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The world could be burning,
and all I’d be thinking,
is how are you doing, baby?
Muna, ‘Everything’, (2017).
He almost wants to chide himself for being unoriginal when he thinks it, but the first thought he has when he steps off the plane in Orlando is hot. The second, as he remembers it, is Fuck me, I’m starving. The third is Dream.
When he talks about this memory in the future, however, he’ll always rewrite it so the third and first are swapped. Dream’s a romantic, and George is obsessed with him. He’ll make a million alterations to his life in secrecy if it means that Dream one day wakes up, hair ruffled and voice low from sleep, and says George, d’you ever think we would make a good Richard Curtis movie? In actuality, he isn’t sure if Dream even knows who Richard Curtis is. George himself only knows because British TV channels are obsessed with Love, Actually at Christmas, and Notting Hill at every other time of year. Dream doesn’t really watch movies, unless George is on call with him, and even then it’s hard for them to watch anything other than Better Call Saul and Dream’s favourite episodes of Prison Break.
In honesty, all the thoughts are connected to Dream. Hot means How on earth has Dream survived in this heat all his life and does he tan in summer if he lets himself spend time outdoors and does he get freckles on his shoulders, or just on the bridge of his nose like he told me once when he was twenty and trying to tell me what he looked like without telling me what he looked like?
Fuck me, I’m starving means I really want to get a breakfast burrito because I’m finally in America and a breakfast burrito seems like it would be my God-given right in the self-proclaimed Land of the Free but mostly I want to wait until I get to Dream’s so that he can cook me something because he’s been telling me for about three or four years now how he’s the only one who can make eggs that taste good no matter which way he cooks them and really there’s nothing else I want more right now than to tell him to cook for me and for him to tell me to fuck off and then cook for me anyway.
Dream, naturally, means Dream.
Somehow he fumbles into baggage claim, feeling hazy and disjointed from the flight. He stares at a conveyor belt for an embarrassingly long five minutes before he realises it’s the wrong one, and then turns around to find the right one and pulls his suitcase free. He remembers a few moments too late that he’s supposed to text Sapnap, and wiggles his phone out of his pocket with one hand, the other arm already busy with his carry-on, and taps out a message on the already Florida-hot screen.
Here, btw. he types.
Loser he adds.
Finally he’s out of the cool, chrome, ventilated airport and standing out on the tarmac feeling dizzy with heat. When Sapnap cruises into pickups, George wonders if anyone else on earth has ever felt like Teslas are modern day chariots. Then he thinks about Elon Musk, and decides they probably haven’t.
“Please don’t mistake me for Dream in a jetlagged haze,” is the first thing Sapnap says to him after they’ve hugged over the console.
“What?” George laughs, a real thing. He can’t help the thought that rises to the surface, unbidden, immediately afterwards. That’s the first time I’ve laughed in Florida. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m being serious,” Sapnap says, though the look on his face suggests otherwise. “Our friendship couldn’t survive a kiss.”
“Me and Karl’s friendship survived a kiss,” he says, immediately. It’s still unendingly fucking funny to him that he and Karl kissed, and even more funny how jealous Dream got. “You think our friendship is weaker than me and Karl’s?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sapnap says. “You haven’t referred to Karl as your little brother on any occasion, and you’ve called me that at least three times.”
“Awwww, Snapmap,” George says, grinning. “Are you counting?”
“Yeah,” he says. “They’re all in my Sincere George compilation. It’s almost a minute long now.”
“That’s exciting,” George says, covertly looking at his phone to see if Dream has texted him. He hasn’t, which is expected. He told him already that he’d be off his phone so he doesn’t cling to it like a lifeline, wound up and anxious. Still, he thinks. He can’t help but look for him. “You’ll finally have something to upload.”
Sapnap scoffs. “Like you can talk,” he says.
“Anyway,” George says in a light voice, a moment later, tapping his knuckles against the cool glass of the window. “I would never mistake you for Dream. You don’t have his arse.”
“You mean he doesn’t have my ass. He is flat, bro.”
“I never said it’s bigger, I just said you don’t have his,” he says. Then he frowns, half-serious. “Don’t be mean about it either. I love his arse.”
Sapnap makes a face. “What the hell, dude,” he says. “I’m telling him you said he has a small ass, by the way.”
George turns on him, eyes of steel.
“Do not.”
***
“Just go in,” Sapnap says, when they eventually get to the house, catching George’s glance back at his luggage. “I’ll come in, in like ten minutes.”
“What, why?” George frowns. “Don’t you want to film our first meeting? For the… the whatever.” He clicks his fingers. “The vlog.”
“No offence, bro,” Sapnap says, “but no. Nobody should be subjected to that.”
“Dickhead,” George says. “Okay. Okay. Where is he?” He feels nervous, suddenly. Antsy. He thinks he probably looks nervous and antsy.
“What the hell,” Sapnap says. “It’s not like, a mission. Relax. Chillax, even. Just go in, he’ll hear you and come running.”
“On his long legs,” George mumbles, thinking about Dream at eight, in bed when he’s trying to sleep with his legs cramping. Small Dream and his charley horses. He must have been a cute kid.
Sapnap shoots him a weird look.
“Yeah, sure,” he says. “Gangly motherfucker. Whatever, fuck off now.” He waves him towards the house.
Once inside, the heat melts away. The cool of the AC shocks him as he slips open the door. Dream isn’t in the hall, immediately, and George lets himself take it in. The cream paint on the walls, the shoes by the door. He toes his trainers off and puts them next to what must be a pair of Dream’s. The sight of them side by side together makes something in him thrill.
“Dream?” He calls as he wanders through the house, padding soft feet on wooden floors he’s only ever seen before in pictures, heading upstairs to where he knows Dream’s room is.
He manages to make it to Dream’s door, still without sight of him. He must have headphones on, he reasons, listening to white noise or binaural beats or rain sounds to calm himself down with the prospect of George hurricaning over the horizon.
He pushes open the door, finding it, to his own surprise, unlocked.
The first time George sees Dream, he is sleeping. George makes himself quiet once he realises, padding softly into the room, heart constricting at the sight of his head cushioned on his pillow, hair poking out at odd angles. He must have crashed after pacing around waiting for George. Despite his promise that he wouldn’t be on his phone, he must have still been anxious, making himself stay up for as long as possible until the very last possible moment. He’s not snoring exactly, but his breaths come heavy and measured, indicating deep sleep.
Once at his side, he decides there’s only one thing for it.
“Dream,” he says, again, a little quieter this time, but there’s no response.
He makes a confused sleepy sound when George puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, saying his name again.
“G’rge,” he mumbles in return, turning back over, still obviously half-asleep. “Just…” He yawns, weakly pulling back the duvet. “Get in. Idiot.”
George stares at his back. He almost doesn’t care that he hasn’t properly seen Dream’s face yet, the breadth of his shoulders in his thin sleep shirt is miracle enough.
