#cat!dream

It’s been a little over a week since King Hob was gifted the cat person now staying in his private chambers. When Dream had been presented to him, Hob remembers feeling a mix of emotions- rage and sorrow and confusion and offense. The bovine kingdom did not trade in people. 

(Not anymore.)

He had wanted to refuse the ‘gift’ out of principle. But he had looked down at the wounded, far too thin creature in front of him and knew immediately that he could not let him go back with his captors. So he had accepted the offering with the minimal amount of politeness to not start a war. He had beckoned the cat to him, and learned that his name was Dream, and that he was too weak to make it up the stairs to Hob’s room. His body was withered and wasted, starved and neglected, even a short walk leaving him panting and shaking. Hob had waved the guards away and lifted him up into his own arms to carry him the rest of the way.

Dream had trembled against him, no matter how Hob tried to reassure him. Part of him still wonders if it was a mistake to bring the poor man into Hob’s own chambers, to lay him on his own soft bed when his fears were so obvious. But Hob could not bear the thought of leaving him alone and scared in some strange room in the palace. In truth, he wanted desperately to care for him himself. Some part of his heart had been given to the cat the moment Hob saw him, and he was determined to see him healed. 

The first night was hard, and Dream continued shivering even as he drank from Hob’s chest, falling into a fitful sleep in Hob’s bed after being tugged away guiltily to ensure he didn’t make himself sick drinking too much too fast. In the days since, Hob has left him in his room as he went about his business throughout the day, returning to check on him and feed him, and always finding him in the exact spot on the bed where he left him. Until today.

It had been raining for much of the week, but today the sun was streaming through the open windows, the light falling vibrantly across the floor in the center of the bedroom. Dream was crouched at the edge of the thick rug placed beneath the bed, reaching one long arm out to dip just the very tips of his fingers into the light, his face full of equal parts longing and trepidation. 

It is a look Hob remembers on his own face when he was a young calf, sneaking into his mother’s study and standing on the tips of his hooves to admire her golden collar and bell. He would tap it, giggling at the heavy chime, feeling mischievous as he imagined a day in the future when the beautiful adornment would be passed on to him. He also recalls getting caught, his mother admonishing him sternly yet fondly, and the way he never once felt fear of her.

He put his grimly little child’s hands all over literal gold, and he never felt anywhere near the blatant terror he sees now on Dream’s face at being caught reaching for a sunbeam.

“I apologize, my lord,” Dream scrambled frantically back onto the bed, folding his limbs to kneel and forcing his hands to release his robe, laying them in his lap meekly. It broke Hob’s heart every time, the way he so clearly wanted to hold the robe closed around his body and just as clearly expected it to be torn away from him.

He had been given to Hob naked.

The robe he wore now was meant for a calf, too short and too wide and still the best fit they could find for the cat until the tailors finished the custom robe they were working on. Dream had been near tears when he was presented with something to cover himself, bowing his head and offering anything and everything of himself in thanks. So grateful. All for a robe that didn’t even fit.

Hob approached the bed slowly, smiling gently even when he wanted to cry for the poor creature, “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart.”

Dream shivered, keeping his gaze downcast, “I should not have moved without your permission, master.” 

Hob flinched at the title. As king he was accustomed to being referred to as lord and sire and majesty- it was only appropriate, and he did expect to be given the respect due his station. But he was no one’s master.

Right now though, he had to choose his battles. “You are free to move about the room, Dream,” it was true that Dream clearly needed rest, but his heart ached to think of Dream sitting stiffly wherever Hob ‘put him’. He turned and gestured at the sunlit spot, “You may even move some of the pillows or blankets from the bed, should you wish to lay in the sun.”

Dream looks horrified at the very idea, ears pinned back in fear, “I would never, sire,” his voice nearly pleading for Hob to believe him, as though he is being tested.

Hob feels his own ears droop, before straightening with resolve. He keeps his motions clear, walking to the bed to gather an armful of pillows. Dream keeps his head down, but his eyes follow Hob’s movements as he begins arranging the pillows on the floor where the sunlight is hitting. He adds a few blankets to the pile too, until he has a little nest in the middle of the room, soft and sunlit. 

Dream still hasn’t moved.

“Come here, Love,” Hob keeps his voice soft and soothing, but Dream still tenses when Hob scoops him up into his arms easily, so frighteningly light, “You must be hungry. Breakfast feels like ages ago.”

As much as Hob wishes he could sustain Dream with his milk alone, they had begun introducing some light foods- small morsels of fish, and select vegetables that the royal librarian deemed safe for cat people- into his breakfast and dinner. In between though, Hob fed him himself. Hob was used to being responsible for an entire kingdom, to making decisions that were far and long lasting and praying that he might make his country even a little bit better each day. And he was proud of his position, he would not trade it for anything. But there was something so special about being able to hold this one person in his arms and see the good he was doing. 

