Chapter Text
George doesn’t know how he’s gotten here, standing outside of a stranger’s door with curious but nervous arousal stirring in whirls deep in the pit of his stomach.
He supposes it had started several years ago, deep in the hormone-hazed period of his teenage years, when he’d come across a video. In it, a woman, clad in a beautiful latticework of leather and latex, had been tied in complicated knots of silken cord, completely bound and at her partner’s mercy. He’d been entranced, almost too fascinated with the concept to remember he was supposed to be getting himself off, although he’d been so hard that he probably could’ve finished without even taking off his trousers. He could hardly even pay attention to the man tying her, the whips or the domineering touches he used, enraptured instead with the position she was in.
He’d kept it a private interest for all this time, only ever going so far as to bind his legs in ties executed with trembling hands, or draw careful lattices up the length of his cock. He’d never brought it up with his ex-girlfriend, much too terrified of how she would think of him, fantasizing at being in her position; but now, that was over and done with, and George felt it had been the right time to finally address this part of him.
The internet searches had been surprisingly straightforward, but he’d spent months lurking on local message boards and shockingly active websites before he felt confident enough to reach out to someone.
The man he’d chosen went by the name Dream online, preferring to use a pseudonym out of a simple desire to preserve some anonymity, which he could respect. He didn’t include any photos of his face, but he certainly had given George plenty of pictures of what he liked to do in his free time. He wasn’t ashamed to say he’d amassed an entire folder of Dream’s work, men and women alike bound in excruciating pleasure, and even just seeing it sent all of his blood rushing south.
Beyond seeking him out to try and see if George’s fantasies still worked once they were translated into real life, he found that he and Dream got along quite well, actually. He’d been clear about his anxieties from the start, and the other had been nothing but patient and kind with him, talking him through different aspects of scenes and safe words and aftercare. He’d found out he was a generous man, that he played Minecraft in his spare time, that he had a cat whom he doted on without a care of excess. He’s the kind of man George would make friends with if he’d encountered him at university or in a bar somewhere. Ultimately, that was what convinced him to finally go through with this.
While he knows he’ll wind up shedding all of his clothing at some point, he’s made an effort in putting on something nicer, fitted slacks that he’d been told showed off his ass, a pleasantly slimming button down, and the single nicest pair of underwear he owned. George fiddles with the buttons, made of aluminum and thankfully cool to the touch, as he finally raises a hand to press the buzzer on Dream’s flat.
The noise almost makes him jump, heightening his nerves, but all of it fades the moment the door finally opens, revealing the mysterious man he’d been messaging (and getting off to) for well over a month now. He’s tall, towering over George, and peers down at him with a face cruelly handsome enough to cause his breath to catch. He’s wearing an easy, genuine smile that hangs beneath a smattering of constellation-like freckles framing bright, golden eyes, all set within the confines of elegant bones. George’s lips catch around empty air, trying to come up with words at the glorious sight. Why on earth he hadn’t plastered his face all over their conversations is a mystery to him.
“Hey,” Dream finally says, American accent carrying a deep, lilting voice that’s easy on his ears. “Nice to finally see you in person.”
George dumbly blinks up at him for a moment, feeling his heart rate tick up in his chest, and they haven’t even started anything yet. “Hi, I’m George.”
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, that.
The other man cracks, wheezing laughter bubbling up in his chest. “No need to be nervous, just come in. Do you want tea? Coffee?” He’s gesturing for George to step through the threshold, and so he does.
“Wouldn’t mind some tea.”
The inside looks just like any other flat, and he isn’t sure why that surprises him. It’s simple, decorated in a way that just straddles the line between minimal and barren. Plants line the windowsills, and a row of mugs is drying next to his sink. It’s cozy in an unpretentious way, and it puts him at ease.
As he’s taking it in, Dream has maneuvered himself over to his small kitchen, rifling through a drawer. “I’ve got saffron, jasmine, and rosehip tea. I think I have Earl Gray in the pantry somewhere, too, if you want me to look for it.”
“Oh, jasmine’s fine,” George doesn’t miss how almost all of those are jokingly referred to as aphrodisiacs of the tea world. “Do you mind if I sit?” He gestures to the black leather couch taking up a large slice of his living area. He finds the material it’s made of funny, given this context.
Dream looks up at him, filling a small electric kettle with a tin of tea set to the side: loose leaf. “Oh, yeah, of course. Make yourself at home while you’re here. Like ninety percent of the point is for you to be comfortable with me, after all.”
He breathes out a quiet laugh at that before settling on the cushions that ended up being much plusher than he first thought. “Your flat is nice.”
He hears the motor of the electric kettle hissing behind him, slowly bringing the water to a boil. “Thanks, I guess. When my job moved me out here, it was all really sudden, and this was about the only half-decent option I could find. Glad to hear someone thinks I managed to make the place work.”
“What do you do for a living?” He asks, but quickly grows nervous about the silence that follows, immediately backpedaling. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me. I know that you like privacy.”
“No, no! It’s fine, really,” Dream rushes to fill the quiet now, and the kettle beeps in completion. “I’m just not used to anyone asking. People that find me through this sort of stuff are usually just here for the sex, you know? It’s hard to find someone who’s as open about it as they are, so they’re usually pretty single-minded once they’re through my door. It’s nice that you’re asking: I was just surprised.” He explains, laughing fondly at the end. “I work in tech. I don’t develop, though.”
George perks up at the mention. “Oh, I’m actually a software developer.” He twists so he can see over the back of the sofa, watching as Dream carefully pours steaming water over the tea filter.
“Well, it’s no wonder we ended up messaging so much. Guess we’re a little bit similar.”
He hums in acknowledgement, eyes trailing over the other as he sits down next to him and extends a warm mug toward him. He examines the delicate bracelets that adorn his left wrist and a thin band on one of his right fingers. Taking the mug, the porcelain is pleasantly hot against his skin, and the steam coils around his face, bringing with it the delicate scent of dried flowers and bergamot. “Thanks.” Is all he says, bringing it to his lips to blow.
Dream smiles at him again and, god, he has a lovely smile. There are dimples in his cheeks, to make things all the worse. “While you’re enjoying your tea, do you wanna talk about boundaries? Expectations?”
“I thought we’d already discussed that over text, though?” He’s a bit confused. Dream had walked him down an almost embarrassingly detailed checklist the other night, so he knew what he was and wasn’t comfortable with.
He shakes his head, eyes patient and generous. “It’s irresponsible to not check in like this. No such thing as being too sure, you know? For both you and for me.”
George realizes that it makes sense, because of course it does, and simply nods.
Dream stills for a moment to think before he begins. “Well, I’ll obviously be the one in control here, meaning it’s easier for me to avoid pushing my own boundaries but it also means I really need to be clear with what you are and aren’t okay with. We’ve talked about the colors, right?”
It’s easiest for both of us for me to just ask you for a color. Green if you’re totally comfortable, yellow if you’re uncertain, and red if you really want me to change what I’m doing. Use the safe word if you want me to stop.
He remembers the messages, and states accordingly.
“Good, good. Is there anything completely off limits at this point? I know you haven’t really done this before, so we can start slow, but I don’t want to take something in a direction you’re uneasy about.”
George thinks, trying to recall the videos he’d watched over the years, the stories and more clinical accounts he’d read. “I don’t- I don’t think I like the idea of being humiliated. Like, calling me awful names and such. I guess I don’t really know until I try, but I don’t want that for now.”
He pauses as Dream nods in acceptance. “But are you still okay with punishment?”
He nods, the idea causing a drop of heat to trickle down the nerves of his spine. “Yeah, I’m alright with that. I also don’t want to be gagged,” He decides, knowing how little of a filter he had. “I want to be able to talk. That’s it for now, I think.”
“Alright,” Dream replies, voice relaxed but attentive. “I won’t degrade you, and I’m perfectly fine keeping your mouth unoccupied.” There’s a heavy suggestion there, the first hint at the real reason George is sitting on this couch. “On my end, I don’t do anything that breaks skin, no matter how much you want it, and I won’t kiss you, at least not on the lips.”
A part of George knows that this is an even exchange, no matter how well they get along. It’s not an exchange of money, but of satisfaction of needs. There isn’t meant to be romance here, but the idea of not even being able to kiss the man who’s going to hopefully fuck him senseless feels strange to him. “Alright. That works for me.”
Dream claps his hands together softly, closing the conversation. “Great. I’ll let you finish off your tea, and go get some stuff ready, if that’s alright with you?”
He nods, fingers wrapping around the cup more tightly as he watches Dream stand, watches the defined cut of his body gracefully walk its way around the couch before disappearing down the hallway. He has a great ass, and the jeans he’s wearing did nothing to hide it. The tight shirt clinging to his upper half also does nothing to hide the ripples of muscles across his shoulders. George feels himself swallow at the sight, hard. He suddenly forgets about his tea entirely.
He’s starting to get a little nervous again, fiddling with his fingers in his lap as he tries to sort through the confusing signals his body is sending him. Dream is incredibly attractive, there’s no doubt about that, and in a normal context, he’d happily jump into bed with him without a second thought. But this is different, he decides. He’s doing more than jumping into bed: he’s completely trusting Dream to take care of him , and the thought both scares and arouses him beyond belief. His cock twitches in interest, and he tries to swallow his own desire before it gets out of check. That will come later.
He’s ultimately left to himself for a painful five or so minutes, running the pads of his fingers along the stitching on the couch, wondering how he’d look in leather; if he’d look as good as all the people Dream has been with in those photos. Where would he even buy stuff like that? Perhaps if he were to look online, he’d be—
His thoughts are interrupted by Dream clearing his throat in the distance, and he looks up to him leaning languidly in the entrance to the hallway, without a shirt and in leather pants that left none of him to the imagination. He can’t help but trail his eyes down the muscled expanse of his chest before dipping them along the defined v-shape etched into his pelvis. He has a look of nonchalance on his face; not yet putting up a front, but George can see him shifting.
“Let’s get you ready, alright?” It’s phrased as a question, but he can tell it isn’t quite one.
George stands, wordless, and walks toward him before coming to a stop right in front of the body blocking the entrance. Dream doesn’t move, instead bringing up a hand to softly grab at his chin, forcing him to look up into his eyes. He does so for some time, and the shorter feels his blood thrum underneath his skin, practically squirming under the intensity of his dark-eyed gaze. “God, I can’t wait to just ruin you, George,” His voice is a low rasp, deep and resounding in his ears, and it sends shock creeping down his spine in a sinfully sweet bite. “Do you want me to do that? Ruin you?”
The words stop him from being able to form any of his own, air stalling deep in his lungs. All he can do is nod.