“Get in?” He whispers, staring at the dent Dream’s body has made in the mattress, the area that he has now vacated in want of George next to him. He wonders if he dreams about this often, if that is why he has barely reacted at all.
“Mm.”
So George shucks off his sweatpants, and shuffles himself into the bed. It’s warm on the mattress where Dream was, and even without touching him he could cry with how close they are. And then he’s shifting even closer, curling around him, tucking an arm around Dream’s waist and pressing his face to the back of Dream’s neck and breathing him in. Spooning him, wrapping his body around Dream’s like they’re two commas side by side. He pulls the covers over them, and this time, with Dream this close, impossibly close, he does feel like he’s right on the edge of tears. He swallows quietly, in an attempt to clamp the feeling down.
He kisses the back of Dream’s neck, hoping to shake him from his sleep. Takes Dream’s hand where it rests against his own chest.
“Hi,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on Dream’s hand, hooking a leg over Dream’s.
He can feel the exact moment Dream wakes up, the way his breath changes, the way he turns still in surprise.
“Hi,” he says again, laughing a little.
“George,” Dream says in wonder, turning in his arms to face him. George catalogues his face rapidly, feeling his own smile widen impossibly, watching the new sight of Dream’s face curl in happiness to match him. “I fell asleep,” he says, laughing softly. Astounded, possibly. In shock, probably.
“I could tell,” he says, unable to keep his gaze from ricocheting all over Dream’s face. “You’re so-” He stops himself, unable to think of any word that could encompass Dream, any word that would be enough to describe how he feels, seeing his face for the first time, feeling his touch on his skin. There isn’t any. Instead he says, “Can I kiss you?”
“I just woke up,” Dream mumbles, and he looks just as in awe as George feels. “I have bad breath.”
“Don’t be a fucking idiot.” George says, bringing a hand up to the side of Dream’s face, marvelling as he pushes back into the touch like a cat. “I don’t give a shit about that.”
“You should,” Dream says, completely happy. “I might taste disgusting.”
“No,” George murmurs, and he leans in close so he’s saying the words into Dream’s mouth. “You’ll taste like you.” And then, he kisses him.
It’s slow, and sweet, and loving. It is coming home. Dream sighs into it, content, and manoeuvres himself so that he’s over him, so that one hand is splayed across George’s waist under his t-shirt, so that their legs are entirely tangled together. George tries not to shiver when he rubs little comforting circles into his ribs, resisting mostly out of principle, but he can’t help it. He gives in. Dream was right, he does taste a little sour, like sleep. But it’s domestic, and it’s love, and it’s all he’s wanted for years.
When he pulls back, Dream blinks at him dumbly, still sleepy. He can’t help but dart in to kiss his cheek, once, twice. Three times.
“Stop, George,” Dream groans, a blush spreading rapidly. “What the hell.”
“Sorry,” he says, not feeling sorry at all. And then he remembers Sapnap, waiting for them to come hang out. Waiting to spend the first of many days with them all together. “We should go downstairs,” he says, reluctantly moving to get out of the bed.
“No,” Dream pouts, immediately. He tightens his grip on George’s waist. “You’re warm, don’t move. Let’s just…” He moves them so that they’re laying like they were when George first got in, with him curled up hotly around Dream’s back.
“You want to be little spoon?” George teases, going easily.
“So what if I do,” Dream says, and George feels him kissing his hand where he holds it, out of sight. He melts. “I don’t know,” he says, after a moment, tone somewhat serious. “I feel… This makes me feel really safe.”
“That’s good,” George says, and he kisses him on the back of his neck again. “I always want you to feel safe.” He notices, just under where his hair stops growing, there is a small mole. They match. He kisses it. They match. His heart sings with it.
“I should be like,” Dream laughs softly. “I should be like, jumping for joy right now and like running around. Sorry, I’m just kinda tired,” he yawns again, and George clenches his mouth shut so that he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing him immediately echo it. “I hope you’re not like, disappointed.”
“Don’t be stupid,” George says, letting his voice go fond. He hugs Dream even tighter, pulling him against his chest. He’s probably not strong enough to get him to move without help, but Dream shuffles so that he goes where George wants him to. “I’ve wanted this for years. We have all the time in the world for like… jumping for joy or whatever. You should do a flip later, though,” he says, grinning, “just to prove that you love me.”
“Sure,” Dream says, smiling. George can’t see his face, but he doesn’t even mind. Because he could look if he wanted to. Besides, he knows that Dream is smiling. He always knows. “Let's just stay here for like… five more minutes. Nick can deal.”
“Okay,” George says, content. He closes his eyes. “I might fall asleep, though. Just a warning. You’re so comfortable.” He pulls himself even closer. “Wanna hold you forever,” he mumbles.
“That’s okay,” Dream replies, making himself quieter. “You can. If you fall asleep, I’ll just wake you up.”
***
The rest of the day passes in a haze, the three of them settling into each other with an easy rhythm.
They don’t really do much of anything. Dream does, as George had imagined a million times over, cook for him. He doesn’t even put up a protest, just works his way around the kitchen comfortably, always looking back at George where he sits on the counter, like he can’t even process properly that he’s there.
George lets himself watch Dream. He watches him at every moment he can get really, the novelty of it never seeming to wear off. Dream is handsome, he learns, incredibly so. He tries to tilt his head a couple times and regard him objectively too, but it doesn’t seem possible. Dream is just Dream. He was always going to be handsome. And when he cooks he’s endearing, and when he’s concentrating he’s hot, and when he laughs at a joke Sapnap says he’s cute.
George just can’t stop looking. Every time he looks again, he feels giddy. Almost shy. He’s acting normal, he’s certain of it, but there’s something about the newness of Dream that means he can’t stop smiling, having to knuckle it off his face so he doesn’t look like a complete maniac. He wonders absently if it’s possible to die from happiness, but then decides if it is possible, he’ll concentrate as hard as he can to make sure it doesn’t happen. He has a whole lifetime for dying of happiness. He at least wants to get some mileage on it now that he has it.
He starts to feel the effects of the plane somewhere in late afternoon. They’re hanging in the living room, all squished together on one of the smaller couches in front of reruns of Hell’s Kitchen.
“I kinda wanna shower,” he says between episodes, surprised that he even lasted this long without one.
“That’s cool,” Sapnap replies, turning down the TV. “We already stocked up your bathroom so that you don’t have to unpack your shit. No six-in-one for you,” he grins. “You’re a lucky boy in the Dream Team house. Dream even put in exfoliant.”
“For your pores,” Dream says. “I think.”
“Ooooh,” George drags out, putting on a voice. He stretches his legs in front of him, preparing himself to go upstairs. “I am a lucky boy, aren’t I?”
It’s funny. He doesn’t even mind the idea of leaving them to shower. Before, the twenty minutes spent under the water seemed like a canyon of time, where anything could happen without him knowing.
“Wait,” Dream says, sitting up a little, just before George leaves. He shoots a glance at Sapnap, and it tells George everything he needs to know.
