheus’s sentiment; if you have nothing constructive to say, leave. He’s trying to decompress,” Hob said pointedly.

“Oh he’s more than capable of yelling at me himself if need be, I’ll stay,” Epithumia replied, then paused and grinned wickedly, “Really, still sticking with the full-naming? That’s a mouthful. Brother, do you make him call you Morpheus in bed too? That’s impossible to moan.”

Morpheus’s glare would have sent a lesser creature running for the hills, but left his sibling completely unphased. Maybe exasperation wasn’t strong enough. The urge to trip them into the pool was becoming harder and harder to tamp down, but with Hob’s luck they’d manage to hurt themself in the process.

“My sex life is not up for discussion.”

“My apologies, I digress,” Epithumia said with a flippant little wave of their hand in Morpheus’s direction, “I need to go over some things with you for the stag party.”

“I said no,” Morpheus growled.

Epithumia gave him a longsuffering expression and sighed. “I wasn’t talking to you, and just because you’re no fun anymore doesn’t mean Robert’s not allowed a last hurrah before he never leaves the house again. Be happy I downgraded my expectations from Berghain to a private club,” they said sharply, “Anyway, I chartered a flight for the thursday before the wedding, which gives all your little friends about twenty-four hours to settle in before jetting off again, and most of ours will just meet us there, and then a full day for everyone to sober up before the wedding.”

“Care to elaborate on where this flight is going?” Hob asked dryly.

“Berlin, obviously, keep up. Where else would we be going clubbing?” Epithumia replied, “I rented out one of our old haunts at heinous expense to keep out any undesirables. It’s all under control, tightly planned, and all you two need to do is show up to the airfield.”

Clearly they were expecting something a bit more positive than two mostly incredulous stares, but Epithumia’s face didn’t fall at all and there was a wickedness in that grin that Hob deeply distrusted. Yet, at the same time he was reasonably sure Epithumia wouldn’t intentionally do anything to jeopardise their brother’s relationship if only due to the level of rage it inspired in their father; a delicate balance and one he wanted absolutely no part of. Jessamy croaking hoarsely somewhere in the garden was a good reminder of how Epithumia was more than willing to mess with their brother’s emotions for no reason in particular, and no understanding of how dangerous that could be.

“And if I say no?” Hob asked as he tapped his fingers on his closed laptop cover annoyedly rather than falling for the intrusive, pool-shoving urge again.

“Then you’re a miserable sack of shite and you two deserve each other,” Epithumia said matter-of-factly, then let out a cackle when Hob’s expression darkened, “God you should see your face. It’s a bachelor party, relax about it. I’ll forward the reservation information and you can see for yourself it’s not a bloody trap. Morph, you used to be much more fun, what’s the use of all this privilege if you can’t have fun with it on occasion?”

Morpheus’s annoyed expression faded into something stormier, and Hob had the feeling their fun afternoon at the pool was about to become more fraught than expected. “No amount of privilege can fix who I am, I have certainly tried,” Morpheus snapped, “I’m sorry my suffering lost you your clubbing partner that must have been terribly difficult, I wouldn’t know; but at least you were able to use it to your advantage in the end.”

It struck Hob all of the sudden why Morpheus was so adamantly against the idea of a party; not the party itself, but the location and style of the event. Back home, he’d come to enjoy sitting in the pub and people-watching, trading banter at times with Hob’s regulars - silently listening until he said something hilariously cutting to great effect before returning to his book. They had even begun including Morpheus’s very few friends when Hob’s colleagues met up; David and his fiance, mostly, and a few of the costuming folks he’d worked well with in production, thanks to David inviting them once on a whim after which they just kept coming. The New Inn had become an extension of Morpheus’s safe zone outside of his little realm of houseplants. No it wasn’t the party, or noise, or company that had Morpheus on edge. Whenever they discussed his captivity, it was flashbacks of what happened during, or shortly after his escape. Only once had they ever talked about how it had happened; being drunkenly snatched away outside a club, while his friends and sibling partied on inside, blissfully unaware of what had happened.

“You need to leave,” Hob said, using what Morpheus called his ‘stern teacher voice’ which did get a bit of twitch from Epithumia, who looked otherwise unimpressed.

They stopped their staring contest with Morpheus to reply. “And you need to get out more,” Epithumia replied, and rolled their eyes as they turned away from the two of them, “I’ll send you the itinerary, figure it out.”

Hob watched them go, and part of him wanted to say he had no idea how the two siblings could possibly be related - but then, Morpheus did always say he had been quite different, before everything. Maybe they used to more similar, although he couldn’t imagine his introverted fiance being anywhere near that self-absorbed.

“I’ll get Dee on our side, help me tell them no,” Hob said, turning back to Morpheus and automatically found himself looking him over for signs of impending problems. Finding none, he was relieved. Morpheus just seemed a bit more downtrodden than before, more curled in on himself, mentally if not physically. Out here in the sun he had no big coat or trailing sweater to hide himself in.

“For once Epi is… not entirely wrong,” Morpheus replied, “I am no fun, and I’m holding you back. You can’t say you wouldn’t like a proper stag party.”

“Not at the expense of your comfort, no,” Hob said, “It makes sense for us to celebrate together, but there’s no reason you can’t do something more low key with your friends.”

Morpheus snorted derisively. “Oh, yes, my many friends,” he replied, “I’m sure David would just love sitting about having tea with me and Lucienne instead of a night of bottle service.”

Quite quickly, Hob realised he had put his foot in it. Morpheus was very much a part of his friends group now, but among those well-acquainted enough to make the guest list for their wedding… well, he was rather limited. “I mean, if that’s what you wanted to do, it would be more than just him, but yeah I see your point,” Hob admitted, “and you are fun, at least to me, and considering I’m the one you’re marrying that’s all you need to be.”

“Fun. If you like sitting around the house and reading, I suppose, but I happen to know you like going out, seeing people, playing sport and being loud, and I am the antithesis of that which you tend to enjoy,” Morpheus said, a resigned note to his voice that twisted anxiety up in Hob’s gut. From anyone else it would sound like second thoughts, but if nothing else he was certain that Morpheus wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives.

“My sweet Dream, I say this with all due respect, but you need to stop wallowing, right now,” Hob said, reaching for him and grabbed Morpheus’s hand in his, twining their fingers together, “You are loved, as you are, by more than just me. Epi misses a man that never really existed, even if everything had gone well in your life, you wouldn’t be the brother he remembers, ten years on. But they’re still meaning this as an olive branch, and I think we should take it, even if we just make a token appearance before retreating. Make your sibling happy, then we can go have a romantic evening.”

Morpheus sat up slowly and swung his skinny legs off the side of the lounge chair. He kept Hob’s hand clasped tightly and sat holding Hob’s hand in both of his. “It feels wrong,” he said softly, “That I have everything in the world, and I don’t use it. I can’t. Everyone is watching me, the whole world is watching me; poor little rich boy, too stressed out by his million pound wedding. They don’t see my scars, literal or figurative.”

The world had seen quite a lot of him lately, and it sent mixed signals at best. People asked why he was so quiet and recalcitrant at book signings, as soon as he was done giving his talk, or that discourse on twitter when, in a panic at being ambushed however gently, he’d been rude to a fan at university. Time went on and Morpheus changed, rapidly by Hob’s measure if not his own, and still in ways others rarely saw.

“No, they don’t, but the one plus of being that little rich boy is you can go cry in your castle,” Hob said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood, “You use your assets for good, for charity, and you spend your life creating things that bring joy to people. Never say you aren’t fun, you’ve probably given more people joy by your books and show than your detractors have ever even met in their lives.”

Hob raised Morpheus’s hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles gently, a gesture that never failed to make his partner blush brightly. “I want you to remember that I never knew the old you, I met and fell in love with you just as you are, and you more than put up with my extroverted tendencies,” Hob continued as he stood, tugging on his partner’s hand to drag the other man up with him, “We only have a couple days to ourselves before everyone starts flying in, lets enjoy that solitude for us, and we’ll figure out how to enjoy the rest as it happens.”

“That is a very… you solution,” Morpheus grumbled, but he let Hob pull him up and into a hug.

“Yeah, well I’m very me,” Hob said, squeezing his fiance a little tighter. Morpheus was still too caught up in the stirrings of a self-destructive little spiral, not just because of Epithumia, but about the wedding as a whole. Their million pound wedding. The very idea of it was dizzying; and baffling, considering the Aeternus family owned the bloody venue. Everything was short notice though, no doubt that contributed, but he still couldn’t parse it.

Hob rocked Morpheus in his arms slightly, feeling him start to relax, fully not realising that they were shuffling ever closer to the edge of the pool and that Hob was doing his best not to laugh. Between one breath and the next, Hob used the advantage of his arms already around Morpheus to lift and shove, and send him shrieking backwards into the pool. It wasn’t particularly deep and Morpheus floundered to the surface quickly, looking to all the world like a cat in the bath, his fluffy, untamed hair now plastered to his face as he tried to wipe it out of his eyes.

“You bloody bastard!” Morpheus exclaimed, with an incredulity that said very clearly that he was at least a little impressed with the audacity.

Above him on the edge of the pool, Hob was grinning broadly and feeling very proud of himself. “That was for not telling me you’ve spent a million fucking pounds on the wedding!” he replied teasingly, and Morpheus splashed him in response. Still he stayed in the pool, lightly treading water and seemingly distracted. Good, he needed to burn some of that nervous energy out and not overthink things so hard for a little while. Maybe Hob should throw him into a pool more often.

“A conservative estimate, yes, I haven’t kept track,” Morpheus said, smirking, “Only the best for you, love.”

Hob rolled his eyes. “Like I said earlier, registrar’s office,” he retorted, before retreating to his lounger and his work. He really was starting to fall behind, through no real fault of his own, or his lover’s, but merely that he had set what had been realistic timelines, and then failed to adjust them when an international wedding trip was thrown into the mix. Crisis averted, at least; Morpheus was slowly swimming laps in a backstroke, looking up at the bright blue sky beyond the solarium’s glass and seeming suitably distracted. Distracting him was getting easier every time, like the pathways to panic were all too well-worn, but he didn’t really want to go down them. Maybe he’d get some real work done today after all.

Chapter Text

Jessamy always had a sixth sense for when she was about to be left behind for anything big or small, and Morpheus still wasn’t sure how she figured it out even after living with her for years. She was hopping back and forth along the antique dresser that she had claimed as her own in their suite as it was high enough to be a good vantage point but low enough she could, usually, manage to flap her way up to it. Maybe all the wing strengthening exercises were working after all. Morpheus had taken her around to the great hall and some of the longer hallways and gotten her to do a good bit of gliding around lately to help tire her out. Unfortunately he hadn’t time for it this morning after accidentally staying up late; first because he’d been stressed near to the point of a panic attack over the impending wedding, fear that when the day came he wouldn’t be able to stand up in front of so many people and do what he needed to do, and then secondly because Hob had taken the opportunity to very thoroughly remind him how much he was loved even if something was messed up, or Morpheus decided at the last minute that an elopement was worth the scandal. In the end he hadn’t slept til the wee hours, slept through half a dozen alarms that Hob, already awake, had shut off in deference to his need for beauty sleep, and thus missed Jessamy’s new morning schedule.

She kept tilting her head side to side as she watched him sorting through the various outfits he’d laid out to choose from, try them on, discard them, and try again. Her judgement definitely wasn’t helping matters. Hob sat out on the balcony occasionally leaning back in his chair to peep inside and see that Morpheus was still undecided. Of course, Hob had simply worn what his fiancé had chosen with neither complaint nor comment, and would that it were that easy for Morpheus himself. Knowing Epithumia, there would be press at least outside of the party, probably a few influencers that he hardly knew or Epi alone knew but were fans of his work, mingled into the invitees to their stag party. That and Hob’s friends played a bit more fast and loose with social media than anyone in Morpheus’s social circle did without a PR agency ready with their trigger finger on the ‘delete post’ button. As such, he had to look good. Look his best. Look like a completely normal, well-adjusted person who had such a thing as a stag party without having a total mental breakdown about it. Jessamy croaked hoarsely as he looked at himself in the full-length mirror, in the darker bedroom area versus the well-lit walk in closet. They’d be in a club after all.

“You look lovely,” Hob said, having stealthily come back inside while Morpheus was preoccupied. He slipped his arms around his waist from behind and resting his chin on Morpheus’s shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror and smiling. “As you have in the last three options. It’s not that deep, love. Half the guests are my rugby friends, or academics, they won’t give a hoot what you’re wearing, they’ll just be happy to see that you came at all.”

Morpheus sighed and leaned back against him but kept his gaze on their reflections. They did look good together like this. He’d dressed Hob simply enough in slim cut grey trousers and a shirt from one of his favourite designers that looked black but had a bit of an oil slick colour to it under certain lighting. Hob looked like himself, just sleeker. Morpheus wasn’t even sure what ‘looking like himself’ entailed these days if it wasn’t the sweats and holey jeans he wore around the house. That was the downside of trying to learn how he wished to express himself, both artistically and in regards to his sexuality. The term ‘flamboyant’ had been thrown around a bit in the society pages and it was very true, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Maybe he should stop messing with his appearance for the night and call it good.

Hob turned his face slightly to kiss Morpheus’s cheek. “Wear this. I’ll amend my comment to ‘sexy’ if you prefer,” Hob said, “It’s very you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Black?” Hob replied, and Morpheus rolled his eyes, “No it’s… like a less slutty version of what you wore to the premier, so I think you’d be comfortable in it for longer. Plus you don’t need to seduce me into marriage this time around, as that’s already well in the bag.”

“Thank goodness, I’m a poor hand at flirting,” Morpheus said before turning around in Hob’s loose embrace to steal a proper kiss, before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder.

They needed to head down shortly to meet Epithumia and those of their guests that were staying in the castle to head out to the horror of whatever had been planned. What stressed him out the most was that the event wasn’t nearby; they were taking the helicopter the short jaunt to a private airstrip, for the flight Epi had chartered to take them to Berlin, and then to the chosen rented out club. All told it was perhaps two hours of travel each way, though the return trip would be done in the morning. Hob had reassured him time and time again that he’d had a hand in their accommodations, and that they could leave to the hotel at any time without fear of upsetting him. Upsetting Epithumia, on the other hand, was far more likely.

A part of him was excited to see his friends again; David, and Claire’s fiancé Liam who had become a regular part of their pub nights back home, the rest of him was worried about how he was going to handle this party and whatever else Epithumia had up their sleeve. Even they had limits, however, and seemed to be actively trying to do… something. Not quite making amends, as the chances of them actually giving more than lipservice to the possibility of wrongdoing wasn’t exactly their style, but in a similar wheelhouse nonetheless.

Morpheus strode to the door to put on the heeled boots that were sitting beside it, while Hob quickly checked through their overnight bag before they left. A valet would be taking it to the hotel for them when they landed, but the idea of servants was still new enough to him that he was made a little uncomfortable by the idea of someone rooting through their things to pack for them. Fair enough, Morpheus admitted to himself, and his soon to be husband wanting to take care of things, take care of him, on his own was heartwarming.

Hob slung the bag over his shoulder to leave, Jessamy hopping along the length of the dresser as he walked by, clicking at him. She didn’t like to be left behind either. They were just about to step out the door when she clicked again and then very distinctly said ‘Hob!’ in an all too human voice. He froze, looking to Morpheus first and then turning to the bird, who tilted her head this way and that before bobbing her head and doing it again. Hob, Hob, Hob.

“What the actual fuck,” Hob breathed out. Morpheus let out a cackling laugh and leaned against the doorframe. “No seriously, since when does she talk! And why not your name? She loves you way more than me, I’m definitely your second spouse here.”

“I don’t exactly go about speaking of myself in the third person at home,” Morpheus pointed out, still trying to contain his mirth, “And when you break it down I don’t think there’s much of a difference between ‘Hob’ and ‘caw’.”

“Wow, thanks,” Hob replied as he reached out to pet Jessamy, scratching the back of her head lightly in the way that made her puff out her feathers and chitter happily.

“That, and I do say Hob quite a lot; repetitively, in various pitches and level of urgency,” Morpheus said with a smirk, breaking back into raucous laughter when Hob belatedly realised what he meant by that. They were in a much more enclosed space than usual, and last night had been… interesting. At least they’d gotten that out of their system before the party, there was a decent chance that Morpheus would be relaxed enough to get through it all unscathed.

“You see how that makes it worse, right?” Hob asked, squinting suspiciously at Jessamy who had realised her new noise won her attention and her humans staying just a little longer, so she was repeating it happily and bobbing her head.

“Perhaps she would pick up my name if you could settle on one rather than rotating through whatever flitters through your empty head.”

Hob laughed, abandoning the bird to come and slip an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick kiss, which turned out to be not so quick after all. “All good things, all good things love; beautiful, gorgeous… Darling. Dream. There’s so many options.”

Morpheus smiled slightly at him before nervously nibbling at his bottom lip. “Well, tonight by needs it will be Morpheus,” he replied, “Until we escape.”

“Stop treating it as if you’re walking to the gallows, and you might just have a little fun,” Hob replied, then pointedly patted his pocket that had Morpheus’s rescue meds in it, “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Your optimism annoys me.”

“Oh you know me, love. Little ray of sunshine. You’re the one who proposed, you know.

Most of their friends preceded them to the private airstrip and were already on, or milling about the plane, chatting. As expected, seeing Hob’s academic friends beside Morpheus’s moviestar friends and Epithumia’s cohort of their titled peers was something Morpheus would have liked to study from afar with binoculars while narrating like David Attenborough. Everyone was in clubwear or some vaguely appropriate approximation of such; the university friends quite a lot less gaudy than the others. Watching Hob be greeted with hugs and slaps on the back by his friends while Morpheus only received nods of acknowledgment made him feel awkward as ever. Respecting his boundaries was a good thing, that he couldn’t deny, but when they all had two such differing reactions to their arrival he couldn’t help but feel seen in a way that disquieted him.