“Come on now, I asked you a question.” He simply says, tone firm with expectations.
“Yes.” He finally breathes out, each passing second replacing his nerves with curious arousal.
“Yes…?”
It takes him a moment to realize what Dream is exactly asking of him, but once he does, forcing the word out somehow feels like he’s admitting some kind of defeat, yet also giving himself permission to abandon himself to this. “Yes, sir.”
Dream smiles lazily at that, eyes slotting halfway shut in satisfaction and gently thumbing along his jaw. “So good for me, George. Promise you’ll keep being good for me?”
“Yes, sir.” He feels slightly more confident saying it this time, after hearing the praise from his partner. He’s doing good, he’s playing into this the right way. A part of him realizes he wants Dream to be pleased with him, and he supposes that’s kind of the whole point.
“Good, good,” Dream replies, finally releasing the hold on his jaw just as he steps backward, drawing George’s face along with him as he subconsciously chases the touch. “This next part will take a little while, so you’ll have to be patient, okay?” There’s more of the casual voice Dream had spoken to him with when he first entered, dropping the façade he’s just started to put up for a moment.
George swallows in anticipation, feeling his cock stir as he imagines what that could mean. “Are- are you going to tie me up?” He’d told Dream about this little desire of his. This had been what had started him off in the first place, after all, and he wants it so badly: to feel the sweet sting of rope biting into his wrists, his ankles, everything. There was only so much he could do on his own, but having Dream there? Not only did he no longer have to worry about doing any of the knots himself, but he could finally wrap himself in the more complicated rigging he’d spent so many nights fantasizing over.
“Mm-hmm,” Dream confirms, the hum rumbling deep in his chest. “I’m going to tie you up so fucking pretty, George. Gonna wrap you up in rope until you can hardly move, and then I’m going to do anything I want to do to you. How does that sound?”
He can’t even breathe. “Oh, god. ”
As he says it, Dream finally leads him into a humble bedroom, dark sheets and fairly plain furniture. The lights are turned low, giving off a warm glow that doesn’t even quite reach the ceiling, and they illuminate a careful selection of items laid out on the bed: delicate ties of crimson rope, a silk sash, and things that George sincerely hopes are only the first act before he can finally feel Dream’s cock deep inside of him. If he walks away from this without getting truly and properly fucked, he just might burst into tears after the fact.
He can sense Dream behind him, watching as he takes it in, and it’s not long before he speaks again. “Color?”
George’s mind is running wild as it trips over itself in an attempt to quell the lust rapidly rising inside of him. “Green.” He whispers. It’s a color he can’t see, but he means it.
“Strip.” There’s a command in his voice, and it sends a shiver down his spine.
He whips around to look at the ridiculously handsome man. “Wait, now? You want me to—”
Dream clicks his tongue, cutting George’s words short. “Strip, George. That wasn’t a request.” His eyes hold a sinister undercurrent, and he finds himself absolutely pulled into it.
Cheeks gaining a thin glaze of blush, George can’t meet his eyes again and begins to undo the buttons of his shirt, passing each through its assigned hole in the fabric until he can shrug it off his shoulders. He shivers at the cooler air of the flat, feeling his nipples harden at the temperature change (and, well, there’s the fact Dream is looking at him like he wants to eat him alive, but that’s another matter).
“Keep going.”
He does as he’s asked; no, told . His belt and socks are next, abandoned on the floor as he’s watched, silently, like Dream is evaluating an artwork in a museum or a difficult piece of code. His hands are shaking by the time he pulls down his slacks, hissing at the way they drag over his cock, already starting to grow, but not yet standing. Undressing in front of someone was always a strange ordeal, and he never really got over the vulnerability of it, but this felt somehow so much more intense. George stands there, only clad in black underwear that clearly shows off the fact that Dream is getting to him with nothing but his voice.
“I meant all of it, George. Don’t make me have to punish you so early.” Dream’s gaze flicks down to his semi, before travelling back up to meet George’s eyes, bashful and not wanting to return it.
His heart thrums in his chest as he nods and slowly slips his thumbs underneath the waistband. He has to take a deep breath in order to steady himself and gather the courage to pull them downward, kicking them off to join the rest of his clothes, crumpled on the floor. George feels like he’s being appraised.
Dream chuckles darkly before stepping forward and running a single finger, teasing and not nearly enough, from the hollow of his throat down to his navel. He shivers in its wake. “Oh, baby, you’re so beautiful for me. I bet you’d look so good on your knees,” Dream leans in, whispering the words directly into his ear. “With my cock deep inside of you, screaming my fucking name and grabbing onto the headboard like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. I just know you’d look so good like that, my cum all over your back or, fuck, leaking out of you. But, that’s not why we’re here today.” He pulls away, and George suddenly feels deprived, mind swimming in the fantasies he’d just whispered to him. “Get on the bed, on your back.”
“Yes, sir.” He murmurs, suddenly harder than he had been. He does as he’s told, the soft feeling of the blankets beneath him and the mattress dipping under his slight weight, before turning around and lying back, torn between looking at Dream or keeping his eyes fixed to the ceiling.
“Now, do you want your arms behind you, or above your head? It’d be more comfortable the first time around above your head.” He’s back to that caring voice, patient and measured as he guides George into thoroughly unfamiliar territory.
He stutters for a moment, trying to get his thoughts into logical order. “I, um, above my head, then.”
“Color?”
“Green,” He confirms. “It’s not the bad kind of nervous.”
Dream smiles at him, soft yet confident, and begins his work.
The process is almost torturously slow. He begins by simply arranging George the way he’d like him, and he’s immediately enraptured by his hands. They’re just so much larger than his, fingers long and capable and burning like fire as they trail over his limbs, moving him this way and that like a beloved toy. Once, they splay over his waist purely just to tease him, the touch fleeting, but he forgets how to breathe for a moment. It takes a while, Dream hadn’t been lying about that, but there’s something ritualistic about it, waiting as meters upon meters of soft rope are wrapped around him. First, it’s his legs, bent at the knee and tied to remain so, like he’d done to himself before, but the fingers which tie the futomomo are practiced, each move intentional and drawing with just the right amount of pressure. He can feel the skin of his slender thighs only barely squeezing out from between the rope strapped over them, and the press only makes his length grow harder. He’s fully up now, twitching and already leaking precum, and Dream hasn’t even touched him; not really.
Dream sits back on his calves to evaluate his work so far. “Not too tight?” He asks, running another one of those fingers across the knots he’s tied.
“No, it’s—” His hips subconsciously jerk at the touch. “It’s tight, but in a good way.”
He smirks down at him again before picking up the rest of the coil of rope currently wound around his right leg. “That’s the goal. Let me know if that changes.”
He repeats the same process with the other leg, before both are spread open and tied by trailing lines of rope to the bedposts at the foot of the bed. He feels embarrassed, spread like this, with his ass on display and his cock traitorously pulsing from want: exposed and jesus christ he’s so hard already it hurts.
His arms are next, and some of his nerves return at the prospect. Once this is done, George will completely and totally surrender all control to a man he’d only just met physically about half an hour ago. Granted, it had been one hell of an arousing half hour, but the reality of it sent a pulse of anxiety racing through him.
“Okay,” Dream starts, seeming to notice his nerves. He can read him well, it turns out. “I’m not going to bind your arms together this time, alright? I’ll do them separately, and I’ll start with your non-dominant hand, so you can decide if it’s too much. Are you left- or right-handed?”
“Left-handed.” He manages to squeeze out, offering his right arm to Dream in order to try and grapple at a measure of confidence.
He takes it in his own hands, briefly pressing a pair of surprisingly soft lips to his wrist out of reassurance, and George’s breath catches again at the tenderness of the gesture. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise, baby.” He sounds so sincere that it makes him ache. He believes him.
George can only nod as he feels several loops of rope close over his wrist, working up his forearm in a more solid bind before his arm is gently pulled upward and away from him, where Dream ties it to the bed frame.
“Can you pull on that for me? Like you’re trying to get out.”
George does, softly tugging at the rope, and has to suppress a groan at the wonderful bite of it as he pulls. “It’s- it’s good. Not too tight.” He manages. It’s everything he thought it would be, and he only has his left hand, curled up low on his ribs, keeping him untethered from this fantasy he’d been coveting for years now. So close, and yet so far.
Dream nods to himself, and walks around the other side of the bed so he can kneel next to George’s left. He takes his slender wrist in his palm and looks to him “Color?”
He can’t look away, no matter how much he wants to. The gaze is genuine, intense, and George wants to drown in it. “Green.” He whispers, finally accepting he’s giving himself over to this man.
Dream ties his left hand to the headboard and, just like that, he’s completely out of control.
When it’s all over and done with, Dream stands back, admiring his work and the way George’s thighs are trembling. His mind swirls with strange hormones and chemicals and god knows what else as he feels the constant loops of gentle pressure closing in on his flesh from all sides.
“One last thing,” Dream says, before taking a particularly refined piece of rope in hand and reaching down to George’s hips. “You don’t get to come until I do, until I say you can, do you understand? Your hips don’t even move unless I tell you that they can.”
George knows what he’s about to do, and his head swims . “I don’t get to come until you say I can.” He reaffirms, having to violently tamp down a gasp when he feels the tie close around the base of his cock, neglected and all too throbbing. It’s closed tight: tight enough that he knows he won’t be able to come unless it’s undone, that it will eventually turn him an angry shade of deep red, but also tight enough that every single feeling there is suddenly so much louder until it’s almost all he can think about.
There he is, bound up just like he’s always wanted to be, and the more reality sets in, the more surreal it feels. There’s euphoria creeping in, strange and almost hostile, as he feels Dream’s stare bore into him.
“What a sight you are,” Dream murmurs, climbing on top of him and settling between his spread legs, so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of him on his own cock. “I knew you’d be so good for me, baby, and look at you. All tied up and ready, so happy that you’re just straining against that little sash I have around you. Do you feel good, George?”
He can hardly choke it out, Dream so close that it’s infuriating. He wants to dig his hands into the other’s hair, drag him down and kiss him until he can hardly tell Dream’s tongue from his own, and it’s maddening to be restrained like this, completely at the other’s mercy. “I feel good, sir.”
A finger is running along his flesh again, feather-light and torturous. It crawls around his ribs, just barely catching his left nipple before dragging up and running along his jaw and finally settling at the corner of his mouth, caressing his dry lips. “How about I give you a reward, for being so good, hmm? For staying so still for me all that time?”
“Please.”
