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Sapnap notices it a couple weeks after George moves in. Dream is out, at his mom’s, probably going to come back in the morning laden with plenty of leftovers to last them the week. Without him, George and Sapnap had eventually agreed on a chill night, just some movies and pizza. Sapnap likes spending time just with George; he’s quieter than Dream by a little bit, a little more vulgar than he normally is on streams and calls, doesn’t talk much but doesn’t let the silence go stale and uncomfortable.
They talk periodically through the movie, some foreign indie bullshit that neither of them really care for but had looked vaguely interesting on the Netflix suggested screen. It’s a little too far in to quit now, so they patiently listen to the cryptic dialogue, watch the unnecessarily long panning landscape shots in between sending each other tiktoks and snacking on the pizza. Sapnap has just sighed and thrown his phone back on the couch cushion when the screen catches his attention and he fidgets.
He can’t even remember the male lead’s name, but he’s hovering over the protagonist, some choppy-haired brunette, both of them soaked in the rain as they seek cover under a tree. Sapnap ignores the subtitles that might clue him into what might be happening plot-wise. Foreign films are a little more shameless than American films in some ways, the girl’s white dress is soaked to transparency, nipples peaked in the cold rain. The man is looking at her with dark eyes that make it clear where the film is headed.
Sapnap curses the blush that rises to his cheeks, hopes the living room is dim enough to disguise it. How ridiculous, to get embarrassed at a sex scene. He and George are both adults, George had been paying more attention to the movie than he was, probably wasn’t even surprised at the turn it’s taking. He glances from the corner of his eye; George doesn’t look ruffled, takes a bite of pizza while the man on the screen tugs one strap down the woman’s shoulder, it rides low on her chest now.
Sapnap feels like a kid up past his bed time, spying on his parents shows late at night, staying still so they forget he’s there. He wants to pick up his phone, pretend he’s not watching, but that feels pathetic. He’s old enough to sit through a sex scene, for christ’s sake. George finishes his last bite of crust, wipes the grease of his fingers and tosses the napkin onto the coffee table. He’s watching without any distractions now, so Sapnap stops side-eyeing like a creep and watches too.
The woman’s hair has inexplicably fallen down from whatever knot it was tied into, sticks to her skin in wet rivulets. Her other strap is pushed down, and the subtitles get shorter, the words the characters exchange a barely discernible whisper over the roar of the storm they’re in. Her dress sags, and her chest presses against the man’s, so that she’s tastefully hidden, but Sapnap can see enough. The soft swell of her breasts, probably able to be felt in detail through the man’s thin buttoned shirt. His hands are touching her exposed back, and their cold shivers give way to sensual touches.
Sapnap tries not to fiddle his fingers on his lap too much, doesn’t want George to glance over and see how red his cheeks are, how his eyes can’t stay on the screen for too long. Looking for distractions, the empty pizza box, Patches sleeping in the corner, the grease-smeared remote, George’s thighs spread across the couch cushions in his soft sweatpants.
They’re kissing now, things progressing with a background of dramatic orchestral music and wet, telling noises. Sapnap hasn’t watched porn since moving into Dream’s house, doesn’t usually need more than his imagination and is always paranoid about his headphones disconnecting in the middle of night, hadn’t wanted to risk the embarrassment. It’s backfiring on him now, suddenly remembering just how nice it is to admire a man’s strong arms, the soft sounds that fall from the woman’s even softer-looking lips. Which of them had even picked this movie? Did George even know it was basically softcore porn when he had?
He licks his lips, which are suddenly dry. The air in the room is warm, they hadn’t needed AC earlier, but Sapnap’s sweatshirt is stifling now. George looks composed as ever, he checks quickly, although there’s an interesting expression on his face, something critical as his dark eyes reflect with the bluish light of the television screen. His hair is getting long again, hanging over his eyes and making it hard to tell where exactly he’s looking. The stubble on his chin is visible in the soft shadows of the room, his skin pale, the dim light hiding freckles that Sapnap has occasionally noticed.
Sapnap practically jumps when he scoffs, having gotten distracted.
“Ouch,” George laughs, presumably at whatever is happening on the screen. Sapnap looks quickly back to the tv, hoping he’s not been noticed.
The lady is hiked up in the man’s strong arms, braced against the tree while they writhe together. The camera cuts off at the waist, although his broad chest and her bouncing tits are fully visible. Sapnap swallows, asks,
“What’d you mean?” And winces when his voice comes out tellingly hoarse. When George chances a look at him, eyebrow raised searchingly, he blushes and clears his throat. George’s smile is daring, but he doesn’t tease, although he doesn’t sound even mildly affected by the scene playing out.
“Getting fucked against the tree,” He explains, and Sapnap tries not to watch George’s lips when he curses, has seen it plenty of times off stream, but never with this kind of thing playing in the background.
“Hurts?” Sapnap asks, just to say something, to knock himself out of the trance George’s voice and his dark, dark, eyes try to pull him into.
“Leaves all these nasty scratches,” George confirms, one hand absently pulling at the shoulder of his shirt, and Sapnap freezes as he watches the motion. George sounds… sure? He doesn’t want to assume, he and George talk about a lot, but they don’t really mention sexuality. Is he reminiscing about some raunchy tryst with an old girlfriend of his, how her skin had pressed against the tree and left marks? Sapnap doesn’t dare to hope otherwise, but he can’t stop himself from pushing.
“Really?” George is watching him closely now, nods, and the hand at his shoulder stretches until his neat nails are resting just above his shoulder blade, the gesture more intentional this time.
“Took me weeks to heal,” He says to the background of climactic moans, and when he grins his teeth are dangerously sharp in the soft light, “Worth it, though.”
Sapnap blinks, turns back to the screen where thankfully the afterglow is more chastely framed. He swallows, can feel George’s eyes on him for a moment longer before he turns back as well. George. Against the tree. He thinks back to how the woman’s thighs, how they wrapped around the man’s waist. George is so light, tall enough but thin that it wouldn’t be hard to pick him up and brace him against the nearest flat surface. Sapnap is so focused on trying to stop that line of though that he nearly misses George’s voice again.
“Have you?”
Sapnap short circuits, wets his lips with his tongue and doesn’t let his voice crack again.