“You wanna come with?” He asks, and he makes sure to say it as casually as he can. He wants to set a precedent, he thinks, with the way he and Dream will be. There’s no point pretending otherwise, especially when Sapnap already knows.
Dream blinks, maybe a little awed at George’s forwardness. “Yeah,” he says. “Can I?”
George is nodding when Sapnap says, “Okay, okay, Jesus. Couldn’t even wait for tonight, huh?”
George rolls his eyes. “Idiot,” he says. “We’re not gonna fuck in the shower, I am legitimately gross.” And then he smirks. “He just needs to help me wash the difficult parts.”
“LALALA!” Sapnap sticks his fingers in his ears. “I DON’T WANNA KNOW!”
“Dumbass,” Dream says, whacking the back of Sapnap’s head gently as he stands up. “We’ll probably just,” he looks at George, assessing, so George nods back at the silent question, “go straight to sleep afterwards.”
“Yeah,” George says. “I don’t even know what timezone I’m operating in right now. I’m exhausted.”
Dream nods at George and turns back. “So,” he says, like that settles it. “Goodnight.”
“Okay, man,” Sapnap says, shifting to take up more space on the sofa now that they’re both leaving. “I also don’t care, by the way. For the record. It’s not like it’s my shower. Just keep the sex out of the communal areas and we’re good.”
George pouts. “So no sex in the kitchen?” He jokes, and explodes in laughter when he’s hit in the head with a projectile cushion.
“Idiot,” Dream says fondly, and then George is flooded with that giddy feeling again, because Dream has splayed his hand across the small of his back and is guiding him upstairs.
When they get to George’s bathroom, bare feet on cool tiles, Dream looks down at him, smiling. He takes George’s head in both his hands, cradling his cheeks, and kisses him on the forehead.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he says, “but can I go grab my shampoo from my room?”
“Why?” George asks, curious. He tries not to move as he speaks. He wants Dream’s hands to stay on him as long as possible.
Dream bites his lip. It’s very distracting. “When I wash your hair,” he says, “I want to make you smell like me.”
George smiles, and leans up to kiss Dream on the cheek. “Be quick,” he says. “I’ll start the water running.”
The pressure of the shower head is relaxing, and once he’s under he closes his eyes. He begins to wash his body methodically, half falling asleep under the water.
“Got it,” Dream says, opening the bathroom door again with shampoo and conditioner under his arm. George half opens his eyes to blink towards him, satisfied with the way Dream’s gaze lingers on his body. “You didn’t squeak your ears yet, right?”
George lets out a laugh, the soft sound of it echoing in the shower. “No,” he says, smiling. “Get in, idiot.”
He watches through the fogged up glass as Dream undresses, pooling his t-shirt and sweats on top of George’s.
“You look good,” he says, wiping at the glass to make a little peep-hole. He’s seen parts of Dream’s body, little snapshots sent at night, but never the whole thing at once. Neither of them are considering this a sexual context, he just knows that they’re both on the same wavelength that way, but he still feels a little heady, seeing Dream’s body like this. He does look good. He looks really good, and George, again, finds himself dizzyingly attracted to him.
“Pervert,” Dream smiles, and then he’s pulling back the glass door and settling behind George, kissing at his neck. Just behind his ears.
“Obviously,” George replies, tilting his head to the side to coax Dream into a quick, gentle kiss.
When Dream pulls back, he lands another quick peck on George’s lips. Before he arrived, he knew Dream would be affectionate, they both are, but the reality of it is something else entirely. Everything Dream does reminds George of how much he loves him. He tucks his head over George’s shoulder, and George watches as he traces his hands down his abdomen. His stomach twitches at the light touches.
Eventually, he taps George’s thigh, near where his cock lies, soft.
“Love this,” he murmurs. “Can I?” He gestures to it.
“Mm,” George hums. “If you want. I’m tired though.”
“That’s okay,” Dream says quietly. “So am I, don’t worry. Just want to touch a little. To see.”
“You can,” George says, watching as Dream’s hand fits around him. He rubs his thumb against him gently, like he would any other part of his body.
“Okay?” Dream says, kissing the back of his neck softly.
“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s nice.”
“You look kind of small,” Dream comments. “In my hand, I mean.”
“What the hell,” George sputters out, laughing. “Dickhead.”
“You know what I mean,” Dream says, and his eye roll is audible. He traces a sensitive spot with his thumb and then targets it again and again when George gasps.
“Dream,” George groans out, when his cock starts to get interested, forcing himself to sound annoyed. “I’m too tired to get hard.”
“Sorry,” Dream says, settling his hands on George’s waist. He kisses his cheek. “I’ll wash your hair for you now?”
“Gross,” George says. “Wash your hands first.”
“We are literally in the shower, George.”
“Wash them.”
George hears him huff and grab the shower gel, washing his hands in the stream.
“All done,” he says. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” George says, satisfied.
He closes his eyes, listening as Dream carefully lathers shampoo between his hands.
“Move a little,” Dream says quietly, nudging him out of the water a bit. “There you go.”
When Dream puts his hands in his hair, he sighs. He works the shampoo through in a gentle massage, and the careful scratch of his fingers against his scalp feels incredible.
“Mm,” George hums. “Feels nice.”
“Good,” Dream murmurs. “Behind your ears now, too.”
And then he rubs gently at the skin behind his ears, that pale skin he asked to see over a webcam months and months ago. It’s a small sensation, a small thing, but the touch is so gentle George feels the love behind it all over him.
“What was the sound your mom used to make?” He asks. “So I can do it properly.”
“It was like this, I guess,” George says, laughing a little, and then he makes the sound -- like a windscreen wiper, a little high-pitched squeak at the back of his throat. It’s not a pleasant sound, and it echoes intensely in the shower.
But Dream repeats it, like he’s practising, properly concentrating. “Like that?”
“Perfect, Dream.”
“Okay,” he says, and then he rubs behind George’s ears again, and makes the squeaking sound again with his mouth. “There you go,” he says, satisfied. “Squeaky clean.”
And just like that, he’s filled with so much love for Dream, so much happiness that he’s here, finally here, that he could cry with it. He turns around, and pulls Dream down into a kiss. He tries to put everything into it. Tries to telegraph everything he’s feeling, though that’s probably impossible. He thinks he’s feeling every emotion at once.
“Careful,” Dream says, breathless, once they finally break away. “I didn’t rinse you, you’re going to get shampoo in your eyes.”
George squints up at him, only now registering the sting. “I think I already did,” he says, “ouch.”
“Idiot,” Dream says, fondly, and gently guides him under the water.
***
After the shower, they sit on George’s bed. Comfortable, t-shirts and underwear, shoulder to shoulder. It’s everything George has ever wanted. It’s strange to have it now. To live in the reality of soon, to be able to think finally instead of when.
“I feel like maybe,” He starts, thinking as he talks about how he always has to mediate every emotion through all these fucking layers. Everything he feels becomes labyrinthine. But he’s grateful, at least, that Dream knows how to navigate. “Well. You know black holes?”