George wasn’t sure what he had in mind until the finger at his lips pushes past them, sliding into his mouth before it presses deep onto the back of his tongue. He almost gags out of surprise, but reigns himself in. “How about I fuck your mouth, George?” Just like before, it isn’t really a question, and he shivers. “I know you’ve been staring, just wanting to taste my cock. And I’ll let you. You can have me down your throat, just like you want, until you won’t be able to talk tomorrow. How does that sound?”
He’s practically speechless. “Oh, my god.” He wants to feel it, wants to feel the other’s length deep in the back of his mouth as he struggles to breathe around him. He wants to feel out of control, at his partner’s mercy. For him, only for him.
“You like that, don’t you?” Dream sits back again, hands coming to rest on the buttons keeping his pants closed. George can see him straining against the shining fabric from here and holy shit he looks so big. He’s hooked up with men before, of course he had, but why did Dream look so much bigger? “You want me to use you all for myself, while you’re tied up and can’t do a thing.”
George nods, unable to say anything that would be meaningful.
Dream finally undoes the fasteners keeping him hidden and, once they’re freed, he pulls out his dick, which he realizes now is only half-hard. He wants to feel him grow in his throat, wants to feel every centimeter of him. “Come on now, baby, open up that pretty mouth of yours so I can use it.”
He complies, parting his lips as Dream shifts so that he’s straddling George’s chest. He’s thicker than he thought up close, now, and he has to swallow in order to prepare himself. Before he can finally take Dream into his mouth, though, the other reaches over and entwines a hand in his bound one. The blond’s fingers completely cover his own. “Tap twice if you actually need me to stop, or if you need to say something, okay?”
“Alright.” He acknowledges, knowing now he has an out. It makes him feel slightly more at ease as Dream’s head pushes past his lips and settles on his tongue.
Dream moans softly at the sensation, and his eyes are glued to George’s, taking in his expression as he watches his cock slowly disappear down the other’s throat. He’s doing everything he can to relax the muscles around his esophagus, squeezing hard on his thumb in an attempt to curb his gag reflex. It’s been a while since he’s done this, and he feels a bit out of practice. Almost like he can read George’s thoughts, Dream stills sporadically, letting him get used to the feeling before going deeper.
Finally, he hits the back of George’s throat, despite not even being all the way in yet, and he has to blink back tears at the sensation. Normally, he’d be pushing on his partner’s thighs, forcing them out so he could breathe, but he doesn’t tap Dream’s hand. Not yet. There’s a part of him that enjoys this: being used. Dream pulls back until he can feel the ridges of the head of his cock bumping into his lips before pushing all the way back in suddenly, and he can’t stop the gagging noise that comes from him. His eyes squeeze shut, but he still doesn’t tap.
“Look at you, so eager,” Dream taunts as he executes another deep thrust, threading his free hand through George’s hair and pulling hard, smiling deviously as he moans around his cock. “Oh, so you like that, me pulling on your hair. You like the pain, George?”
He can’t reply, of course he can’t, but he does his best to nod as the other forces himself down his throat, again and again and again. He tugs on his hair once more and every single ounce of the pain travels straight to his cock, stuck in a state of unbearable arousal; neglected, untouched. It almost fucking hurts.
George has never felt like this before. There are tears streaming down his temples now, and the noises he makes as a result of Dream hitting the back of his throat are downright obscene, but the more he flexes against his binds, the more heat he feels pooling deep in his stomach. It feels like he’s flirting with something dangerously addicting, and it’s only as floaters begin to flit across his vision that he finally taps a finger on the back of Dream’s hand.
He pulls out immediately, cock now flushed with blood, and fully hard. Like this, George can’t believe that had been almost entirely in his mouth only a moment ago. He gasps in a breath of air, trying his best not to cough as he steadies the lightness in his head.
“Color?” Dream sounds remarkably in control despite what he’d only just been doing, and George feels himself flush at the contrast between them.
“Green, I just—” He licks his lips, trying to reign in the saliva that had begun to escape his mouth. “I just needed a breather.”
“Oh, no, George,” He says, once again pushing forward into his unprepared mouth. “You don’t get to stop for that .” His voice is low and sinister, and the moment the last word leaves his mouth, George feels his nose collide with Dream’s pelvis.
He’s stuck between gagging and moaning, some ungodly noise reverberating around the other’s cock as he’s used. Dream’s thrusts are faster this time, but he at least starts out a bit shallower, giving him time to adjust until he’s fully sheathing himself in his throat. Tears fall freely from his eyes, and he has to screw them shut to process what’s going on. Despite feeling so overwhelmed, he knows that if so much as a single touch ghosted along his cock right now, he would come. He’s really being used , just like he asked to be. He remembers a conversation they’d had, early in their message history.
what are you looking for out of this? like what kind of feeling did you want?
I don’t know honestly. I guess I kind of want to be at someone else’s mercy? idk it seems really nice to let someone else have control
so you want to be used?
I wasn’t really thinking of it in those terms tho
what did you mean then?
I’m trying to come up with something but I can’t tbh
lots of people find pleasure in that
being used I mean
sex is give and take but sometimes it’s nice just to have someone ignore that for a sec
if the other person is getting off though that’s not really ignoring is it?
hmm yeah but that’s not quite what I meant lol
in that case you’re getting off on that idea of being ignored
like you’re still technically taking but it’s only because the other person is doing nothing but taking themselves
and that’s being used?
yep
would you like that george? if I used you?
Dream is giving him everything he’d wanted, and they’d hardly even started yet. Eventually, he pulls off for a moment, giving George a chance to suck in much-needed breaths as the other simply regarded him from above. “I don’t have hands; wipe the spit off me.” He says, only realizing his mistake when one of those large, gorgeous hands is suddenly pressing against the arteries framing his windpipe.
“You don’t get to order me around, George,” He hisses, voice dangerous and reprimanding. “I’m not doing anything you ask tonight, alright? Not unless I’m feeling especially generous, and I like the way you look with your own mess all over your face, so don’t you dare try and tell me what to do.”
The tone he uses sends a pulse of desire so violent through him that he can feel his deprived cock twitch desperately against the tie at its base. The pressure on his throat only heightens it, and it’s not long before the world swims in gentle color. “Yes, sir.” He manages to rasp out, only left just enough room to speak.
Eventually, the pressure eases off, and his punishment is over, but Dream still hasn’t finished with its fallout. “You know, I could leave you here for hours , George,” From his vantage point, Dream’s cock still occupies most of his vision, and he almost salivates at it, wishing it were inside of him instead of there, twitching and all too exposed. “Shove a toy deep in you and leave it until you’re screaming from being made to come over, and over again. And I’d just watch, you know. Watch as you fall into absolute pieces. That’s what happens when you’re a brat, do you understand?”
He moans at the thought, but nods in understanding.
Happy with his response, Dream’s gaze turns devious again as he brings up a hand to trace over George’s ruined cheeks. He can only imagine how he looks right now: eyes red from tears, face blotchy and shining with his own saliva. A mess in the best of ways. “This is such a good look for you, baby,” He says, trailing a thumb over his lips, swollen from the abuse. “I’d be so happy to keep doing this to you until I’m so beyond satisfied that it hurts, but I’m not gonna do that, don’t you worry.”
George groans, and he isn’t unaware of the pleading that’s in his eyes. As Dream appraises him, lust heavy on his features, he has no idea what is to be done with him going forward. The anticipation weighs heavily in his stomach, where it swirls and peaks with every single drag of Dream’s skin on his. He’s trying to predict where he’ll move next, but as he goes from his face to his collarbones and his chest, each touch is a surprise, and it sends gooseflesh racing along every part of him.
He leans down over George suddenly, and his breath is right next to his ear. “Do you own turtlenecks, George?”
“Yes.” He stutters out, and he can’t stop the moan that’s torn from his throat as Dream suddenly latches his teeth onto the side of his neck. It’s sharper than he’s used to, his mouth more vicious than past partners, but the pinpricks of pain send a fog into his mind that he can’t quite comprehend.
Each bite trailed along his throat is hard enough that it properly hurts, and tears continue to prick at his eyes, but each throb also corresponds to a twitch from below. He can feel pearls of precum slide down his shaft until they inevitably sticky the bit of rope tied at the base, and his hips attempt to thrust into empty air in a desperate and unsuccessful bid for relief. Dream, despite being occupied with salivating over his skin, notices, and there’s suddenly a bruising grip on one of his hips, pinning him to the bed.
“You know you don’t have permission to do that,” He growls into George’s shoulder, biting hard to drive his point home and sending him crying out. “This is your one warning. Do it again, and I’ll see to it that you’re bruised for weeks.”
“Yes,” He gasps out. “I’m sorry, sir.” George tries to draw more of his focus to keeping himself pressed flush to the mattress, but he can already feel the delicate flesh above his hip bone beginning to turn purple under Dream’s hold, and he suddenly realizes just how desperately he doesn’t want him to relent. He wants to be marked until he’s unrecognizable to himself; owned, possessed.
Dream continues to follow his silent, violent desire, mouth littering his neck, his collarbones, his chest with splotches of purple and blue that pulse with delightful pain as he leaves them behind. George is making good on his request to have his mouth left alone, and a litany of sound pours from him with each bite. He feels Dream smirk against his skin whenever he moans, and he only responds by sucking the flesh between his teeth harder.
All of it is unbearable enough, but the lower down he creeps, the more George feels himself slip away into euphoria. Something is clouding his mind, and each prick of pain lessens as he surges through it, the marks he’s gaining on the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs turning to singingly sweet pleasure, despite the fact he knows it should bring tears to his eyes. His hips are trembling with the effort he’s putting into not thrusting into cold air, and it’s maddening in the most glorious way.
Dream can sense his building frustration and, rather than pull back, he instead comes ever closer, and he can feel hot breath on the head of his cock. He cries out at the sensation, so desperate for not even relief, but any contact. He hasn’t been touched once since all of this began, except to have his orgasm taken away in advance, and it’s driving him insane.
“George,” The other murmurs, voice firm despite the low volume. “You’re so hard for me, aren’t you?”
He nods, unsure if the other can even see the action.
Dream sucks his teeth, tsking but not yet pulling back. “I need you to use your words. Tell me just how much of a wreck you are.” The words send a dark throb of desire through him but, despite that, he hesitates, not used to having to use such filthy language. The other picks up on it immediately and, while he doesn’t move his body, his eyes flick upward to meet George’s, to gauge him. “Color?”
He swallows, shaking his head. “Green, I’m just—” He catches his breath, still unbearably pinned by his gaze. “I’m just embarrassed.”
Dream’s stony exterior cracks for a moment and a laugh slips through, the breath ghosting over George’s length, still right before his face. “What, not used to feeling so ruined? Not used to being treated like my own personal canvas, George?”