“Have I… uh?”
He’s floundering, still thinking of George pressed against the empty wall next to their television, his shirt getting all rucked up because he can’t stay still. George, the one not falsely painted behind his eyelids, raises a prompting eyebrow, gesturing with a tilt his head toward the screen to answer Sapnap’s not-question. It makes his hair fall over one eye and Sapnap wants badly to touch. He glances at the screen and lets the reprieve from George’s face clear his mind until he can answer.
“Oh. Um, yeah, no.”
He winces, wishes he could speak with more eloquence than a toddler around George, but knows it’s not gonna happen. Sapnap doesn’t know if he should elaborate, doesn’t know if George is asking whether he’s been held against or held someone else to a tree while they fuck. Either way the answer is no. George nods, hums in neither surprise nor understanding. He’s so hard to read.
“Should try it,” Is all George says, before turning back to the movie, and this time it’s Sapnap who’s left staring at the side of his head. It takes a couple seconds for his brain to reboot, and he turns too-quickly back to the screen, pointedly ignores George’s hastily muffled laugh.
They watch the rest of the movie in relative uneventfulness. Eventually, Sapnap regains the confidence to pick up his phone again, fiddle idly like he had been before. But he doesn’t bother absorbing anything he’s looking at, mind playing George’s few words on loop. George has been fucked against a tree. By, probably, another guy. George is probably bi, or gay. George thinks Sapnap should try it.
Sapnap is embarrassed again, thinking about that. He’s, apparently, pretty inexperienced compared to George. The closest he’s come to exhibitionism is making out in the bed of some jock’s truck at two am, breaking apart nervously at any sound of tires or engine exhaust. The guys he was into back in Texas were usually equal parts gay and homophobic, willing to trade handies in the janitor’s closet after hours but wouldn’t be caught dead going to the movies with him. Sometimes he got further with girls, although he’d never gone all the way. Sapnap wonders if George fucks girls too, he hadn’t said. He desperately wants more details, wants to know more about George, the things they hadn’t spoken about when they lived to far away to whisper to each other in the same room.
He’s firmly distracted now, not paying any attention to the phone in his hand. George is probably good at sex, giving or taking. He’s smart with people, knows what they need. Sapnap always feels comfortable around him, nervousness is always more excitement than anxiety where George is concerned. He hadn’t even blushed at the sex scene before, hadn’t stuttered or stumbled when he talked about his experiences. Sapnap wants to listen to more, wants to hear more of those filthy words filtered through silky smooth tones.
“Did you fall asleep or something?”
Sapnap blinks again, looks back at George, at the screen on the Netflix home page.
“Uh, no.”
George gives him another one of those searching looks, the kind that make Sapnap both want to shy away and give himself up.
“Well, the ending was pretty lame anyways. She’s dead,” He comments bluntly, and shocks a laugh out of Sapnap, makes his hands unclench where they’ve been clinging to the lifeline of his phone for the past half hour. George smirks,
“Guess you got a little distracted after your favorite scene? Didn’t care about the rest?” And Sapnap groans, hides his face in his hands because he’s so transparent. George laughs, teases him for a little longer while Sapnap protests. It’s true when he claims the sex scene wasn’t that good, the main draw had been the way George’s own voice overlapped across a background soundtrack of panting and moaning. But their light arguing breaks the tension nicely, lets Sapnap cool down in his sweatshirt, and it’s late enough that after some more good-natured ribbing, they part ways to go to bed.
When Sapnap finally slips under his covers to the drone of the AC unit, he thinks about the foreign feeling of rain on his bare skin and how George’s hair would look dripping wet up close. He wonders if George will tell him more stories, and goes to sleep where dreams meet him with the feeling of bark on his palms and scratches like fingernails on his back.
George does, in fact, have more stories to spill. The next one comes only a few days later. It’s late, again. They’ve been in and out of the pool, Dream grilling them up some burgers upon demand, and it’s gotten late enough that the patio light is turned on, the pool glowing iridescently with some kind of floating LED thing. George is drying off a little, sitting on the pavement with his calves dipped in, hair curling from the chlorine. Sapnap doesn’t feel like getting out yet, waiting until the last second for Dream to finish up their food.
He swims closer to George, water up to about his chest, could probably prop an elbow up on the pavement at this height. He has to tilt his head back to make eye contact, sighs at the cool wash of water across his neck and the back of his head.
“Pools are nice.” He announces, closing his eyes and stepping forward and back, just to feel the refreshing kiss of water splash higher on his skin. George laughs at him, leans over to prop up one hand on his knee and balances his chin there, looking down at him with a smile that makes Sapnap want to float closer.
“You swim in a lot back home?” He asks, and Sapnap only has to think about it for a second before he shakes his head.
“Not much, none of my friends had a pool.” Sapnap’s been dying to try out Dream’s pool ever since they’d moved in. It’s pretty big, cool looking in the summer heat and deep enough to let him sink to the bottom and cover his head. George hums in agreement.
“London is too crowded for people to have pools,” He comments, then gets a funny look on his face. There’s a half smile on his face and he looks up and to the side, staring out into the garden.
“What?” Sapnap prompts, and George’s eyes dart back to him, flickering from Sapnap’s face to the water between them to his own knees.
“It was actually kind of like this,” He says, gesturing at their position.
Sapnap tilts his head in question, and George hesitates, glancing back at where Dream has just gotten started at the grill, the music from the speaker next to him loud enough to disguise their voices. He looks back at Sapnap and continues.
“Well, I was on holiday from university,” He starts, and Sapnap almost interrupts him to make fun of how British that sounded, but George levels him with a challenging look, and he shuts up.
“I had this friend,” He continues, and Sapnap tries not to read into the inflection on the word friend too much, but there’s an exciting edge to George’s voice that Sapnap remembers from their last conversation alone.
“He had a place by the shore, an hour or two away. I told my parents I really needed to study on that break, so I couldn’t make it home,” George says, and Sapnap is listening intently, imagining this daring, alternate George. A George that lies to his parents and drives to shore houses alone with friends from uni. He drifts closer in the water, George’s toes almost touching the skin of his waist as they kick back and forth in the water.