Dream exhales a small laugh, more amused than anything else. “Do I know black holes,” he says, like he’s considering it. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Yeah,” George says, satisfied. He thinks that this is confirmation enough. “That was me. Before. But now,” he gestures loosely to this: the bed, the room, the house. Dream. Mostly to Dream. “It’s like the opposite. A white hole. The Big Bang. Matter is being ejected. I feel… explosive.”
“Ejected?” Dream says, smiling, the brightness of it delightful.
“Ejaculated,” George replies, seriously.
Dream puts a hand on his cheek, completely patient. “That sounds serious,” he says. “Clinical, even. Are you taking anything for it?”
And George sees Dream in front of him. He can see him. Isn’t that a miracle?
“I don’t know,” he says. He leans in closer to Dream’s hand, thrilling at the warmth of it on his skin. “What are you offering?”
“Everything,” Dream says. “Anything.”
“Okay,” George says, and then he’s moving to kiss Dream, lowering his voice to a whisper, covering Dream’s hand with his as it sits against his head, fitting his own hand to Dream’s jaw. Fanning his words softly over Dream’s lips. “I’ll take everything.”
Kissing Dream is a marvel. The push and pull of it is electric. He’s not even been here a day, but he already knows he will never grow tired of this. His mouth sings with it.
“Mm,” George mumbles into Dream’s mouth. “Kissing you is like…” he kisses him again. “It’s cosmic.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Dream murmurs back.
“I dunno,” George says, quietly, breaking away for air. “They released new photographs of space and all I could think about was you. Does that mean anything, d’you think?”
“Yeah,” Dream says, and he guides George into his lap, hands seeking his waist, running up his back. “Means there’s something wrong with you.”
“Maybe I’m having premonitions. You’ll be an astronaut one day.”
“Don’t wanna be an astronaut,” Dream says. “I’d miss you too much.”
“Wouldn’t be that much different than when I was in London,” George says, resting his forehead on Dream’s. “Felt like that anyway, before. Floating in the dark.”
“Well,” Dream says, kissing him sweetly. “You’re not an astronaut anymore. You’re here. That’s all I know.” He says here like it’s as momentous a destination as space, and George doesn’t even think to correct him.
“That’s the problem,” George says, seriously. “I’m here. You’re here. Both of us in the same place. It makes me feel insane.”
“Yeah,” Dream says. “It’s intense,” he takes another kiss, soft and gentle. When he peers at George with wide loving eyes, he softens his voice too. “Don’t send me to space to spite me.”
George leans back so Dream can see his whole face before he quirks his eyebrows. “I’ll send you to space, alright.”
Dream laughs, and it rings out, filling the whole room. No mediation, no microphone, no headphones. “You’re so fucking stupid,” Dream says, his happiness illuminating everything for miles.
They kiss again. They spend the whole night kissing.
***
The next day, George wakes up with his face pressed soundly into the back of Dream’s neck. He closes his eyes again as soon as he opens them, desperate to bask in the scent and safety of Dream for as long a moment as he can.
He knows that Dream is awake, can just tell instinctively from the way he’s breathing. He also has a sneaking suspicion that Dream woke up hard.
This prediction is based on something altogether intangible. He thinks sometimes he would be able to tell if Dream did anything at all, just by the way the wind blew. That maybe there was some kind of butterfly effect that meant if Dream did something, it would leave a ripple of consequences that would always make it back to him. That meant he would just be able to know. George doesn’t particularly like the definitive written-in-the-stars idea of soulmates, but he likes the idea of Dream. He likes knowing him.
It’s this line of thought that has him kissing the back of Dream’s neck, tightening his grip around Dream’s waist and mumbling, “Is that a blaze rod in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Dream tenses, and then relaxes. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Know that I’m hard?”
“I dunno,” George says, smiling sleepily, satisfied that he’s right. “I’m just psychic or something.”
“I’m serious,” Dream says. “How did you know? You’re not even touching me there, how can you tell?”
“Mm,” George says, nuzzling his face against Dream’s neck. “Your breathing, I think.”
“My breathing?” He sounds incredulous. “Bullshit.”
“No,” George says, thoughtfully. “I think that is why. You breathe a little heavier when you get turned on. I think I registered it subconsciously, and then I just knew.”
“Huh,” Dream says. “That’s kinda cool, I guess.”
“Mm,” he hums sleepily. He rubs his fingers gently at Dream’s stomach, touching the material of his soft t-shirt. “D’you wanna make out about it?”
Dream turns to face him, and kisses him in answer. It’s soft and sleepy. Mostly gentle, until George grabs a little at Dream’s waist, and he’s pulling back with a gasp.
George looks at him, utterly taken with him.
“We should probably text Sapnap,” he says.
“I already did,” Dream says back. “When I woke up.”
He reaches blindly behind him and grabs his phone, unlocking it to show George.
Nick
D:we r probs going to have sex this morning
btw
like if u wanna put headphones in or something
N:i know
…
im hanging out with ur sister she wants to bake a welcome cake for george lol
don’t tell him that it’s a surprise
i’ll text when it’s done so u can clean up the copious amounts of cum off the couch or whatever
KIDDING I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID NO SEX IN COMMUNAL AREAS
D: we will not have sex outside our rooms
promise
george’s fave is chocolate cake btw
N: thumbs up emoji
“You spoiled the surprise,” George says, but he feels his whole body light up with happiness. Every atom of his body thrums -- he is home, home, home. “Idiot.”
“Oh,” Dream says, looking back at his phone. “Oops.” He blinks wide-eyed at George. “Please pretend to be surprised for my sister.”
“I will,” George says. “My acting is really good. I’ll do my pog face.”
“Okay,” Dream says. “Maybe a regular surprised face will do, though.”
George pouts. “Do you not love my pog face?”
Dream sighs. “I love all your faces equally.”
They blink at each other until George rolls his eyes.
“Come back, then,” he says, pulling him into another kiss, loving and gentle. He loves Dream’s mouth. “Idiot,” he mumbles into it.
It doesn’t take long before the kisses start growing heated, and hands start wandering. George is soon alternating between kissing and biting Dream’s neck, a fantasy he’d played out a million times over before he got to Florida. There’s something so good about it, the way he can press almost his entire body against Dream’s as he does it, one long line of heat searing them together.
“God,” George pants against his neck, pulling away after he works another frantic hickey into Dream’s skin. “I want to fucking live inside you.”
“We can do that,” Dream gasps, shifting so that he’s even closer. It’s like they can’t get enough of each other, he thinks, it’s like they’re trying to see where their own bodies end and the other’s starts, and they just can’t find the border.
“What d’you mean,” George murmurs, kissing his neck again. Dream can’t seem to stay still when he does it. He loves getting all these reactions from him, no delay, no shitty internet.
“Inside me,” Dream says nonsensically, “You. Inside me.”