“N-no.” He stutters, shivering at the dark heat lying in his words.
“I can tell you how much of a wreck you are,” Dream breathes out, fingers digging further into his hip and making him gasp. “You look absolutely filthy for me, George. You’ve got this flush all across your chest and your cheeks, and you’re just littered with marks from my teeth. They’re all over you, and you’ve taken it so well.”
His breathing shakes at the praise. “I want to be good for you. I-I want be everything you need.”
There’s a sweet bite far up on his inner thigh, so painfully close to his leaking length that he has to viciously lock the muscles in his hips to prevent them from jerking upward. “Oh, baby,” Dream says, tone turning merciful. “I can see just how much you’re shaking, being so good for me. You’re so desperate for me to touch you, aren’t you? So fucking hard, nice and wet and waiting for me to fuck you.”
George feels his embarrassment fade as arousal and need creep further into his mind. He’s growing increasingly more consumed with the feeling Dream is shooting him through with, and the intensity of it almost scares him. “I’ve been wanting you to fuck me for weeks now.” He confesses, thinking back to the times he’d imagined this night playing out in his mind, fingers deep inside of himself as he tried to reach for a spot that he knew he couldn’t.
“Oh, George, playing with you is just so fun,” Dream accompanies the tease with a finger finally skirting its way up his shaft, and he can’t help but arch at the feeling of being touched, letting loose a sob when he pulls away. “I told you that you didn’t get to do that. You can’t do so much as move your hips without my permission. You know what I have to do now, hmm?”
He takes a shaking breath in as he nods. “You need to punish me.”
Dream pulls back, taking with him the only hope of stimulation he had. He desperately wants to whine, to demand that he be touched, but a part of him looks forward to whatever misery is about to be inflicted upon him. He’s already felt himself throb as incisors sunk into sensitive flesh, as Dream had pulled hard on his hair. Maybe this would be just the same.
“Normally,” He starts, drawing his eyes along George’s exposed body like an animal. “I’d bruise that pretty ass of yours, but it’d be such a shame to have to undo all those knots. You just look so good in them, after all. You know what? I’ll be generous today since it’s your first time. Where do you want me to hurt you, George?” Dream steps toward him again and uses that infuriatingly light touch, dragging a calloused index finger along his skin as he names the different parts of him. “Your chest?” His finger runs along his upper pectoral, skirting the line with his collarbone. “Maybe I could choke you until you’re begging for mercy.” Dream scrapes across his carotid and he can’t help but tremble at the prospect. “Or maybe,” Down, down, down. “Maybe I turn your thighs purple, bad enough that you can’t cross your legs for days.”
George draws in a sharp breath as he pivots the pads of his finger so that his nail instead is scraping along the soft flesh of his inner thighs, just barely peeking out from the ropes that keep his legs spread.
His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Dream, who smirks darkly. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you? Is that what you want, George?”
“Yes.” He can hardly gasp it out, cock straining against its bond. He just wants Dream to touch him, and he doesn’t fucking care how anymore.
Dream sets his face with an expression that sends fear spiking through his stomach, but it’s accompanied by a roiling anticipation that tugs on each of his nerves. He stands, looming tall over him, and he’s never felt so small, so vulnerable. A large hand traces up his bound right leg before coming to rest high on his thigh, where it grips and suddenly squeezes the skin there, causing him to moan. “You’re going to count to ten with me, George,” He states, definitive and firm. “And then, if you’re good, maybe I’ll touch you how you want, hmm?”
He nods frantically, trying his best to brace himself for the sting of Dream’s palm.
In the end, he isn’t ready for it, and the sharp impact on delicate flesh forces a startled cry from him. Shocked, he can hardly remember to gasp out: “One.” The pain distracts him from his throbbing hard-on for a moment, his nerves alight with the new sensation.
Dream brings his hand down again on the same spot, a solid amount of force behind it, and it doesn’t hurt any more than the last one, stinging in a way that George could almost call sweet. A love bite, but only much more severe. “Two.”
The next two blows come in rapid succession, and he can hardly stammer out three before he’s bowled over into four. He realizes that as the slaps build, so, too, does the ache. Tears spring into his eyes and trail down his cheeks before they turn and nestle into the hair just beyond his temples. It’s completely and totally disorienting; he’s never felt anything like it before, and he feels like wires are getting crossed as a strange, low tide of humming arousal takes up residence in his stomach. Muscles twitch deep inside of him, and his cock jerks against empty air. In normal circumstances, he’d feel himself close to coming, but the tight band wrapped around him only further reminds him that he can’t.
He feels like he’s sliding into fog, heart rate ticking up as adrenaline floods through his blood until he’s hopped up on it. The next time Dream’s hand makes contact with his thigh, it’s sparks of pain again, but they somehow sing in his mind, and he feels like a switch has been flipped. “Six.” He cries out, time slowing as he waits for the next hit.
“You’re taking your punishment so well, baby.” Dream praises him, and he keens at the words, but he’s cruelly reminded it’s not over with the seventh blow.
George responds with the associated number, although he struggles to get it past his lips. He’s finding it harder to articulate, shot through with some unholy combination of sharp pain and sharper pleasure. The eighth and ninth hits come, and he lets out a sob as he counts, all the while feeling hot precum stream down his cock. His head is tipped back, eyes shut and back arching, while he grasps onto the ties around his wrists with deathly strength: something, anything to help him hold on to this world.
The tenth time Dream’s hand makes bruising contact with the wildly over-sensitive skin of his right thigh, it’s harder than those that came before it, and George positively shrieks out the final number, unable to stop himself from writhing, not sure if he wants to lean into or shrink away from the touch. It’s overwhelming in every possible way.
His long fingers don’t move away this time, instead turning to gently stroke the undoubtedly scarlet skin underhand. It’s remarkably tender, a vivid contrast with what the same place had just been put through, and Dream is almost sweet when he says: “Look at you, such a beautiful mess for me. Have you learned your lesson, George?”
He nods frantically, not trusting himself to speak, for fear of more sobs breaking free from his throat.
“I need words, you know that. I need to make sure you understand , really understand.” His voice is so commanding, so authoritative, so certain, and he’s never been reduced to so little by simple breath through vocal cords before.
George pushes past his fear and he was right to think he might whimper when he opened his mouth, because he does, before he bleeds into pleading. “I’ll behave, I promise, I promise, I—” He’s struggling with coherency, now, body alight with confusing signals tugging him between fight-or-flight and unbelievable arousal. He can feel the cortisol running ravage through his veins, but it somehow makes him pulse with desperate need at the same time.
“Shh, shh,” Dream soothes, hand moving up, skirting past his length and his torso until he can gently cup his cheek. “It’s okay, baby. You know what happens when you misbehave, and now you’re gonna be so good for me. I’ll use you until I’m satisfied, and then I’ll make you fucking scream under me, ‘til you can’t tell up from down.” Dream’s hand creeps up further, burying itself in the longer hairs on the top of George’s head and just barely tugging. It’s enough to cause a soft moan to erupt from his mouth, but not enough to really hurt.
He’s trying to preserve his inner dignity, but the longer the other lingers, the more desperately he’s aware of his neglected cock, of the ache in him that needs to be filled. “Please, I need you, Dream. Please, use me, I’m—” He gulps a frantic breath of air, struggling to curb his body’s reactions. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand it. I want you to ruin me. You’re right: I’m a wreck for you, sir.”
The taller’s gaze bores into his chest, and he chuckles, low and fond. “Finally being honest with yourself, such a good boy. I’ll ruin you, just like you want, but remember, you can’t come.”
George wants to sob at the notion, but he’s growing so desperate for touch, some insatiable hunger rising up within him that he’s never felt before, and so he babbles out an agreement, most of it turning to nonsense.
Dream’s hand finally leaves him, and he tries to follow it, but is pressed back into the mattress with a very light slap to his cheek: a warning. He understands and finally opens his eyes again, trying to ground himself by puzzling out the slight dips in texture in the ceiling. The drying tears and saliva streaked across his cheeks bring a modicum of coolness to his heated face, and he’s almost thankful for it as he tries to gather himself. He can sense Dream moving around beyond him, opening several drawers he can’t see, before he finally returns to the bed. George feels his weight settle on it, and he’s conscious of how close he is to him, kneeling right in between his spread, bound legs.
“George, look at me,” He plies, voice soft again, and he sits, silent, until George finally tears his gaze away from the ceiling and looks at his lust-filled eyes, at the cock bobbing hard against his stomach. How he still sounds so in control is beyond him. “Color?”
It takes him a moment to realize what he’s asking about, when he finally sees the slick substance coating two of Dream’s fingers, being warmed by friction as he awaits an answer. “Green, oh god, please—”
He’s cut off by a long middle finger suddenly trailing over that sensitive area between his cock and his ass, and it stops all thought. He’s so fucking close to getting what he wants but Dream just won’t give it to him. It’s torturous.
The other continues his unbearable path down until he’s just pressing against George, not breaching, only teasing with painfully slow circles. “Remember your little rule, George? I’d hate to have to teach you another lesson.”
The thought of having to keep absolutely still while those long fingers of his stretched him open makes him want to cry. He has a feeling that, no matter how hard he tries, he’d inevitably try to drive himself into the touch. “I- I can’t. Please, sir, hold me down. Want you to bruise me like before.”
Dream smiles darkly, like a predator looking at prey. “What, you want my handprint in black and blue, George? Want to see the evidence of me even after you leave here?”
“Yes, oh, yes, please,” George whines. “I want to look in the mirror tomorrow and see everything you did to me.” The idea drives him insane. He didn’t realize how much he loved to be marked.
“Alright,” He finally hums. “I’ll be generous and pin you down, just like you want. But you still need to be good, do you understand?”
He nods again, and sighs out a loud and desperate moan when a finger finally slips into him in tandem with a heavy transfer of weight to his right hip bone. George feels his muscles clench around the intrusion, but is relieved at finally having something inside of him. Dream’s fingers are so much longer than his own, and he’s already scraping deep.
“We don’t want pain during this part,” Dream clarifies, pumping his finger in and out of him as casually as if he were stirring milk into his morning coffee. “So, let me know if this hurts.”
He blinks at the sentences, trying to process them. “I- I thought I was coming here so you could—” George swallows around the words. “So you could hurt me.”
Dream hums coolly, clearly unbothered by his confusion. “You came here so I could make you feel pain in a safe setting. I’m not going to actually hurt you, George. I told you I don’t do blood.” He curls the finger inside of him, going about his work without a stutter.
“Ah!” He gasps, unable to stop it from leaking from him as he feels that new arousal start to build: the one he could only get from the inside. “O-okay. I’ll tell you if it hurts.”