“Had no idea the guy was rich as fuck.” And Sapnap laughs, imagining George rolling up to some Gatsby-esque manor in his worn out Adidas and hype-beast era clothing.
“I think he liked surprising me with that,” George says softly, like he’s really in the memory of it now, “He let me try on this big watch he was wearing, must’ve cost a fortune.” Sapnap lets himself sink into the words too, pictures some faceless guy helping George slip the metal cuff over his thin wrist, complimenting how it looks on him, taking the excuse to hold his hand, or leading him around with a hand on the small of his back.
“Anyways,” George laughs, rubbing the back of his neck when they’re both silent in thought for a moment too long, “He had a huge pool in the back, facing the ocean. It was probably the only time I’ve ever swam in something like that outside of a vacation.”
Sapnap adds it to the movie playing out in his head, the crashing of waves on rocky English beaches meeting the neat edges of some modern-looking pool.
“I had a pair of swim shorts with me, I’d known it was a shore house, but, uh.” He laughs again and his eyes go a little distant, Sapnap watches him wet his lips with his tongue, wonders if he can taste the chlorine on them.
“Well, we got impatient, just stripped down to our pants and jumped in,” Sapnap wrinkles his brow in confusion, and George looks down and laughs. “That’s underwear for you, American.”
“Dumb language,” Sapnap scoffs, to cover the way he’s blushing.
“We spoke it first,” George argues, always quick to bite back. When Sapnap only looks back up impatiently, he grins and continues his story.
“Well, I thought of it because we were sitting like this, except I was in the water,” He continues, and Sapnap regards their positions again. George’s legs are spread on either side of him, and Sapnap is treading water idly, occasionally shifting closer or further away. George spares another glance toward Dream, who’s fully immersed in his task, before grinning down at Sapnap again.
“I don’t even know if the house was empty, he probably had maids and the like,” George prefaced, “But we were kinda tired of waiting,” And Sapnap doesn’t need to ask for what, but George explains anyways.
“It’s so hard to find time alone at uni, my roommate always had people over,” He complains, petulant over someone that had bothered him years ago, and Sapnap rolls his eyes. George sees him, raises an eyebrow, and doubles down.
“I guess that’s why I was so desperate to get him off right there.”
Sapnap breathes in sharply, almost inhales some of the pool water, watches George’s grin turn bloodthirsty. His fingers curl around the lip of the pool edge so he can lean down closer, lower his voice to a whisper, barely audible over the roar of cicadas, but Sapnap clings to every word.
“We were talking, just like this,” and Sapnap swallows at the unnecessary reminder, “And I wondered if I was gonna have to wait for us to get out, and dry off, and go upstairs.” Even the impatience in his voice is hot, Sapnap is glad the cool water is keeping the flush on his face from crawling down his neck, glad his swim trunks are firmly below the water line.
“But I swam a little closer,” And he gestures to Sapnap impatiently, who obeys without thinking, and wants to die a little when George’s heels knock on the sides of his ribs, close enough that he has to really crane his neck back.
“And I saw he was already hard.” He staring right down into Sapnap’s eyes, can’t miss the way they flutter at that. At the thought of George’s body where Sapnap’s is, the thought of him swimming up to some other guy, confident and expectant.
“So I figured, why should we wait, right?” He’s silent, and Sapnap realizes he’s waiting for an answer, croaks out,
“Yeah,” so George can continue.
“I didn’t use my mouth,” He says, and bites his lips like Sapnap wasn’t already staring, “Kinda wasn’t tall enough to reach,” And normally Sapnap would take the moment to toss in some barb about George’s height, but right now all he can think about is those pretty, long-fingered hands, tugging some dude’s dick from his underwear cause he can’t get high enough to fill his mouth.
“Would you?” Slips, unexpectedly, from Sapnap’s mouth, and George pauses to tilt his head in question, hair casting shadows across his cheek and nose.
“Would I what?”
“Would you… if you could reach?” Sapnap mumbles, voice going wobbly at the way George’s knees are closer to his head than he remembers. He must have been drifting forward. He’s tall enough. Could probably reach. Swallows as he looks at the water droplets clinging to George’s leg. Could definitely reach. He looks back up and sees George watching him silently, eyes narrowed, so dark in the shade that his pupils and irises bleed into the same inky darkness.
“Maybe,” He settles on, and Sapnap watches the way his chest moves when he breathes out the words, “He didn’t really deserve that much, though.”
George looks to the side like he’s distracted with the whole conversation, but his fingers are white-knuckled at the edge of the pool. If he slid back in, they’d be pressed chest-to-chest.
“The holiday went okay,” He settled on, “I’ve had better, though.” Like he was talking about his preference in pizza places, and not rich guys that whisked him away to shore houses where they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. He’s not talking anymore, and Sapnap misses his voice immediately, wants to hear the derisive, assertive tone again. Wants to know if they got out of the pool or if his friend got in with him. If they went out to the beach that week or if they stayed in bed all day and night. He’s not sure how to ask any of that.
George is looking down at him again, like he might have more to say, but Sapnap has never been less excited for dinner time when Dream yells across the yard that burgers are ready. George tilts his head back to laugh, water from his hair tracing wet trails down his neck. Sapnap shoves himself away from the pool wall abruptly just in time for Dream to turn away from the grill.
George gets up without another word to get a plate and dig in. Dream is waiting, but Sapnap has to make a couple short laps around the pool, dip below the cool water before he feels the heat leaving his body. George gives him a long look before passing him a towel, and Sapnap distracts himself with another kind of hunger as he thanks Dream for the food.
George is kinda busy in the following days, catching up on streams he’s neglected and filming videos with the both of him. It leaves Sapnap with too much time alone to think. I’ve had better, he can’t help but replay in his head. George sounds like he has a lot of experience in the subject. Way more than Sapnap. He feels a little embarrassed when he thinks of his fumbling years, too shy to go too far.
The assuredness in George’s voice is addicting, the casual relaying of his experiences that sound so exciting and outlandish to Sapnap. He’s not particularly ashamed of being a virgin, he just hadn’t expected George, of all people, to have such a leg up on him. George is pretty private online. Sapnap knows the fans aren’t even aware of his dog and cat’s names. He hadn’t really expected that some of that privateness had extended to him and Dream, at least while they were living apart.