“Holy fucking shit,” George mumbles into his neck. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Dream replies, pulling George into another hot kiss. He licks into it, eager to provoke a reaction, desperate to keep learning Dream in this new way. “Obviously,” Dream says, breaking away. George’s eyes are pulled to his lips, pretty and swollen. “Want you in me. Wanna make you lose it.”
Something in George’s abdomen pulses hot.
“If I’m fucking you,” George says, eyes blown wide, mesmerised, reaching out to run his thumb along Dream’s bottom lip, “won’t I be the one making you lose it?”
“Maybe,” Dream says, before jutting his lip out further, happy to open himself to George’s exploration. “But I want you to like…” He swallows, darting his eyes up to George’s. “I want you to take me.”
“Fuck,” George says. “Fuck. Okay. I’ll work you open, we can do it quickly, I’ll just grab…”
“Wait,” Dream says, pulling back so there’s space to breathe between them. He puts a gentle hand on George’s bicep. He tries not to feel dizzy at the size of it around his arm. “I’ve… I should probably tell you.”
“What,” George says, mind immediately pinwheeling off in some frantic and horror-filled direction. “Tell me what? What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Dream smiles reassuringly. “I’m fine. I’ve just…” He scrunches his face up like he’s confessing something embarrassing. “I’ve never fingered myself,” he admits. “So… we might have to go slow.” He bites his lip. “If that’s okay.”
“You’ve…” He looks at Dream, certain that shock is all over his face. “Never?”
“No,” Dream says. He seems almost sheepish.
“Why not?” George asks, genuinely curious. “I really thought you’d be into it.”
“I am,” Dream insists. “I know I’m going to be.”
George furrows his brows. “Then why—”
“You never told me to,” Dream interrupts in a rush. “You never told me to,” he repeats, embarrassed. “So I didn’t.”
“You…” George swallows, staring at him, his whole body lighting up. “You only do what I tell you to?”
He rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, clearly just being difficult. “I don’t only do what you tell me to.”
George doesn't budge. “But with this, you do?”
“What’s this?”
“This,” he repeats. “Like, sex. Sex stuff.”
“Well.” Dream stalls, abashed. He’s blushing. “Yeah. Kinda.”
“Why?” George says, keen to find out.
“I dunno,” he says. “You know I like that kind of stuff. This can’t be that surprising.”
“What, like you like it when I tell you when…”
“When I can touch,” Dream fills in, voice quiet and coming out rough. “When I can come.”
“Huh,” George says, curious, before leaning in close to kiss him. It’s soft, open-mouthed. George will never tire of this. He leans back a little to see Dream’s face. “You do like being my good boy, don’t you?”
It hits the nail on the head. Dream’s eyes go wide. “Mm,” Dream he hums, blissed out, pulling George into another kiss. “’M good for you.”
“Okay, baby,” George says, staying in Dream’s personal space, trying to keep him cute like this. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he pauses. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah,” Dream mumbles.
“I’ll open you up on my fingers first,” he says, watching Dream’s wide-eyed reaction play out. “I’ll go slow, make it really good for you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Dream breathes.
“And then,” he continues. “Well. I’ve got a toy, it’s a little thicker than my fingers but not as big as me. So we’ll move onto that afterwards.”
“A toy?” Dream’s mouth falls open a little, and it looks so pretty George has to kiss it.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Dream says quickly. “Yeah, that’s…” He trails off. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” George says, smiling, hopelessly endeared. “And then, I’ll fuck you.”
“Yeah,” Dream says. “Yeah, please.”
“Good,” George says. “What’s the order?”
Dream swallows. “Your fingers,” he says, doing as George asked without question, “then a…” He pauses, just staring for a second. “A toy. And then… and then you.”
“Good,” George says. “Well done for paying attention.”
Dream flushes. “You don’t have to praise me for like… everything I do.”
“I know I don’t have to,” George says, and then he lowers his voice, because he knows what it does to Dream. “You just get so cute when I tell you that you’re good, though,” he says. “And you are being so, so good for me, so I might as well tell you.”
Dream shifts a little . “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”
It’s kind of addictive. “Hm,” he adds. “What do you say when I call you good?”
“Uh,” Dream says, his blush steadily rising now. His voice goes small. “Thank you, George.”
George can’t help but smile, leaning in to press a quick peck to his lips. “God,” he says. “You sound so cute when you say that.”
“Thank you,” Dream says again, but there’s a little mischievous smirk this time, like he knows what he’s doing.
“Oh,” George says, playing along. “Well, now you’re just asking for it.” He slips his fingers under Dream’s boxers. “Gonna pull these off you, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dream says, lifting his hips to help them off.
And then George is staring at Dream’s cock, the way it’s flushed, hard and pink against his light stomach hair. He runs a light finger up the length, mesmerised at how it twitches a little in reaction.
“God,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
“Yeah?” Dream gasps.
He lets himself run his finger lower, ghosting over his hole.
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing at it gently. “Look at you, baby. You must be so tight.”
“For you,” Dream says. When George looks back up at him, he’s smiling. George leans to the side to open the bedside drawer, pulling out an unopened bottle of lube.
“Just had that on hand, did you?” Dream teases.
“Shut up,” he replies. “I bought it at the airport.”
“Planning to join the mile-high club or something?”
George can’t help the rapid fantasies that flick through his head at that.
“We should definitely return to that thought,” he says. “Remind me.”
“I’ll forget too, probably,” Dream says.
“We should write it down,” George reaches for his phone.
“No,” Dream stops him. “George, you are not reminding yourself to finger me in an airplane bathroom before you even finger me at all.”
“Spoilsport,” George says.
“George,” Dream whines. “I want you to finger me.”
“Yeah?” George asks, feeling heady. “How badly do you want it?”
“What?” Dream’s mouth drops open.
George grins a little, and starts slicking up his fingers. Getting Dream like this has him dizzy with power. “How. Badly.” He starts, saying each word slowly. “Do. You. Want. It.”
“Very badly,” Dream relents. His cheeks pinken. “I like,” he swallows. “I need it, George.”
“Oh, no,” George says, starting to rub gently at Dream’s entrance, to get him used to the feeling. “Am I getting you all needy?”
“You’re so fucking dumb, George,” Dream says, but the way he’s shifting about and biting his lip lets George knows what he really means.
“Are you?” George repeats, insistently. “Are you needy?”
“Yeah,” Dream says. “I’m…” His voice goes quieter, like he can’t believe he’s saying it. “You’re getting me needy.”
“Oh, baby,” George says. “What’s the magic word?”
“The…” Dream blinks at him, sober suddenly through his arousal. “The magic word? Are you serious?”
George scowls, pulling his fingers away completely. “Yes,” he says.
“George,” Dream whines. “Touch me again.”
“What’s the magic word?” He says again. “If you say it, I’ll open you up.”
“Abracadabra,” Dream says.
“Dream,” George scolds. “Say it, it’ll be hot.” He starts ghosting a finger around his hole again, this time leaning in to kiss the head of his cock as well. Dream makes a little helpless sound as he does so, and George reckons it’s one of the most arousing things he’s ever heard. “Say it,” he insists.