A glass of champagne on the flight helped. Time in the air was less than an hour and a half and they had priority landing, thanks to the ungodly amount of money paid to arrange the whole thing on such short notice. The little family jet wasn’t large enough for everyone Epithumia invited. Being trapped on a metal tube with everyone beginning to drink and be loud was really not his idea of a good time, so for a while he went up to bug the pilot as he’d always been rather interested in aviation. When he was a teenagar and asked to sit up front it felt a little less strange an ask than now, as a grown man, but they didn’t seem to care. He stayed there for a good half an hour to collect himself, half-listening to the pilot tell him about the new autopilot software update before thanking the man and excusing himself.

In the tiny hall that separated the crew and passenger areas, he very nearly bumped into a stunning woman in a bright coral pink dress, whose face immediately alit into a smile upon seeing him. Morpheus racked his brain for who she could possibly be while she extended a hand to him, then withdrew it when he didn’t immediately respond, but her expression didn’t falter, nor did she apologise - simply acted like there had been no faux pas at all.

“Unity Kincaid,” she said, clearly having figured out his confusion. “I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve missed the family dinners, and your engagement party, I’d apologise but I doubt you wanted to be there either.”

That startled a laugh out of him before he could stop it, and he pushed that down quickly and nodded instead. “No offence taken by your absence,” he said as he leaned back against the wall. Chatting to one person who had to be exceedingly level headed to put up with Epithumia on a day to day basis was preferable to the noise of people laughing and talking over each other in the cabin area.

Unity smiled at him, she had a beautiful smile and a twinkle in her eyes that reminded him more than a little of Calliope, long ago. That was where the resemblance ended, however; Unity was dark-skinned and had her black hair fastidiously styled in a million little braids that made him wonder how long it took. Dee had never gone in for such styles, or else he’d ask her.

“I’m glad I caught you; I wanted to reassure, a little, that I think I talked Epi out of doing anything particularly… Epi,” she said wryly, “It’s just a party, they really do want you to reconnect with some people from your uni years, I think.”

“Yes, well, those weren’t exactly my best years,” Morpheus said before he thought about that too much. Realistically they had been his best years, until this past one, though he’d have never deemed them so at the time.

“God, isn’t that the truth,” she said, aborting a move to touch his arm conversationally at the last moment. Morpheus flinched nonetheless and her expression faltered. “I’m so sorry.”

“No need. I’m on edge,” he said, waving away her concerns, “Tell me though; how did you two get together? Our little sister told me about you, she seems to think you’re quite normal.”

“Oh, she called me bland,” Unity replied with a grin, “Honestly, at first it was about pissing off your father. Epi had a couple of scandals, I’m not sure if you’ve seen, and your father was on his case about both of his ‘sons’ being terms I shan’t repeat, nor go into that he seems to forget he’s got four of you….”

Morpheus nodded for her to continue.

“I think it was the ‘both’ that got to him, more than the sons, and I was at the intersection of their interests and investments but also calling out your father’s racism if he deigned to comment. They asked me to accompany them to a gala and play pretend,” Unity continued, “Turns out we have quite a lot in common, and we’ve yet to clarify when our relationship really began.”

Whatever Morpheus had been expecting, that wasn’t it, and he wasn’t sure quite how to respond. It must have shown through his intentionally blank expression, because Unity gave him a questioning look. “...I am processing that with what I know of my sibling’s penchant for mischief,” Morpheus said, glancing toward the cabin where Epithumia, in a bright red suit, shirtless except for a ridiculous necklace, was holding court and telling some story that made both sides of this motley group laugh uproariously.

“They’ve changed from when you were last close,” Unity said, following his line of sight and smiling in a warm, soft sort of way that Morpheus recognised from how Hob looked at him. “Mischief, yes, but not malice. Give them a chance, love? You won’t regret it.”

Morpheus heaved a sigh and nodded, still watching. For all that he hadn’t wanted to participate in this event at all, it clearly came from a place of, if not love, then at least appreciation, or an attempt to make up for some of the things they’d said in the past. There was still a lot to address between them, if they were ever to go back to any approximation of the way things used to be, and Morpheus didn’t think they could ever be that close again. Their interests had diverged quite a long ways back and now they had nothing at all in common. With Unity in the picture, however, something like a quiet dinner party might not be entirely out of the question.

He watched her sashay back into the cabin and immediately be greeted by Epithumia’s delighted, toothy smile. She kissed their cheek before taking a seat again and, after a few moments of contemplating the group, Morpheus meandered in to join them as if he were heading to the gallows.

Thankfully Hob pulled him down to share a seat with him and, wrapped in his fiancé’s warm embrace in a way that would have embarrassed him if he hadn’t been so on edge, the flight passed quickly and the assembled passengers were ferried off in various cars toward their destination, their luggage off in another to the hotel that would be housing them all for the night, or morning depending on how long they stayed at the club. Epithumia had seen to it that Morpheus and Hob had their own conveyance, Hob had the driver turn off the quiet music, so they were left in utter silence besides the muffled sounds of the city passing by. Long ago, Berlin had been one of his favourite cities to visit - the proximity to home as a child, and the history of it as an adult, had drawn him. And the clubbing, it had been that time. There was history here that even Epithumia wasn’t privy to; that coming here with a few friends from uni had been the first time he’d kissed a man and realised something very important about himself. Now he was here with the man he intended to marry.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hob asked, nudging his shoulder. A better question than the dreaded ‘are you alright’ even if seeking the same answer by different means.

“I have no pennies, only a black card,” Dream said wryly, tilting his head up to meet Hob’s eyes and smile reassuringly. He was okay, for the moment. The peace and quiet helped and he wanted to know if that was Hob’s doing, the private car, or Epi’s, but he didn’t want to ask.

“Oh, forgive me, mister too posh for cash,” Hob replied as he sunk a little lower in the seat and rested his head on the back of it. They’d all pregamed on the plane a little bit, Hob might have been regretting his decisions, a little.

“You are lucky I even carry such, and an ID rather than relying on the tried and true ‘do you know who I am?’,” Morpheus said, “most in my position would.”

‘Your position?” Hob replied, “I love when you talk like you're the king of England.”

Morpheus sneered at him in disgust. “A terrible comparison that I beg you never to make again. On his worst days, even my father isn’t nearly as bad, much less myself.”

“See? I knew you’d gone native,” Hob said with a grin.

“What was the first clue, my British accent or the fact that I hadn’t been home in a decade?”

“Touché,” Hob replied, then scooted a little closer on the leather bench seat of the limousine to pull Morpheus into his embrace, figuring he’d given him long enough to decompress. A correct assumption, as Morpheus folded easily into his arms and nuzzled his face into Hob’s neck. Normally he would have worn some makeup beyond eyeliner to an event like this even if there was no red carpet or interview, a part of him now thought of it as armour against the world, but tonight he’d foregone such things in favour of comfort - specifically the comfort of being able to do this without smearing anything on Hob’s collar. Hob rubbed a hand soothingly up and down his back and hummed quietly, falling into the gestures that now came second nature to him to keep Morpheus relaxed. One day, hopefully, he wouldn’t need it.

“Hob, will you promise me something?”

Hob made a considering little hmmm noise in response. “I would say anything, in general, but now I’m suspicious,” he said, squeezing Morpheus a little tighter so he wouldn’t read anything negative into his playful response.

“If I need to leave, stay and have fun?” Morpheus replied, “You deserve it, you’ve done little but babysit my issues since our arrival and you need to let loose. Drink with your friends, you have more than earned it.”

Silence answered him for a long moment before Hob drew in a deep breath, and Morpheus cringed, wondering exactly how he’d put his foot in it this time. “I can’t make that promise. Time without you isn’t something I earn via time with you. I have more than enough of my friends at home, love, and they never resent me leaving to come home to you,” Hob said gently, “They understand I’ve made a commitment, even if they don’t always understand the commitment. You haven’t held me back from anything I normally do; hell you even came to a few of my pub league games and I didn’t expect that. You support me whenever you can, so I support you when you need it. There’s more of a give and take between us than you give yourself credit for, my Dream.”

“That is a lot of words to say you won’t honour my request.”

“Begging your pardon, love; it’s a stupid request,” Hob replied as he pulled back slightly to meet Morpheus’s eyes before kissing him lightly on the forehead, “I’m happy with you, wherever that is and whyfor you are there. I’m quite certain our friends can party without us once you’re done.”

“But, I…”

“No,” Hob cut him off, “There is never a point, no matter how much fun I’m having, that being without you is better than being with you, understood? You’re not a hindrance, so don’t act like one.”

When Hob took that tone of voice with him, Morpheus knew he wasn’t about to win any argument, but it made him feel better that the offer had been extended nonetheless. He and his therapist had a long talk about caretaker fatigue in their last virtual session, because Morpheus had been reading about it and trying to be more cognisant of the demands that he put on Hob, and putting more on Jessamy instead, and Dee when she was available. Hob always insisted he had a support network, so he was making an attempt to use it, at least partially. Putting pressure on a bird who loved him unconditionally was easier than reaching out to Lucienne or David when he needed to talk to someone. Also not exactly what his therapist had in mind, but it was definitely a start.

“You need to remember that no matter how clingy and demanding you think you are, joke’s on you, I’m into that shit,” Hob continued in a more teasing tone, “And you more than make up for it in all your many virtues.”

Morpheus snorted derisively, and Hob just grinned at him and waggled his eyebrows. Diverted again. Someone should really study his partner under a microscope like a bug and figure out how he did that so effectively, especially as Morpheus didn’t consider himself particularly easily pleased, or redirected, in any matters other than Hob.

“I am reasonably certain no one but you says ‘whyfor’ anymore,” he said snidely, and Hob did not grace that with a reply.

The club as it turned out wasn’t entirely rented for their party as Epithumia had decided that they needed a bit of ambience, but they had ensured the DJ of the evening was to their liking, and the entire upper floor of the club was blocked off as an extended VIP section. Leave it to his sibling to want to literally look down on the plebs from above as part of what they considered to be a good time. Upstairs, the balcony encircled the entire first floor, looking down on the main dancefloor, but cosy sofas and private corners abounded along with tables and several private bars. All in all, Morpheus had to admit that it wasn’t, entirely, terrible and it looked like Epithumia had actually taken his feelings into account, or Unity had. Giving her all the credit was probably unfair to his sibling, but he was still irked by the situation as a whole and willing to be just that little bit petty, for the moment.

Those who had flown together all arrived at roughly the same time, though some of the more extended members of the guest party were already comfortably ensconced upstairs with drinks in hand, or leaning against the balcony to people watch. They weren’t exactly swarmed by their friends, but there was a press of humanity that was all a bit too much for Morpheus as they were congratulated yet again by both people they had seen recently enough at the engagement, friends from London, and by Epithumia’s lot that Morpheus thought he recognised from their old partying days but wasn’t certain enough to call by name. Many of them reintroduced themselves, thankfully, and most of those were able to refrain from tipsy screeds about how it had been so long since they’d done this, or anything to the effect of how good he looked. Well-meaning or not, Morpheus always read between the lines of such compliments as how good he looked for the very public horrors that had happened to him. Obviously he was seen out and about, and in the media, often enough but there had been ample discussion about whether he was really just that pale, or was he wearing a great deal of makeup whenever he was in public to hide the scars. It made him feel more than a bit like the phantom of the opera.

Slowly at first, and then swiftly with the application of a few delightful signature cocktails made for this event, he felt himself begin to relax. Again, wondering whether it was Epi’s doing or Unity’s, he enjoyed drinking his way down the list. Drinks for himself (something strangely sparkly that tasted of berries and vermouth, uncertain how they’d come to that conclusion), and Hob (a twist on an Old Fashioned, which he found amusing but also was probably a mild insult), and then a couple themed in the colours of their wedding, and last but not least a raven cocktail that looked so dark in the mood lighting of the club that it was nearly black. That one was licorice with a smokey bite to it that he couldn’t place, so he had another to try to figure it out and ensconced himself at the bar to chat to one of Hob’s work colleagues. Including them had been ingenious, as Morpheus had someone to talk to about old books and obscure history instead of whatever the current drama amongst the ultra rich was.

On second thought, that drama was probably him. Again. Another cocktail would fix the swell of anxiety at that realisation.

As annoyed as he had been at the entire situation, he had to admit that it was masterfully done and now he was itching to find out how much of this had been Epi’s doing, and what Unity and Dee had talked them down to. People watching leaning over the club below was all the more fascinating as he slowly slid from buzzed to genuinely quite drunk, and the combination of guests was working… better than expected, even if people had congregated into their social groups for the most part. Hob’s friends had learned from Morpheus himself how to act normal around celebrities, thank whatever deity was listening for that. When the music rising up from below became too much, Morpheus retreated to go catch back up with his fiancé.

He found Hob sitting in the corner of a long low sofa talking animatedly to someone that Morpheus highly doubted he realised was a prince, and said prince’s girlfriend of not quite equal but equally impressive standing. Morpheus nodded to them both before taking a seat, turning his attention to Hob and smiling as Hob barely paused his stream of words to acknowledge him. The other man gave as good as he got in historical factoids, and Morpheus settled in comfortably to watch Hob exist in his element. That he’d found the only person interested in having some sort of academic debate in the club was as unsurprising as it was amusing, and Morpheus found himself grinning for reasons other than the reprehensible amount of alcohol he’d consumed so far. No amount of canapés was going to fix this situation any time soon.

Eventually when the prince had excused himself to get another drink, after slipping Hob his card with an eager request to continue their discussion at a later date, possibly the wedding, Morpheus moved in to snuggle up to Hob’s side. They were as private as they could be here. No one in this group was going to post anything salacious on their socials, knowing Epithumia there had probably been an NDA involved. Hob pulled him in easily, pressing a kiss to his temple before leaning his cheek against Morpheus’s messy hair.

“Missed you, love,” he said softly, a private conversation just for them amidst all the noise of the party behind them and the club below, “Wondered if you’d wandered off to the dance floor or something.”

Quite a few of their guests had taken to the VIP dance floor, situated on the balcony above the DJ area below, somewhat visible to the regular patrons in comparison to the rest of their private area. Morpheus was certainly not among them.

“I do not dance,” he said wryly, “Even back in my club days.”

“You’d be good at it, you have… good movement. Grace,” Hob said.

Morpheus snorted. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you, considering you’re not usually up for any PDA,” Hob replied, squeezing him a little tighter. He was right about that, on both counts, but Morpheus was a little bit too tipsy to care.

“If ever there were an appropriate time and place, this is it.”

“Very true. How many more drinks before I convince you to dance with me?”

“The number required would render me unconscious, but by all means, be my guest,” Morpheus said, gesturing in the direction of the dance floor, “You know I like to watch.”

Hob snickered and took another sip of his drink. “Yeah after last night I assume that’s about all you’ve got in you.”

“Or it’s your turn to get on your back, but that isn’t a discussion for public places.”

“We’re not in public.”

“No, but there are enough gossipy influencers that it counts, so shush,” Morpheus said as he elbowed Hob in the ribs pointedly, much to his fiancé’s annoyance. “Go work out that drunk tomfoolery in a way that doesn’t get anyone commenting on our sex life, I’ve had more than enough of that.”

Laughing, Hob leaned in to steal a kiss that was long enough to definitely reignite any lingering commentary about their sex life, before he disentangled himself from Morpheus to go do just as suggested. Dee had finally arrived; late because of work she couldn’t entirely get out of, and the fact that clubs were not and had never been her scene. Another safe and comforting face in the crowd made him relax a little bit. Leaning on others for support, extending his network, that was what he was supposed to be doing. Although he didn’t think Dr. Heron wanted him to do it while quite this bloody drunk. Getting up to go talk to her seemed suddenly like a very poor idea indeed. The last thing he needed was to stumble around and have that somehow make it to the media, not after… everything.

Epithumia’s sudden appearance as a whirlwind of scarlet as they dropped heavily down onto the sofa across from him startled Morpheus enough to flinch and nearly spill the dregs of his drink as he fumbled the glass. He caught it, barely, then set it firmly down on the glass topped table between them. More than enough of that, then. Epi was grinning wickedly, lipstick that matched their suit making them look a bit more sinister than was probably intended. Or, more sinister than anyone else saw, to others they probably just looked happy. Tipsy. Normal. He really needed to get his head on straight.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, big brother. You know, if you keep furrowing your brow you’re going to need botox before you turn forty,” they said, cheshire cat grin still in place.

Morpheus’s lips twitched into the tiniest semblance of a smirk, but he did try to relax. Normally he wore a mask of placidity, often mistaken for disdain, that served him very well, but there was a certain point of inebriation where he lost control of it entirely.

“Much better. Enjoying yourself?” Epi asked, smile wavering for a moment as they glanced about to the notably empty, quiet corner Morpheus had ensconced himself in. There was a lot to be assumed by his location, but it hadn’t been nearly as empty when he’d joined in.

“I… am, yes,” Morpheus replied, surprising himself with the honesty in his answer, “It isn’t what I expected.”

“No, I doubt it is,” Epithumia replied, a bit more serious now, “I’ve changed too, you know… Less than you, obviously, but, I’ve changed.”

“I’m beginning to see that, yes,” Morpheus said, “Beyond just the sartorial, even.”

“I could say the same for you, moving in on my androgyny game,” they replied snidely, “Turns out we are more alike than one ever would think.”

“I’m not like you,” Morpheus said, picking up his glass again if only for something to toy with while they spoke, “Unless you mean in a more umbrella-like term of identities, queer of some flavour or another. I would look terrible as a blonde, so don’t hold your breath.”

Epithumia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clearly mulling over something that Morpheus wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear. The immediate thought that he didn’t want to hear anything his sibling had to say was one that he pointedly squashed down in the back of his mind. He had spent much too long directing his anger at his sibling, even if the root of it had been justified.