George isn’t necessarily more talkative in person, just… more confident. Sapnap likes the sound of George’s voice without hearing it through headphones, he considers. He’s always had the ability to turn up the volume and hear it in high definition whenever he wants. There’s something charming about having to lean closer to catch the quiet syllables and get lost in the sound of his accent.
Sapnap wishes he were here now, wishes they weren’t so busy that everyone was locked in their own rooms, editing and planning and working at a mind-numbing, constant pace. They occasionally chime off in the vc, but Dream has been muted and deafened for a while, needs music playing to focus while he works. Sapnap can hear him singing along enthusiastically through their shared wall. He won’t be done for some time. He sighs in boredom, and his icon lights up green as the microphone picks it up.
“All good?” George’s voice asks through his headphones, and Sapnap groans in response. He leans down so his cheek presses against the cool material of his desk.
“Georgie, I’m bored, come entertain me.” He demands mulishly, staring at the incomplete thumbnail on his screen. George scoffs.
“We have too much work.”
Objectively true, sure, but a boring excuse nonetheless.
“Just thirty minutes?” He wheedles, whining in exasperation. “I’ll do some of your thumbnails if you keep me company?” The sound of George’s chair rolling back and,
“Say less.” George leaves the call and Sapnap laughs, hears footsteps approaching before a knock on the door.
“Come in!”
George enters and promptly throws himself on Sapnap’s bed.
“Thirty minutes, and then you do my work for me.”
The words are muffled into Sapnap’s pillow. He rolls away from his own desk, laying down and taking up the small slice of bed George’s sprawled form has left open.
“It didn’t take long to convince you,” He laughs, and George groans into Sapnap’s pillow, which makes his brain do interesting things.
“I’m just as bored as you, was probably gonna nap soon. I don’t know how Dream powers through,” He complains, and they both listen, for a moment, to the sound of their housemate singing quietly through the wall.
“You can nap with me,” Sapnap suggests. He fiddles his fingers with a loose thread on his pillowcase, doesn’t look up to meet George’s eyes when he props himself up on an elbow. Overcast sunlight seeps through the curtains, but their sleep schedules are fucked enough that it doesn’t really matter. He can feel George’s eyes on him for another moment.
“Okay,” George decides, quietly. Sapnap tries not to let his surprise show, knows George is finicky at best with cuddling, usually leaves Sapnap to cling like a sea star to Dream when he’s in need of contact. George doesn’t elaborate on the noticeable change of heart, just slips under the blanket.
They’re both wearing sweatpants and plain t-shirts, would probably be uncomfortable if not for the freezing temperature Dream likes the house at. George isn’t facing him, and Sapnap lifts the blanket carefully and scoots underneath slowly. He’d been a little sleepy before, but now he’s wide awake, watching the way George’s head rests on his pillow. He wonders if it’ll smell like his shampoo later, some kind of flowery scent he can’t quite pin down. The mystery of it will probably keep him awake later tonight.
His hands are clasped in front of his chest, knuckles a centimeter away from touching the fabric of George’s shirt. The room is enveloped in the sounds of Dream’s muffled singing, the drone of the AC and their soft breathing.
“Are you not tired?”
George’s voice is soft, a little sleepy. Sapnap doesn’t bother asking how he knew his eyes were wide open, George is just good at figuring that kind of thing out.
“Not really.” Sapnap settles on, as close to honesty as he can get. He’s tired sure, but the image of George lying in his bed, long hair falling across his pillow, his thin, pale arm hooked over the edge of the blanket, has his eyes fixed in place. He wants to remember what it looks like forever.
George turns over carefully, and that’s even better; his dark eyes staring from under long lashes, his freckles barely visible in the daylight, the way his shirt is twisted low enough that Sapnap can see the edges of his collarbones, sharp and dangerous and enticing. He’s staring, George doesn’t call him on it.
“Do you need a bedtime story, baby?”
And George says it teasingly, with a little quirk to his lips that’s usually present when they make fun of each other, but his eyes are calculating, serious. Sapnap’s breath catches, he replays the word in his head, two syllables, George’s soft lips just barely smiling around them. He clears his throat, shifts his head a little so one side of it is fully hidden in the pillow and one eye remains on George through his messy hair. He has no doubts about the nature of the story he’s offered.
“Yeah, okay.”
George smiles again, and Sapnap wants to groan in agony when he scoots a little closer, so they’re practically lying on the same pillow, curled up facing each other like matching parenthesis. He doesn’t waste time jumping into the story.
“Have you ever been tied up?”
George must be catching onto exactly how limited Sapnap is in his experience, because he’s already smiling before Sapnap can shake his head negative. He hums.
“Well, I’ve done it a couple times,” He starts, and Sapnap closes his eyes so he can focus fully on the sound of his voice.
“A lot of guys ask to use ropes and stuff on me, think it’ll put them in charge.” He sounds like he’s laughing a little at the end, and Sapnap’s lips quirk up too. As if anyone could boss around George. An image forms in his head, George’s skin decorated in red rope knots, that commanding eyebrow raised, composure firmly under check despite the restraints. His face feels hot.
“And I was getting bored of it. I was at a concert one night, met this guy.” Sapnap lets himself melt into the memory the way George is. Imagines him dancing, bumping into some blurry, nondescript man, laughing it off to the music together.
“He was… huge. Probably a little taller than Dream, and looked like he worked out too.” The scene in Sapnap’s mind focuses, the man standing a head and a half taller than George, who has to crane his neck to look up at him. Imagines George stepping on his tip-toes to whisper in his ear over the cacophony of the crowd, the man holding him steady with one huge hand spanning the length of his back.
“Anyways, we’re headed back to his flat at the end of the night.” George skips ahead, and Sapnap wants to know. Wants to know exactly how George takes what he wants, how his head tilts while he speaks in a tempting tone, wants to know if he’s subtle or demanding. He bites his tongue, knows they aren’t even at the good part yet.
“And he’s got some stuff, asks if he can tie me up.” Sapnap swallows at how casual George sounds. Were huge, gorgeous men asking to tie him up and fuck him every other week or something? Probably.