It still took some encouragement. As he settles into the nest, leaning back against the pillows and facing the window so that Dream can sit in his lap in the direct sunlight, Dream is still tense and trembling. Hob shushes him gently, slipping his shirt over his head before placing one hand at the back of Dream’s head to guide him to his chest. He remembers how confused Dream had been the first night when Hob had fed him, opening his mouth wide like he might for a different part of Hob’s body, unsure of what was expected of him. He had allowed himself to be maneuvered without any resistance until Hob was finally able to get a few drops of milk onto his tongue. He had watched as Dream’s eyes had widened, pupils dilating as he licked his lips in something like disbelief. 

After that it was a little easier. He is still nervous and hesitant, but Hob is able to press his mouth to his nipple and say, “Drink,” softly, more of a request than an order even if Dream does not yet recognize it as such. Hob shivers at the sensation as Dream begins to suckle, biting his lip to hold back a groan. He turns his gaze up to the ceiling, trying to distract himself from the sensation. Dream shifts in his lap and Hob has to mentally recite every trade detail he’d been given at his morning meeting in order to restrain himself from moving his hips.

The first night, Dream had looked so resigned when he finally noticed the hard prick in the lap he was sitting on. Hob had just pushed him back, not wanting him to throw up what was most likely the first substantial meal he’d had in who knows how long. He had looked so sorrowful, gazing longingly at Hob’s chest, and then he leaned back and gasped, Hob’s cock hard and hot against his hip. 

He had seemed to wilt, any relaxation Hob had coaxed from feeding him vanished, and he spoke like he was reciting a script, “How shall I repay you, master?”

Hob had felt his blood run cold at the title, “There is nothing to repay, sweet one,” he promised, his smile more of a grimace. Dream had stared at him in blatant disbelief, and as much as Hob wanted to keep holding him, he knew his body’s response was not helping the situation. So he had moved Dream off his lap, tucked him under the bed covers to sleep off his meal, and then gone and taken a long bath to take care of the problem.

It is a routine he has kept ever since. Dream no longer asks what Hob wants in return, though he still looks at him expectantly, and Hob smiles and pets him and then excuses himself to the bath to spend as much time as he needs pleasuring himself. And if he spends that time imagining the soft pads of Dream’s hands, or his sandpaper tongue, or the few glimpses he’s gotten of Dream’s enticingly barbed cock, well, no one needs to know.

Glancing back down at the cat in his arms, Hob is drawn now to Dream’s ears. His own are soft, yes, but they are also thick and sturdy. Dream’s are so thin. Even with the blackness of his fur, the sun seems to shine through at the very tips, a soft glowing pink with little veins just barely visible. Almost without thinking, Hob moves the hand on the back of Dream’s head to lightly grip one ear between his fingers.

Unsurprisingly, Dream startles, a frightened chirp escaping him as he releases Hob’s teat. 

“Shhh,” Hob soothes, nudging Dream back towards his nipple, “It’s alright, you can have some more.” He has to be careful not to let Dream make himself sick, he had been warned by the palace physician what to look out for, but they were nowhere near that point yet. Dream shyly begins suckling again, eyes glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes for approval. “Good boy,” Hob praises, and Dream’s eyes flutter shut, relaxing minutely.

In his hand, he runs his thumb across Dream’s ear. So soft, so delicate and paper thin. He feels a strange compulsion to put it in his mouth. Not to bite, like he did with his playmates growing up- Dream feels too frail for that sort of roughhousing, and Hob does not ever want to hurt him. 

No, he wants to hold his silky ear in his mouth like a delicacy, wants to lick and suck at it as gently as Dream does to his teat until the gossamer fur is wet and warm from his tongue.

For now, he settles for simply rubbing the skin between his fingers, stroking the velvet softness in a feeble attempt to distract himself from his own lust. Eventually, too soon for his or Dream’s liking but in accordance with the doctor, Hob must gently push Dream away, his chest feeling emptier and yet still too full. All he wants is to feed Dream until he is fully sated. It hurts that, for now, he cannot.

Dream has become more accustomed to the routine, and so his whimper is nearly inaudible when leans back in Hob’s lap. Hob can feel the way his ears go from lax contentment to physically pressed down, tense and flat against his head. Or trying to be, at least, in the case of the ear still in Hob’s hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Hob coos, “I know you want more, just have to wait a couple hours, Love.”

“You have been more than generous, master,” Dream replied shakily, and Hob suddenly realizes that he does not want to run away to sequester himself in the baths. 

At the moment, his body is not betraying him, at least not so much that his robes do not hide it. And so he shushes Dream again and turns him in his lap, easy as a doll, until they are both facing the window. He nestles Dream between his thighs, bracketing him between thick, warm fur and tugging him to lean back against the softness of his belly. He feels Dream’s breath hitch as he brings his free hand around to rest softly on the subtle swell of his stomach. 

“Relax,” Hob whispered, one hand on his ear while the other rubbed his stomach soothingly, helping encourage his starved body to digest the meal it’s been given, “Just relax.”

As he strokes Dream’s trembling belly and pets his ear, Hob cannot help but tilt his face into the sun. He thinks perhaps he has taken this warmth and light for granted. How many times has he awoken and scowled at the light streaming across his bed? How often has he walked past these sunbeams, stepped across the warm fibers of his extravagant rug, and not even spared them a glance? Now, feeling his body warm- feeling Dream’s body warm- in the glowing light, he feels a pang of regret that he has not appreciated this simple pleasure before.