“You know why I did it, don’t you? The hair, the eyes, the everything?” they asked, clarifying a bit when Morpheus just blinked drunkenly at them. “If I have black hair and blue eyes, I look far, far too much like you. When we were little, I loved it. When we grew up, I was annoyed at being mistaken for my bookish dweeb of a brother. When you were taken…. I fucking hated the pity I got, the looks from everyone, because your face was bloody everywhere and I looked enough like you that I got all the misplaced sympathy in the world before anyone even asked me how I was feeling about losing my best fucking friend, or how I felt about everything… You think you’re fucking depressed, imagine how I felt upon the realisation that I shoved you outside to go with your hookup and I was getting my dick sucked in the toilets while you got abducted.”

Morpheus stared at his sibling for a long moment, taking in the hair, the makeup, the contact lenses that had become very much their signature style. Never had he considered it had anything to do with him; he’d thought it was about rebellion, or style, or later identity. Epithumia’s rant slowly settled into his alcohol-addled brain, and Morpheus looked away, down at the drink in his hands and his own muddled reflection in it. Never had it occurred to him that what his sibling felt about it all was guilt.

When he didn’t immediately reply, Epithumia soldiered on unhindered. “You died and I had… bloody everything thrust upon me all at once, what I wasn’t prepared for, I’m the spare, Morph, I didn’t fucking want any of it once I realised how it was. Then you came back and it was all about you, again, but worse this time,” they said, running a hand through their hair in a gesture that seemed almost… nervous? Perish the thought. “All eyes on you, exploiting you, judging you, holding you up as a victim and dragging you back down as a homewrecker who brought it all on himself. Fuck. If I’d just…”

It clicked then in Morpheus’s mind, a number of pieces falling together in the puzzle, and he gasped with realisation, sharply enough that Epithumia stopped talking and gave him a scathing look, which he duly ignored. “You… came out to get the focus off of me, to spare me the media,” he said quietly, meeting Epithumia’s gaze unerringly until his sibling was the one to blink and look away.

“Something like that,” they replied with a wan little smile, “Least I could, after everything.”

“I would have preferred a visit.”

Epithumia shook their head. “I couldn’t see you like that, it's hard to look at you now,” they said with more bare honesty in their words than Morpheus had heard in well over a decade, not since he’d come out to his sibling, crying in a panic about his marriage and son and every manner of duty that was laid on him.

“Right, good talk,” they continued, slapping a hand on their thigh before standing up to leave. They paused for a moment, hesitant in a way that was utterly at odds with their usual blustering confidence, then added, “I’m going to be a father, in about six months. Kind of… made it all a bit more real, I suppose. Tell anyone before we do and I’ll fucking end you.”

Morpheus watched their sibling saunter off, opening their arms to a friend he didn’t recognise who looked all too drunkenly excited to see them, their mask firmly back in place as they dragged the man off toward the dance floor leaving Morpheus behind to process all of that information. Too much, for how much he’d imbibed. Knowing that his absence had scarred his family was one thing, but having it laid out in front of him was another. Some of his siblings he had never been close to; they were either too old, or too young, or like Dee were too responsible to engage in the shenanigans he had while at university. Dee would also never lay all her problems on him, opening up was one thing, putting more weight on his already overburdened shoulders was another. Epithumia had no such qualms, for which Morpheus both loved and hated him in equal measure. A stag party was not the place to get that emotionally heavy, especially when he couldn’t shake it off as easily as Epi seemingly could, but if not here, where. If not now, then when? Cornering him at home would do more harm than good, he had to admit that even to himself, and wondered then if this whole party had been a vehicle for Epithumia’s confession. Even knowing he shouldn’t, Morpheus hauled himself off the sofa to fetch another raven cocktail.

Chapter Text

Light streaming in from the windows made Hob groan miserably and curse whatever lackey of the Aeternus family had booked them a room with a lovely, east-facing balcony for the night after what had turned out to be a truly uproarious party. In all fairness they’d gotten to the hotel not long before first light so he should have seen this coming before the two of them toppled into bed, drunkenly groping each other. They hadn’t gotten that far, given that they were both still dressed and Morpheus was curled up into a miserable little ball of what was inevitably going to be a killer hangover whenever he woke up. Hob carefully slipped his arm out from under his partner’s head, belatedly realising he could have simply yanked it as Morpheus was dead to the world and likely would be for hours. He sighed blissfully as he found the remote for the automatic blinds and bathed their suite in utter darkness. His eyes hurt, his brain hurt. What the hell had been in that Jessamy cocktail? The only reason he wanted to know was so that he never put those things together in his pub at home, lest he be charged with reckless endangerment of the public.

Hours later he awoke again to Morpheus making truly miserable noises as he clawed his way to coherence and wrapped his arms around Hob’s middle, clinging onto him for dear life. Hob hadn’t kept an eye on how much the other man drank the night before and realised now that he should have. His medications were limited, and he’d not taken any of his rescue meds that were dangerous, but still he shouldn’t have gotten that bloody drunk. Medications aside, he was still a skinny little bastard and probably left the club at least one percent alcohol by bodyweight. Hob rubbed soothingly at his back and Morpheus’s disgruntled grumbling became a more appreciative hum after a few minutes.

“Nowhere to be, love. Flight isn’t til after dinner,” Hob said softly, getting a noncommittal wordless noise in response. “But we should get up before then, nonetheless.”

“Stop ruining the moment,” Morpheus grunted, voice hoarse from talking over the music the night before.

“We’ll have more moments that aren’t us still in our clothes, on top of the covers, smelling like booze and someone else’s cigarettes,” Hob replied with a sigh, “We’d both feel a lot better after a shower. You still have your shoes on.”

Morpheus whined and made no move to do anything about his shoes, his clothes, or the rest of his misery. Neither did Hob until his phone buzzed annoyingly enough times that he had to move to dig it out of his pocket and make it shut up. That it had any battery left was a miracle in and of itself. Just Dee checking in on them and apologising by proxy for Epithumia who had done… something she wasn’t certain of, but wanted to apologise to Morpheus nonetheless. Well, that could wait until his partner was ready to talk about it. Or ready to talk at all. Blindly he flailed for the side table and dropped his phone in the vague direction of it, before forcibly sitting up and dragging Morpheus with him.

His fiancé gave very little fight about being dragged into the bathroom, helped to strip, and ensconced in a near scalding shower while Hob filled the tub. Hot water would do them both good, but neither of them was up for standing. Once they were both settled into the hot water, Morpheus between Hob’s legs and leaning back against his chest, he finally began to relax. If Morpheus survived the stag party which was leaps and bounds more loud, rambunctious, and generally traumatising than the formal wedding reception, Hob had far higher hopes for how that was going to go down in a few days as long as they spent those few days ensconced quietly, with a lot of reading and snuggling.

“Our tub at home is vastly superior,” Morpheus grumbled, slumping down further into the water even though it made his knees stick out above it. Hob was not about to point out that the tub was quite sufficient, given they were two grown men of not-inconsiderable height and both at least 80% beneath the sudsy water. Arguing with his fiancé hungover was never worth the effort, but thankfully rare in opportunity.

“I’m sorry, your highness,” Hob replied, slipping his arms around Morpheus’s torso and slowly rubbing up and down his stomach, trying to soothe some of the tenseness from his body.

“Your grace,” he corrected, amusement heavy in his tone despite the roughness of his voice as he tipped his head back against Hob’s shoulder and closed his eyes. How he was this functional after the night before, Hob had no idea but it should probably be studied in a lab. Even at half-brightness the lights of the bathroom were hurting his own head a bit.

“Your grace,” Hob said softly, nuzzling against Morpheus’s damp hair as he slowly slid his hand lower down his abs, giving his partner the time to say no if he was too hungover for anything physical. They’d drunkenly teased each other the night before and then been too out of it to make any of those fantasies a reality; still were, but Hob could still see in his mind’s eye how beautiful he had looked last night, pale cheeks flushed with drunkenness that let him loosen up and smile more than he had in months. “We’ve upgraded in intimacy from ‘my lord’ to ‘your grace’, do I get another option once we’re married?”

Morpheus didn’t stop him, merely spread his legs slightly in tacit permission to Hob’s intentions and sighed softly as he began to fondle him, swiftly teasing him into hardness. Hob moved his free hand up to tangle in Morpheus’s wet hair and coax his head to the side and tugged a little to make him squirm and sit up a little straighter so that Hob could more easily reach his neck. The soft, pleased sounds his lover made as Hob kissed his way down his jaw and throat had him getting turned on nearly as quickly as Morpheus.

“Not too hard, love, nothing I can’t cover for the wedding,” Morpheus said, regret colouring his tone as Hob nipped at the sensitive skin at the hinge of his jaw. Hob laughed softly in his ear before biting the lobe of it gently.

“Well, if you want it where you can cover it’ll have to be out of the tub,” he replied, “So maybe later.”
His lover chuckled softly at that, but said nothing more, relaxing against him as Hob teased him expertly. Their sex life had always been satisfying from the very start, but he’d noted lately that Morpheus’s self-confidence in other areas of his life translated directly to more confidence in bed - an area he hadn’t been lacking in to begin with. He was quicker to sink into his own pleasure, to let himself be served, rather than chasing an orgasm with the desperation of a man who’d been alone for far too long, or focusing on Hob to the detriment of his own pleasure. What had been satisfying, more than sufficient, had now become exquisite as Morpheus learned to treat his body as an extension of himself again rather than merely something he was trapped in.

Still sometimes these quiet, lazy moments were his favourite; listening to his lover’s breath hitch every time he rubbed his palm over the head of his cock before resuming the rhythm he’d become used to, the soft whine as Morpheus got closer but didn’t want to break the quiet of the encounter to ask for more. As Hob picked up the pace of his strokes, his lover began rocking forward into his hand, no longer content to lie idly by and let himself enjoy. Hob released his hold on Morpheus’s hair as he turned his head toward Hob, twisting in his embrace to kiss him soundly as he came. Morpheus sighed into Hob’s mouth, not breaking the kiss, and brought a hand down over Hob’s on his cock to keep him moving, drawing out the shivers of orgasm to the point of overstimulation before he was content to fall back against his lover’s chest, lips kiss-swollen, breathless, and far more awake.

“You are beautiful,” Hob murmured, nuzzling against Morpheus’s hair.

“Mmm, at the moment I doubt that,” his lover replied, “But thank you… and what were you saying about wanting it where I can cover it?”

Hob laughed. “Cheeky. And greedy,” he said softly, “but still beautiful.”

“Yes, I am, at least two of the three and which are open to interpretation,” Morpheus said, squirming in Hob’s lap against the hard cock that was still pressed against him, “And you may yet benefit from that; if you’d like to join me in the shower, I could be convinced to kneel for a commoner.” Hob definitely did not need to be asked twice on that front.

Lounging back in bed, this time naked, sated, and wrapped around each other under the covers, with the blinds still closed, was exactly what the two of them needed after all the stress and busyness of the wedding preparations. More importantly, Morpheus needed to be physically removed from the location of the wedding, from his family, from everything that had been weighing down on him so that he could finally breathe for a while, unhindered. Currently he was languidly sprawled, half on top of Hob, tracing meaningless patterns over his chest with a finger. Sometimes, Hob thought he wanted to touch and cling just to remind himself this was real life, and not the fantasy world he disappeared to in his head. Less and less these days, but that seemed to necessitate more confirmation of the reality of what they had. Hob gave him a little squeeze for no reason other than that he could.

“I talked to Epi last night,” Morpheus said, his absentminded petting stopped as he spoke, “It was… enlightening.”

Hob made a questioning noise and rubbed his hand up and down Morpheus’s bare back, urging him to go on, and he did. Whatever he had expected, it hadn’t been the disjointed story that tumbled from his lover’s lips. That it was disjointed bore credence to how emotionally off kilter he was about it still, even after sleeping on it and clearly thinking down many avenues of reasoning the whole time they’d been lying here in the quiet dark. Hob was also trying to imagine the bombastic sibling with Morpheus’s colouring rather than the uncanny eyes and blond hair and finding himself entirely at a loss to do so, making a mental note to wander about the castle a bit upon their return - there were ample portraits painted of the entire family.

Guilt was something he understood all too well, and he couldn’t help but empathise with his soon to be sibling-in-law. Hob had been eaten away by it first in the hospital after his discharge from the RAF, wondering why he deserved to live when so many of his comrades in arms who had more to be than he could ever achieve had their lives cut off in an instant. So many years later he had made peace with that, somewhat, having found a passion that felt like he was meant to do it; teaching the youth to learn from the mistakes of the past, the wars of the past, and more recently, in taking care of someone he loved. Living had been worth it to ensure that this beautiful, talented man in his arms got the chance to be someone more than a hermit.

The guilt of his family’s death still ate at him. Less than it once had, but that scar had been torn open again only a few months ago and Hob was compartmentalising that pain everytime it rose to the fore again. Planning a wedding had been tough, and he was blessed that Morpheus had done most of it not just for his superior aesthetic taste but also to keep any old memories at bay. Caretaking went both ways, sometimes. That brought a smile back to his face even as he mulled over how to respond to what his partner had just revealed to him.

“It isn’t quite an apology, but it’s something,” Morpheus said, picking back up where he’d left off with brushing his fingertips over Hob’s skin in a gesture to reassure himself that this was real, that Hob was his. “Reasons, not excuses.”

“That they presented it as that is a big step,” Hob replied thoughtfully, “They were telling you, not asking you for anything in return…. I would take that in the spirit it was meant, even if the timing was far from ideal.”

“The timing is never ideal with that one,” Morpheus grumbled, “But, you are correct as you all too often are. From anyone else it would have been bookended by apologies and asking for a bit of forgiveness, but they know better than to ask, even if I am more inclined to give it than they expect. Changed behaviour speaks far louder. For all that they are an abrasive little bastard, they did visit the hospital, supported me in court… I think… that means more than ‘I’m sorry’ ever could.”

“I think so,” Hob said as he rubbed his hand up and down Morpheus’s back again. By this point in their relationship he had a good feel for when his partner wanted opinions and ideas, and when he simply needed to put his words out into the world to come to terms with things himself, “Lets hope it continues, hmm?”

“They are still not allowed to make a toast at the reception,” Morpheus said, “I am not such a fool as to open myself up to that.”

Hob snickered at that and squeezed his lover tight. Therein lay the difference between forgiveness and rebuilt trust, but one was a stepping stone to the other. Time to reflect would help, time in general, really. Epithumia still needed to prove that their petty lashing out was over, no matter how grounded in validity their actions had been, there were some things left unexplained; Jessamy, for one. No matter how well that worked out in the end, Hob couldn’t work out how it had been meant, and he didn’t want to ruin their lovely lie-in by bringing it up.

They stayed in bed until well past noon when Hob could hear both of their stomachs grumbling about the lack of food, before he finally had to weasel his way out from beneath a protesting Morpheus to find clothes and food. Their overnight bag had some of the snacks that Morpheus never said no to. Ideally they both needed to eat something more substantial, but it would be enough for now. He tossed a packet of biscuits to his partner who watched it flying towards him and merely flinched out of the way instead of trying to catch it, still more than a little bleary-eyed from his hangover. Miserable as he was, Hob found it rather sweet; Morpheus messy-haired and wrapped in a sheet, nibbling forlornly at a biscuit. Every time he found himself blissfully thinking ‘yeah, I can do a lifetime of this’ warmed his heart and calmed his remaining frazzled nerves about the impending wedding.

Flying back was quieter by an order of magnitude than their trip to Berlin; those who weren’t still nursing a headache later in the afternoon were speaking softly in deference to those that were, even when relating their tales of the night before. Morpheus slept, head pillowed on Hob’s lap, having had more than enough of people for the day, and likely for all the days leading up to their wedding. Hob found himself engaged in conversation with Unity for much of the trip. She was a businesswoman, investments and stocks, so not precisely in his wheelhouse but she had a wealth of knowledge about her own family’s history and what it was like for them to come up during the early 1900’s when most of their peers among the nouveau riche were white. Not his historical area of expertise, but fascinating nonetheless and quickly passing the time. It did also bring home to him the realisation that even the most normal person in Morpheus’s family was exponentially richer than he could imagine.

Being ferried via helicopter right back to the castle had Hob still thinking far too much on the money aspect of how his life had changed. If he’d known the true extent of Morpheus’s titles and fortune at the beginning, it wouldn’t have changed anything, but knowing about it and experiencing it were too different things. Back home in London, forgetting was easy. Morpheus dressed like every other art student on campus the vast majority of the time; holey jeans and his black t-shirt stained with paint or clay or whatever else he was working with. At home in his ubiquitous sweats and cardigan, messy-haired and curled up on the sofa, no one would believe for an instant that he was the lord of anything. Hob saw hints of it when they would go out for date night and Morpheus dressed up in something more flamboyant, trying out looks he’d never been able to before his captivity, when he was sleekly coiffed and carefully made up. That was a man who had an aura of power, unless he negated it with that sweet, shy smile when Hob complimented him. That was his Dream, rather than the erstwhile Lord Aeternus, but he was marrying both.

They arrived home right before supper with just enough time to change and head down to the dining room. Morpheus turned up his nose at the idea, stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed, pulling the duvet up until only the messy top of his hair was sticking out from it on the pillow. Hob just shrugged and went down to eat with Dee and Epithumia, and presumably some of the more distant siblings. Thankfully the parents didn’t often eat with them, probably because a simple meal turned into a warzone when they did. No doubt the serving staff would deliver food up their door upon seeing Morpheus’s chair empty. Lauren the head chef had taken her boss’s son under her wing as much as her position and his prickly nature allowed, and Morpheus was well-supplied with meals and snacks, some of which were always stocked in the kitchens if he wandered down at all hours as was his wont.

“Just the man I wanted to see!” Dee said brightly as Hob entered alone, “Catching you without your shadow is proving more and more difficult lately.”

