Archive of Our Own

• i need you to lay on top of me

Night is different when he smokes more than two at a time. Dream peeked at the label on the side of his box once. Just an assortment of floral herbs. It’s not tobacco, and it smells better than what Dream has.

• just have a boy on top of me

Dream’s fingers hover over the screen. A boy, huh? It’s not inaccurate. It’s more accurate than man. He’d probably cry if someone called him a man. Nightmare got that part of them, it seems.

• i dunno why i

• i feel odd

• it’s only been three i swear

He doesn’t know what to say.

• youve had a speech bubble for five minutes

Three? It only takes three to fuck him up that bad?

• I think it just relaxes you.

• It’s not weird.

It was pretty damn weird. He breathes out smoke, a soft yellow colour. Monster cigarettes are infinitely better than human ones, Dream decides.

• really

No, it was definitely out of character for him. He’s being… affectionate? They’ve only known each other a few months, and Night's always kept his distance, at least physically. He doesn’t message much, either, and when he does, it’s not often in clumps of texts like this. It’s unusual.

• I keep thinking about kissing you

Dream chokes on his next inhale and coughs, smoke burning his sockets to tears.

• on the mouth

He’s partly glad Night isn’t here to see the tear tracks. He wouldn’t have teared up. He never seems to feel humiliated, or at least bothered by his humiliation, even when he totally should. It's just life as usual for him. He takes every hit and bottles it up, tries to move on.

• preferably with smoke.

He has an issue, but Dream is in no place to judge. He has the same one, after all.

• Haha, that would be silly. Different smoke mix

Dream accidentally hits send before he finishes. Blue always makes a face when he swings by after smoking, either terrible at hiding his disapproval or not bothering to hide it at all. Dream always pretends not to see, especially since Blue also doesn’t have room to judge, neither him nor his brother. It was Blue’s pack that got Dream and Rus into this mess, anyway.

• i mean you don’t hate it do you

• i didn’t mean to make

Make Dream uncomfortable? He’s not. A little shocked, sure, especially by his honesty, but Night keeps surprising him, so that in itself isn’t anything new. In fact, the idea sparks something interesting in the crevices of his ribcage.

• you’re smaller than me

• there’s an appeal to that

Is the appeal that he’s nothing like Night’s brother? He always acts surprised when Dream performs the bare minimum of decency. Maybe Dream gets fucked up when he smokes more than one, too. Maybe they’re both fucking crazy. Just batshit insane. Fucked in the head. Dream doesn’t plan what comes next at all, never expected it out of himself.

• you didn’t.

Uh oh. Night might be panicking. Dream quickly tries to recover this.

• i mean I’m not

• come do it then

It’s no time at all until Night is in front of him. Dream has to wonder how easily he’s able to find him. Maybe it’s the centuries he’s spent running from his brother that he’s become hyper-vigilant to Dream’s almost unnatural well of positivity. Not even Dream’s own brother can pinpoint him with such accuracy.

Night exhales, though there’s no smoke. He has one lit in his hand, more than halfway finished. Either that’s his fourth or he hasn’t even gotten through three. They stare each other down, breath loud in the silence.

His eyelights are fucking piercing, blue-ish plum with a sliver of bright cyan, like a snake’s pupils, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down Dream’s spine. Like he wants to fucking devour him. It’s wonderfully familiar.

Dream shifts in the dirt. It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds since Night stepped through his portal, but every second he stands and stares drags on.

Night drags his cigarette to his mouth, inhales it like a vice clutched around his soul, then drops to his knees and, with his other hand, grips Dream’s jaw. It’s anything but sweet and gentle, although there’s an undercurrent of genuine affection muddled underneath Night’s desperate hunger for stimulation and living contact.

It's so faint that Dream can't figure out what exactly it is. Romantic? Platonic? Is the same affection one might feel for a particularly well-loved vibrator? Or is it whatever remaining dregs are left of his fucked up feelings, his love for his real brother?

His hands are much bigger than Dream’s. They had put them together one dark night, Dream gasping in disbelief at the difference. They couldn’t figure out between them why Night was so much taller.

That night, Night had revealed he was nearly a thousand years old though, had blinked at Dream’s measly three and a quarter of centuries. He looked at him just a little differently after that. Less skittishly. Like somehow Dream's lesser years make him any less dangerous.

From the sound of it, Dream hates to think he can understand exactly what Night's brother was thinking.

Dream shudders as Night kisses him. That, at least, is slower. Definitely gentle, a stumbling juxtaposition to his unforgiving grip. Seriously, he’s going to bruise him at this rate. It’s painful, and Dream clutches at Night’s coat with one hand, tugging and whining in complaint.

It only seems to egg Night on more, though. He crowds into Dream’s space, straddling him against the cool soil, hunched over to fit all of him in his own personal bubble. His hand drags down Dream’s throat, squeezing him there. Like he’s trying to own him.

Even though they both know Dream’s brother already owns him. Not in name, but they both know. Night must know, because he’s the same. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to. They’re both trapped, but it’s nice to pretend. It’s all they can do to pretend, pretend, pretend. Pretend to be there. Pretend they can save each other. Pretend they can get out of this hell. They have to. It’s all they have.

Dream’s hard already, groaning as Night slips his tongue into his mouth, tasting the frankly disgusting ashy flavour on his teeth. It’s only a little bit, not ravaging, like he’s really only here for a taste. His hand is saying one thing, and his mouth is saying another.

Dream has no idea if Night is into this the same way he is, and he’s too scared to find out.