“Good boy,” Dream’s praises fall like honey on his ears, and he wants to whimper at them. “Besides, if we do this properly now,” He leans down suddenly, hot breath curling against his neck like a viper. “Then I can really make you hurt later on.”
George does finally sob at that, noise only pitching up and mewling on as a second finger is slipped inside of him. The stretch is that familiar, pleasant burn that he’s more than used to at this point. Dream’s fingers are undoubtedly quite a bit longer than his slender ones, and he can feel him purposefully spreading them against his walls, avoiding that one spot he’s dying to have him touch. It’s driving him insane, and it’s only been a handful of seconds.
He lets the moans fall from his mouth freely, any hints of embarrassment absolutely gone. George struggles against the hand pinning him to the mattress in vain, knowing that he’s not going anywhere; it feels like a vice around him. His frantic desire to feel more only grows as Dream begins to properly scissor him open, the wide spread of his fingers straining against his tight rim before a third finger joins them and he wants to scream.
His cock flexes hard, and he feels like he’s on the verge of coming, only just now being properly touched, but he’s forced onto a plateau by the tie at his base. It wrenches a sob from his mouth, and he knows that it will ultimately get him nowhere. Dream doesn’t even react to his involuntary pleas, and he can feel the intense gaze on him as he continues to stretch George so he can use him. He’s reduced to nothing but his body beneath those golden eyes, nothing but a means to an end, and the recognition sends something inside of him sparking. He can’t forget the gentleness of Dream’s hands as he’d tied him up, or the soft press of his lips on his wrist, but he feels like he’s only hunger now. It’s something deeper than fucking, like some neuron in the furthest corner of his brain had finally been switched on.
The hand on his hip presses hard, and it throbs in tandem with the crimson on his thigh and the veins in his cock: the strangest and most wonderful mélange of sensation. “Still so tight,” Dream finally comments, nonchalant. “You have to open up for me, or I’ll just use your mouth, and neither of us want that.”
“I’m—” His response is interrupted by a yelp as Dream finally, finally brushes against his prostate, only to withdraw immediately, leaving him on the verge of writhing. “I can’t help it.”
He laughs darkly, and it sends electricity racing up George’s spine. “I know you can’t, baby, but I need you to try .”
George does his best to take deeper breaths, rather than gasping out his pleasure, and relax every bit of him that he can. Dream grows more aggressive with the thrusts of his fingers, reaching deeper into him and curling the tips to scrape along his walls. It sends him spasming and crying out.
“Good boy,” He comments, and George feels the thumb on his hip gingerly brush across the bitten flesh there in praise. “Keep doing that for me. Need to make sure you’re soft and ready.”
He continues this for what seems like hours, but is really probably no more than five minutes. Five torturous, rapturous minutes. Dream’s fingers are so much longer than his own, and they fill him in ways he didn’t think simple digits could. He’s clearly experienced when it comes to his fingers, and he starts reading George like an open book. Every spasm of his hips, every twitch of his pulsating cock, he responds to it with precision. He doesn’t think he’s ever been worked open like this, and he’s torn between never wanting it to end and wanting to be finally, finally, railed into the mattress.
George lets out a high, desperate whine as he nears the end of some metaphorical rope, desperately strung out and aching in the worst of ways. “Please,” He begs, abandoning any pretense of dignity completely. “Please, I need you to fuck me, use me. Want you inside of me, please, please—” He’s back to babbling, dying entreaties loosing from his tongue as he feels frustrated tears building again. He doesn’t even know how long he’s been tied down to this mattress, but he does know he’s never felt such intense, cloying need. George only hopes that he’ll be allowed to come over again after this.
“Do you, now?” Dream replies, teasing tone warming his voice until it burns him, and his fingers don’t stop. “Look at you, so desperate for my cock, so ready for me to use you.”
George sobs out in agreement, a lewd moan slipping into the air between them.
The other clicks his tongue, humming in dissatisfaction. “You know I need you to use your words, George.”
He’s overwhelmed by stinging pleasure and, while he’s found coherency difficult for some time now, he finally realizes that words have slipped beyond him. He does his best to meet Dream’s dark gaze with his own, and convey what he can through gasps and a shaking of his head. A part of it scares him, completely unfamiliar with the feelings washing over him, but he can’t help but relish it.
His eyes widen a fraction before settling, and an easy, understanding grin slides across his face. The hand on his hip moves upward to stroke his right cheek, and George melts into the gentle touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Oh, baby, you’re so good for me. This makes things a little more complicated, but we’ll figure it out. Do you want to stop?” He asks, voice soft and silken.
George fervently shakes his head, a whine bubbling up from his throat, as he pushes his face further into the other’s bruisingly tender touch.
“Here.” Dream withdraws from him, leaving his body singing in desperation, and goes to rifle through a drawer and slip off the sinfully tight pants he’d been wearing before returning to his side. He sits next to him on the bed, tenderly taking one of George’s bound hands within his own and pressing a cool metal disc into his palm. “If something gets to be too much, and you can’t tell me, drop this, okay? I’ll immediately stop the moment you do.”
George nods, curling his fingers around the surface of what feels like a coin: one of the larger ones, like a half-dollar. It’s grounding against his searing skin, and he’s thankful for it. He’s also thankful when Dream’s hands return to him, grazing along the sides of his body and setting his nerves alight in their wake. He climbs back on top of George, gently ghosting over bruised hips before further spreading his bound thighs. A finger trails low until it slips inside of him again, just a tease, and he groans in frustration, hoping that Dream will finally relent. He’s open enough: he needs to be satisfied or, fuck, just touched, or he’ll lose his mind.
“You sound so pretty with just my fingers,” He comments, voice heavy with lust and a drop of awe. “I bet you’ll sound even prettier on my cock. You want that, don’t you?”
He desperately nods, some noise he should be ashamed of spilling from his split mouth. A part of him knows that the torture will only be so much worse with Dream inside of him, with constant stimulation where it would undoubtedly make him come if his orgasm wasn’t under the other’s control. Despite that, he feels fucking insatiable.
Dream is reaching for lube again, slicking himself up, and George’s heart hammers out of his chest in anticipation. As he wraps wet fingers around his cock, he stares down at George, appraising him like he’s a rare manuscript on an auction block, eyes flaring with desire and arousal, and the look sends a spike of something through him.
The moment he’s been waiting far too long for happens so quickly that the breath is knocked out of him, no sound leaving his mouth as he tosses his head back in a silent scream. With a single movement, Dream seats himself entirely inside of him, where he stops, grinding his hips into George’s thighs as he adjusts. It’s completely overwhelming, all too fast and all too much. His cock is just as impressive as he thought it would be, splitting him open and going deep enough to immediately send electric shocks racing up his spine as it brushes against his prostate. After so long being empty, it’s almost too much being so fucking full.
Dream hisses above him, the first crack in his composure the entire night, and digs sharp fingers into his waist, where he grips him like a plaything. “You’re so fucking tight for me, George. I’m not the first man you’ve been with, am I?”
Mind still stuttering, he manages to shake his head as he tries to wriggle his way into more stimulation. The ties binding him are all too steadfast, though, and he can’t even lift his hips to grind against him.
“Sure feels like it,” Dream says, a hand tracing up his chest before sharply pinching his left nipple. He smirks at the high yelp of surprise he receives in return. “A shame, really. I would’ve loved to have ruined you for anyone else; have you shaped just for my dick so that no one else’s would ever do.” He punctuates the sentence with a quick withdrawal of his hips before he snaps them forward again.
George cries out, the friction inside of him finally doing something to even touch the arousal he’s been feeling ever since he laid down on this bed. Dream’s force is tightly controlled but achingly strong, hitting him with just enough stinging pleasure that he has trouble even comprehending what he’s feeling. Normally, his partner would be stock still inside of him this early on, tongue in his mouth as he adjusted; instead, Dream is cruelly rolling his hips into him, seeking his own pleasure and leaving George behind. The extra time he’d worked him open beforehand, though, is proving to be worth every agonizing moment of it. He feels the typical burning stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable in any meaningful way, and he supposes the adjustment period isn’t needed.
So, he lets Dream use him.
Filth continues falling from his mouth, praising George every time the man underneath him moans. Every thrust is rough, driving into him with force that makes each drag of Dream’s cock against his walls so pronounced that he can’t help but cry out. He’s never felt like he was truly getting fucked before, not like this, but it’s the most primal sense of the word. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and somehow so much more. A part of him is aware of the ache that will inevitably spread over his body once he comes down from this hormone-induced high, but he can’t feel any of it now, every square centimeter of his skin singing out in pleasure.
The ropes dig into the creases of his body, not chafing, but doing something just short of it, and he almost can’t stand how badly he wants to wrap his legs around Dream’s waist, dig his nails into his back in a desperate attempt to stay grounded to this world. But he can’t. He’s completely and totally restrained and being deprived of touch while the other gets to handle him without an ounce of response. It makes him feel some sort of way.
Dream angles his hips just slightly, and suddenly George is seeing stars. He sobs out a moan, tears sliding from his eyes again at the overwhelming feeling. The other knows, because he’s reading George like a fucking open book, and he comes to a grinding halt, fully bottomed out inside of him, the rigid head of his cock nestled directly against his prostate. He stills completely and totally, just slightly huffing from exertion, and pulls George’s hips further into his. A high-pitched whine escapes from his lungs as Dream stays motionless, and his body reacts to the stimulation.
“Oh, I can just feel how you’re clenching around me, George,” He says, harsh grip momentarily leaving his hips to trail up his chest and pinch his nipples in tandem. “You’re so close to coming, aren’t you?”
He groans out in agreement, feeling his insides pulse from the pressure. He twitches his pelvis in an attempt to get more friction on that one sweet spot inside of him, to make it so that the head of Dream’s cock isn’t just pressed unmoving against him, but he’s frozen by a hand suddenly squeezing his throat.
Dream sucks his teeth in disappointment, fingers beginning to apply pressure to his windpipe. “We’ve talked about this, baby,” There’s genuine displeasure on his tongue, and he wilts at it. He just wants to be good. “You just have to wait until I’m satisfied. Then you can desperately grind against me all you want like the wreck you are.”
George tries his best to communicate with pleading eyes, with lewd noises falling from his lips, so desperate to feel anything , but the other simply squeezes harder on his throat, fuzzing his vision. Unable to breathe, all of the blood in his body suddenly feels so much closer to the surface of his skin, and he only grows somehow harder. His length jerks around nothing in a vain attempt at getting stimulation, but it only causes his prostate to pulse against Dream. He wants to fucking scream .