Epithumia snickered, and Unity glared at them pointedly. Hob gave that situation a wary glance and sat down across from Dee, offering her a tired smile. She clearly hadn’t imbibed much at the party last night, or maybe she had some super secret hangover cure from all her medical research, that would be on brand.

“Stress is getting to him,” Hob replied, “So he’s needed a little more support.”

She nodded her understanding at that and raised her wineglass in his direction. Hob picked up his water again, and Dee grinned, correctly surmising how he was feeling. Still. “So long as you’re getting some time to decompress,” she said, “Can I borrow you for a moment after dinner? I have my wedding gift to the two of you but it’s not exactly something I can wrap, and I wanted to run it by you first.”

Before Hob could reply, Epithumia beat him to it. “If you’re going to get them kinky shit, I highly suggest you do wrap it, unless you’re aiming to get our inheritance shortly after the wedding. On second thought, don’t, let the old man have a heart attack,” they said, grinning at Unity as she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling a little. Hob had a feeling a great deal of their relationship was predicated upon her bemused exasperation.

“...You really don’t let up, do you?” Dee asked, sounding exhausted. Must be tough being the only normal person in the whole family. “As I was saying; I need your help.”

“You’ve got it,” Hob replied, “For anything, always. I can’t thank you enough for running interference as much as you have during all this.”

Dee shrugged and sipped her wine. “What are big sisters for? You’ve got the merciless teasing covered, so I’m all out of options besides helping,” she said with a grin, “Come up to my suite once you’re settled back in to help me figure out how to go about this, you’re gonna absolutely lose it.”

From Dee that was an enticing turn of phrase whereas from Epithumia, it would have been terrifying. Whatever she had planned, Hob was certain Morpheus’s best interests were at the heart of it and now his curiosity was piqued. Clearly she didn’t want to discuss it in front of her sibling and Unity, well, probably just Epi. Unity had been really growing in his esteem after their discussion on the way home, and from what Morpheus had said of her introduction. If all went well, maybe they could add to their small repertoire of dinner guests once they were back in London. Dinner was a quiet affair, Hob still had more of a headache than he’d like, Dee and Unity chatted about this and that, and Epithumia picked miserably at their food in a way that Hob interpreted as them feeling even more exhausted than he was. When they’d left the party well after midnight, Epithumia had still been drinking and dancing with no sign of stopping.

Hob checked his phone as he left the informal dining room. Morpheus hadn’t texted, so that meant he was likely asleep. Good, he needed a bit of a hard reset. He jogged a couple steps to catch up with Dee. “Looks like I’m still free, what’s up?”

“Well… better seen than explained, but I have my fingers crossed that yours isn’t the only wedding coming up,” she said, smiling mischievously.

“Oh, thought you were single.”

“Married to my work,” she corrected, guiding him down a hallway that Hob was reasonably certain he’d never been down. The castle still baffled him and if he wasn’t so soundly grounded in mundanity, he would insist that the hallways moved, or it changed floor plan when he wasn’t looking.

Dee stayed in a different wing of the main building than Morpheus, and Hob belated realised that they must have had a boys and girls area when all the kids were little and they’d grown up to keep to their same, if updated, rooms. Rather than looking out over the gardens, Dee’s suite looked out across the valley toward the nearby capital, a truly stunning view that had Hob whistling appreciatively. She noticed his line of sight and smiled. “Best view in the house, in my opinion,” she said, “Always loved it here, but not a lot of opportunity unless you want to live the playboy rich kid life, and that’s not me. I fit in better at home in London. Helps a little that our story, my bio-siblings and I that is, has faded a lot from public consciousness. When people think Aeternus, its Morph and Epi, a solid ninety-nine percent of the time, for better or worse. Means I get to hang out with friends from work and as and when they realise it, don’t generally make a big deal of it. I think most people think Dee is my surname.”

As she spoke, she waved for him to follow through to the adjoining sitting room area and proudly gestured at her gift; a very large bird cage in which sat a very large bird. A raven, but not of the same subspecies as Jessamy. It was watching them with intelligent, beady little eyes from its perch. Suddenly her comment about another wedding made sense, and Hob huffed in amusement. It made a sort of sense, really, Dee had clearly noted Jessamy wasn’t as permanently attached to her brother as she once had been. Morpheus still relied on her quite a lot, but he was pointedly trying to give her more freedom, more time for enrichment rather than service. The press tour had taken a lot out of everyone involved, but very much so out of Jessamy who had exhibited a nervous tick of plucking feathers a couple of times. They’d nipped that in the bud quickly by giving her a good long holiday and all of her favourite foods and trinkets to decrease her stress, but knowing he had caused her discomfort had made Morpheus feel absolutely terrible.

“Wow… okay, not what I expected,” Hob said eventually, taking a step closer to the cage, and the bird inside croaked throatily at him, a deeper, hoarser sound than Jessamy.

“He’s a north american raven, from a breeder, just past his juvenile stage and extremely handleable,” Dee explained excitedly, “He’s not trained to do anything like Jessamy, not yet at least, but he’s a good companion… for her and for Morph.”

“Yeaaah,” Hob said slowly, leaning down slightly so he was eye to eye with the bird who stared back intently at him with the same sort of obvious intelligence that Jessamy had. Morpheus knew far more about birds than he ever would, but he’d come to appreciate them well enough. “What’s his name?”

“Matthew, for the moment, or whatever else Morph would rather call him,” Dee said as she followed Hob over and opened the cage door. Matthew immediately ruffled his feathers and hopped down the length of the perch to stick his head out into the room, croaking at her. “Yeah, yeah, it's been a long day I’m sure. Me too, buddy.”

She wrapped a hand towel that was hanging on the side of the cage around her balled fist and offered the raven her hand, and he stepped almost dainty onto her arm. Hob watched her hand dip under the bird’s weight with amusement. He was a lot bigger than Jessamy.

“I don’t know enough to trim his talons safely,” Dee explained, “I’ll leave that to my brother. He’s really sweet, I worked with the breeder about getting the gentlest hatchling he had, and he certainly delivered.”

“And there’s…” Hob began, then paused, realising he was about to phrase his question in an insensitive sort of way, “He can fly properly, right? Not like Jess.”

“Yeah, you could trim his feathers I suppose, but his one and only trick is recall. Still, probably don’t want to take him in public without a harness until he’s used to obeying your guys. He’ll do damn near anything for peanuts, though,” she said, holding Matthew up towards Hob who reached to pet him, slowly telegraphing his movements. Respect for the birds also extended to a healthy respect for the damage they could do if they were so inclined, but Matthew was a good sport and leaned into his hand as Hob pet him.

“Morpheus is going to absolutely lose it, you’re amazing,” Hob said, excitement bleeding into his words now that the surprise had worn off. Nothing he’d expected came close to this. Matthew made a repeated clicking noise and tapped his hand lightly with his beak when Hob stopped petting him as if to say ‘more please’, so he was quick to accommodate. What he could see of the bird’s personality told him that his fiancé would absolutely love him. “Although, trying to wedge another man into our relationship, right before the wedding? Really Dee, I expected more from you.”

Dee snorted at that and shook her head. “If you lose him to a bird, that’s on you,” she replied, before lifting Matthew up to deposit him on top of the cage. Now that she was back and planning to stay in for the rest of the night, he could be free to wander as he would. All of the windows were closed so there was no worry about testing that recall.

“The reason I wanted to give you the heads up, is I want to introduce him and Jessamy before I actually hand him over,” Dee explained as she plopped exhaustively into an overstuffed armchair. Hob followed suit across from her and immediately felt like he could fall asleep. “So I need you to distract Morph and bring Jessamy for a little meet and greet. We’ll keep Matthew in the cage, obviously, in case they don’t hit it off, cause if they don’t… I’m not trying to gift you a problem, I can delay the whole situation and get a different bird. Neither of you need any more stress.”

Hob nodded his agreement; he was already so stressed that he wasn’t sure if he needed a glass of whisky, a good night’s sleep, or a month’s holiday. “Might be better if you distract him, and I’ll sneak her over. He mentioned something, before the party, about doing something quieter, and he thought his friends wouldn’t be up for it. Maybe you can arrange a little afternoon tea or something now that Lucienne is here, and David, he’s a better sport about Morpheus’s weirdness than you might expect,” Hob said, smiling a little, “Let him socialise without me for a bit to be himself, and I’ll see if our little lovebirds will be just that. Shit… can they hybridise?”

Matthew was making happy little vocalisations and slowly drawing up a dangling string toy from inside of the cage with his foot and beak, ignoring their very existence. That was a good thing though, he had learned from Morpheus back when their relationship had been new, and Jessamy was staunchly ignoring him. Going about her usual behaviours with no variation or deviation in his presence meant she was comfortable, accepted him as a safe creature in her vicinity. Surely the two subspecies of corvid couldn’t be different enough for it not to still ring true in Matthew’s case, and if he accepted Hob’s presence after one introduction and a bit of scritching that boded well indeed.

“I asked. Yes, they should be able to, but I think the solution to that is swap the eggs out with golf balls when neither of them are looking,” Dee replied, “If you don’t want an entire rookery in your flat.”

Hob had grown to love Jessamy, but… not quite that much. He winced. “Yes, lets not do that,” he said with a laugh, “There’s definitely a number of birds at which Morpheus would improve and a number at which he’d be too overwhelmed to function, and I think the sweet spot is two. He’s been struggling with leaving Jessamy to her own devices after clinging to her so much for so long, but also living in fear of smothering her with his needs.”

“I think the same could be said for how he feels about you, that’s just Morpheus,” Dee said, “If we can alleviate one of those factors, it’ll do him worlds of good.”

“That it will,” Hob said, meeting Dee’s smile with one of his own, “Thank you. For this, and for everything, it means the world to me. Your support, I mean, you took me waltzing into Morpheus’s life far better than reason says you should have.”

“You’re a good man, Hob Gadling,” Dee replied, “Few would do what you have, with motives half as pure. You love my brother for who he is, not what he is, or what he was, and you’ve saved him from himself. It’s not exactly my place to thank you for that, but I am very thankful.”

Hob looked away from her all too knowing gaze, back out over the vista of the countryside beyond her window, now bathed in late golden hour light. “Thanks, that… means a lot to me, really, but I’d argue he saved himself,” Hob replied after a long moment lost in thought. Her words had struck him deeply, deeper than probably they would have if he weren’t so utterly exhausted and beaten down by stress. Everything hit a little harder when in the throes of sleep debt. “All I did was believe that he could.”

“...and that is precisely why you’re the one for him,” Dee said quietly, “I’m honoured to be on your team.”

“Oh stop, you’re gonna make me teary-eyed,” Hob teased as he stood up; he really did need to get back to Morpheus, and get some rest, “And what sort of impression is that going to make on Matthew?”

Chapter Text

No matter how well the stag party went, Morpheus was starting to regret it. They had a handful of days left before the wedding and he’d been forced through no will of his own to stay in the bedroom of his suite, mostly in bed, trying to dispel the feelings of impending doom and rising bile that came with the idea of going out and about and seeing how all the decorating was fairing. He trusted the combined efforts of Lucienne and Lucien to see his plans to fruition, but was starting to think he maybe, sort of, possibly should have included Hob a little bit further in the minutiae of his plans. At first it was in part due to wanting to play out his own fantasies of what a wedding should be like, and Hob was happy to indulge him, then more and more because he could sense Hob’s rising stress levels about falling more and more beyond on his writing. For once, Hob had been the restless sleeper. Assuring him that he had everything well in hand meant a more relaxed Hob, and a more relaxed Hob could then loop around and be more supportive to him when he inevitably ran himself ragged. Or at least that had been the plan. Now he was lying in bed, staring up at the ancient wooden beams of the ceiling, and mulling over how great the scandal would be if they absconded and eloped.

Hob had been working in the library all morning in deference to his typing having been too loud for Morpheus when every smidgen of sensory input was an annoyance, but he’d promised to come back with lunch later. Any minute now. He had even taken Jessamy with him to get her some fresh air and exercise, and leave Morpheus in the complete silence that he so desperately needed more of. Their first appointment wasn’t until well into the afternoon, final fittings for their wedding outfits that had been flown in just days prior. First fittings of the actual suits, that was, rather than just measuring. Morpheus still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to do those fittings together or separate to maintain some element of surprise when they saw each other for the ceremony. It wouldn’t be a complete surprise, as he had worked with his stylist on what he wanted Hob to wear, but he hadn’t seen it all together, just photos of colour samples to approve.

The door opened and Morpheus tensed for a moment before realising that no one would enter without knocking, save for his fiancé. A good part of his nervousness was due to the lack of security, or perceived lack, in the castle. With all the decorators, staff, and guests coming and going it would be immensely easy for anyone to slip in. The grounds were vast and mostly wooded, there were cameras but eyes couldn’t be on every angle of approach at every moment. At home, his security situation was absolutely overkill and he knew that, but it made him feel safe. Although, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the private suite in the family wing of a remote castle with a security detail was most definitely a personal problem.

“Where you at, love?” Hob said from beside the bed, and Morpheus’s gaze refocused to see him looking down at him with a little bit of worry commingled with the soft adoration that he was so used to seeing - a look which had increased in frequency as the wedding drew nearer. They were both sappy, lovestruck fools and it warmed his heart.

“Here,” Morpheus replied, and patted the turned down covers next to him in invitation, “I am just thinking, perhaps too much.”

“Always too much,” Hob said pointedly, before sitting down on the bed beside him, but not curling up under the covers as Morpheus would have preferred, likely just because he was wearing clothes he’d gone out in. He pulled a face, and Hob dragged him into his arms to compensate. Morpheus squirmed a little to get comfortable, half climbing on his lap and resting his head on Hob’s shoulder.

“I was thinking about elopement.”

Hob barked out a laugh at that and squeezed him tighter. “Little too late for that, I think. The uhm… king of Norway? Was down in the foyer when I walked by,” Hob said, “But you know the good thing about wedding receptions? No one really expects the newlyweds to stay til the end, doubly so in your case. Let the guests get a bit of bubbly in them and we can steal a bottle and go celebrate on our own.”

“Oh yes, I intend to celebrate,” Morpheus replied, raising his head from Hob’s shoulder to steal a quick kiss, then another, “Quite thoroughly.”

“Hey-” Hob began, before his protestations were drowned in more kisses as Morpheus pushed him down into the pillows and climbed more properly on top of him. He went with it for a while, petting his hand through Morpheus’s hair and giving as good as he got, but when they parted for air Hob gave him an admonishing look. “...I thought we agreed hands off til then.”

“Agreed is a strong word, I think, for sullen acceptance of terms,” Morpheus replied, frowning down at him miserably, “I would feel so much better about-”

“There are other ways for your to calm your nerves than sucking me off, as much as it pains me to say it out loud,” Hob said, snickering and completely unable to say it with a straight face. Morpheus smiled too and gave him one more quick peck, before rolling off to flop dramatically onto the bed beside him.

“It would make me feel better.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you instead that has you not getting out of bed three days before the happiest day of our lives? Yet, that is,” Hob said, reaching over to lay an arm around Morpheus’s middle. He knew well enough by now that physical reassurance, even of a different kind, would go a long way toward getting him to talk.

“I am going to fuck it up, Hob,” Morpheus nearly whispered, looking stoically up at the ceiling. He rarely swore in casual conversation and knew as soon as he’d spoke that he would have Hob’s undivided attention.

“What, the wedding? It’s our wedding, your design, your plans, you can execute those plans in whatever way feels best to you, and I’m going to be happy. As long as we get through our vows, everything else is just gravy,” Hob said softly, giving him a little squeeze, “If you mean the marriage then yeah, everyone fucks it up… People are complicated, we’re more complicated than most, but I think we both know how to say I’m sorry and work it out, at this point. We’ve speedrun more emotional intimacy than most people get in a lifetime.”

Morpheus couldn’t help but chuckle at that but he shook his head anyway. “Not… not fuck it up to you, to everyone else. If I don’t make a fool of myself that is arguably almost worse, as no one will take me seriously that I’m too nervous or traumatised for major events, or that I need the accommodations I do, because I could handle a wedding reception larger than any major gala,” he said, voice wavering just a little but he knew Hob would catch the worry in his tone regardless of how well he hid it, “I can do this because it means so much to me, and not just for me. For you, obviously, but people who are… like who I was. I wouldn’t be this, any of this, if I’d been able to be myself from the start.”

Hob shifted to lie on his side, curling close to Morpheus and wrapping himself tightly around him. In times like this, Morpheus needed the physical reassurance as much or more so than words, to keep him grounded, to keep him here and not somewhere off in his head. That such a response had become second nature to Hob without question made tears well up in Morpheus eyes that he did his best to blink away. They had an appointment soon and he didn’t need to be red-eyed, there was enough gossip floating around as it was. He had been doing his best not to hear it but he did, nonetheless. Lucienne had threatened to take his phone away since he wasn’t going anywhere outside the castle, but despite having gone so long without one and hating the idea, now he clung to it because it was a lifeline to reach Hob no matter how close or far he was, if not in the same room.

“You don’t need to be everything to everyone, my sweet Dream,” Hob said softly, “But I get why you want to be. First and foremost, this is for us, to celebrate who we are now, which is madly, disgustingly in love. Anything beyond that is extra, alright? You don’t have to look at anyone else, talk to anyone else, keep your eyes on me and I’ll stand between you and the crowd, love.”

Hob reached up to cup Morpheus’s face in his hand and gently turn his face toward his own. “Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but really I think you’re going to be fine. You’ve just built this up in your head for months to be something larger and more threatening than it is,” he said, “You survived a dozen tv interviews, the premier, the stag party. All of those were louder, brighter, more menacing events. Everyone coming to our wedding either cares deeply about you, or cares deeply about their image which they won’t tarnish by troubling you. If you can manage a ‘thank you’ to everyone who speaks to us, that’s more than enough.”