“I barely knew him, and he was like, scary huge. So I said no, but I can tie you up, darling.”
Sapnap’s breath catches at the way George recites his lines. He can feel George’s breathing speeding up, can feel it on the side of his face where they’re lying so close together.
“He was surprisingly into that. I guess no one had ever asked him.” George sighs, goes silent for a second.
“I started here,” Sapnap furrows his eyebrows confused, and then stills when he feels gentle hands at his wrists. He cracks open one eye, watches George’s long fingers scoop up his hands where they lie in front of him. They’re gentle, barely putting any pressure on the skin, but Sapnap is breathing quiet, shallow breaths.
“Figured wrists was good for a first timer.” George’s hands trail over the veins on the underside of his wrists where Sapnap’s pulse is pounding, and when Sapnap chances a glance at George’s face, he’s smiling a little, dark eyes fixed on their hands.
“His did that too.” George comments, tapping at his skin to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Sapnap wants to close his eyes again, slip back into the past with George and out of his own skin, but he can’t look away.
“Eventually I got him tied to the bedframe, hands and feet.” George finally continues, knocks their socked ankles together as if Sapnap doesn’t know what feet are. Leaves them touching, a strip of his soft skin where his sweats had twisted up his calf resting against Sapnap’s ankle teasingly with the nearness of bare skin.
George props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Sapnap. He doesn’t look tired anymore, dark eyes wired where they watch Sapnap blush into his pillow.
“Lay on your back.”
Sapnap blinks, breathes shakily when he realizes the words aren’t a part of the memory, and obeys. George’s stern expression melts into a gentle smile, the hand that isn’t holding him up still circling Sapnap’s wrists, which are on his stomach now. George’s knuckles feel warm through his thin shirt, Sapnap’s fingers twitch against his own skin.
“That’s good.”
Sapnap’s eyes flutter closed again, and he’s glad the blanket is still wrapped around his waist messily, hiding his reaction to the praise. His breathing is embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. George’s fingers are moving up, tracing the veins on Sapnap’s forearms.
“Ever had anyone ride you?” George’s voice is closer, like he’s leaning down secretively, even though there’s no one to overhear. He wants George to press the words directly to his skin, feel the way his lips move around the words with his accent. Sapnap shakes his head, again.
“That’s a shame,” George sighs quietly, and he picks up Sapnap’s wrists where they’re laying prone on his chest, holds them up higher, then directs them back behind his head. He’s blushing for sure now, wrists against the pillow, just a suggestion of force behind George’s artful hands. He turns his face, hides it in his bicep where his arm stretches behind. George chuckles, moving his hand away. Sapnap doesn’t move his arms from where he’s positioned them, and when George hums approvingly he tries not to shiver too obviously.
“Shy? He did that too, shoved his face in those big muscles, I thought that was cute.”
George’s hand is at Sapnap’s temple now tracing the small amount of his hairline that isn’t hidden. His nails feel so nice carding through the hair, Sapnap wonders if he’d like pulling on it more. On his back, it feels like his heavy breathing is so obvious, his chest not even hidden by his arms anymore, a little bowed up by the stretch. He wants to press his thighs together, but doesn’t want to draw George’s attention anywhere near where he’s already hard underneath the blanket, resists.
“He cried too,” George presses, finger tapping at Sapnap’s cheek, “I told him he couldn’t come until I did.”
His fingers drift lower, onto the stubble at Sapnap’s jaw, scratch idly like he’s petting a cat. Another giggle, Sapnap can practically see his devilish grin.
“And I have… impressive stamina.”
Sapnap huffs out a heavy breath, eyes wide open where they’re hiding in the shoulder of his shirt. His feet fidget under the blanket, it’s suddenly too hot to stay totally still, he’s making tiny, twitching movements with his legs.
“Still not tired after the story?” George asks, and Sapnap has to peek to see the expression on his face. George isn’t looking him in the eye, too busy dragging his eyes all the way down from his stretched out arms, to where his hips slip under the blanket, to his fidgeting legs. Sapnap clear his throat quietly, hopes his voice doesn’t break right now.
“Is that the end?” George looks back at his face, and Sapnap could stare at George’s eyes for hours. Up close they’re still dark as night, but he can tell apart the iris and the pupil, can see when his glance slides down to his lips and back up again, quickly.
“You want more?” Sapnap feels his face burning at the question, at the scenarios his mind is autofilling into the gaps between their bodies to match the dialogue. George doesn’t wait for an answer.
“I don’t know when we stopped,” He whispers, shifting his whole body closer, until his chest is pressed up to Sapnap’s side, one arm loosely slung over his chest. “But my thighs ached all the next day, and when we woke up he had all these pretty rope burns around his wrists and ankles.”
Sapnap licks his dry lips, watches George watch him do it. Wants to lean up, wants George to straddle him, show him exactly how that night went, teach him, call him good again. Every inch of their bodies pressed together feels burningly hot, George’s arm across him an immovable weight. The room is quieter than it should be, and George tilts his head, looking away for a second.
“I guess Dream is done for now,” He comments, and Sapnap’s thoughts are moving like molasses, can’t make the connection until George gestures to the wall, where the music and singing has stopped.
“Guess so.” Sapnap offers, sounding like he hasn’t had a sip of water all day. Sure enough, with the absence of singing comes incessant pinging from the discord chat at both his and George’s lack of response. George sighs through his nose, gets an impatient look on his face that does nothing to calm Sapnap down, but ultimately scoots back, heading for the desk.
With George’s back turned, Sapnap moves his arms back down to his sides, blinks at the shadows on the ceiling, prays for composure. He takes another couple measured breaths before kicking off the blanket and heading towards the computer. He can see George eyeing him subtly, knows he looks ruffled, cheeks and ears still painted pink.
Later, George helpfully reminds him that he still has the both of their thumbnails to edit as promised, and Sapnap curses the day as a whole.
The details he greedily listens to of George’s life don’t come without a cost.
Firstly, there’s the mental gymnastics Sapnap has to endure to not think of his friend in any number of compromising positions throughout the day. Lounging on the edge of the pool makes him kick his legs nervously, he either jumps in entirely or leaves when George wades in towards him, can’t risk thinking about the rich boy that whisked George away for a week of debauchery in just the thin exposing fabric of his swim trunks.