“Maybe this is how I’ll make you come later on,” Dream comments, voice almost disinterested, as he finally eases up on his throat. “Just like this: wait for your own body to push and pull itself to completion. Would that be satisfying for you, hmm?”
He frantically shakes his head as he gasps in oxygen again, knowing coming like that would leave him high and dry, and still hard. He wouldn’t get any relief at all. He could stand having it done once, but if that was all he was going to be given, all of this frustration would have been for nothing.
The blond hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t betray his decision, instead keeping quiet as he traces over the bruises on George’s throat dangerously, only a press away from cutting off his air again. His fingertips continue to trail over the signs of glorious abuse littering his skin, going further and further down until they’re circling around his cock, dipping down onto the flesh of his mismatched thighs: one covered in small bite marks, the other still glowing scarlet.
“You’re so hard, I bet it hurts,” He observes, eyeing George’s length, dyed a deep, angry red from the tight band around his base, and the simple fact he’d been straining for so long. “I’m sure glad that’s not me.” He punctuates the sentence by moving again with a thrust so fast and hard that he feels himself slide up the sheets with the force.
Sound pours from him as Dream assumes a relentless pace. He’s trying his best to not thrash beneath him, and quaking breaks out all over him as his muscles lock in place. George is teetering on a boundary, so close to overstimulation despite not even having come yet, and he’s growing truly desperate, in the most honest sense of the word. The pleasure is so unbearably good that it’s almost actually unbearable. His system is overloaded with strange signals and tears and pain and a need for moremoremore—
The first signs of relief that he gets come in the form of Dream finally letting honest moans slip from his own mouth. Jesus, it’s a wonderful sound: the warm timbre of his voice is graveled with lust and exertion and George wants to do nothing but listen to a chorus of it. He can tell his control is just beginning to fray from the way his eyes slip shut as he grabs the Brit by his narrow waist, relishing the feeling of heated skin there.
Just as he feels like he might have lasted long enough, to be allowed to finally have his own pleasure, Dream’s thrusts grow impossibly deeper and it’s just too much and he’s clenching around him and he’s—
George really does sob this time, salt streaking down his face and wet hiccups filling the air between them as he’s cruelly held back. He’s so hard that he’s in pain, and he can feel his orgasm right fucking there , stopped dead by the simple loop of tight rope. Having it wrenched away from him like that is excruciating, and he’s never felt such strong sensations from below the belt. He can’t come, but his cock is weeping so much that he might as well have. A small pool of clear liquid has amassed in the dip of his navel, and it feels absolutely filthy in the best of ways.
His partner notices the change in his demeanor, from desperate pleasure to legitimate distress, and slows, stopping carving bruises onto his stomach in order to stroke his face again. “Baby, do you want to stop?” Dream asks, voice so tender that he can’t but feel like he’s being spoken to by a real lover, and not just someone to fuck. His eyes flick to George’s right hand, still clenched tight around the coin.
He opens his teary eyes to look up at him, and tries his best to summon composure. He stammers out an approximation of “no” that’s more just a pitched n than a word, and then manages to force: “Wanna come.”
“You will,” He reassures, letting George lean into his touch for a moment longer before withdrawing. “You just can’t until I do, okay? You make me feel so good, Georgie, so fucking hot and tight around my dick. I’m getting close, baby, all because you’ve been so good while I use you.”
His tears continue to fall, but the praise sends a pulse of reassurance through him as he tries to fight his frustration with everything in him. He can’t even think about how his own orgasm will feel when it finally comes; everything leading up to it has been disgustingly intense, and he knows it can’t go down for the finale.
Dream moans out a broken god and gasps as his thrusts begin to lose composure and grow just slightly erratic. The sound of his hips hitting George’s thighs fills the room, along with the obscene noises of friction and lube, and it only serves to accompany the stream of moans erupting from George as he tries to maintain his grip on the world.
He’s still reeling from being wrenched away from the edge of a cliff, but the spiral of screaming sensation has faded somewhat, mellowing out to something only just south of it as he tries to drown in his own mélange of pleasure and pain.
“Fuck,” Slips from Dream, pitching up at the close. He’s nearing the end of his rope. “Gonna come soon, baby. Want it inside of you? Want me to fill you up with my hot cum?”
George knows he’s not supposed to, but he arches as he moans out agreement and nods frantically, trying to meet his thrusts halfway. This time, he doesn’t receive punishment, the other clearly too far gone to remember his rule. Those large hands slip under his ass to lift him just slightly, causing the ropes to dig into his thighs, and the change in angle is enough to send him screaming in desire. He feels himself clench hard around Dream’s cock in response just as the other drives hard into him, hips flush with own, and he finally crumbles beautifully.
Dream moans out his name when he comes, greedy fingers digging into him enough to bruise as he feels hot streaks spill deep inside of him. Still hard and throbbing, the sensation is enough to make his own head tip back and let out broken moans while the other reaches satisfaction. He continues thrusting, still not drawing out much, as he fucks himself through his orgasm, gradually slowing until he comes to a stop, sheathed in George.
He’s breathing heavily and just covered in a light sheen of sweat, muscled chest rising and falling in tandem with the noise. Dirty blond hair drips into his eyes as it slips from whatever makeshift style it’d been pushed into before George arrived, and he looks so beautiful that he feels like he’s being fucked by a Greek god instead of a man. The soft pants and sighs that come from him only make George respond with his own, still trying to clench around the length inside of him in a desperate bid for relief.
Dream finally looks at him, face flushed beneath his freckles, and his voice is just slightly scratched from his ecstasy when he speaks again. “Made me come so hard,” The praise only makes him desperately writhe against him, not able to get any meaningful stimulation. “Now I’m going to make you scream. You deserve it after being so good for me.”
There’s a thumb stroking his chin when Dream finally pulls out, and he moans at the sensation of cum leaking out in his wake. He feels empty all of a sudden, fluttering around nothing, and he whines out in frustration, feeling tears building again.
“Don’t you worry,” Dream reassures, coming to loom over him before sinking down until his incisors ghost along George’s neck again, as his hand moves downward in tandem. “I’ll take good care of you, baby. You’ve been so patient, giving me everything I needed first.”
George inhales shakily as he feels a hand dragging over his thigh, dipping down until fingers slip back inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s three or four, but they’re rapidly going deep, and his back is leaving the mattress in response. He feels Dream exploring inside of him, clearly searching for his sweet spot.
There’s a light bite above his collarbone and a hand pulling his hair. “Even after having me inside you, you’re still so tight, and now I have to fuck my own cum back into you with my fingers. Have you always been this lewd?”
He can only offer a low moan in response, which rapidly pitches up and spirals out of his vocal cords’ control when those fingers curl upward and rub hard into his prostate.
“There it is,” Dream remarks, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “You ever come without having your cock touched, George?”
The thought sends a shot of blood rushing through him, and he can’t tell whether he’s desperate for it or wants to sob at not being touched. He shakes his head, just barely slotting open his eyes to look down at the man hovering over his marked chest.
He smirks and lets a low laugh slip from him. The expression on his face stops George’s heart in his chest out of arousal. “Well then, aren’t you in for a treat. I’m gonna do this until you can’t tell me which direction is left and which is right. You’ll be seeing stars, Georgie.”
To further emphasize his point, he’s provided with another sharp wave of pointed pleasure as Dream continues to curl the tips of his fingers inside of him, scraping against his walls in the most sinful of ways. George is never able to reach so far like this, and it makes him swim in a sensation he isn’t used to. It’s wickedly sweet and, after such a long buildup, each touch feels much more intense than it ought to.
Dream lets him rut his hips against the fingers thrusting into him, no longer holding him down or punishing him for the movement, and he feels like relief is finally within his grasp. He’s never acted so desperate, so much like a slut, and the thought of what this man has made him feel in the span of a night stuns him. Each movement causes the ropes tying him down to slide across his skin, the rougher edges of the cotton rubbing him strawberry red. It’s a perfect cocktail of pleasure and a light pain that only heightens it.
Then, the taller leans down further, breath hot against his ear, and whispers: “I’m going to finally undo this tie around you, but I still want you to hold out as long as you can, okay? Don’t come until I say.”
Still thrusting against his fingers, George hums to signal he at least heard him, and looks forward to the release of pressure with bated breath.
Unfortunately, Dream is painfully vigilant when he goes to free his length, taking care to only touch the knot and avoid skimming across any of the sensitive flesh. It doesn’t provide any sensation, but as the rope slides from him, he feels excess blood rush into his cock, twitching hard in response.
“Oh!” He moans out, craning the long column of his throat just in time for Dream to suck yet another dark mark into it. He’s glad that it’s winter, or else he would have to go and buy stage makeup to cover up all the damage the other had done to his neck.
“There we go, baby. That must feel so much better, after waiting all this time,” Dream’s free hand is now trailing along his wrecked right thigh, gently stroking the still-throbbing skin there. “Just look at how much you’re leaking already. Such a good boy for me.” The praise feels like gold, warm and reminding him of rays of sunlight. He doesn’t want him to stop and, happily for him, Dream doesn’t.
“Even when I had to punish you, you took it so well,” The hand closes entirely over the spread of his bruised thigh. “And you learned your lesson. I was so happy when you begged me to hold you down later on: I know just how good you wanted to be, and it shows, George. You’ve been so obedient for me, just like I needed, and you felt so good when I was fucking you.”
He gasps out at the approval and the fingers still relentlessly working inside of him, no longer needing to stretch like before, but instead moving with pinpoint accuracy to make him fall apart. George feels more precum bead from his tip and slide down until it can collect on his stomach. He’s so close it hurts.
“And, god, you look so pretty all tied up like this. I’ve seen a lot of people in ropes, but these look so fucking good on you, like you were meant to be bound. I want to do even more things to you, George: so many knots that it’s dizzying, that you’re wearing them all over your body. You’d like that, I just know.”
He clenches around Dream, who has to twist his hand to readjust his own position, so his work doesn’t stutter. He wants his cock to be touched so badly, but the constant stimulation on his prostate is filling him with a strange, buzzing arousal that he hasn’t felt before. Usually, he’d wrap his own hand around himself, or his partner would, and stroke him until he came, but this sensation is much more delicate, temperamental. It’s building exponentially, and it’s starting to make him breathless.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Dream asks, who takes the long moan he gasps out as response enough. “Don’t come yet.”
His voice is so authoritative that it sends a shiver down his back. How can he not listen to him when he’s ordered like that?
Dream smiles down at him like a predator. “Good boy. It’ll feel better, trust me. You’ve done such a good job trusting me this whole time; just do it for a little bit longer.”
