( continues...) fantasies. We work with impulses and instincts. We craft hope and fear. We should be - friends. I would have it so.”
Desire is not a prey to impulses or instincts. Desire shapes them. Desire is master-mistress of all cravings and compulsions, not slave to them. And yet. And yet.
“What if I have no wish to be your - friend, elder brother?”
“That is your prerogative.”
Dream smiles. He seems almost mesmerised by the slide of skin on skin, and it occurs to Desire then that old as he is, in this aspect Dream is still, in some sense, a virgin. The thought makes Desire’s throat tighten almost painfully. Around them the low rumble of the Threshold’s heartbeat is speeding up.
“So very beautiful,” murmurs Dream again, in wonder, and Desire shivers as Dream’s hand slides higher. Almost Desire suspects that Dream is not conscious of what he does, is simply exploring the shift in textures as he might explore the surface of the silk robe itself. It is the easiest thing in the world to let Dream continue, and so Desire allows it, out of curiosity as much as hunger. Certainly Desire cannot be trembling out of any kind of unsatisfied craving.
It is the first time that Desire has kissed Dream; although, if truth be told (as certainly it never shall be), it is not the first time that Desire has thought about doing so. The Endless have no need of sleep, but possibly there may have been one or two times when Desire decided to indulge – for Desire is all about indulgence, after all. And if, on those occasions, Desire had dreams in which Morpheus had abandoned certain poses of propriety and restraint – well, there is nobody alive who remembers them, now. Nobody but Desire.
Dream’s face is open and oddly soft when they break apart. Shocked. Fragile. A fledgling fallen from its nest, not yet knowing whether anything has been irreparably broken. His lower lip, which Desire has bitten very hard, is glossy and slightly swollen.
“This – I did not expect this,” he says, and there is something startled and helpless in his voice which makes Desire smile darkly. “I thought only to speak – I thought – I.” Desire darts forward again and seizes Dream’s mouth, fingers digging painfully into velvet-encased shoulders as Desire’s tongue slides over Dream’s even teeth and the smooth white legs legs wrap tightly around Dream’s back. Dream moans desperately against Desire's tongue, one large hand cupping the curve of Desire’s skull and the other clutching at Desire’s sharp hip. Desire shudders. This is how triumph should feel. Desire bites Dream’s lower lip again, hard enough to draw blood this time, and laughs against his skin.
“You entered my domain willingly, elder brother,” Desire says, bloodied lips brushing the pale shell of Dream’s ear as Desire tugs at the openings to Dream’s clothes. “Let this be a lesson in caution to us both.”