Dream and Sapnap play a casual game of football in the yard, more of an excuse to tackle each other and get some sun than any real gameplay. As Sapnap runs to the lounge chair that marks his end zone, Dream catches him sidelong, ends up barreling the both of them into a tree. They crumble into a complaining, laughing, pile, but when Dream points out the long, red, scratches on Sapnap’s arm, he swears he can hear George cough to cover up a laugh.
Dream only has to mention something about boy scouts in passing for Sapnap’s mind to go immediately to intricate knots in red rope, muscle exhaustion and tears. He feels like some kind of sex-obsessed creep, it takes the littlest correlation to make him blush to his ears, and he knows George can tell. Aside from the constant blushing and fear of inappropriately timed boners, there’s a second price to pay; eventually, George asks for a story in return.
It catches him off guard, although it probably shouldn’t. Dream’s surprisingly away a lot, considering it’s technically his house. At his parents again, probably, judging by how low they’re running on food. Sapnap had looked in the fridge and called out pitifully for George, the better cook between the two of them.
He’s a dutiful co-chef, following George’s directions as best he can. Chopping, pre-heating, preparing. They manage to scrape something together, and Sapnap volunteers for the washing up. The hot water turns his fingertips red, and George takes the clean dishes to dry them at his side. It’s efficient work, and once everything is cleaned away, Sapnap sits on the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone, a timer set for their food.
He’s a little tired, a little hungry, and it’s all the distraction George needs to come up close, place his hands on the counter at either side of Sapnap’s hips, and lean in close.
“Sap-Nap,” George croons, popping his lips on each syllable. Sapnap puts his phone down on the counter, leans back a little, bracing himself. It’s hot in the kitchen, George’s hair is a little wavy in the humidity, Sapnap is wearing shorts that ride up a bit, an inch or so of the marble counter is cool against the bare skin.
“Georgie,” He sings back, dragging out the letters. His legs kick back and forth, little thump clunk noises against the wooden cabinets. George is close enough that Sapnap’s legs brush his waist when they move. If Sapnap were brave enough to meet his eyes, he’d identify the mischievous edge to them.
“The foods going to take forever,” George complains, “Can’t you entertain me this time?”
There’s a moment where Sapnap tilts his head, confused. This time? They haven’t made dinner together in a while. He clues in when he notes the lecherous edge to George’s expression, and snaps his mouth shut from where he’d been about to ask for clarification. That kind of entertainment.
“What… what do you want to hear?” Sapnap asks quietly, eyes looking at the oven, at the cabinets, anything that isn’t George’s searching eyes. There’s a quiet moment of consideration.
“Whichever time you liked the most,” George offers, matching Sapnap’s soft tone. It’s a generously broad request, not that Sapnap has many encounters to sort through. He bites his lip and thinks for a second, wondering which of his not even hook-ups could hold a flame to George’s adventurous reminisces.
“It’s nothing, like, fancy,” He warns, and George perks up like he hadn’t expected Sapnap to agree, which only makes him regret his easy acquiescence even more. He’s sure this will look embarrassingly juvenile compared to the raunchy filth George has told him.
“That’s fine,” George reassures him, hands sliding closer together on the counter until his wrists are pressing at the outsides of Sapnap’s thighs, “Whatever you want to share.”
Sapnap’s not sure how to start, opens and closes his mouth a couple times, tries to remember the seamless way George always slid into the conversations.
“Okay, so. Well, he was in my, uh. My English class or whatever.” Sapnap remembers the guy’s name, but holds out. Keeps the anonymity in check like George had. He almost doesn’t realize that he’s let the male pronoun slip, George doesn’t react wether he’d expected it or not.
“And we both got roped into this stupid after-school book club or something, cause we both forgot an essay and had to make up the credit.” Sapnap winces, noticing how lame his school-boy exposition sounds next to George’s set-ups. George is listening closely, doesn’t seem to care too much, so Sapnap takes another breath and powers on.
“I think he could tell, uhm. That I was into him.” The place where George’s wrist touches his thigh, separated by the fabric of his shorts, feels electric with tension. Sapnap doesn’t elaborate, on how he can’t screen his dopey puppy-dog expressions, how his eyes were practically glued to the guys lips when he read out his lines, stuttered over his own in embarrassment.
“What was he like?” George asks instead.
“What d’you mean?”
“C’mon,” George says, “Nerd, jock, ego, gamer? This was highschool, what was your type, Sapnap?”
Sapnap averts his eyes, face goes a little pinker.
“Jock, I guess. He was on the team, I wouldn’t say that’s my type though,” Sapnap elaborates, isn’t sure why he needs to impress upon George that sporty guys aren’t his only preference. George grins too knowingly, and Sapnap rushes on.
“Anyways, this club went really long. It was like, dark, when we got out.” The scent of nighttime heat, cicadas and dusty sidewalks rises to mind. Sapnap tries to relax into the memory the way George always seems to.
“I didn’t have a car, so I was walking home. I think he wanted to wait until no one was around, so I’d already been walking for a couple minutes when his car came up next to me.” Sapnap’s getting into now, remembering the rusted red paint chips on the old exterior of the car, the way quiet country music could barely be heard over a sputtering engine.
“Were you out in highschool?” George asks curiously.
“Uh, not really?” Sapnap’s not sure how to put it, hasn’t had an open conversation about sexuality in his whole life. “People didn’t really ask that kinda stuff unless they were starting a fight, y’know.” He shrugs, and George nods, waiting for him to go on. Sapnap takes a breath and calls the memory back to mind.
“So he just asks if I want a ride home, and I got in.” Even the seats had been old and cracking, Sapnap remembers, the chips of plasticy paint tearing under his nervous fingernails. The air conditioning was broke, so they’d rode with both windows down.
“He asked if I was in any rush to get home and I said no, so we drove for a while.” Sapnap feels like he’s doing to much to preface the good parts, but half of that night’s excitement had been in the tension, the thrill of wanting and knowing he was wanted too.
“I think he was still trying to make up his mind, wondering if I’d rat on him, cause we were driving for a long time. But he found some empty lot and we pulled in, hopped in the back of the truck to hang out.”