“Please,” Dream gives in, finally. The word goes straight to George’s cock. “Please,” he says again. “Please finger me.”
“There you go,” George says, satisfied. He kisses Dream, and slips a finger in. He’s tight and hot inside, and George thinks he’s never felt anything more perfect. “Was that so hard?”
“George,” Dream gasps, hand coming up to clutch at George’s shoulder.
“How does it feel?” He asks, kissing Dream’s cheek. He keeps his finger still inside him.
“You’re in me,” Dream says, and he sounds dazed. Like he can barely believe it’s happening. “You’re inside me.”
“You want me to move?” George asks.
“Yeah,” comes the breathless reply. “Just a little, though.”
“Of course,” George says, pushing his finger slowly so that his second knuckle meets Dream’s rim. Then he keeps it still again. “How’s that?”
Dream arches his back, pushing into the feeling like he just can’t help it. “Good,” he pants, “it’s really good, George.”
“Hm,” George says, pleased. “And you’re doing so good for me, too.”
“Yeah,” Dream mumbles.
George starts moving his finger back and forth ever so slowly, thrilling when Dream’s hands come down to clutch again at his shoulders. “Do you want me to try to find your--”
“Yes,” Dream interrupts. “Yes, please.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Knew,” Dream says. “I know. Please, George.”
“Okay,” George says, and he starts to make little beckoning motions with his finger. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
As George moves, Dream’s cock starts leaking a little. Dream really seems to love it, just like George thought he would, making little panting moans. It’s a hell of a trip, coaxing all of this out of him when he’s barely moving.
Then, the pad of George’s finger brushes up something that feels a little different, and Dream is moaning loudly with a jerk.
“Fuck,” he gasps. He presses insistently towards George. “That’s it, that’s-” He moans again. “Again, George, again.”
“That’s it?” George asks, rubbing the area softly with his finger.
“Yeah,” Dream whines. “More, please.”
“Another finger?” George asks.
“Yes,” Dream pants, “please.”
So George slides his middle finger alongside his index and lets them sit inside Dream again, letting him get used to the stretch.
“Move,” Dream says, after a moment. “Want you to touch me there again.”
“Anything you want,” George says, and then he’s shifting to get a better angle, and is pistoning his fingers precisely, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.
Dream completely unravels, his body twitching erratically with every pulse of George’s fingers. It’s a beautiful sight, and it’s even more incredible to know that he caused it.
All the while, Dream’s cock is sitting unflushed against his stomach, steadily dripping precum onto his happy trail. George loves the hair there, always asking for pictures of it when they were an ocean apart. Seeing it getting ruined by his actions is mesmerising.
After a few minutes of George focusing on his prostate, Dream leans to put a hand over George’s, getting him to look up, pausing.
“George,” Dream says, eyes shiny. “Enough, enough.”
He pauses, worried suddenly.
“You okay, baby?” He keeps his fingers as still as possible. “You want me to pull out?”
“Yeah,” he says, “please. Just too good, I don’t want to come yet.”
George pulls his fingers out slowly. “You sure?” He says. “You can come now and again later, if you want.”
“I’m sure,” Dream says, blinking slowly, clearly trying to come back to himself. “Besides,” he says, shy. “You said you had a toy?”
George thinks of the toy, the purple plastic of it, sitting in his bedside drawer. He remembers all the nights he’s fucked himself with it, thinking of Dream, and then he imagines fucking Dream with it himself. It’s enough to make his mind fall into two pieces.
“You want it now?” George asks. “Don’t want to have a break first?”
“Oh,” Dream blinks owlishly, like he didn’t even know that was an option. “Maybe, actually.” He nods to the bedside table. “Could I have a sip of water, please?”
George smiles, endeared. “You’re being so polite,” he says, reaching for the glass and passing it to Dream.
“Whatever,” Dream replies, after drinking some water and offering it to George. “You’re conditioning me, it’s your fault.”
“Sure,” George says, patting his thigh. He puts the glass back after taking a sip himself, and then pulls the toy out of the bedside drawer.
He passes it to Dream, wanting him to get comfortable with the idea of it.
“Have a look,” he says. “Might make you less nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Dream says, and when George looks at him, he realises that he’s being honest.
“Well,” George says. “Nice to get used to it anyway.” He watches, helplessly turned on as Dream turns the toy in his hands.
“The base is flared, see,” George says. “That’s important for toys that go in here,” he rubs gently at Dream’s rim to make him squirm.
“I do know that, George,” Dream huffs a little.
“I’m just teaching you,” George says, feeling a little embarrassed himself. “Whatever. See if I care.”
Dream looks at him, assessing through his aroused haze. “Oh,” he says, blinking, like everything’s clicked into place. “You like that you’re my first.”
Something hot curls in George. “What?” He says. “No.”
“You wanna teach me all about how to take it, huh?”
“No,” George says again. “Shut up.”
“You do,” Dream says, delighted. “Do you have a corruption kink or something? You want me to pretend to be a blushing virgin?”
“How do you know what a corruption kink is?” George says, keen to deflect.
“How do you know?” Dream shoots back, grinning. “This really is a thing for you, isn’t it?”
“No,” he says, and then relents. “Maybe.”
“George,” he says, making his eyes wide, handing the toy back to him like he doesn’t know what to do with it. George hates that it does something to him. “I don’t know what sex is. I’ve never even jerked off before. Please teach me.”
“Okay,” George rolls his eyes. “Shut up. God forbid I find something hot.”
Dream laughs lightly before biting his lip, pushing it out. “Will you take it slow with me, though? I’m shy. I need you to make it good for me,” he says, making his voice a little whinier than usual.
“What?” George stares at him dumbly.
“I trust you,” Dream says, a twinkle in his eyes. “I know you’ll be patient with me.”
“Yeah,” George says after a beat, going along with it. It’s half a joke and half not. “I’m gonna make it real easy for you, baby. Just lay back.”
He presses a hand gently to Dream’s chest, pushing him backwards.
“Okay,” Dream says, going easily, covering George’s hand lightly with his. “See,” he whispers, once he’s against the pillows. “I can play into your kinks, too.”
George smiles. He’s so lucky. “I see,” he says, rubbing his fingers softly on Dream’s chest, as if he’s petting him. “Don’t worry about that though. Not right now. I really do just want to concentrate on making it good for you.”
“You shouldn’t worry either,” Dream says. “I know it’ll be good. I literally just almost came from just your fingers. Like you’re magic, or something.”
“Might not just be because it’s me though,” George says. “You could just not be used to it, yet. Extra sensitive.”
“It is just because it’s you,” Dream says, certain. “Mostly, at least.”
“Oh,” says George, looking to tease him. “I’m just so hot aren’t I, Dream?”
“Obviously,” Dream replies, lips quirking into a grin. “Like, of course you are.”
“Hm,” he says. He’s struck by it suddenly, the reality of Dream in his bed. Looking at him like this, putting all this trust in him. “I…” He pauses, changes his mind. “Never mind,” he says.