“I know.” Morpheus’s voice was barely audible even in the still quiet of their bedroom, and he closed his eyes to not have to see the earnest care on Hob’s face. Sometimes he was simply too good, and he just wished that for once Hob would be angry with him and tell him to get his shit together. Gently calling him an idiot was insufficient.

“You do, but you’re not feeling it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, that happens at this party will shake my love and faith in you; you do understand that, right?” Hob asked, and Morpheus reluctantly nodded, “I’d love you just as much if you decided you’re never going to leave the house again. But really, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Morpheus could feel his expression darkening almost against his will, and Hob hurried to explain himself. “I just mean… You were dreading Epi’s party plans and even with how loud, drunk, and raucous it got, you had a good time and left under your own recognisance,” Hob pointed out, “And that was with club level music and noise. An airier, spaced out crowd with a string quartet is nothing in comparison, and in theory no one will be getting drunk enough to forget their good graces until long after we’ve absconded to bed.”

“I plan to abscond with you quite early,” Morpheus said in an effort to change the subject. Sighing, Hob obliged him, having already made his point. No amount of additional harping on the issue was going to calm Morpheus’s nerves; at this point it simply had to happen, and he’d have to make the choice between wanting to toast at his own party or take medication to keep him from fleeing it like a gothic version of Cinderella at midnight. If he made it to midnight, he’d be shocked.

“Not sure what it says about us that not fucking like teenagers for three days is a hardship,” Hob said dryly, and Morpheus could feel his silent laughter with how tightly they were curled up together.

“I resent that remark; we have far more stamina and skill than teenagers,” he replied with a smile, “And you best believe that I have plans for us.”

“I’m sure you do, but not everything about the wedding needs to be planned down to the moment… or you could let me plan something, for once?” Hob wheedled teasingly.

“Too late, I have a list of positions.”

“...Do any of them involve you on top?”

Morpheus paused for a moment, then shrugged. “No but I am currently taking additions to the list under advisement.”

“Well consider yourself advised; I know it’s not your preference, but I certainly enjoy myself riding you,” Hob said, poking Morpheus in the ribs as he began to disentangle them from their embrace now that his fiancé had been suitably distracted, “If you wanted to take a more active role, I wouldn’t tell you no.”

“You never do… except a few minutes ago,” Morpheus replied, still a little grumpy about it but he had, technically, agreed to Hob’s plan and in comparison to being celibate for a decade, well, what was a few days of abstinence so they could go a couple rounds. He had, he thought, become very spoiled indeed. Hob raised an eyebrow at him, still waiting for some sort of answer but Morpheus decided to ignore his question for now because he was, if nothing else, monumentally petty and his willingness to fulfil his partner’s desires was just as great as willingness to keep him hanging about it until it became a reality.

Crawling out of bed for the first time that day well after noon did nothing for his mood. Hob immediately hugging him from behind and kissing his bare shoulder, however, did a fair amount of good. Normally that would have resulted in more, but someone had decided that being overwhelmingly horny at the wedding would be a good idea. He playfully shoved Hob off of him and went to dress in his least lordly of clothes, quite sick of playing nice for optics. There were enough photos of him at book signings and slouching about the neighbourhood for anyone with half a brain to realise he normally looked like some sort of deranged little gremlin whose clothes were made of more holes than actual cloth and that his taste for high fashion aesthetics was limited in application if not scope. If any of their high profile guests were on the grounds and wandering about, they should be thankful he wasn’t wearing sweats. For once, Hob was the much more well-cut of the two, having packed nothing but ‘acceptable’ clothes, much the same wardrobe as when they’d gone on the press tour, where even without Morpheus’s help choosing, nearly everything went together and would suit.

When he emerged from the walk-in closet, dressed in holey jeans and hoodie, Hob just gave him an inquisitive once over but said nothing. The castle, old and fortified as it was, held a chill even in the summer that no amount of open windows could ever quite shake and Morpheus had been cold ever since arriving. It had not, as Hob had frequently teased him, been simply a reason for him to be clingy.

“We’ll have to strip anyway, to try on our suits,” Morpheus said, examining Hob’s expression, “I can’t be arsed to care at the moment.”

“Love, far be it from me to tell you what not to wear,” Hob said, reaching for his hand as they left their rooms. “If you’re comfortable, I’m happy. I fell in love with a soggy idiot on a park bench, so…”

“Please never call me that again.”

“Duly noted.”

Their stylist had flown in the night before having acquired the clothes, some of which had been pulled from designer’s archival collections and only minimally tailored, others brand new, and the backups in case of… anything. Morpheus really didn’t think a runway collection from a couple of years ago should be called ‘archival’ but Dior had made it very clear they were doing him a favour, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be asked to wear something more relevant to their current marketing the next time he had a high profile event to attend. A small price to pay for their big day looking perfect. In theory, if everything fit.

Lucienne had joined them and was speaking with Rachel, the stylist, and her assistant who looked incredibly frazzled, although maybe that was just from the flight. Or maybe a little starstruck, she was new, he’d been told. Unfortunately, Morpheus was not in any particular mood to be excessively nice to anyone. Just being in the brightly lit parlour with people other than Hob and something that he must actually do was enough to make him want to curl up back in bed immediately. Lucienne could sense it, she knew him better than anyone, and gave him a tight little smile which he struggled to return.

“Right, so, how are we doing this?” Rachel asked, smiling brightly as she looked between the two of them, “Morpheus, I believe you’re already well aware of what your partner is wearing, but are we keeping any surprises?”

Morpheus glanced to Hob, who shrugged. “Up to you, love, I think you’re beautiful in anything so there’s no need to surprise me, really.”

He could feel himself blushing in response, and also paralysed by indecision for a long enough moment that he looked to Lucienne for help. “How about we do the outfits for the ceremony separately, and then the reception together, hm?” she said brightly, “I know you had first through third picks from that collection for Hob depending on fit and availability and I know for a fact that you did not read your email regarding which was available. Not a complete surprise, but something of the sort.”

She was right of course, Morpheus couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his email. That was what he paid her an ungodly sum of money for, and she did the job admirable. He nodded and turned back to their stylist. “Robert first then, please, I need a moment this has all been… very stressful,” he admitted; she was also paid more than enough to keep that sort of admission to herself, not that it would be any surprise to the media that he was overwhelmed, but putting it out there in words was difficult.

Hob was led away around a changing screen that had been set up beside a little expandable rolling rack of clothing neatly stored in garment bags labelled with either of their names on the front. More brands and independent designers than he had expected had clamoured to work with them, or more specifically him, for their wedding outfits that it had been truly overwhelming. Morpheus had tasked Lucienne with weeding them out a little, and then he’d sent her and his stylist a couple of photos of possible ideas. He’d really meant more along the lines of ‘something like this’ but as it turns out, the exact pieces were found either for purchase or loan in the case of those that weren’t current season. While he might have been hiding out at home and completely inactive both in high society and any fashion scene, Morpheus had been well aware of what was going on with designers he’d followed before his abduction. Retrospectively, he thought, that he had such an affinity for style was just one more point in the ‘queer’ column and he should have figured himself out much sooner.

Lucienne gave him a questioning look, eyebrows raised, and only then did he realise he’d been staring blankly into the middle distance, mind very far away. He shook his head to clear it, and tucked his hands, well his entire forearms, into the front pocked of his hoodie and slouched down lower in the gilded seat. Despite his age he felt he looked very much the disaffected youth here in this formal parlour filled with gold sconces and historical paintings. As a child he always felt like he was going to break something when in the more traditional areas of the castle, and as an adult he just snickered at the dichotomy of it and himself because he knew it annoyed his parents. Maybe he was still a child in many ways.

“I’m alright, Luce. Tired, stressed… excited,” he said, offering her a rather weak smile, “Perhaps I have bitten off more than I can chew, as it were.”

“Maybe,” she replied, “If you can make it through the ceremony and photos during cocktail hour, really you’re free to go.”

Morpheus scoffed at that. “You and Hob both, minimising how much I need to attend my own function,” he grumbled, “I can sit through dinner, there’s just no need for me to be there for drinking and dancing and all of that… our guests can entertain themselves.”

“Not minimising, just reassuring,” Lucienne said, so used to his snipes by now that she didn’t even bat an eye at his sour mood, “Amongst me, Lucien, and the planning agency’s people on the ground there is nothing that we can’t solve day of. Having more than one outfit, even, was a good idea just in case.”

“It’s not like I’m wearing a big white dress someone could spill wine on.”

From across the room came Hob’s teasing voice. “You’re not? I’m bloody devastated.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be trying on clothes?” Morpheus called back.

“Apparently I have three suits?” he replied, sounding baffled enough that Lucienne smirked.

“Ceremony, reception, spares in case neither of those fit. One of those is from a runway collection and I had my doubts,” Morpheus said, grinning as he imagined Hob’s expression in response to that statement.

A few minutes of small talk with Lucienne later, Hob returned wearing his normal day clothes again and leaned down to press a kiss to Morpheus’s cheek. He was slowly getting more comfortable with public displays of affection, having been reminded time and again that all eyes were not on him, always, and public scrutiny wasn’t zeroed in on his actions the way it had been at the start of their relationship. Or as it had been when he was last out and about in the public eye; what amounted to less than a year of being truly back in the world still hadn’t fully rewired his brain from the years of fear and shame and hiding who he truly was. Now at least his heart leapt when Hob kissed him mostly for the right reasons, because he was painfully, shamelessly besotted with the man and not for fear of getting caught. However, he still blushed every time, which rather ruined the intensity of the glare he sent Lucienne’s way before hauling himself out of the chair slip behind the screen and try on his own clothes.

Their stylist had already returned Hob’s clothing to its garment bags and Morpheus resisted the urge to ask which had been the final choices. The spares weren’t only in case the archival pieces weren’t an acceptable fit, he’d wanted Hob to have a little agency in this after the vast majority of the wedding had been entirely of his own design. Hob’s insistence that he didn’t mind was genuine, but tell that to his overthinking mind.

The first was his ceremony outfit. The suit itself was a more traditional cut, and the shirt used in the runway show itself had been replaced with a similar, red blouse to match their wedding colours. It was the matching cape that had drawn him to Elie Saab in particular; the outfit itself was very traditionally masculine but adding on the embroidered and appliqued cloak over top of it brought more of a bridal aspect in, despite the colour, and made the point he wanted to make without being too flamboyant.

Looking at himself in the mirror made the impending event all too real, even if right now his reflection was a bit gaunt from lack of sleep, tousle-haired and stressed. Morpheus could picture himself easily for the day of the wedding; hair and makeup done by a steadier hand than his own. That thought drew him to the slim black ring on his finger and he raised his left hand to examine it. If it weren’t likely to draw more attention, he’d have worn it on his right hand. Others wouldn’t notice anything amiss, but he still did; the pale white scars encircling his wrist from the shackle, and the slight crookedness of his fingers from breaking his hand in countless places to get out of it. All injuries he felt now more than saw when he dropped things or struggled with a day to day task with what should be his dominant hand. No one would notice. Hob had the charming but unfortunate tendency to hold that hand, to raise it to his lips and kiss the ring that was the constant reminder of their commitment to each other. It was nothing more than that, kindness, but it had taken him long enough to convince Hob to ignore his other scars, and that act brought them back to the forefront of his mind.

“Everything to your liking with that look, sir?”

How long had he zoned out? Morpheus had no idea, but he took a deep breath and gathered himself to peek his head out from behind the screen to smile at his stylist. “Yes, just thinking. It’s a perfect fit, thank you,” he said in response, and she looked a bit relieved. His silence had been deafening, apparently. Forgetting how much his perfect day was held up on the shoulders of others was easy when he was in the thick of it. Once everything was over and they were settled back in London, he really must sort out proper gifts for everyo, their stylist especially, but also Lauren and the other kitchen staff, Lucien who had been balancing his parents strictures and his own needs almost as long as Morpheus had been alive, and everyone else.

He shed the first look, putting it carefully back on the hangers, almost reverently. Hob would find him beautiful no matter what he wore, of that he was certain, but in this he also felt it for the first time in a very long time. Usually it was just bravado, puffed up self-importance because he knew very well what he looked like to others, how he was perceived, even if on the inside he felt very different indeed. He’d stopped feeling like a complete fraud months ago, there were only so many accolades one could receive before starting to believe they might possibly be true, and Lucienne had taken to collecting screenshots of the more positive social media comments for the proverbial rainy day and sending him a gaggle of them every time he was particularly down about himself. Still knowing it, seeing it, and truly believing it were entirely different things.

The second outfit was a simpler affair, and easier to get his hands on, considering it was the current season of McQueen and his stylist had simply purchased it at Harrod’s and had it tailored to fit. Black suit with abstract red florals, cut slim and well fitted. It was meant to be versatile, worn with a shirt for a more formal look or without as the lapels crossed over rather high on the chest. He was planning on without, which Hob would no doubt tease him for once they changed, but it best displayed his necklace that he had yet to take off for more than shower or swimming. Also he knew that while Hob was keeping the same ring Morpheus had proposed to him with, just with a new inscription within, he was getting another. They hadn’t quite picked it out together but he’d answered Hob’s vague yet pointed questions on what exactly he would be willing to wear. There was a strange line to toe between what was alternative and flamboyant and made him feel like himself and what was too much, felt too feminine, or merely wasn’t his style. All he knew was that he would be getting something with a gem to pair with his existing band, and he made the assumption it would be ruby as well, or possibly black diamond… Well, only two days left before he found out.
,
Changing back into jeans and a hoodie after the sleek suits felt almost like sacrilege, and he was a little sad to leave them behind. Soon, very soon. One of the moments he was looking forward to the most from the wedding was after they’d completed photos and had a private moment to change into their reception attire. Morpheus knew he would need that for his nerves and was part of the reason for the sartorial change to begin with, but he wanted something within the day itself, before they left the ball, to be just for them. Quiet, private, and sweet, to hold his husband in his arms and begin to internalise that this was forever.

Rather than heading straight back to their rooms, Hob linked an arm through his and steered them off towards one of the side entrances that led out into the grounds. The gardening staff had been in overdrive the last few days, and still were, making certain that everything was absolutely perfect. While the reception itself would be indoors, the ceremony was in the gardens and there would be all manner of gilded lanterns and staff offering food and drink through the gardens well into the night. Morpheus felt he’d need to get away more than once for fresh air if he intended to stay out the reception. Despite Hob’s well-meaning offers, everyone’s really, it was starting to gnaw at him that no one thought he’d make it through, or that if he did it would be detrimental to him thereafter. Stubborn determination was a dangerous thing, he knew that, but the more everyone assured him that no one would be angered by him absconding into the night, the more he wanted to prove to them that he didn’t need to.

“You alright, love?” Hob asked as they walked, waiting til they’d passed by a couple of staff who had nodded their acknowledgement politely and were now out of earshot.

Morpheus felt more than saw Hob cringe when he realised he’d voiced the forbidden question without even thinking about it. More than anything else, that brought him out of his spiralling headspace and he smirked slightly.

“Better now,” he replied, bumping Hob’s shoulder with his own, “It’s just a lot going on in my head, at the moment.” He was still mired down in thoughts about himself, his appearance, his ring, and everything and anything that had led him to this point. Weight of the world, as they say.

Hob accepted that answer at face value and they kept walking, but he intentionally led them away from the more cultivated, formal gardens into the intentionally natural, outer grounds. If they kept on in this direction they’d eventually meet the overhanging woods on the side of the mountain where there were a handful of well-worn trails for hiking, or horseback riding. That was one thing they hadn’t found time for here as of yet. Perhaps after the wedding. The groundskeepers weren’t milling about this area and they had more privacy than just open air could afford them closer to the castle.

“I bet if we asked nicely, Lauren would pack us a picnic that could tempt even you,” Hob said, still clearly trying to lighten his mood, “Add that to the minor honeymoon activities before we leave.”

There was yet another reminder of his inadequacies; there would be no honeymoon. After the wedding, Morpheus wanted nothing more than to go home and rest and enjoy his husband in the surroundings that brought him comfort. No matter how fun it might be to go somewhere warm and exciting, the stress brought on by travel, by sleeping somewhere new, was so hit or miss as to not be worth it. It had taken weeks even here in what had been his childhood home for him not to wake up from night terrors, or panic upon waking, nullified only by Hob holding him close.

“Perhaps,” Morpheus said, offering Hob a little smile, “Hob, I…” He paused, and nearly cringed upon realising Hob’s attention was now immediately laser focused on him, his tone being the giveaway that this wasn’t just more teasing. He took a deep breath.

“I know that you mean only good things, but can you not, for now, kiss my ring? My hand? It’s bringing up thoughts I don’t want to have and I am too stressed not to have them,” he said in a rush, trying to get out what he needed to say while choking down the rising panic. Boundaries were good, Hob encouraged him to have as many as he needed, but putting up new ones over something so trivial made him feel like he was cheapening it, somehow. “Not forever, just for now.”

They had stopped walking, Hob first and then Morpheus as their arms were linked, but then Hob took both his hands in his own and leaned in to kiss him on the high arch of his cheekbone before pulling back slightly to examine Morpheus’s expression, his own soft and caring. “Acceptable substitute?” he asked, squeezing Morpheus’s fingers.

“Yes,” he replied, “Less gallant, perhaps, but you can return to being my knight in shining armour when my head is in a better place.”

“Understood. Both hands, or… because I did intend to ask you to dance and sweep you off your feet with my courtly manners,” Hob teased, and Morpheus had to actually think about that for a moment before settling on the answer that was definitely not what Hob was looking for.

“No, only the left, I suppose,” he said, brow furrowed as he thought about that further, “But you should know that I… I don’t dance. I wasn’t joking, I can’t do that in front of people.”

Hob made a quiet, thoughtful noise at that, but didn’t let go of his hands yet. “I assumed you meant club dancing, figured a fancy posh boy like you had all sorts of finishing school sort of lessons in it,” Hob said, the edge of disappointment in his voice making Morpheus’s heart clench.

