He would've been touched to know that Dysnomia depended on him. As it was, Morpheus pretty much figured she thought of him as a doormat and a yes-man. It was hard not to think that, given that she generally only showed up in his life, in any kind of favorable (ie, friendly) capacity when she wanted something. Or needed something.
And he caved every time, didn't he?
Hell.
The Irishmen laughed, now, and one said something about youth and beauty and gettin' a girl to dance with him.
Careful.
Dysnomia took his hand and wrapped the scarf around it, and Dream's eyebrow rose. The "makeshift" dance floor was little better than a cleared, worn spot on the floor, and bystanders realizing there was a couple that wanted to dance moved out of the way. Morpheus turned Dys toward him and snaked his arm around her waist. I might think you're tryin' to tell me somethin', sugar.
Of course he was. But not just yet. Morpheus smiled down at her, turning her hand in his slightly. There couldn't have even been two inches of space between them.
"Y'know, nuns at the school down the street'd pull you two apart and throw water on ya!" one of the old men yelled.
The smile became a smirk. There went the two inches. Gone.
"Atta boy," one of the men said, raising a glass.
That kinda lovin' Sends a man right to his grave...
Dream sighed, calmly leading what was about to, he figured, become a very un-tame slowdance. He grinned, and loosened his arm to spin Dys and bring her back in.
Telling her he thought they should talk would get Dream exactly nowhere. He had to do it carefully, if he wanted his point to sink in. At all. In one ear and out the other was a concept that Lawlessness, he thought, should have patented.
"What gave you that idea?" he whispered, pulling her back from a turn, then back to where she was, up against the front of his body. Dream took her hand and curled it into his, placing it on his heart. The dark smile came back.