Well, he is appreciating it now. He smiles to himself as he feels Dream slowly relax under his ministrations, body melting back against him and sinking into Hob’s abundant, pillowy flesh. Hob thinks that if he could, he would keep Dream here, surrounded by his body, soft and warm, forever. 

Maybe he can’t hold him forever, but he can hold him now. And maybe it is too soon to mouth at Dream’s silky ears and press his tongue to them like a salt lick, but he allows himself to press a fleeting kiss to the one in his hand. 

I just did a cool thing called counting and realised the menu has 10 closeups, so have one of thoes so i can actually make posts work, lmao

Fluffytale aka Ccino's cat cafe (what this is based on) by black-nyanko

Dust by Ask-Dusttale

NM and Dream by Jokublog

Killer by Rahafwabas

Horror by Sour-Apple-Studios

Blue is community owned

The pout on his lips intensifies upon hearing my words.

He was not expecting the reaction he merited. Usually, when he came to school, he was received with eager attention, even by people that he did not want attention from. He vividly recalls adults complimenting him to you and some children shouting things about him at you.

Dream knits his brows, "have I done something to upset you?"

I give him an incredulous look as I cringe at the sound of a child crying from outside. I push past him and get what I came here for the first place, a box of tissues.

I feel Dream watch me as I grab the carton and give him an annoyed expression, "you better not be back here when I return, Dream."

"I didn't mean to sound-" "You hate me." "I don't hate you! I was flustered I-" "You don't love me anymore" "Dream, baby, that's not true." "You'd rather be with those kids than me." "I was at work." "I would never send you away if I was working." "I know. But that's also because you're your own boss and-" "I just wanted to visit..." "I know! I know, and I'm sorry." "... I forgive you..." "Thank you." "... even though you hurt me..." "..." "... and love those kids more than me."

"TEACHER TEACHER!"

I take a moment before turning to the caller, just as the boy screams again, "TEACHERRRR!"

"What is it now, Tim?"

"THERE'S A CAT IN THE CLOSET!"

"A what?!"

I grab Tim before he can even think to touch whatever cat managed its way into our classroom. All the children crowd behind me upon hearing after. With the small child in my arm, and my leg fending off the rest of the kids from going any closer to the closet door.

"Ok, Tim, what exactly did you see in the closet."

"A black cat."

I narrow my eyes and hum, "are you sure it wasn't just a sweater."

Tim shakes head, "it," he meows exaggeratedly, "at me."

I release a huff, "alright, it seems we have a cat to save."

The kids fuss as I put Tim down, and he then bounces excitedly at my words with the rest of his classmates.

I place a finger to my lips as I look between my students, "we don't want to scare the kitty, now do we?"

Immediately, the kids start shushing each other.

I ask the kids to move as I slowly open the door, in case the kitty thinks to lunge or run away. Instead, I am met with wide eyes and a meow that leaves the kids squealing.

There is another chorus of shushes and I bend and slowly outstretch my hand out to the cat.

The sweet thing rubs its black face against me, then its black body, and all at once it's very clear to me.

"Dream?"

Hello, my love.

I slap my hand on my face and fall to my butt when I hear the mental reply.

"Teacher!" Heather calls in concern, "are you ok?"

I turn to her as Dream walks out the closet and nuzzles by my ankles.

"Did the bad kitty bite you?" a distance voice calls.

Dream does not take kindly to the accusation and looks at the direction of the child who spoke.

"No, my dear, Dream did not-"

"Who's dream?" I recognize Luca's soft voice.

"Is that the name of the cat?" one blurts.

"OHEMGEE TEACHER IS THAT YOUR CAT?!"

This sparks a heated debate amongst them.

"Children," I finally have the wits to speak, "settle down and go back to your seats," I get to my feet.

There is a public outcry, and instead, the children surround Dream as he retreats under one of the desks. They try to stroke at him, and I wait for him to react the way cats do when they're disgusted, but he does not.

"Children, please, don't touch the cat."

They obviously do not listen.

"Teacher, your kitty is very shy," Libby comes up to my side and grabs my hand, "my kitty is very naughty."

I smile at her and point, "that kitty is very naughty too."

The sound of Dream meowing (in protest) makes the entire class burst into a fit of giggles.

I huff as I bend back and beckon my naughty lover, "come here, pretty boy."

Dream does not waste time and dashes over to me, practically leaping into my arms. He purrs when he is against me, and nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck.

The class lets out a chorus of awws.

"TEACHER CAN I PET YOUR KITTY!"

"I WANT TO PET THE KITTY TOO"

"What's the cat's name again?"

"I don't remember."

"I WANT TO NAME THE CAT OREO!"

"GERALD!"

"Children, please," I interrupt for the nth time, "we have to bring the cat outside."

There is a public outcry.

The clamoring children cry out in protest and I eye the cat dirtily as he continues to snuggle against me. I release a huff and raise Dream in my hand, a la Lion King.

This surely stops the children. They look up at the dangling paws of Dream with wonder.

"Right," I say, "I reckon one cuddle each, then he's going out the window."