He thinks of it now, the old threadbare blankets that they tossed on the bed of the truck to try and keep the dirt and dust off their clothes. The broad expanse of stars overhead, the silence when the engine turned off and it was just their nervous voices. Sapnap thinks of what happened next and bites his lip, trying to find the words as easily as George does. The longer he tries to figure it out, the more embarrassed he gets, and George encourages him quietly.
“Who started it?” One of George’s hands has moved to the bare skin of Sapnap’s knee, he notes absently. Thumb running calming patterns over the jut of bone. He clears his throat.
“Me, I guess.” His voice comes out raspy anyways. “I could tell he didn’t really know what to do, kept making such bad small talk.” George’s hand is so warm.
“We were laying down, so I just kinda climbed over him, asked if I could kiss him.” He meets George’s eyes, immediately wants to shy away from the interest in them. It’s hot in the kitchen, still. Their bodies are so close.
“Was he a good kisser?” George prompts, and bites his own bottom lip distractingly. Sapnap tries to separate the visuals, focus on the lips that had pressed against his back then and not the ones in front of him now.
“Yeah, pretty good,” He figures, not that there have been so many points of comparison. Wonders, distractedly, what it would have felt like rolling around in the back of that truck with someone more experienced, softer hands, darker hair, clever tongue. Someone to teach him. He thinks of the details George had provided on his recollections and tries his best to get back to the story. “He really, uh. Really liked pulling my hair.” George’s eyes move to Sapnap’s hair, the way it falls into his eyes just a little.
“Did you?” George asks, and Sapnap makes a questioning noise. “Did you like it when he pulled your hair?” Sapnap feels the blush crawl down his neck, curses the heat.
“Oh. Yeah,” It’s mumbled, barely audible, but George seems satisfied with the answer, some of the demand leaving dark eyes. Sapnap remembers the way a hand bigger than his own had tangled in his hair, pulled at the nape of his neck, directed the kisses that way. It had left him desperate for breath. His eyes go glassy, and George taps his knee to refocus him.
“So, yeah. We did that, for a while.” He’s given up trying for full sentences, for the poetry that George seems to be able to produce. “And then I, uhm, sucked him off.”
George looks like he’s scented blood. His teeth are sharp and perfectly white where they dig into the pillow of his lower lip. His other hand makes its way onto Sapnap’s knee, so he’s touching both.
“Details.” There’s a command in his voice, and Sapnap knows his swallow is audible. The spread of his legs is regretful now, and he wishes George wasn’t pinned in between so he could cling to some dignity and close them.
“Kay, uhm. He still liked my hair, uh, holding it.” George nods, presses the points of his fingers into Sapnap’s skin. “It was my first time doing it,” and only time, he omits.
“So I kinda let him tug me around and stuff, whatever felt good for him. He was big,” and Sapnap has to take a breath here, remember the addicting feeling of weight on his tongue, a taste that shouldn’t be attractive but was.
“So it was like, sloppy. Couldn’t fit it all, had spit all over my chin.” George isn’t smiling anymore, just listening closely. His hands have crawled higher at some point, fingertips just under the edge of Sapnap’s shorts, palms firm on the meat of his thighs.
“Do you like it that way?” George prompts, “Messy?” Sapnap licks dry lips, remembers how cracked and raw they’d felt the morning after. The way the guy had stared at them and flushed in their homeroom, but hadn’t done anything again.
“Mhm. I don’t know if I was doing it right, but he. He kept saying it was good.” Sapnap finishes lamely. George is looking at him through his lashes, and his hands slide up higher while they hold eye contact, until his wrists are pushing at the hem of Sapnap’s shorts, hands completely underneath the fabric. Sapnap swallows, eyes flicking between his legs and George’s hungry expression.
“He called you good?” Sapnap squeezes his eyes shut. “He said you were sucking his cock so good?” It takes Sapnap a second to realize the quiet noise is one he’s made. When he cracks open his eyes, George is leaning closer, can’t have missed the sound. He’s waiting for an answer, Sapnap realizes.
“What did he say?” George presses when there’s no words, the very tips of his fingernails digging into the softness of Sapnap’s thighs, and he gasps quietly.
“Said, uhm. Good boy, he kept calling me.” Sapnap wants to melt, wants to sink into the floor. He can remember the guy's voice, rough with pleasure. Can barely think about it when George’s hands feel so hot on his skin.
“Good boy?” George echoes, half a question and half a reward for his compliance. Sapnap shivers despite the heat, nods. It sounds so much better in George’s voice, soft and sure and delicious.
“You like that.” It’s not a question, doesn’t need to be when Sapnap is practically shaking just remembering it, hearing it filtered through George’s voice.
“Yeah,” He answers anyway, voice cracked and rough. George is leaning his weight on Sapnap’s legs, making the fat of his thighs press against the countertop. The legs of his shorts are pushed up too high, making the stiffness beneath obvious, although neither of them points it out. George takes a measured breath, and Sapnap wants to know if he feels as overwhelmed.
“Did he get you off after?” George asks instead, “After you were so good for him?”
Sapnap’s breath catches in what’s barely a shadow of a moan, but its enough to make him duck his head low.
“I, uh, yeah. On his, his thigh.” Sapnap doesn’t know how to explain this part without being unbearably crude, the way he’d hidden his face in the guy’s neck, let big hands drag his hips forward and back, desperately ground down on his thigh, too needy to be embarrassed. His legs twitch on the counter, George holds them firmly apart, seems to have connected the dots from Sapnap’s muttered admission.
“Oh?” George breathes, close enough now that Sapnap wants to lean in those last few inches, wrap his hands around George’s back until their chests are pressed against one another. “He let you ride his thigh, pretty boy?”
This time Sapnap doesn’t try to hide the way his breath stutters on a groan, the name not echoed from his recollections but straight from George’s wicked smiling lips, pretty boy. George chuckles, and his fingertips are brushing along the edge of Sapnap’s boxers now, so high up on his thighs, blatantly pushing. Sapnap wants him to say it again, wants to forget about his inexperienced fumbling and ask George to show him how to kiss for real, how to touch. He opens his mouth, watches George’s eyes flash between his lips and his glassy eyes, is about to ask when-
The timer on George’s phone has never sounded as grating as it does now. George’s eyes flash angrily as he takes away one hand, fishes it out of his pocket, and turns off the noise. From the oven, the scent of their dinner wafts over deliciously, Sapnap knows it’ll burn if they aren’t hasty. George’s eyes are storming with impatience when he finally pulls his other hand away, stalking towards the oven.