“No,” Dream says, leaning up on his elbows, curious. He smiles at George, eyes soft and caring. “What is it?”
George could cry. And he has a stupid sex toy in his hands.
“I just,” he says, overcome by emotion. It’s overwhelming, but Dream deserves it, he thinks. He deserves to understand what it all means to him. “I really love you, you know.”
Dream melts. “I know,” he says, and he looks so unbelievably happy. George wants him to feel like this forever. He hopes he can always make him smile like this. “I love you, too.”
“I’m obsessed with you,” George says seriously, and then he dribbles lube onto the toy, and presses it to Dream’s entrance. “Okay,” he says, changing the subject, determined now on making Dream feel good. “We’ll go slow.”
Dream bites his lip. “Kiss me,” he says, “as you push it in.”
“What the hell,” George says, rearranging himself so that he’ll be able to lean forward enough to kiss when he fucks the toy into Dream. He positions it right at Dream’s rim, so he can easily push it inside him. “You’re so obsessed with kissing. It’s almost like you love me.”
Dream smiles at him. “I have no clue where you got that idea from,” he says, and then he kisses him.
George takes the hint, pushing the toy gently into Dream. He breaks away from the kiss reluctantly, to glance down.
“Sorry,” he says. “Just want to watch you around it.” The sight of Dream’s hole stretching to accommodate the toy has George’s cock twitching, and the dull pulse of arousal that’s been steadily growing becomes a little more difficult to ignore. But he does ignore it, because he has Dream just where he wants him.
He kisses Dream’s cheek softly, overcome with love for him.
“How is it?” He asks.
“Good,” Dream says, and it’s a little quiet, like a sigh. “Comfortable. I feel…” He searches for a word. “Full,” he settles on.
“That’s good,” George says. “Good that you’re comfortable.”
“Yeah,” Dream says. He reaches a hand out and pats it to George’s cheek. “Thank you,” he says, earnest, “for being patient with me. Means a lot.”
George just smiles back at Dream. He knows he wouldn’t be able to articulate all he wants to say back, but from the look on Dream’s face, he knows. “Should I start fucking you with this?” He wiggles the toy a little.
“Uh,” Dream’s hips twitch at the sensation, surprised. “Yeah,” he says. “Please.”
So George moves around a little so he can get a better angle, and starts moving it back and forth slowly, and then faster when Dream starts breathing heavily. It doesn’t take long before he’s clutching at George again, as if he’s a life line.
“This vibrates, you know,” George says, pretending to be casual.
“What?” Dream says. He sounds out of his mind. “No it doesn’t.”
“It does,” George says.
“Doesn’t,” he thrusts his hips shallowly to meet the toy. “You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Dream insists. “Fuck.”
“Interesting,” George says, making sure to keep his voice affected in that casual manner. He feels himself getting more turned on at the prospect with what he’s about to do. “I guess you won’t mind if I do this then, if you don’t believe me.”
George finds the small button on the toy, and clicks it down.
The reaction is instant.
“Fuck,” Dream jolts with a loud moan. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking hell, George.”
He’s arching his back, twitching erratically, grasping at the sheets desperately. He’s flushed pink, all down his chest.
“God,” George says. “You look fucking gorgeous like this.”
“You-” Dream cuts himself off with a moan. “Yours.”
George’s jaw drops of its own accord. “Yeah?” He prompts, feeling dizzy. He needs to hear that confession again like he needs oxygen. “You’re mine?”
“Mhm,” Dream hums, voice heavy with arousal. “I’m yours.”
George wants to reward him. He manoeuvres the toy a little, so that it’s angled just right, and then presses it up against Dream’s prostate and holds it there. “There you go,” he says.
He watches as Dream’s eyes roll back into his head, in awe at how he arches his back, mumbling nonsense in response to the onslaught of pleasure.
“Okay, Dream?” George prompts.
“Nnnnng,” Dream says. George grins, smug. “’M good.”
“You are good, aren’t you, baby,” George says, determined to get him to go cute again. “Want me to turn it up?”
“Huh?” Dream looks blearily at George. “It goes higher than this?”
In response, George presses the button again.
“Oh my god,” Dream whines, twisting about even more. “I’m -” he cuts himself off with a crying moan, “- I’m gonna come, George.”
“Yeah,” George says, enraptured, “you wanna come for me, baby?”
“I can,” Dream pants, “I can come twice, right?”
“Of course you can,” George says, “anything you want.”
At the confirmation, Dream nods frantically. “Yeah,” he says, “’M gonna come, ‘m gonna…”
George leans in and kisses him, letting Dream grab at his shoulders and moan into his mouth. It doesn’t take long before he can feel him shuddering, the hot pulse of Dream’s cock coming onto their t-shirts, before Dream is breaking away from the kiss, eyes wet.
“Out,” he mumbles, “take it--”
George obeys quickly, switching the toy off at the base and pulling it softly out of him. He smiles back down at Dream, petting his hair and leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“So good for me, baby,” he says softly. “You did really well.”
Dream breathes deeply, smiling back up at him. “You love calling me baby, huh,” he says, with a hoarse voice.
“I-” George pauses, feeling caught out. “You’re just my baby when you’re like this,” he says, embarrassed. It feels confessional. “Shut up. I won’t say it anymore, now. See how you like it.”
“No,” Dream pouts. “I like it. Like being your baby.”
“Hmm,” George says, unable to stay annoyed at him when he’s this cute, even for a joke. He leans in to kiss his forehead. “I know you do.”
“Can I have some more water?” Dream asks. “Please.”
George grabs the glass again. “You seriously are so polite when you’re like this, aren’t you?”
Dream takes a long sip. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”
“Mm,” George takes the glass back. “We don’t have to, um,” he pauses, unsure of how to word it. “You know. If you’re too tired. We can try another time.”
“I’m not too tired,” Dream says instantly. “I just need a breather for a moment.”
George raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he insists. “Besides,” he glances down deliberately, “you haven’t even been touched yet.”
The words go straight to his cock, as if it knows it’s being talked about.
“That’s okay, though,” he says, trying to be reassuring. “I’m not gonna, like, die if I don’t fuck you.”
“I might, though,” Dream says, with a quirk of his mouth. “Can I…?” He trails off as he shuffles in place, sitting up and tracing a hand down George’s body. He shivers under the touch. Dream pauses when he gets to his waistband and looks questioningly into his eyes.
“Yeah,” George answers. “If you want.”
And then Dream is tracing a soft hand over George’s underwear, teasing his cock through the soft material that it’s straining against.
He sighs, pleasure rocketing up his spine at the small touches. “That’s good,” he says.
“Want to play with you a bit,” Dream says. “Then you can fuck me.”
“Play with me?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “It’ll help me cool down.” He tugs at the waistband of George’s underwear. “Take these off so I can see.”
George lets out a heavy sigh, faking exasperation. “Always so needy, aren’t you?” But he lifts his hips anyway so Dream can pull them off.