The last thing he wanted was to deny Hob something he wanted, one of the very, very few things he had serious feelings about for their wedding. He could almost feel the question forming in Hob’s mind; had he done so at his first wedding? Was this the trauma? Specifically so, having lain there in captivity and heard a party happening on the level above him, or merely his dislike for certain forms of attention? He would voice none of them, of course, not here and not now, because Hob knew when and where to bring these things up to help him work through them, rather than start spiralling downward. They were too close to the wedding now for any of those conversations; even his sessions, both private and together, with therapists between now and then wouldn’t be focusing on any sort of deep work.

“Finishing school is for girls,” he replied, the rote response to their usual banter coming easily to him, even as he looked away, down at their clasped hands, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hob said sternly, “But I appreciate you telling me now rather than day of.”

“Well, we have to go over the timeline with the planners tomorrow morning, it’ll come up,” Morpheus said, “But that is my… my only stricture, I think. If ever there were a time for the public displays of affection I eschew, this would be it. I want you to kiss me. Within reason, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps once we go home and I have settled for a while, we can take a trip to make up for-”

Hob silenced him with a kiss, slow and sweet and very much trying to tell him something though Morpheus wasn’t entirely certain what. When they parted, Hob was looking at him with that deep, serious expression that he normally had when they working through something that had upset him, or when he was listening very intently to what a therapist or doctor had to say so he internalised as Morpheus was less likely to in the moment.

“I don’t care about a honeymoon, I like lazy weekends at home as much as you do and the idea of having you lounging about with very little clothing while we read or cook or whatever and I have the best excuse not to think about my impending deadlines is remarkably enticing,” Hob said pointedly, “This, what we have, is about the marriage, not the wedding. I know you want everything to be perfect but, love, it already is. Stop worrying about what you can or can’t do and remember that as much as you can is enough for me; you were enough for me when you could hardly leave your building. Look how far you’ve come.”

Morpheus could feel himself blushing at the soft praise. “I want more, though, you know that.”

“Good. Imagine where we’ll be in a year. Five years. Ten,” Hob replied as he released one of Morpheus’s hands so he could reach up and cup his face instead, forcing his gaze back to meet his own. “Keep wanting more, dream a little bigger, and we’ll get there.”

Morpheus had no response formulated to that, and the rollercoaster of emotions he had just gone through in this conversation, setting boundaries and drawing lines was enough that his hands were shaking. All he could manage was a tight nod, but all Hob was looking for was acknowledgement before pulling him in for another, much more thorough kiss.

Chapter Text

Over the course of their relationship, the biggest change in Morpheus’s demeanour was almost certainly that he now took reassurance from Hob at face value more often than not. His self-deprecatory tendencies were still very much intact but now he tended to lean towards humorous in his derision rather than really talking himself down. Their little discussion in the gardens had soothed at least some of his frazzled nerves in the leadup to the wedding. Hob’s intention was, originally, that they spend the remaining day or so before the ceremony apart, in self reflection about where they had started, where they were, and where they planned to go together in the future. Morpheus had grumbled about it but admitted he saw the purpose in that - more often than not they only left each other’s sight when work was involved, and that mostly Hob’s work.

So, it irked Hob more than a little bit to be the one to break their little solitude pact the morning of the ceremony. They were both getting ready, the stylists seeing to Hob’s needs first as he was far less exacting about… everything, really. Still, he figured that the point of not seeing each other before the ceremony was rather moot considering Morpheus had picked their outfits ages in advance so there was no surprising him, and much as he suspected, his soon to be husband answered the door to their shared rooms still in a plush white bathrobe although with his hair neatly combed back and the dark circles under his eyes almost hidden, it was clear he was very nearly ready. Morpheus smiled upon seeing him but looked as puzzled as he was pleased; that smile falling slowly as he searched Hob’s face, worried.

“Hey,” Hob said softly, which was enough to stop Morpheus’s inner downward spiral of anxiety in its tracks.

“Good morning,” he responded, that slight grin back in place again though Hob could tell he was still nervous; but then, when wasn’t he, really. “You shaved.”

“Yes, well, your stylist suggested it. Something about facial hair goes in and out of style but clean-shaven is classic,” Hob said with a shrug, “And something I wasn’t paying attention to about the aesthetic of the photos… but that’s neither here nor there, I’m sorry to bug you when you’re getting ready but I have something for you.”

That had Morpheus instantly intrigued and setting aside the loss of his partner’s beard for the moment. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“It’s… I won’t be offended if you think its a stupid idea, or it doesn’t go with your outfit,” Hob said, reaching into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve the delicate lace gloves he’d acquired. Morpheus stared at them as if not sure what the purpose was.

“I thought it might help,” Hob explained, “Lucien helped me by calling about bridal shops for one that had something that was likely to fit your hands and the capability to dye it black. Your staff is insane in the best sort of way… I brought it up and Lucien had someone flying to Bern to fetch them within hours.”

As he was speaking, Morpheus took the gloves and slipped them on before flexing his fingers and looking down at his hands. They weren’t exactly a great match with his bathrobe, but they did fit and he wasn’t sure what to say, though he could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes - not about this in particular, but the stress and excitement of everything getting through to him. One of the worst parts of recovery is that he had moved from feeling nothing to feeling everything again, and all of it more strongly than he thought he should considering how much medication he was on.

Hob took his partner’s hands in his which brought Morpheus back to the present enough to meet his eyes. “Good idea?” he asked, and Morpheus nodded.

“Yes,” he murmured in reply, “Thank you.”

“See, this is why you’re marrying me - need someone to think outside the fancy fashionable box you’ve got yourself in,” Hob said, winking cheekily at him, and Morpheus rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, you’re a genius,” Morpheus said, pulling his hands away and waving Hob off, “Go before I break our other little pact out of thankfulness.”

“Enticing.”

“No doubt. You look amazing, by the way.”

Hob huffed in wry amusement. “That would be your doing, love.”

“Not entirely. Congratulations on your face,” Morpheus replied before closing the door, leaving Hob in the hall staring a bit wistfully for a bit before he shook himself out of it. His partner was in top form today; teasing and a bit of rudeness boded very well for the rest of the day. Morpheus might have his doubts about his capabilities, but Hob believed in him enough for them both.

While he’d been to many weddings over the years, none of them had prepared him for the level of spectacle his own had become. They had paired the guest list down as much as was possible without grievously offending anyone (or so Morpheus’s parents had insisted) and Hob’s more casual friends had understood the scale of it enough that no one was offended at not being invited, they would have a party once they returned to London, yet still the castle was abuzz with activity. Half the guests were already staying in residence and there had been a grand brunch that was fancier than any wedding reception Hob had ever seen, much less been to, and he’d been enormously thankful that he’d been served breakfast in peace and quiet in the room he’d gotten ready in. Spending the morning with a book and a few cups of tea had been exactly what he needed to calm his own nerves. Knowing how extravagant everything was, and how deadset Morpheus had been on it all being perfect, he’d been having stress dreams about fucking up his vows for the past week. That he was reciting them to a poet who no doubt had them in his head since he proposed was something he tried very hard not to think about.

Neither of them were having anyone stand up with them during the ceremony; it had never been mentioned at all in the planning considering Morpheus’s friendships were all quite new and the relationships with his siblings still on the mend. Hob spent the rest of the morning with a couple of academic friends watching people arrive from a balcony and guessing who they were, which felt a little ridiculous in and of itself that Hob had hardly met half the people coming to his own wedding. His friends debating if he was more a Kate Middleton or Meghan Markle in this situation was even more so, though it did give him an opportunity to recite Morpheus’s usual line about the difference between nobility and royalty.

One plus side of the insanity of it all was that instead of a wedding planner they had a wedding planning team who all had little earpieces in like they were some sort of MI6 special ops team; that meant it was impossible for him not to be where he needed to be when he needed to be there.

Standing alone save for one of those wedding agents, beneath a stone portico and listening to the gentle string quartet music wafting in from the gardens allowed Hob to centre himself and calm his racing heart. He would be walking down first to stand at the altar and await Morpheus, who had thought it better if he had Hob to focus on to the exception of all else while everyone’s eyes were on him. A red carpet was one thing, this was another entirely. While the audience here lacked the hostility of a press line, the intensity of it all had him agonising over the minutiae of it all even with the exacting arrangements.

“Last chance to run.”

Hob startled from his reverie and spun around to see Epithumia smirking broadly at him, hands in his pockets and looking utterly at ease with his surroundings, which somehow smacked of suspicious rather than mere confidence. After everything Morpheus had related to him the morning after the party, however, he was trying to look at his new sibling-in-law in a more flattering light, and as a product of the home that had made Morpheus who he was as well.

“I hope you’re not seriously thinking I would,” Hob replied, finding that he was rather thankful for someone to chat with to calm his nerves. The last time he’d gotten married was… not like this, not some Vogue photoshoot with the veneer of a ceremony attached. Hopefully he and Morpheus could find some space for themselves within the craziness of it all.

Epithumia rolled their eyes. “No, but the ceremony structure doesn’t have a place for me to swoon and shout that I object and am carrying your child, so I make do,” they said, drawing closer, “At this point I’m reasonably certain there’s no powers on heaven or earth that can convince you not to join our mess of a family.”

They drew their hands out of their pockets and held up a lapel pin; a filigree of gold in the shape of a rose. Not at all what Hob had been expecting, if he’d expected anything at all. Maybe it was poisoned. Epi moved to affix it to his lapel, froze with a confused look on their face for a moment.

“Leave it to my brother to find the one suit that doesn’t have a lapel buttonhole, dumbass,” they muttered, while pinning it in place anyway while Hob hoped dearly that there wouldn’t be a noticeable hole in the suit afterwards. He already felt like enough of a child playing dress-up considering the coat had a bloody sash-cape-thing over his shoulder. Although, having seen a few of the guests who were wearing the sort of royal attire he always rolled his eyes at, he only stood out for lack of medals and superfluous gold braid. It was entirely black and very matte as to contrast the hanging sateen sash; Morpheus had explained the designer’s intentions while they lay in bed a few nights ago but they both knew he wasn’t really listening. It looked good, he could give his soon-to-be husband that, though Hob would never admit to how long he looked at himself in the mirror this morning after getting ready - thinking for the first time that he was, actually, very much in Morpheus’s league. Now his monochrome outfit was broken up by a dash of gold at his lapel, and the stick pin’s bottom was capped in red enamel rather than matching metal. With all the bouquets of red roses overflowing the castle, it was well in keeping with the theme.

“There’s your something old and something borrowed in one. I figured if I offered either of you something blue, Morpheus would end my life,” Epi said, patting Hob on the shoulder none too gently, “Congratulations; don’t fuck it up.”

Without waiting for a reply, they slunk back out of the portico toward the gardens to make a late entrance as a guest so that all eyes were on them on their way to take a seat in the front row. Well, as far as wedding drama went, that was hardly on the scale of notice. The faint noise of music from the string quartet grew louder and flowed from simple background noise to the more discernible strains of a piece by Liszt that was one of Hob’s favourites. Morpheus had chosen all of the music as he had his fingers in everything as far as wedding planning was concerned, but he had done his best to ensure that Hob was equally represented, his tastes taken into account even if he wasn’t exactly consulted. Well, that was his cue. The prim women with the earpiece nodded to herself, or someone Hob couldn’t hear, and gestured out toward the garden. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath to push away his remaining jitters.

Having every aspect of their wedding be so vastly different from how his first had gone down was likely incidental given the circumstances, but Hob was thankful for it nonetheless. At first he’d feared that strange sense of deja vu he’d had recently or worse, flashbacks, but the days preceding the wedding had given him nothing of the sort - only a steadily growing sense of certainty that he was doing the right thing no matter the gossip, or Morpheus’s parents, or the quiet, hinted caution from friends about rushing in to the first real relationship he’d had since Eleanor. They weren’t him, they weren’t privy to what Morpheus was like when it was just the two of them; his quiet support of everything Hob did, gentle care couched in biting words… that and he didn’t know any of his colleagues’ spouses who had not only read all of their dry published works but was happy to listen to them rant endlessly about it. That Morpheus preferred to hear those rants snuggled close on the sofa with Hob rubbing his back was irrelevant, but well-deserved for his attention.

That train of thought could wait, for now he needed to run his lines in his head like a mantra or else he was apt to forget them, having agonised over it for weeks and made a few quick edits this very morning. Morpheus knew how he felt, that was never in doubt, but he wanted no, needed, everyone here, everyone who had politely watched him walk to the archway of roses to see him as he saw him; beautiful and talented, yes, but also whole and good and kind behind the many walls that he had built.

Any flailing attempt to keep his mind on his vows failed and fled the moment Morpheus stepped out from the shadowed portico to join him, visibly blanching at the sight of everyone waiting - subtle though, few others would have noticed it even were they looking. The music shifted, flowing easily from the tail end of the Liszt piece to something by Schubert as he walked with stoic confidence toward a captivated Hob, the heavily embroidered cape flowing slightly in the low breeze, hints of gold twinkling in the heavy black brocade.

The silence of the crowd gave him pause for a moment, but Morpheus did his best to ignore them, his gaze fixed on Hob and the enraptured look on his face which gave him the fortitude needed to close the distance. His hands were shaking, so many eyes on him, but he wouldn’t look. Couldn’t. Eyes on the prize he wanted more than anything, even if in truth he already had it and this was merely symbolism. He raised his right hand when he reached the halfway mark and let out a sharp whistle, gratified by the sound of rustling wings a few seconds later, then the familiar comforting weight of Jessamy landing on his shoulder. They had practised this, although not with an audience, and he felt a rush of relief at her part going off without a hitch so that he didn’t look like an idiot. Morpheus was certain that somewhere deep inside her little food-oriented brain, she had a measure of understanding that she was the cause of all of this, her being lost had won them both a friend and him a husband. He reached up across to his left shoulder to pet her in a gesture that was long since second nature as he took his place facing his soon to be husband.

“Show off,” Hob whispered, barely mouthing the words, and Morpheus felt himself relax minutely, having spent the morning convincing himself over and over again that this was real.

“She has the rings, it was very necessary,” Morpheus replied equally softly as he reached to take Hob’s hands in his; that wasn’t part of the script yet but he needed the reassurance. Jessamy croaked in tacit agreement, bobbing her head. She wasn’t wearing her harness, but she did have a little black silk ribbon hanging about her breast with their rings threaded on it. Hob had the same that he had been wearing, now with an inscription of Morpheus’s devising, a poem that he had yet to put to paper. His own was another slim ring of meteor metal to match the original band Hob had meant to propose with before he beat him to it, but this time holding a small ruby flanked by black diamonds - he was nothing if not predictable.

Their officiant gave them a moment before stepping up from behind into the centre of the rose archway that framed them, breaking up what had become a very loving, yet brief, staring contest. The call and answer of traditional vows was easy, far less personal, less opening himself up in front of everything, but still earnest. In sickness and health, to cherish and care for all the days of their lives. Yes, yes, all of that and so much more. There was no ‘til death do us part’, at Hob’s request, to which Morpheus had quipped that it would take far more than that to be free of him. Hob had kissed him very thoroughly in response and whispered ‘Good, I’m counting on it.’ His gaze flickered down to Hob’s lips with that thought for just long enough to be noted, and for Hob to wink cheekily at him. His own smile was a little shaky as Hob squeezed his hands in reassurance before he spoke.

“Watching you change and grow over the past year has been the greatest adventure of my life, I am honoured that you would share it with me, and share yourself with me, now and forever,” he began quietly. There was a microphone hidden somewhere that no doubt would pick up their words enough to be heard by those assembled, but these promises were not for legality or a crowd, they were only for each other and spoken as such. “You soothe my pains and uplift my spirit by your very presence, you brought meaning to a life lived by rote and made me dream of so much more. Where you go I will follow, for all of my days, ready for our next adventure.”

The quickly forgotten officiant handed Hob his ring, which Jessamy was quite happy to no longer be carrying, for him to slip onto Morpheus’s gloved finger. The ruby glinted in the early golden hour light, showing its depths and the dark flecks of inclusion in the stone that seemed to swallow up the light. A natural stone always came with imperfections, an intrinsic part of their makeup, which Morpheus found suited him very well indeed. If people could love gems for their flaws rather in spite of him, perhaps it could make sense what value Hob saw in him. Slowly his vision blurred and he struggled to blink away the tears; not here, not now, not until he’d said what he needed to say. He took a few deep, calming breaths and kept his gaze on their clasped hands.
“I’ve learned from you the value in small victories, the joy in living well, the knowledge that my words are heard and needs are honoured, that these are not something that need be earned, it is something I am given freely with both hands from one who sees the heart of me,” Morpheus said, barely above a whisper, “Before you I flew on broken wings, filled with pain and no great distance. You have healed wounds that had no other cure and urged me to fly free, but we will always have each other in our time of need.”

Morpheus felt himself floating in such an euphoric fugue state that he hadn’t the slightest idea how he managed to get the ring back on Hob’s hand, only that he had, and that his husband’s warm hand was on his cheek, drawing him in. His husband’s lips were on his and that was enough to ground him as he returned the gesture, cupping the back of Hob’s neck and holding him close even after they parted, their foreheads tipped together as he tried to calm his frantic heart. The rushing noise in his ears was nearly enough to drown out the applause of the crowd that rose around them, a reminder that they were not alone even if the world had existed of merely the two of them for the moments of their vows. Hob smiled softly and brushed Morpheus’s cheekbone lightly with his thumb as he pulled back, turning to face their guests who now stood waiting, their applause and a few cheers (from Hob’s contingent) having faded away and the quartet taking the fore once more.

When Morpheus hesitated upon seeing all eyes on him, Hob quickly decided to forgo holding hands for an arm around his husband’s waist instead. “Apologies for ruining your dramatic exit,” he whispered, barely to be heard from the murmur of their guests as they passed back up the petal-strewn red carpet toward the castle.