“I could break you,” Night sighs when he pulls away, satisfaction in his voice. Okay, he’s definitely into this the same way. He and Nightmare aren’t so different after all.

The air is thick with smoke, though Dream doesn’t want to waste his cigarette. He brings it to his mouth while Night goes for his vertebrae with his fangs, but he coughs it up at the first bite that draws blood. Why the fuck does he even have fangs?

Night is hard, too, shamelessly getting off on Dream practically suffocating beneath him. He presses his free hand to Dream’s chest, keeping him rooted to the ground while he tries to get his bearings.

“Can I hurt you?”

Sweet of him to ask. Dream would let him do just about anything right now, though. He splays in the grass, exhaling smoke softly and opening up, hands beside his head. A silent answer. Free for the taking.

Night doesn’t do anything for a minute, though, and Dream’s cock honestly aches, so just to clear the air, he affirms it.

“Y-yeah.” Voice raspy. Fucked out, though there’s been no fucking between them yet.

He still doesn’t do anything for a while, though. He just stares down at him. It takes Dream a moment to realise he probably doesn’t know how exactly he wants to hurt him.

That’s a dilemma. If Dream tries anything right now, there’s a possibility it could frighten him and have him running off. He definitely doesn’t want that. Nothing big, then. Start small.

Dream gestures to the cigarette in Night’s hand vaguely.

His sockets narrow, sleepiness permeating everything he does. He purses his mouth, like he’s confused.

“Burn me,” Dream whispers between them. Understanding dawns on Night, then, his pinched expression relaxing just a little, though the stress seems permanent.

Night chuckles at him, apparently stunned by his audacity. “You keep surprising me.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same about you,” Dream admits.

He leaves two marks in a snake’s bite, right over the puncture wounds he already made in Dream’s neck. He shoves a hand over Dream’s mouth when he screams, groaning and rutting into him.

Dream’s sweaty, sticky and clammy when the pain ebbs, tears slipping over his cheeks. He gasps for air, the sweet release washing over him.

Night’s burned out his cigarette, and Dream’s finished a while ago. Dream wipes sweat off his brow and discards it haphazardly.

The elephant in the room is in both of their pants, neither of them particularly willing to verbally confront it.

Dream summons his cunt underneath instead, just the hole for Night to fuck, and moves his one piece out of the way in another silent invitation.

His cheeks flush embarrassingly as he puts himself on display. Rejection now would hurt, but he’d do his best not to take it personally. He never expected to get this far in the first place, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Night called it quits right this instant before he can fully admit how badly they want each other, before he can risk committing to their farce.

Night’s voice is low, much more gravelly than Nightmare’s from centuries of smoking. It’s a wonder how he hasn’t lost it yet. A fucking miracle really.

“Really? Just like that?”

Dream shrugs. If Night thinks he’s a slut, so be it. Maybe he is.

Night can’t be much better, this cagey fucker, unbuckling his belt and pulling himself out. Now Dream has him, and the craziest part is, Dream thinks, that Night might think he’s fully in control here.

Dream gave him the option, but Night still flew right into his web, even though he could have escaped. He’s just as fucked up as Dream is and he has to know it.

It’s too dry to enter, as turned on as Dream is, so Night licks him, which has him yelping like a puppy from how cold and ticklish it is, but slowly, Night enters him, and Dream’s sockets slipped closed as he feels himself fill.

It’s always satisfying. He makes sure to deprive Nightmare, deprive himself, just so it’s sweeter and tighter when it finally happens. He likes to imagine it feels like new every time, likes to imagine Nightmare gets off on the thought of breaking him in.

Night definitely does, judging from the way he moves inside him. Two hands on Dream’s wrists, all his weight there and supporting Dream’s thighs. He has to appreciate the dedication it takes to fuck someone and not get bored halfway through.

Night stares him down as he groans, practically glaring at him like he wants to kill him, which has Dream’s cock throbbing, leaking and neglected.

He fucks him slowly, but not gently. Again with the juxtaposition. It’s like he can’t decide what he wants, or maybe he wants to fuck Dream up.

It’s not the same as when Nightmare fucks him. He knows all of Dream’s weak spots, knows how to unravel him and snap him like thread. This is Night’s first time inside him. He’s unsure, although he’s also simultaneously considerate and inconsiderate in his own way. When Dream tells him it hurts, he presses harder just to fuck with him, but he goes slow anyway, like he's scared of going to far.

Or maybe he's just sensitive and easily overstimulated.

It’s annoyingly hot, though. Ink said his taste in men was shit, but Dream’s never had eyes for anyone that wasn’t Nightmare. So Dream’s taste in Nightmare’s is shit, or something like that. He doesn’t know. He’s too busy getting fucked silly to be poetic about how much he worships him, even mentally.

He doesn’t need to be. He drips reverence in every cry, every desperate whine, every shuddering breath, every sob as Night bites hard enough to leave a hairline fracture. It hurts like a bitch, has Dream coming effortlessly around him even though he wasn’t fucking him that good.

He throws his head back, eyes screwed shut, mouth agape, cheeks flushed, tears soaking into the soil, a sight Night seems to drink in and roll around his tongue, savouring it.

He grabs Dream by the hips, pressing his face into the crook of his neck as he pants, fucking into him at a stupidly slow pace, the slick sound of their flesh meeting repeatedly loud in the silence.

Dream stares at the galaxies in the sky. Dust permeates the air, dancing around in the scent of smoke.

Outertale really is peaceful when nobody is around.