admit it, Dream, we all know you fell in love when he said “printing”

Dream shows up one day in Caxton’s shop, when Hob is working late. He’s been setting type, but when he sees his stranger he drops the piece he’s holding in shock. He ducks to retrieve it, and when he looks up Dream is holding out his hand to help him stand. Hob’s hands are covered in ink from the days work and he shies away, so afraid to touch his stranger lest he stain Dream’s pale skin. But Dream doesn’t let that stand, I mean his own human standing in front of him, working in a trade whose express purpose is spreading stories? How could any anthropomorphic personification resist? And watching Hob in his natural environment, a bit sweaty, and glowing in the lamplight, has set something off in him.
He yanks Hob up into a searing kiss, demanding devotion from those beautifully inky hands.

THIS! exactly! thank you!!