He nods, trying to calm his ragged breathing as he’s dragged, kicking and screaming, toward his peak. It’s a monument of self-control that he hasn’t come yet, but he’s never felt so much cloying need.
He keeps George teetering for god knows how long, consistently slowing and reigning him back in anytime he gets too close. It’s a cruel bit of teasing, but he was right in what he’d originally said: he could hardly tell up from down at this point. He’s never been lavished with such intense pleasure before, especially not for so long. This might have just been a fuck, nothing deeper, but dear god, he wants to feel like this every night.
The next time his cries begin to pitch upward again, and he presses his hips down onto Dream’s fingers, the taller doesn’t relent. He thrusts in deeper, and the hand on his aching thigh spreads further until it covers all of the bound limb. George mewls, trying to warn him that he’s close, and he simply meets his eyes, still dark and shot through with desire despite the fact it had been some time since his hard-on had faded. “You’re so close, aren’t you? You want to come, George?”
A few straggling tears leak down his cheeks and he nods frantically, moaning on the fingers impaling him. He feels that telltale heat pooling deep in his stomach and his back arches off the bed as his mouth opens in a silent yes!
“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” Dream gives him permission and, just as George’s chest shudders one last time before he finally does see the edge, the hand poised over his bruised thigh squeezes. Hard.
The pain is explosive, and it hits him the exact moment his cock pulses violently, painting him with white all the way up to his collarbones. It’s an unholy mixture, and he can do nothing but scream as it all comes together into euphoria. He can’t feel the bed beneath him anymore, and everything in his ears fades to white noise, his mind completely short-circuiting on the intensity of the pleasure. He can’t tell how long it lasts, but Dream releases the pressure from his thigh fairly immediately and coaxes him through it, fingers not slowing the entire time as he writhes beneath him. George’s entire body trembles and pleas and wordless gratitude pour from his mouth. He’s never come so hard in his life.
Eventually, the fingers on his prostate start to hurt, and he whimpers from the overstimulation, which serves as Dream’s cue to withdraw. He feels himself clench around empty air as he returns from the high, oxytocin trampling through his brain and immersing him in a new fog. He’s aware of the other moving, and he’s hardly present enough to process that it’s in order to untie him, patient fingers carefully undoing each knot and winding up the rope as it comes off of his limbs. George lies limp as he does, fucked out and entirely exhausted yet somehow keyed up, like he’s had a pot of coffee. He still clutches the coin in his hand.
He registers that Dream leaves his peripheral for a brief moment, presumably to put away the rope, and it’s then that the crash hits him.
George realizes he’s alone on this bed, and suddenly he’s entirely overwhelmed. It sends a well of unwanted emotions flaring up within him, and it’s hardly a moment before he takes in a gasp and feels tears well up again. They’re not from pleasure this time.
The blond is immediately at his side, and there are large hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs absorbing the new drops of salt. “Shh, shh,” Dream soothes, leaning down and gathering him in his arms. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you.”
George finds awareness within his grasp again, and he moves his arms to finally embrace Dream for the first time since he’d walked into the flat, the coin slipping from his grasp at last. He clutches onto him desperately, buries his head in his neck, and lets himself cry. The suspension he’d been in is broken, and he can’t understand why he’s sobbing into a stranger’s salted skin, but he feels like he has to.
Through tears and furious embarrassment, he hiccups against the tan shoulder beneath him, “What is this?” His voice is scratchy from his moans and screams, and it’s immediately cut off by another sob welling up inside of him.
Dream’s fingers card through his short hair, the other arm drawing soothing circles on his back. “I’ll explain when you’ve come down, but it happens sometimes. It’s nothing bad: just let yourself go through it.”
“Okay.” He chokes out, and he knows he’s trembling. He hates feeling so vulnerable, but if it’s the fallout of that ? Maybe he could learn to be vulnerable.
The taller man holds him in a way that is somehow both ginger and tight, and he feels entirely secure in his arms. Dream smells like fresh air and citrus and sex, and his blond hair is soft at his nape, where George’s fingers clutch at it. It’s just enough to make him abandon himself to whatever the fuck this is and ride through it. The entire time, the other never ceases the gentle motions on his back, and murmurs sweet reassurances into George’s ear.
Eventually, the worst of it dies down, and he finally feels his tears drying. It leaves him exhausted, like he could fall asleep standing up, but ultimately more like himself. The afterglow of a good fuck still hangs from his shoulders, but he’s lucid now. With the realization, he carefully pulls back slightly from Dream, not yet leaving his hold in an attempt to relish his touch, and he finally confidently finds words again.
“What was that? I couldn’t stop it. I just—” He takes a shaking breath in, confused and a bit scared of it, and Dream interrupts him before he can get too far.
“It’s called subspace. Sometimes, when you’re going through something intense like a really good scene,” He starts, moving one of his hands to wipe the streaks of tears from his cheek with a calloused thumb. “It triggers your body’s fight-or-flight alongside the normal chemicals that get released during sex. They end up combining and it can be… well, there’s not really a better way to put it other than ‘a lot.’ You feel euphoric, but you aren’t exactly coherent; that’s why you couldn’t talk much toward the end there. You tend to crash afterwards.” To finish the sentence, he switches cheeks and addresses the other half of George’s face. His touches are gentle and feather-light, and it almost makes him ache. It’s such a contrast to the rough, domineering touch he’d only just been using.
He processes it phrase by phrase. “Is it- is this a common thing?”
Dream’s lip pulls in one corner as he considers it. “Not common, but not necessarily rare either. A lot of conditions have to line up and, even when they do, it’s not guaranteed to happen. You have to really trust your partner. Or just have stupidly good chemistry.” He shoots him a smirk and a wink. George can’t help but laugh at it. “Seriously though, I’m happy you had that much faith that I’d take care of you. There are usually so many issues first round.”
“Really?” He asks, legitimately curious. It had felt natural, falling into this pit with Dream, and it would have been harder for him to not trust the other man as he embarked into this strange unknown.
“God, yeah,” He wheezes out a warm laugh that’s infectious. “I’ll pull someone’s hair too hard, or accidentally get my cock bitten, or we’ll miss signals, and someone’ll snap at me a little too honestly. It rarely goes off without a couple dozen hitches.”
George leans back into him, wanting to feel his gentle touch again, and the other is happy to reciprocate. “What happens now?”
“Well,” Dream starts, resting his chin atop George’s heated scalp. “We should probably get cleaned up, but beyond that, it’s your choice. I’m here just for you, darling: that’s my responsibility.” The term of endearment sends up a beacon of warmth inside of him. “Do you want to shower, or are your legs a bit too shaky?”
George’s eyes drift down to his legs, thighs covered with bite marks just beginning to fully bloom and pink indentations from the sweet dig of rope. He can feel the light tremor in his muscles, and he can honestly say that, combined with the ache beginning to spread low in his back, he’s not confident in his ability to stand all that firmly. “I, uh, am not sure standing on wet porcelain is the best idea for me right now.” He caps it off with a light giggle, awkward and a bit exposed.
Dream hums against him, and he feels it rumble deep in his chest before the other withdraws. “I can clean you up, then.” He supplies, smile easy and warm.
“Why?” He whines at the loss of contact, chasing his touch. “Can’t we just lay here?”
There’s a pointed gaze levied at him, and a finger pokes at his chest. “George, sweat aside, you have salt speckling those pretty cheeks of yours, your own cum up to your neck, and mine still leaking out of you onto the bedspread. I’m cleaning you up, unless you want to wake up sticky.”
His cheeks flare red at the coarseness of his language, and only grow more so as that finger swipes up a drop of what he’d spilled on his cooling skin and pushes it past his lips. It’s salty on his tongue, and he sputters in response, shoving Dream away as he laughs at him, falling back into the sheets. “You’re such an idiot.” He spits, although there’s no real venom in his voice.
“Alright, alright, you just stay here, doll,” The taller draws himself up to full height, stretching his muscled arms over his head in a way that makes George’s mouth dry. “I’ll come back and clean you up. Just try and relax in the meantime. You’re gonna be really tired pretty soon, but try to stay awake for just a bit more for me.” Dream trails a hand through his hair briefly, and he can’t help but sigh into it. He’s never realized how tactile he actually was.
George watches him go before he himself falls back into the mattress again. He’s slowly becoming more aware of the dull throbbing pain spreading across his skin, emanating most strongly from his ruined right thigh. Dream had been right: he probably wouldn’t be able to cross his legs comfortably for a while. The bites are harshest up by his neck and still ache, but the rest are minor enough that, despite the fact he’ll be littered with marks, their impact is fading. He tries to gather himself, body still shot through with endorphins and god knows what else, but the weeping has helped. He’d gone through it, just like he’d been told, and he undoubtedly felt better.
He recalls the strange cloying feeling inside of him when he realized words had gone beyond him, and the memory is a hazy swirl. He’s never felt anything like it before, and it piques his interest. It was a nerve-wracking state, but it was one that he wanted to experience again.
In the end, he’s left alone for what probably amounts to a few minutes, before he hears Dream’s soft footfalls re-enter the room. He sits up on his elbows to meet him, and is confronted with a man (now wearing a soft pair of dark gray joggers) holding a glass of water, a bottle of pills, and a few other things bundled together that he can’t make sense of.
Dream sits next to him on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight, and sorts out the things he’s brought with him. “Here, let me take care of you.” He shoots him another smile, just only gently curving up the corners of his mouth.
There’s a careful hand coming to rest under his chin, just slightly tilting it up as a damp washcloth meets his messy cheeks. He sighs at the sensation of soft cloth dragging over his heated skin, wiping every bit of dry spit and tears away, and lets his eyes fall shut.
“There, just relax, baby.” Dream’s voice is so soft, just for him, and he relishes it as he’s worked on in a completely different way compared to earlier.
He slowly makes his way down George’s body, taking away cooling sweat and the quite frankly remarkable amount of cum he’d spilled on himself with careful hands. In his wake, his skin feels clean and cool against the air of the flat, sending a haze of gentle contentedness washing over him. Dream’s handling him like a relic: reverent and thorough, and he feels unbelievably safe in his care.
Eventually, he makes his way down to his cock, and a light brush against the head with the towel makes him squirm away from the touch. “Fuck, I’m sore.” George hisses out, and Dream moves away in response, skirting around to dip lower.
“Sorry,” He mutters, sincere. “Would you mind lifting your legs a bit?”
He’s embarrassed out of his mind, hiding his face behind an arm, but he does as he’s asked so that Dream can clean him up, going so far as to slip a finger back inside of him to finish. He’s overly sensitive at this point, and wants to shift away but, like the other said, he doesn’t want to wake up sticky in places he’d really rather not be.
