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Although no one technically needed to sleep in the Dreaming, Morpheus was more than courteous in keeping a bed for you. Despite his reluctance and confusion at first, he had become fond of the bed, the place where you were often found when tired. It was reliable, it was comfortable, it was large enough to hold the two of you with room to spare.
But oh, the reason he perhaps loved the bed the most was seeing you spread out like this for him.
He'd woken in one of those ravenous, soul-consuming hunger moods that overcame him every once in a while. Hard as steel, pressed against your hip, and he was just beginning to rouse from his rest - it couldn't accurately be called sleep, as he had explained to you several times over. You, here, in his bed, his arms - that was his dream, though. Or perhaps right now, torment would be more accurate.
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Waking from sleep in the Dreaming is always difficult. This time, there's some warm sensation that drags you out of it, not the normal slow rise to consciousness. Your body seems to register things in layers - the absence of the sheets on your skin, the absence of Dream's warmth against your side, the absence of your underwear, the presence of something wet and warm and all too dexterous teasing circles into your clit, sending small sparks skittering down your spine.
Oh.
It feels too good to even stretch, really. All you can manage is propping yourself up on one elbow and gazing blearily down at him. The smile on his lips is clear, as is a mix of your slick and his own spit dripping off his chin. He doesn't even pull away to greet you, he just sucks your clit into his mouth particularly hard. The yelp and flop back you do make your face burn crimson with embarrassment. Really, it's too goddamn early to look at him like that.
"Darling." He rumbles, inches from you, and fuck if your thighs don't come to bracket his head, trying to push in.
"Huh?" You slur, going back up on an elbow to look at him. He's scooted back (and you won't admit how much you already miss him between your legs). "'Wszup?"
"Were you given permission to look away?"
The blush jumps from your cheeks to your neck and ears. God, this man will be the death of you, and how fucking embarrassing would it be for his sister to find you here, like this? You stutter out some barely-sensical reply, but it pleases him enough to go back to what he was doing, and holy fuck if you aren't grateful. The muscles in your neck strain against their instincts to arch along with your back, and your eyes blink rapidly as you try to keep them on him. He isn't playing fair, either. When you're distracted by the graze of his teeth on your clit, he slips two fingers inside you. His fucking perfect fingers, the pads of which press against that spongey spot on your front wall that makes your jaw drop and your breath catch, and oh he fucking knows.
Your thighs jump and shudder around his head as he picks up his pace, absolutely cruel in the way he doesn't stop.
Watch me while I feast. His voice echos around your head, a unique feature of the Dreaming you'd never thought about using in this context before.
And that seals your fate.
Your free arm flies out, hand grabbing onto his hair and pulling him closer, closer, as close as atoms allow as your hips buck against him. Any noise of protest he makes is lost among your gasps and whines and curses that are punched out of you involuntarily because his fingers are still fucking moving, encouraging the rocking of your hips as your orgasms and the aftershocks ride through you, till you're pulling his head away instead.
"Morpheus, Morpheus fuck," you whine, as he finally pulls back, wiping his hand across his face, and then holy fucking fuck he licks the back of his hand clean and sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them off too.
"You must. Have some kind of teacher." You wheeze, still gasping for air and flopping back on the bed.
His face comes into your view, looking quite abnormally smug. "I pride myself on being a fast learner." You can almost hear the chuckle in his voice.
"Yeah yeah, whatever." You grumble. "You just have more time and more experience."
"That I do." He concedes, hand slipping up your body to rest snuggly around your neck, almost pressing you into the mattress. "But I'm afraid I can't share all that experience now, darling." He continues before you can interrupt. "There was one rule, darling; do you recall it?"
"Keep my eyes on you."
"Good girl." He praises, gently lifting you to straddle his lap. All by your fucking throat. Never hurting you, just lifting you like you're nothing. "And you looked away, did you not? When you came apart on my fingers."
"Dream." You whine - truly whine - and huff. "Not my fault."
"Is it not? I do not control your body or actions."
"I'm pretty sure for a second there you did."
His fingers tighten around your throat, cutting you off - not from airflow, but a silent, unspoken command. His eyes, though, ask a different question. Is this okay?. You tap his forearm four times - the agreed upon yes signal - and the relief that floods him is palpable, but it only softens him for an instant. The next instant, you feel silk twining your wrists together in front of you, and he pulls your thighs apart to settle one of his own right against your core.
"Dream-"
"Hush, now. Give me another - and keep your eyes on me - or we begin again."
His hands drop to your hips, steadying you for a moment before he tilts your hips down and drags them along his thigh, and you struggle to stay upright. You let him guide you through the whole process, listening to his breathing the whole time. He mutters some long, drawn-on sentence of how godly or ethereal or something you look on his thigh, but all you're thinking of is the way sparks are gathering at the base of your spine, and how they're growing with each heartbeat.
"There we go, like that. You are an incredibly fast learner too, it seems. I speak only a few sentences and you fall apart on my thigh. Perched on it like a Queen, my Queen, goddess of my realm alongside me. Littered in my fading marks from so many times ago, breathing my name as if I am your link to life. You are close to coming undone again, are you not? Precious thing. I would have you like this for eternity if it would please you too."
That's when you break, again, a wail tearing out of your throat as you grind down against him. Your eyes remain faithfully on his, thank whatever higher power there is - Destiny? - as you shake apart, and he holds you and kisses along your bound forearm. The second your trembling subsides, the bindings are gone, and he's pulling you flush to him, murmuring soft praises into your hair as your body regains some semblance of order.
"...did so perfectly for me, my darling, my dream. Perfection incarnate."
"Shut up." You mumble, kissing him.
His chuckle shakes its way into your chest, too. "If you insist." He tips his forehead into yours again, kissing you once more. "But you did ask for it; remember this when you plead for mercy."
And your back hits the covers once more, as he makes his way down your body. The Dreaming can function a day or so without Morpheus on his throne. He has other, pressing matters to attend to.