“I would far rather have your arm than a swaying cloak,” Morpheus murmured, once they were in the hushed entry hall, alone but for a handful of staff ready to coordinate the next phase of the festivities; photos for them, cocktails for the rest, then a wardrobe change before supper. As lovely as both their outfits were, they were hardly practical for a party. He ran his lace-gloved fingertips up and down the cool pleated silk of the sash over Hob’s shoulder and smiled slightly to himself, pleased that Hob had yet to let him go. Their coordinator was lurking, letting them have their moment for as long as they needed. As long as he needed, at least, and as long as Hob was willing to indulge him, which was endless. Jessamy took the opportunity in their closeness to hop over to Hob’s shoulders, croaking and ruffling her feathers indignantly at the lack of attention paid to her after having successfully completed her trick - her rewards in practice had been extensive to ensure good behaviour on the day.

“Do you think they’d notice if we-” Morpheus began, cut off by Hob pressing a finger to his lips.

“They absolutely would, do not tempt me,” Hob chuckled, “and no, that’s not what our costume change is for either.”

“Not even for your husband?” Morpheus asked, tilting his head slightly to the side and giving Hob an imperious look.

Hob raised an eyebrow at him, but was doing his best not to grin like an idiot. “My husband wants his Vanity Fair spread,” he said quietly, squeezing Morpheus’s waist teasingly, “More than he actually wants his legs spread, so let's try to keep it contained for a few more hours.”

That managed to startle a harsh laugh out of him, and Morpheus could only imagine how badly his cheeks were turning red, not only at the implication but the immediate cadre of mental images Hob’s words spawned. He hadn’t expected a week of celibacy to be as difficult as it had been, but still Hob was right. As always. His laughter had convinced the staff that it was safe to approach them, whatever intimate post-ceremony moment they had was over for the time being and they would have to shoot quickly before they lost the light and were relegated to indoor photos only. Not that it would be a travesty, given how every available surface held flowers or candles or some combination of the two. They might not be a standard fairytale, but they were surrounded by all the trappings of one.

Photos were a surprisingly swift affair, as it was merely the two of them. There had been no wedding party and whatever strange truce Morpheus and his parents had managed, it only extended to a token family photo in the grand foyer to later be painted and join the hallowed ranks of dozens of others dating back centuries. Hob had been thinking of their wedding in personal terms, what it meant to him, how his life had changed so drastically in so short a period of time, and how it would continue to change now that he was officially and legally a part of this ancient family. That they represented anything beyond their own devotion was a concept brought home to him only by Morpheus’s occasional musings, and his insistence on going through with everything despite all the sleepless nights and little breakdowns it had caused him. There were portraits hanging in the library and through the halls of the lords of this place, dating back to the 1200s, all of them a lord and his wife. Theirs would be the first to feature a lord and his husband, but hopefully not the last, either here or in many other hallowed halls around the world.

They finished shooting indoors, in the library that had been Morpheus’s place of comfort in childhood, and the place he had been most eager to show Hob upon their arrival. Dark wooden shelves, smoothed by age and many hands rose high beside narrow windows whose shafts of light landed upon plush chairs in the daylight hours but were now showing slivers of darkening sky and the first lights of stars. More so even than the home he’d created for himself in London, this place epitomised Morpheus as a person; surrounded by words and stories and artistry.

“I feel a bit like Belle,” Hob said dryly as they sat in two deep green upholstered chairs beneath a fantastical tapestry to relax for a moment. All the formal shots were done, one photographer would be following them about for candids all evening along with two heavily-vetted press photographers. “Only kissing the prince wasn’t a disappointment.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow at him. “We certainly do not have the time to unpack that statement,” he replied, “Possibly not ever. Still I would consider myself more beast than prince, as a whole.”

“Hmmm, no comment.”

“Is the real reason you wanted a first dance so that you could weasel in ‘Tale As Old As Time’ to complete the look?”

“If you must know, I was thinking Shostakovich because I do take your tastes into account,” Hob said with a sigh as he pulled himself up out of the low chair, then offered Morpheus a helping hand, which he took gratefully and did not let go once he was standing. “We should go change.”

“We should.”

Neither of them moved until Hob gave in to the tension and kissed him, softly at first, exploratory, as they fell back into each other’s arms after days away and all the stress that had gone into the ceremony, delightful as it was. Morpheus settled his hands on Hob’s waist and pulled them flush, feeling the warm weight of his husband’s body leaning against him, solid and strong for him when he needed to be weak. They broke their kiss and Morpheus rested his cheek against Hob’s shoulder, shifting to slip his arms around his waist. They had places to be, obligations still to meet even if they were of the more fun sort, but he wanted this moment to carry on forever, surrounded by the scent of old books and his husband’s cologne. Hob sighed contentedly and rubbed his hand up and down Morpheus’s back beneath his cape as he melted into him. Stolen moments were always the sweetest.

Eventually, Morpheus tipped his head back to meet Hob’s eyes. “Now we truly should go, before Epi starts spreading any truly heinous rumours about what we’re doing,” he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hob laughed and stole one more quick kiss before following him out of the room. Knowing this was where they would end up, their coordinator and stylist had worked together to ensure they wouldn’t have to go far, or back to the family wing, to dress for the reception. A small nearby antechamber had been requisitioned for their use; one of a dozen small studies or parlours that were night indistinguishable from each other. Their reception outfits were hanging on a small clothing rack whose modern appearance was extremely incongruous with the rest of the decor. On a small table in the midst of the room sat a silver tray with two slim flutes of champagne and a plate of the hors d'oeuvres their guests had been indulging in for the last hour without them.

“Oh, I was busy kissing you and there was food this whole time,” Hob said delightedly, only to be elbowed sharply in the ribs by his husband as they finally released each other to change and relax a moment, and avail themselves of food in Hob’s case.

His outfit for the ceremony had been chosen not only for the aesthetic, but to envelope him like armour against the myriad eyes fixed on him for the duration. While the reception too was for them, it wasn’t so much about them. After a toast from his sister and one of Hob’s dearest friends, everyone could focus on themselves - a task that most of their formidable guest list was well-prepared to manage. His reception suit was slimmer and far less ostentatious, for all that the black fabric had been printed with the magnified image of an orchid, all in red. He had seen it while browsing all of the many options offered to them once their wedding had been announced and decided that he simply must have it. Even so, looking at himself in the mirror after dressing he felt small and nearly considered putting the cape back on over it.

Hob sidled up behind him, dressed in the trousers and tight black shirt that went with his new outfit, but not the coat as of yet, and pulled him back to lean against him.

“Beautiful.”

“You are now legally required to say that, so it has lost a bit of weight.”

“Am I? Wasn’t in the vows, far as I recall,” Hob replied, grinning at their reflections in the mirror, “Must have been right next to the bit about how I now have to wear sparkles.”

“I would call it more of a shimmer, and it suits you. If we’re both to wear black then it must be spiced up somehow,” Morpheus said, twisting his head to the side so as to press a kiss to Hob’s jaw, “Unless you don’t like it…”

“The time to comment if I did was days ago. I wouldn’t be wearing it if I didn’t like it, or at least like seeing how you’d gussy me up if it were entirely up to you.”

“I want others to see you how I see you.”

“And shimmers help?” Hob teased.

“The way your jacket catches the light will draw their eyes from me to you, and they will appreciate how handsome you are when you’re in love,” Morpheus replied, resting his hands over Hob’s where they were clasped around his waist for a moment before freeing himself of the loose embrace so they could leave - Hob after acquiring his coat, that was.

Their arrival would signal the end of the cocktail hour and the start of dinner, so they couldn’t simply go waltzing in unannounced. Instead they waited in the dimly lit passageway where staff bustled past with trays of champagne flutes and the many delightful concoction the kitchens had made up, many of which catered to Morpheus’s picky nature. Those trays garnished in red were safe for him to eat and the gold were not, and the plethora of a la carté treats and desserts would continue throughout the night, as he wasn’t a proponent of large, sit-down meals especially when being watched, so he didn’t think he’d eat much.

“There you are! Almost about to send out a search party,” Dee said cheerily, hurrying toward them with her arms spread in welcome, champagne in one hand and Jessamy perched happily on her shoulder awaiting their return. She hugged first Hob, who returned the gesture, and Morpheus who did not but was not expected to. Jessamy jumped ship to Hob once more and continued her ongoing assault on the elastic tie holding his hair back, determined to add it to her collection of trinkets as if her life depended on it. He swatted her away gently, immune to her indignant squawks.

“I have a gift for you little brother, and I wanted to give it to you before your grand entrance, You wait right here, close your eyes,” she said, tapping him on the nose with her forefinger, which made him grimace and Hob chuckle. “No peeking!”

Morpheus watched her disappear down the hall to one of the many side rooms before diligently closing his eyes, and maybe letting his mind wander a little bit. No matter how much he desperately wanted to be present today, to remember every second of it, he was verging on overwhelmed despite their stolen moments and the fact that the loud, exuberant part of the night had yet to even begin. Going away for a little while in his mind was incredibly tempting, and increasingly difficult to avoid. Hob’s steadying hand on the small of his back made him realise he’d been swaying slightly. The sharp tap of high heels on the stone floor alerted him to Dee’s return. She stopped right in front of him and waited a long moment before ordering him to open his eyes.

Dee was grinning broadly at him and nearly bouncing with excitement, much to the chagrin of the large raven that was clasping onto the leather wrist cuff she now wore for dear life. Morpheus merely blinked at her for a moment, stunned. Whatever he had been expecting, this was not it.

“Corvus Corax Principalis,” he whispered, reaching out tentatively to the bird although he knew without a doubt that he must be friendly to put up with Dee’s excitability, and in the back of his mind he realised that Hob must have known, having had absolutely no reaction.

“Yes,” Dee replied, “But he prefers Matthew.”

“He’s beautiful. How… when?”

Dee just laughed and raised her free hand to Hob’s shoulder to take Jessamy and exchange him with the larger raven, who seemed to like Hob quite a lot, from his body language. How long had they been hiding this from him? Jessamy ruffled her feathers and croaked at Dee.

“Fine, fine, back to your dad then, christ,” she said, and Morpheus whistled her recall command to summon her back to his shoulder. He’d need her for the night ahead, of that he was certain. She was the one guest who wouldn’t get to relax, although now it appeared she had a date for the evening.

“I thought Jessamy deserved her own happily ever after,” Dee said by way of explanation, winking at her brother, “Don’t mind me playing matchmaker.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Morpheus replied, his attention fixed entirely on the raven who seemed very comfortable and ready to nap on Hob’s shoulder. Carefully he reached up to touch him again, stroking the silken black feathers with awestruck gentleness. “You two are… exceedingly devious.”

“Thanks,” Hob said, immediately gratified when Matthew croaked throatily at Dee for smacking his shoulder. “Now we’re ready for the grand entrance, I think.”

Chapter Text

Most of Morpheus's fears surrounding the wedding were about the ceremony going poorly, him breaking down when faced with a crowd focused on him alone, not his work, or a group of people. Second was the wedding photos, afraid he wouldn't be able to keep it together, and last was the formal supper. Eating in front of people still made him uncomfortable, but the kitchen staff had long since begun to appreciate him for his quiet politeness among the barrage of poor behaviour that was most of the rest of the family. Now with supper finished, cocktails and finger food back on offer, and many of the guests getting up and socialising, all tasks were finished and duties seen to. They had gotten up, Morpheus holding Hob's hand very title, to chat with some of their guests - or, Hob chatted and Morpheus smiled politely and very occasionally interjected some tidbit of information Hob lacked. Most of the Aeternus family side of the guest list was a mystery to him, although there were enough people with tiaras or extravagant medals on their chests to pick out who was some flavour of noble or royalty.

Hob was more pleased than he likely should have been that Morpheus relaxed more with his friends, even sitting down at a table of his academic colleagues and laughing softly at their jokes. Although at this point in the night that could be the champagne. While Hob hadn't seen his glass empty at any point, he was reasonably certain that was because one of the serving staff had surreptitiously swapped it out the moment it got low. His cheeks were red, giving him a little much needed colour, and Hob thought not for the first time that day how beautiful he was.

Morpheus squeezed Hob's shoulder when he saw him staring, and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek before getting up and melting back into the crowd toward their table. Jessamy and Matthew were perched comfortably on the back of the chairs at their table, staunchly ignoring the spectacle and secured by their little ankle leashes just in case someone startled them. The ballroom opened up onto multiple balconies and the slightly cooling summer night air, and it wouldn't do to test that recall.

Epithumia slid into Morpheus's vacated seat, a brilliant grin splitting their face, clearly just as tipsy as Morpheus if not more. "You all seem like the correct crowd for my proposition," they said cheerily.

Hob raised an eyebrow. "Probably not."

Epi shoved his shoulder teasingly. "You're worse than my brother. Anyway, as I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted," they said primly, "For those of you that are less string quartet and a bit more DJ, at eleven we're saying our goodbyes to the posh crowd and going to the great hall for a more serious sort of party. You're all invited, ta!" With that they hopped back up, giving a jaunt salute with their glass, and sauntered off to another table likely to give the same message.

"Oooh an afterparty," one of Hob's friends said dryly, and he couldn't tell if Will was seriously interested or just trying to tease him.

"Some of my new in-laws have a mild understanding of how normal people live," Hob replied, checking his watch to see what the time was, "and subsequently, party. Although, everyone mixed a bit better than expected, actually."

He cast his gaze over the room; some people were dancing to the now more upbeat classical music but most were lounging at various tables they hadn't started off the night at - a few of his academic friends moving over to the Aeternus side of things, and the younger posh crowd being a bit too loud with his other friends. Weddings were the great equaliser, apparently. Morpheus had explained it as how at events like this everyone was presumed to be 'safe', that no embarrassing footage would make it to social media, that no one was going to act strange and starstruck by any celebrities. The social contract was different, and everyone could relax. Except Morpheus, apparently, who… wasn't with the birds, or his sister.

Immediately Hob's heart dropped as he scanned the crowd. Morpheus stood out wherever he was, and he wasn't here. God damn it.

"Hey, I'll… be right back," Hob said, pushing back his chair as he excused himself. Now where would he go? Not far, probably, especially if he'd gotten upset. Not out in the halls, they were also filled with people albeit a bit more staff than guest. He hadn't been gone long enough to get upstairs. Outside, then.

Warm light spilled out onto the balconies through each archway, leaving broad swathes of shadow between them and on either ends where the balcony tapered away into the stone wall of the castle itself. Morpheus stood in one of those corners leaning on the balustrade, arms folded on the wide stone as he stared out over the gardens. Despite the twinkling lights and lanterns strung through them, from this height the figures of those wandering about were barely distinguishable. He didn't look up as Hob approached, pale face bearing a pinched expression. As he came closer, Hob could see the tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw.

"Hey," Hob said as he took up position next to him, leaning on the stone, "Too loud?"

"Too much," Morpheus replied quietly, unmoving but glancing toward Hob with his eyes, and Hob could more feel than see the sharp lines of his body begin to relax.

Out here the murmur of the crowd was lessened to a distant hum that settled into the background, dominated a little more by the proximity of the string quartet whose quiet strains carried out over the garden. No wonder Morpheus had come out here. That he looked in control of himself was a relief, as well as giving Hob an intense sense of pride which he knew better than to articulate lest his husband feel patronised. Morpheus would rather that his improvement be unremarked upon yet understood and accommodated.

"I could use a quiet moment with you anyway," Hob said softly, "It hasn't entirely sunk in yet."

"What, that you're stuck with me?"

"Something like that," Hob replied, smiling a little. There was an amused lilt to Morpheus's tone rather than the cool self-deprecation that often marked his teasing. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I know, you're an idiot."

"Well, you married me," Hob said and bumped his shoulder into Morpheus, "Not my fault you have shit taste in men."

"That is how I got here, in a roundabout way," Morpheus murmured, "Which seems quite surreal and very far away. The last ten years were worth it, I think, to bring me here. If we'd met in any other time, by any other circumstance, I don't think it would have worked out."

"Probably not," Hob agreed, "But if I could change anything, I'd give you less pain."

"I wouldn't," Morpheus said, shaking his head, "I mean… It would be better, but I don't think I'd be better. I'd be a right bastard, like I used to be, and if I ever stumbled into your pub I'd have thought of you as the help, and I hate the idea of that."

Hob sighed and shifted to wrap his arm around his husband's narrow waist, hoping the proximity would help shake him out of this train of thought before they spiralled anywhere darker. While he understood what Morpheus was saying and why he might want to justify his suffering, it unnerved him a little and he didn't know what to say. So instead, when Morpheus leaned into him, Hob pulled him back from the bannister and into a proper hug which his husband warmed to immediately by resting his head on Hob's shoulder, slumping against him.

"I like to think I'd have won you over with my charm and animal magnetism," he teased, which made Morpheus huff. Almost a laugh. Good.

"Maybe."

"Definitely," Hob said, giving him a little squeeze, "What matters though is you're happy now, so am I, and we're happy together. This isn't where either of us thought our lives would go, but I'm glad we made it."

"So am I, and I meant what I said, during the ceremony."

"God, I hope so."

That got an honest to god chuckle out of Morpheus, so Hob figured they were both ready to relax a bit. He reached up to stroke his new husband's hair, which had begun to return to its normal chaotic state thanks both to Jessamy preening him and how Morpheus ran his hand through it like a nervous tick the more inebriated he became.

"I mean that…. You'll have me on those adventures, when you figure out what they are. I want to keep trying new things, and I think I can with you," Morpheus said as he drew back slightly to meet Hob's eyes. He still looked a little drunk, glassy-eyed but earnest, "I thought I might… I might write a book, about everything, and set the record straight."

Now was not the time to unpack that statement, so Hob just nodded. "I think we should start with an adventure more like a bit of a honeymoon, hm? We both need to go somewhere quiet and work on the books we've been ignoring deadlines for," he said, "Then you can think about other books, but tonight I want you to just be thinking about us, alright? No shadows of the past."

