The First of Many

Boundaries

Dream's body sagged in relief at your response, his shoulders releasing the tension he'd been holding as he awaited your word. He bent to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck as you held him, as much to comfort him as yourself. You knew that you should get dressed, that the two of you should discuss what happened and how to ensure it never happened again. But right now, you needed something else, to prove to yourself and him that all was not broken.

You reached for his hand on the counter and gently placed it on your hip, encouraging his fingers to curl around you. For a moment, you two rested like this, soaking in the closeness, the gentle touch that reassured you. With your hand still on his, you guided it down, spreading your legs apart, coaxing his fingers down to where you were still wet and aching despite your fear.

"Are you certain?" he breathed into the skin of your shoulder, words sinking into you. "You do not need to do anything on my behalf."

"Yes," you affirmed. "Just...go slow. Gentle," you added. "Can you do that?"

Your throat went dry as you waited to see if you'd be met with opposition at being asked what to do. Dream had made it clear before that he did not like being commanded, a King long used to making his own choices and deciding for others. But this time instead of chastising you, he nodded somberly.

"It will be as you ask."

It started with kisses along your shoulder and neck, where his head was still lowered in contrition. His mouth was warm, his movements slow, begging for approval and forgiveness with each drag of his lips across your skin. Your head lolled back as two fingers slipped into your cunt, gingerly pumping in and out, curling within you lazily to find that inner spot that he knew you enjoyed.

Soft, pink lips found yours, sharing the taste of winter, fresh and crisp, the moment of taking the first step over a field of fresh, unmarred snow. His tongue swiped across your lip, asking, and you opened to him, answering, meeting the languid strokes with your own. Ice sparked to life within your veins, cooling and refreshing against the heat of your passion — and maybe keeping his under control. You tilted your hips up into his palm, cautiously seeking more.

Morpheus slipped his free hand up into your half-dry hair, cupping the back of your neck. His touch was light as a dusting of frozen dew across morning grass, each blade bowed under the gentle weight of the frost. One of your hands slid along his shoulder and over the soft cotton covering the taut muscles of his side. You let it rest at his waist before tentatively skimming down further, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock.

He breathed a tight groan into your mouth and rolled his hips forward as your fingers danced along the silken skin of his length, gently stroking. His cock swelled further in your small hand, but he kept the movements even, slow, as if afraid to fuck your fist too hard.

He refocused on you, buried his fingers within you fully, the heel of his palm massaging your clit.

The pressure was perfection inside and out, building and growing within your stomach, a living thing all its own, your muscles tensing, the feeling wrapped around your low back. You whimpered as he lowered his lips to your neck, gently sucking in delicate mouthfuls of you as your walls began to tighten around him. You squirmed against his fingers, rocking your hips forward and back silently begging him to keep his hand there and allow you your release, pulling them deeper to lay against your favorite spot inside.

Morpheus lifted his mouth from you. "What do you want, little dreamer?" he asked, voice rough. "Tell me."

"I want to cum," you said, stroking him faster in time to the rolling of your hips. It was hard to focus on both at the same time, your jerking uneven and frenzied, struggling to chase your pleasure while keeping a rhythm for him, but you did your best. "Please, Master?"