“Wow,” he says, as soon as he catches sight of George’s cock, heavy and leaking against his stomach. “You’re really hard.”
He reaches out to thumb the head, finding the spot that he targeted in the shower the night before, and George can’t help but let a quiet groan escape.
“What did you expect?” He grumbles. “Obviously I’m this hard.”
“Oh,” Dream grins, relenting a little to just stroke him slowly. It’s clear he’s not touching him to get him off, just seeking comfort. “It’s obvious?”
“Well,” George says. “Yeah. You know I think you’re hot.” He bucks his hips a little as Dream lets his fist get a margin tighter. “And you were so gone, you were like, crying.”
“You think I’m hot when I’m crying?” Dream raises his eyebrows, and returns to the sensitive spot, rubbing against it relentlessly.
“You know what I mean,” George insists, and then the effects of Dream’s targeting has his pleasure climbing faster than he wants it to. “Okay, Dream, stop, stop.”
He lets go immediately. “Sorry,” he says. “That spot is like, your cum-button.”
“Ew,” George says. “Don’t call it that ever again.”
“It is, though.”
“We genuinely just discovered that you have a literal cum-button inside you, Dream,” George says. “You do not have the high ground.”
Dream blushes a little, and George doesn’t miss how his eyes dart to George’s cock, like he’s imagining how it might feel, finally inside him. “Whatever,” he says.
“You want me to fuck you, now?” George asks. “You feel like, ready for it?”
“Ready for it?” Dream laughs. “What, you want me to ready-up?”
“You’re so stupid,” George rolls his eyes. “Do you want me inside you or not?”
“Shut up,” Dream says, after a beat. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Hmm,” he grabs the lube, where it lies on the bed. He’s about to slick himself up, but then he pauses. “Wait,” he says. “Do you want to use like, stuff?”
“Stuff?” Dream furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
“Like, protection,” George clarifies. “Condoms.”
“Oh,” Dream says, like he’s surprised. “I honestly assumed that we wouldn’t. Is that bad? I mean,” he shrugs, “we can use one if you want to, obviously.”
“No,” George fumbles to say. “I mean, I thought we wouldn’t either. We like,” he swallows. “We know that we’re both clean.”
“Yeah,” Dream confirms.
“So let’s not use one,” he says.
“Yeah,” Dream says again. “Plus,” he adds, biting his lip and smirking a little. “I really want to feel you come inside me.”
“Fuck,” George says, the words lighting him up. “You’re a menace.” And then he’s lubing himself up and settling at Dream’s entrance.
He leans down to kiss Dream, and somehow they're both smiling too wide to kiss properly.
“What are you grinning at?” George asks quietly, smiling uncontrollably himself.
“Nothing,” Dream says, happy as anything. “Just love you,” he says, and tilts his head to capture George in a proper kiss.
He kisses back, and he tries to put all the tenderness he has into it. As he deepens it, he gently rests a hand on Dream’s hip to steady himself as he pushes in.
“Fuck,” George hisses as he’s in. “God, you’re tight.”
“Yeah?” Dream gasps. “I take everything back that I said about you being small,” he says. “I’m so full.”
George glances down. “You haven’t taken all of me, yet,” he says. “You want me to keep going?”
Dream nods, so George kisses him again and pushes all the way in. He breaks away from the kiss to pant a little between them, too overwhelmed to even worry about the fact that it might be unattractive.
He stills once he’s bottomed out, just looking down at the marvel of him inside Dream. His hand strays to Dream’s stomach, just tracing patterns over the hint of his cock, where he thinks he could be inside him. It’s mesmerising.
Dream seems to be getting impatient, though, and he starts pulsing around George, squeezing himself on purpose. “Fuck me,” he says. “Hurry up, George.”
“Fuck,” he whines out in repsonse, hardly finding it in him to be embarrassed. “Stop doing that, idiot. I’ll come before I get to fuck you properly.”
“Don’t--” Dream starts, but then cuts himself off. “I thought I was your--”
“Baby,” George interrupts, hopelessly fond. “You want me to fuck you properly?”
“Yeah,” Dream answers. “Please.”
“Okay,” George murmurs, “okay, baby.”
He shifts to find a good angle, and then starts thrusting his hips steadily. It’s been such a long time since he fucked someone, so the feeling is almost unfamiliar. But he’s almost certain that it’s better than it’s ever been before. It’s not like he’s fucked people he’s unattracted to in the past, it’s not like he’s never had good sex.
It’s just that he’s never before had sex with Dream, and that honest to god seems to be making all the difference.
“Jesus,” he mumbles, kissing blindly at Dream’s neck, as he moves Dream’s legs slightly so he can aim at his prostate. “You feel- fucking incredible.”
Dream just makes a muffled whining sound, and the desperation it carries is so hot that George realises that he’s close to coming already.
“I’m close,” he confesses into Dream’s shoulder.
“Already?” Dream gasps. “Knew it,” he says, and then he starts squeezing around him again. “Knew I’d make you lose it.”
“Dumbass,” George gasps, his hips starting to stutter as he tries not to give in to fucking Dream relentlessly.
“You’re holding back,” Dream complains. “Fuck me properly.”
It’s all the permission George needs. Dizzy with arousal, he manhandles Dream so that his legs are tucked up to his chest, and then he starts fucking him faster than before, the sound of them colliding echoing loudly in the room.
Dream’s eyes roll back into his head again, and the sight is overwhelming.
“Right there,” he whines. “So fucking good, George.”
It doesn’t take long before Dream is pulsing around him, before he’s come again weakly onto his stomach, his cock completely untouched.
“Fucking hell,” George gasps, the image making him feel lightheaded. His hips move of their own accord, and he’s fucking into him even faster. “Gonna come,” he grunts, “gonna--”
And then he is, his orgasm hitting him like a train as he releases inside Dream. Afterwards, he collapses on top of him, exhausted.
“Oh my god,” he mumbles. “You’re insane.”
Dream’s hand comes around his back to stroke gently at his shoulder blade, focusing on a small patch of skin there.
“I can feel your come inside of me,” he says, sounding completely blissed out.
“Mm,” George says, the words making him feel hot all over. “It’s ’cause you’re mine,” he says, nonsensically.
“Oh,” Dream laughs lightly. “Is that why?”
“Yeah,” George says. He shifts a little, pulling out and Dream gasps as he does so. He looks down between them to watch come pooling out of Dream’s hole, and lets himself play with his sensitive rim. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “All mine.”
“Too much, George,” Dream says, quietly, but he doesn’t seem to really mind. He tugs George so that they’re lying together, content to just sit in peace.
They lay for a few long minutes, uncaring that there’s come drying on them, not worrying about the fact that at some point today they have to get dressed. It’s just comfortable, and domestic, and George has never felt more at home.
“George,” Dream says, after a few minutes of sleepy silence. “If there was going to be a movie made about like, our life story, who do you think would direct it?”
And George smiles before answering.