Morpheus nodded solemnly in the way only a drunk person can, and Hob leaned in to steal a soft kiss. Their duties were over, no one would be looking for them, and they deserved a little time to themselves. He took Morpheus by the hand and guided him further into the shadows of the high castle walls and had to let him go a moment to reach into the breast pocket of his jacket for his mobile.

"Hob! Did you have that bloody thing with you the whole time?" Morpheus asked, aghast.

"...Yes, but it was turned off," Hob said, watching the screen as it came back to life, "Bear with me here, love."

While Morpheus glared at him, Hob pulled up his music and the song he had saved just for off-chance he'd find a moment his husband couldn't object to. Or at least, hopefully wouldn't. He set the phone down on the broad stone ledge of the bannister and grabbed Morpheus by the waist as the music began to play, a soft violin opening before a woman's breathy voice began to sing; Wise men say only fools rush in… Morpheus shook his head, but didn't resist as Hob grabbed his hand and rested it on his shoulder, pulling him close to gently rock in a slow dance, staying in the shadow of the corner and far from prying eyes.

"It's only us," Hob whispered when Morpheus turned his head to look over his shoulder briefly, "Look at me. We're all that matters."

Morpheus nodded tightly, leaning in toward Hob as they slowly turned around the balcony until his head was resting on Hob's shoulder again by the time the last strains of the song faded away and they had moved fully into the shadows. They stayed in that embrace for several long minutes before Hob realised Morpheus's shoulders were shaking slightly with each breath. He made a shushing noise and stroked his hair again.

"Happy tears?" he asked quietly, and Morpheus nodded the affirmative, his face tucked against Hob's neck.

Hob clasped his hands together at the small of Morpheus's back and leaned against the bannister, letting his partner slump against him until he had regained his composure a few minutes later. Still neither of them pulled away, Morpheus just took a deep, shivering breath and let it out slowly as he began to relax. A sea of emotions was always very difficult for him, even when they were good ones, and Hob had been prepared for so much more than this.

"Such a predictable song," Morpheus said eventually, the haughty tone of it ruined a little by the remnants of tears in his voice. He sniffled and lost any credibility for his distaste.

Hob softly laughed and looked skyward in exasperation. "Well, if we'd have done it inside with the musicians I would have requested Shostakovich's second waltz from the jazz suite, which I'm sure you would also deem a plebeian choice. I pick my battles, love," Hob replied, then quietly added; "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, I ruined it," Morpheus said, pulling back a bit and placing one hand on Hob's chest, "But I'm glad you're happy."

"Mmmhm, happy spouse, happy house and all that," Hob said, grinning down at him.

"Never say that again," Morpheus groused, but he was smiling ever so slightly, his melancholy mood banished for the moment likely both by the distraction and beginning to sober up a little.

"You know Epi planned a whole afterparty?"

Morpheus nodded. "Pretty normal actually, not everything is posh. I don't intend to go, I do believe we can occupy ourselves better elsewhere," he replied, idly petting the metallic fabric of Hob's lapel, "This was what you wanted, I do believe it's my turn."

"Ideally what we both want, but yes, point taken," Hob replied teasingly, "But this is nice for a while, get away from all the noise."

"No need to pander to me."

"Hey now, I'm allowed to want some peace and quiet too. Dee is taking the birds with her tonight, so we can sneak away whenever you're ready," Hob said, "Unless there's some sort of grand royal exit I'm unaware of on the schedule."

Morpheus grimaced in distaste and turned away to look back out over the garden, keeping Hob in a one-armed embrace. "No, nothing of the sort, and I think I would like to leave now," he said after a moment, "Let them party on, I've had my fill."

"And made your points?"

"Yes."

He didn't seem apt to elaborate at the moment, his gaze a little unfocused again but not so much that Hob was worried. Things could be too much for him to handle but not direly so, if the last few months had taught them anything it was the exact extent of Morpheus's limits, socially and emotionally, but today wasn't about pushing those limits. It hadn't been so far, and Hob would prefer to end the night without reaching them.

Sneaking out of the party proved simple enough, moving from balcony to hallway, skirting most of the grand hall entirely, and slipping away to back hallways at Morpheus's guidance. There were shortcuts and then there were servants' back routes, and despite not having properly lived there in decades, Morpheus remembered all of them. He might not know what day it was much of the time but for all those old memories, he had a near-eidetic recall.

Removed from the noise and bustle of the main floors, Morpheus stood a little straighter, immediately looking more relaxed, more himself, bearing that casual confidence that had been growing since they had first met. He caught Hob staring and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Hob said, reaching past him to push open the heavy door to their rooms, "You're easy on the eyes."

"I think I like 'gorgeous' better," Morpheus grumbled.

The lights were already on, turned low, and a bottle of champagne sat in a silver bucket on the end table of the sitting area within an array of dessert treats. Neither of them really needed more alcohol at this point, but it was a sweet gesture.

"Dee?" Hob asked, when Morpheus picked up the little card that had been standing up amidst the sweets.

Morpheus shook his head, and gestured vaguely towards the bedroom. He hadn't noticed it at first but a trail of rose petals led from where they stood through to the other room. "Definitely Epi, let's hope that's all there is," Morpheus replied as he bent down to take off his shoes, then he went to investigate. Hearing no exclamations of distaste, Hob assumed rightly that Epi hadn't left them anything weird, just more rose petals and unlit candles.

Hob sidled up behind his new husband to slip his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Morpheus's shoulder and smiling to himself. What a long, strange trip it had been to get where they now stood, and if someone had told him barely more than a year ago even a fraction of what was to come, he'd have called them mad. Now, it felt entirely natural, perfect, and right for Morpheus to lean back against him and sigh softly, tipping his face toward Hob to nuzzle at his cheek.

"I did consider your input," Morpheus said, a teasing lilt to his voice, "About the positions."

"Of course you did," Hob replied, after nearly choking on a laugh.

Morpheus squirmed around in his embrace and searched Hob's face with his piercing gaze in the way he had that made Hob feel almost too seen, but there was that familiar hint of worry on his face too that gave him pause for a moment rather than pushing his teasing any further. Of course Morpheus saw the question forming before he said it, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm fine," he said, before stealing a soft, almost tentative kiss, "Merely overwhelmed."

"You need a quiet moment?" Hob asked.

With a longsuffering sigh, Morpheus nodded, glancing away and down but they were so close in each other's embrace that it was hard to distance himself - and Hob was momentarily distracted by his new husband's eyelashes against the pale skin of his cheek, and the hint of eyeliner that was starting to smudge. Perfectly imperfect.

"Hey, none of that," Hob said, turning Morpheus's face back up toward his with a finger under his chin, "We have all night, love. All day tomorrow too, while we're at it. After the menace you've been this week, don't think I doubt your resolve."

Morpheus chuckled and Hob felt rather vindicated. Not a crisis, but averted nonetheless. "Sit down, close your eyes, breathe," Hob instructed, "I'll go clean up and give you a minute, and find matches for those candles."

He backed Morpheus up until he bumped into the edge of the bed and was forced to sit, then embraced him for a long moment, his husband's cheek pressed against his chest. His heart was beating a little fast with anticipation. For all that he'd spent the last week teasing Morpheus, he'd been more than a little hard up himself and there'd been a fine line between staring at how gorgeous his partner was and feeling the sudden urge to drag him off to one of the hidden passageways for dubious purposes. But in his own words; they had all night. He did look back at Morpheus from the doorway that led to the dressing room and bathroom beyond to see him leaned back on his elbows, not as tense as expected, and a softness to his face that wasn't quite a smile - yet also wasn't anything close to that blank look he got when he needed to go away in his head for a while. Yeah, they were going to be just fine.

Still, Hob took his time. They had plenty, after all, and it was very much in his own best interest to ensure Morpheus was relaxed enough to follow through with his consideration. It had mostly been a joke when he'd teased him, Hob had certainly never had any complaints about what form their sex life took, but from some of the looks Morpheus had given him over the past week he was pretty sure he'd struck a chord with him; thoughtfulness, to curiosity, to the sort of dedicated desire that made Hob shiver at the prospect.

When he returned to the bedroom, having exchanged his suit for a comfortable robe, the candles had already been lit and Morpheus was standing by the window, silhouetted by the not-quite darkness outside with a posture more relaxed than it had been ten minutes ago. He turned at Hob's approach, offering that shy and apologetic smile that signified he was feeling better now, more grounded, more himself. It was not Hob's favourite smile, especially after how often he'd seen Morpheus grinning with uncontained joy today. It was short lived in any case as Morpheus closed the distance between them and pulled him into a kiss, cool hands framing Hob's face, thumbs brushing softly over his cheekbones in contrast to the aggression of his lips and tongue. He stopped only when they were both panting and tipped his head forward to lean into Hob, the flush of his cheeks visible only for a moment before he was too close. Hob rested his hands on Morpheus's narrow waist and pulled him closer, pressing the length of their bodies together, and a thigh between his legs.

"You've created a monster," Morpheus murmured teasingly against Hob's lips, "With your denying me this week."

"More like a nightmare, I think," Hob replied, then tipped his head back to meet his husband's eyes, "and it was an agreement."

"Under duress."

Morpheus's hands were already busy untying the belt of Hob's bathrobe as he guided him back toward the bed, giving him a playful shove once it had slipped from his shoulders. The confidence with which he held himself, and demanded, and took was a far cry from how he had been a year ago, or even a handful of months. Each step in their relationship had made Morpheus braver, having sunk his claws in a bit deeper so that he feared the loss of what he had gained just that little bit less. There was no logic to it, they'd had that conversation many times, but for now that fear no longer lingered. All that sparked in his eyes now as he stood over the bed, stripping off his pretty suit to leave crumpled on the floor, was lust clouding the adoration that had been there since day one.

Hob moved back more comfortably onto the bed, making room for Morpheus who was on top of him in an instant. Even now, healthier as he was, he was made entirely of pale, sharp angles that the candlelight threw into stark relief and deep shadow. Hob's breath caught in his throat. Beautiful. No other word encompassed both his appearance and the grace he moved with when he was like this. He cast Hob into shadow when he leaned down and kissed him slowly, melting into him until they were pressed together from chest to hip, Morpheus propped up slightly on one elbow, holding some of his weight off his lover.

"I think you liked the duress," Hob remarked as he shifted beneath him, trying to manage a bit of friction for his cock that was now pressed tightly against Morpheus's thigh.

"Hmmm… don't do it again."

Morpheus punctuated his words with a sharp nip to the soft skin of Hob's throat, then another in response to the satisfied noise he'd made in turn - this time worrying the skin between his teeth until he knew it would leave a mark. Hob would return the favour before the end of the night, though he preferred they were left in secret places. With a week of abstinence behind them, the mark left on his inner thigh had faded into nothingness and he wanted it back.

"If it gets you this riled up, I think I might," Hob replied. He had one hand in Morpheus's hair, encouraging him to stay right where he was for a moment, and the other on his ass, pulling him into every slight rock of his hips.

Morpheus paused, breath hot against Hob's neck. "Do you want me to fuck you, or not?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"If you're into that," Morpheus replied, "I can."

"That might be taking it too far," Hob said with a breathless laugh, "Save it for next time."

Morpheus pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at Hob. His hair was a mess now so that he was much more his usual self, but with perhaps a bit more confidence in his bearing. Hob had the sudden thought that his new husband had been psyching himself up for this ever since he'd teased him about it, and that made a shiver of anticipation run through him, enough so for Morpheus to notice.

"Turn over," he said, rolling off of Hob and pulling him along with his command, which he followed happily. Morpheus was immediately back on top of him, straddling his legs and rubbing the heat of his erection against Hob's ass. He let out a breathy little noise and continued that motion for a moment until the slide of his cock against Hob's skin became comfortably slick with precome. As needy as Hob felt, he was in no mood to rush his partner, especially when he was relaxed enough to enjoy himself, to do something dominant for his own pleasure.

Eventually he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of Hob's neck. "You just look too tempting like this," he said, almost apologetically, and Hob could feel him smile against his skin before he leaned past him to the bedside table where lube was already sitting out beside a cadre of now lit candles. Best to not think about the fact that his new sibling-in-law had put it there.

Morpheus's hands still somehow felt cool against his overheated skin, not warming on par with the rest of him. Usually on the rare occasions that Hob wanted to ride his lover he was the one to prepare himself, no reason really save that Morpheus liked to watch, but that meant being slowly fingered open by him was a rarer occurrence still. Hob rose up slightly on his knees, pushing back against Morpheus's fingers when his husband continued to take it frustratingly slow. The wicked chuckle his movements got him proved that it wasn't some overabundance of caution but that Morpheus was very much enjoying himself. Hob looked over his shoulder as best he could to see his lover stroking himself lightly with his off hand as he fingered him open. Morpheus locked eyes with him and smirked, pressing a third finger into Hob as he watched his expression, clearly delighted with what he saw there and with the low noise Hob made as he spread his fingers and drew them out over and over. By now he was more than ready, but Hob was past the point of complaining - he reached beneath himself to grab his cock, desperate for a little more of something, anything, but Morpheus grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the bed, ignoring Hob's noise of complaint.

Immediately Morpheus replaced his fingers with the head of his cock pressing at the entrance of Hob's body, leaning into him as Hob pushed eagerly back to take him. He slid halfway in, moaning softly at how his lover clenched around him then paused, releasing Hob's wrist so he could grab onto his hips with both hands. Slowly he began to move in short, shallow thrusts while pulling Hob back into him until he was settled fully inside him. Morpheus slid his hands up Hob's sides, feeling his heaving breaths as he relaxed into the feeling of being penetrated. He waited, stroking over Hob's sweaty skin until he felt him melting beneath him, spine arching as he pushed insistently back against Morpheus. Normally when they did this, Hob rode him and took what he wanted rather than waiting on Morpheus to move. That he was in control now struck him as both amusing and overwhelmingly arousing all at once, and he rested his hands on Hob's waist as he pulled out slightly and snapped his hips forward again to feel Hob's body respond so needily to him.

There was no more control to be had after that, not with Hob gasping endearments for him and after a week of abstinence. He was not frantic by any means but aggressive in his neediness, pulling Hob's hips back to meet every thrust as he inexorably chased after his end. Hob gripped the bedcovers tightly, trying to find some leverage to steady himself, to push back and take in turn. Unlike Morpheus he wasn't used to this, unable or unlikely to find his orgasm from penetration alone no matter he much he wanted this. His aching cock bobbed between his legs with every thrust but he hadn't the coherency or coordination to bring himself off, he was too focused on Morpheus's body pressed against him, his cock gliding in and out of him faster and faster, and wanting this to go on far longer than it would.

Morpheus had lost himself in the cloying heat of Hob's body, his thrusts becoming faster and harder until he was nearly out of breath. Messy strands of hair were stuck to his forehead and his hands slipped on Hob's sweat-slick skin as he chased his end. A few more rough thrusts and he stilled as he came, thighs trembling with the force of his orgasm and it was all he could do not to collapse on top of Hob. Instead he let go of him, propping himself up on one hand as he caught his breath and began to come down, still rocking his hips slightly to draw out the dregs of his pleasure until his cock softened enough to slip from his lover's body. His lover who still needed to come; but he had planned for that, he just… needed a moment to breathe.

Wordlessly he tugged at Hob for him to roll over which he did gladly, splaying out in a comfortably well-fucked sprawl and clearly trusting that he'd get what he needed. Neither of them had ever gone to bed unsatisfied and tonight certainly would not be the time to start. Morpheus leaned over to kiss him; it was messy and breathless with how they were both still panting, but still perfect, until Morpheus pulled away to kiss his way down the length of Hob's body with obvious intent. His cock was flushed red and steadily leaking against his belly where it lay, and Hob groaned deeply when Morpheus licked up the length of it to suckle at the tip. He'd been closer than he'd normally get from being fucked and he wouldn't last long, not with the heat of his husband's mouth and his wickedly skillful tongue.

Morpheus stroked Hob's cock slow and tightly while he teased the head of it with his tongue, rarely dipping his head any lower even though Hob whined and thrust up into his grip. His spare hand stroked over his lover's quivering thighs lightly, then scratching with his nails at the soft skin before gentling again. After how many times he had done this for his lover he could tell when Hob was getting close from the way his breath hitched, and he slid three fingers back inside of Hob where he was slick with the come dripping out of him now and rubbed incessantly at his prostate. Gasping sharply, Hob thrust up into his mouth and this time Morpheus let him, bearing down as well to swallow him deeply as he finished. He nearly choked as he swallowed around him, guided by Hob's hand twined in his hair to keep him there, his grip tight as he pushed up into the pleasure of Morpheus's mouth then loosening as he relaxed back into the bed, allowing his lover to pull up enough to breath. He waited until he knew Hob was edging away from pleasure into overstimulation before he pulled off of him completely, and stopped teasing with his fingers.

Slowly, Morpheus moved to lie beside him, limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated. As much as he felt he'd like to fall asleep now, pleasured and content, a not insignificant part of him wanted more. That he was half-hard again from sucking Hob off was definitely a factor. He threw one leg across Hob's so he could rub himself against his lover's thigh, letting out a soft sigh at the feeling. Hob gave a throaty laugh in return and nuzzled against Morpheus's cheek.

"Insatiable," he said huskily, pressing a kiss to Morpheus's jaw.

"Something like that," Morpheus replied, "You've given me a new… lust for life, let's say."

"Or just lust."

Morpheus huffed but said nothing, just pulled Hob closer and buried his face in his husband's neck. He wasn't setting aside his arousal, but they had all night and the day beyond for that, and more than anything Hob had instilled in him an appreciation for the quiet moments, what it meant to have someone to simply exist with. They stayed as they were exchanging soft touches and casual kisses until a few of the candles began to sputter and die in the liquid wax they'd burned down in, and the sweat had dried on their skin enough for Morpheus to shiver. Hob would warm him up soon enough, he always did.