Once Dream has finished with that, he tosses the washcloth into what he assumes is a hamper, and returns to him, taking a hand into his own and pressing his lips to his knuckles with aching tenderness. “Here, you should take some ibuprofen,” Two red tablets are presented to him with a glass of water. “Helps the ache later on, trust me.”
“Thanks,” George manages to croak out, accepting the pills thankfully and swallowing them with abandon. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. “Do you know where my underwear went?”
“Here,” He answers, proffering the small bundle of fabric and an extended arm. “Let me help you up.”
George takes the black cloth and grabs onto Dream’s strong arm, which lifts him without a hint of effort. It makes him swallow as he imagines him being able to do much more with that strength than simply steady him as he slides his wobbling legs into clothing again.
“Want to watch a shitty movie or something? I know you’re tired.”
He hums in agreement, letting his weight be supported by the other as he relaxes into his hold. “Sure, as long as I don’t have to go very far.”
They laugh together at that, and it’s hardly a moment before Dream stoops and he feels an arm hooking underneath his knees until he can carry him. George yelps in surprise, scrambling to throw his arms around the other’s neck, although a part of him knows there’s no way he’d fall.
“There,” He states with finality, a mischievous gaze peering down at him. “Now you don’t have to go anywhere at all. Bed or couch?”
“Here- here is fine.” George stammers out, feeling his cheeks flare with scandalous thoughts despite having just come so hard he wasn’t sure he could get himself back up for days.
Dream acknowledges his response, choosing not to poke fun at him for being flustered. “Grab my shoulders for a second. Gotta pull back the blankets.”
He does as he’s asked, holding onto him with the bit of strength his tired body has left and catches short fingernails over his sharp shoulder blades. It’s a bit disorienting as Dream bends down to fiddle with the sheets and the pillows, and he fears for a moment that he’ll be dropped, but the other’s hold never wavers. George can feel the muscles sliding under his skin, and does his best not to flush out of attraction.
Finally, Dream leans all the way down and his back comes into contact with soft, silken sheets. “There, you can let go now,” He murmurs, reassuring, and presses a kiss just above his widow’s peak. “I just have to find the remote but, uh, I’ll be honest: I have no idea where it is, so you’re gonna have to give me a minute here.”
“Alright.” He huffs out, feigning annoyance, but it’s light enough that the other can tell.
Dream flits about the room, poking through drawers and behind books left strewn about as he searches for his target. He can’t help but watch him as he settles against the pillows and appreciates the shape of his back, how it flexes with each dip and rise of his arms. Even if he hadn’t just been fucked within an inch of his life, Dream is exactly the kind of man he’d be attracted to. Upon further investigation, he does notice that a scar slashes its way across his lower back, clearly old and faded, but quite long. He’s naturally curious.
“What happened to your back?” He calls out from the bed, slightly drawing his knees into himself as he adjusts.
Dream twists around to face him, eyes briefly flickering down to a part of himself that he can’t see. “Ah, that,” He replies, stifling a laugh. “It’s a bit embarrassing, really. You wouldn’t want to know.”
George snickers. “Oh, now I absolutely have to know.”
The taller shoots a pointed glare his way before he caves, rolling his eyes and resuming his search. “I fell out of a tree when I was eight. I was pretty high up, and dropped right onto some pretty jagged rocks. Sixty stitches and a long time later, here I am with a big mark on my back.”
He winces from the image. “Well, at least you learned to stay out of trees.”
“Ha, I absolutely did not,” He barks out a laugh. “I was a terror as a kid.”
They laugh warmly together before it peters off into a natural quiet that’s only interrupted by Dream triumphantly pulling the remote from what looks like his sock drawer, of all places. It’s hardly a moment later that he’s jumping back onto the bed like an enthusiastic child, somehow managing to not jostle George as he slips beneath the covers to the right of him. He twists about for another moment, grabbing something from the side table, before finally stopping his movement.
“Can I see your leg?” Dream asks gently, hand creeping to and then stilling over George’s right hip bone.
“Oh, sure.” He shifts his knee open so that the other can more clearly access the still-heated flesh that’s just beginning to take on the dark tones of bruising. A flame flickers inside of him at the sight.
Dream trails his hand lightly across it, caressing the purpling skin gently and tracing the mark of his own hand. Enraptured for all but a moment, he then replaces his fingers with what George quickly learns is ice wrapped in a towel. “Here,” He says, softly pressing it into his thigh and holding it there. “It obviously can’t stop any bruises from forming, but it should make them hurt a bit less. Sorry if I hit you too hard.”
George’s hand replaces Dream’s own on top of the chilled cloth, and he almost winces at the cold. “You didn’t,” He reassures, smiling up at him softly. “I could’ve stopped you anytime, but I never did.”
“Hmm, this is fair,” He agrees, hand lingering on George’s waistband. “Before we get settled, is there anything else you want? That you need?” His eyes are full of sincerity, a stable gentility that lulls George right into security.
“I, um—” He feels blush rise on his cheeks for some reason, and he can’t quite meet the other’s gaze. “Can you just- can you keep touching me? Not, like, sexually. I just… want to feel you here, if that’s okay.”
A corner of Dream’s mouth tugs up, lazy and all too tender. “Of course, baby. Come here.” He opens his arms for George, and he happily falls, curling up against his side and nestling his head at the juncture between the blond’s neck and shoulder while his unbruised leg hooks over the other’s longer one. A strong arm wraps around his waist, while the second reaches for his hand, entwining their fingers together. Eventually, Dream’s cheek comes to rest against his scalp, and he feels himself pulled tighter into the other’s body. It’s what he needed after all of that intensity, where he was completely deprived of touch. It finally pulls the last of the tension from his body, and he practically collapses into his new position.
“Do you care what we watch?” The other mumbles beneath him, the fingers on his waist tracing over his individual ribs like he was drawing them onto his skin.
“Nope,” He slurs and relaxes into the warmth trapped under the blankets from their shared heat. Dream is solid and steady beneath him, gently moving George with the rise and fall of his bare chest. “Got to be honest, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay awake.”
Dream wheezes out a warm laugh before he turns on some streaming service or another. “Pick a number between one and twenty.”
He hums in contemplation for a moment, the corner of his mouth scrunching up. “Seventeen.”
“Alright, seventeenth title in the ‘new movies’ category, it is.”
Dream eventually picks something, and he doesn’t think either of them really pay attention to it. He continues to nuzzle into the other and tightens his grip around his broad chest, sinking down until all he can feel is Dream around him. The blond responds by pulling him closer and letting his head softly rest on top of his. It’s endearing, and it’s exactly what he needed. “This is like the polar opposite of what Netflix and chill is supposed to be.” He jokes, loving the way the other laughs beneath him.
“Definitely a more literal meaning of the phrase, though,” Dream’s response isn’t technically incorrect, although it leaves him scoffing. “It’s not so bad.”
He hums into Dream’s warm skin, letting his eyes flutter shut as the nondescript movie plays in the background. Sleep starts to pull heavy on him, now, and the fatigue from the unbelievable ordeal he’d just been through fills him until his eyes are floating.
Dream is quiet for a time, letting George simply enjoy his presence as soft canned music and poorly structured dialogue fills the air. Late night traffic still drones about beyond the windows, but it’s fading as the night shifts into that early city morning that was never truly black. “Hey, George?” He finally speaks, playing with the fingers he has clasped in his own.
“Yeah?” George replies, not looking up far enough to meet his eyes, but tilting his head slightly upward to indicate that was his intention.
“Was that good for you? Be honest with me: if we have any intention of doing this again, I need to know if I did what you needed.”
George finally does shift just a bit, propping himself up on Dream’s chest to look at his face, which is adorned with an expression of considerate contemplation. “There could be an ‘again’?”
“Only if you want there to be.”
“I…” He trails off. “I’m not even sure where to begin with how that made me feel.”
Dream’s eyebrows pinch together. “Is that a good or a bad thing? I honestly have no clue.”
“It’s a good thing,” He reassures, squeezing the other’s hand. “I can actually say I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life before. The whole thing was overwhelming and so fucking good and…” George stutters, not really certain what word would encapsulate it. “I mean, shit, I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
The other regards him carefully, considering his words. “Was it what you thought it was going to be?”
George thinks for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t think I even really had a solid thought of what it was going to be, coming into it,” He confesses. “I mean, I had my fantasies and what I could get from watching other people, but standing outside of your door, I had no earthly idea what I was really walking into. But, I definitely feel like a part of that curiosity has been… very well satisfied.” He’s too embarrassed to meet his eyes, so he lets his head drop until it’s found its place on Dream’s shoulder again.
The blond laughs softly beneath him, tilting his head until his cheekbone is pressed to George’s mussed hair again. “Well, I’m very glad to hear there could be a next time,” He states, tone cheeky. “I mean, I think we had pretty good chemistry.”
He flushes, thankful the other can’t see him from his vantage point. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you insanely attractive. Why you didn’t plaster your face all over our messages is a mystery to me.”
Something between a snicker and an embarrassed stammer leaves Dream’s mouth. “I, um—” He doesn’t sound used to being complimented, which honestly confuses him. “I mean, I’m nothing compared to that pretty face of yours.” Ah, deflection. Now it was George’s turn to blush.
He clears his throat, trying to shrug off the heat rising fast on his face. He’s always been horrid at taking compliments. “I, uh, guess all of this was to say: yes, it was good, you did more than everything I needed. I wouldn’t… well, I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to do more than that.”
George can feel the other’s gaze on him, curious and most likely just a bit lustful. “Well, I’m sure you don’t want to think about getting railed again while you’re still recovering from this one, so we can talk about it in the morning.”
“Your ego is just fucking immense, isn’t it?”
“Oh, you definitely weren’t complaining about it half an hour ago, were you?”
George hates how that makes embers spark in his stomach, and the retorts die on his tongue. He feels the ache low in his back, and the throbbing of his thighs, and the glorious way the other’s hand had closed around his throat, and—
Dream yawns and shifts just slightly lower into the pillows, subtly pulling him a bit closer. It seemed he was very tactile, too. “Why don’t we just go to sleep, hmm? I can practically feel how tired you are.”
He hums in agreement, finally letting his eyelids fall so that he can abandon himself to the heaviness in his limbs at long last. Dream is an excellent pillow, he finds, and also exudes heat like a radiator so, even though most of his torso is completely open to the air, he doesn’t find himself feeling cold. He knows none of this really means anything, that it’s just a fuck and they could maybe be friends but nothing more, but for a moment he lets himself have this. He’ll take affection wherever he can get it.