Sapnap brings his hands embarrassedly to his lap when he turns away, pulls the hems on his shorts back down into place. He’s embarrassingly half hard, tries to adjust the fabric. The countertop is cool against his flushed skin, he hops off quietly and gathers napkins and utensils for the food, letting the mundane task dull his racing mind. Before he can escape to the dining room with the table settings, George catches his arm, stops him with barely any force, smiles.
“Thanks for providing the entertainment,” He says, sugary sweet, “I’ll make it up to you next time,” and Sapnap stutters out a few half-words before breezing away to the dining room. He finishes his glass of water before George can even bring out the food. Next time. God.
It’s a little while before he and George get another moment alone. Sapnap has been, guiltily, waiting for any moment where it looks like Dream might leave the house. Hopes he hasn’t been imagining George’s impatient looks either. He can’t stop thinking about the way George had touched him that night, hands heavy on his legs, words quiet but firm. Wants them to finish what they started.
Living with your two closest friends, it turns out, means no one really puts up much of a fight for alone time. They get groceries together, cook together, stream together now that their time zones aren’t an issue. Sapnap loves being around them, but he wants to see George look at him all secretive and private again, wants to know the filthy words he whispers are only for Sapnap’s ears.
There’s one window of time, Sapnap knows, when Dream will be fully occupied. Something on the SMP, some lore stream that George wouldn’t be caught dead reading lines for and doesn’t concern Sapnap’s character. Sapnap’s worn Dream’s expensive headphones, knows he’ll be fully immersed once the action starts.
Sapnap is in the kitchen the morning of, blearily listening to the coffee machine whir as the pot fills, the scent of the coffee grounds just enough to keep his eyes open. Dream walks in next, mumbling a thanks, setting his mug down on the counter alongside. He starts on breakfast, the sizzling scent of bacon wafting through the air while Sapnap gets milk and sugar out. It’s finally enough to draw George downstairs, and Sapnap is too sleepy to regulate his infatuated staring.
He loves living in the same house as George, getting to see him stumble down the stairs in his warm pajama clothes, eyes half closed and hair a mess. He pulls down George’s mug and fixes it how he likes when the coffee machine beeps. George sidles up behind him to grab it, one hand wrapping around the cup and the other around Sapnap’s waist, sleepy thanks mumbled into the sleeve of Sapnap’s shirt. Dream raises an eyebrow while he carries the food to the table, and Sapnap can feel his ears go hot.
He wakes up gradually over the course of breakfast, burying his face in his mug until he feels half human. Dream scarfs down his food quickly, tossing his plate in the sink and grumbling about having to go set up. Sapnap watches him leave, fingers absently tearing a napkin to ribbons. His footsteps thump up the stairs, growing fainter, before there’s a click of a bedroom door and then silence.
Sapnap tracks the movement of George’s fingers, the way he’s spinning the metal of his fork in one hand, the fine-boned knuckles wrapped around his coffee mug. Only a couple days ago those hands had been dragging up Sapnap’s thighs a couple feet away from where they sat now.
“You’re staring.” George deadpanned, startling Sapnap’s attention back to his face. The kitchen table between them feels stupidly wide. Sapnap wants George’s words spoken right up in his space like before, quiet syllables and private smiles. His socked feet tap against the cool tile of the floor, nervous shuffling.
“Yeah,” He responds, too lazy, too eager to come up with an excuse. It makes George raise an eyebrow, ticks the corner of his mouth up into a pleased smile. Sapnap picks up his dishes for something to do.
“You done?” He asks, and George nods, so they rinse things off quickly and quietly, side by side at the sink, elbows brushing.
“Want to hang out in my room while Dream streams?” George asks, and Sapnap tries not to let his relief show too pathetically obviously on his face, rinses some suds off a plate while he nods.
“Yeah, sure.” He’s not sure he achieves nonchalance, George is smiling a little knowingly when he chances a glance, but he’ll take what little composure he can get at this point. They finish up quickly, and walk upstairs together. Dream’s door has muffled speaking coming out of it, and they cross the hallway to George’s room quietly.
Sapnap eyes the room as George closes the door behind them. George likes having his own space, usually visits Dream or George in their rooms when they want to hang out. The light streams through thin curtains, and it’s surprisingly neat. George pushes him gently, one tiny hand in between Sapnap’s shoulder blades, and he lets himself be led to the bed, sitting down gently on the soft gray covers. The mattress dips a little when George climbs on next to him, one leg folded underneath himself and one hanging off the edge so he can face Sapnap head on. His fingers are twisted in the hem of Sapnap’s shirt where it ends near his hip, an almost point of contact.
“Were, um, were you gonna do anything today?” Sapnap attempts, when the silence makes him fidget. He’s still staring straight ahead, at the closet where George’s plain clothes are hanging. He can feel George’s eyes on the side of his face, glances over to meet them for half a second.
“Not really,” George says, fingers still playing with the shirt, burningly close to bare skin. He doesn’t say anything else to fill the silence, lets Sapnap stew in the awkwardness, wondering if George has really just asked him here to have company while Dream streams, no ulterior motive. Sapnap takes a deep breath and scoots around until he’s sitting like George and they’re facing each other, tries to gather as much courage as he has.
“Oh, okay.” George hadn’t let go of his shirt when he turned, and his his hand is still fisted loosely in the fabric, arm outstretched across Sapnap’s lap. “Did you want to… talk, then?”
George has a shadow of a smile on his face, but his eyes are innocently wide.
“Talk about what, Sap?” Sapnap scowls down at the bedspread a little, curses George for making him spell it out.
“About, like.” His words go quieter, “You, or me, y’know.” George tilts his head like he does not, in fact, know. Sapnap glares. “People you’ve been with,” He mutters finally, as close to explicit explanation as he can manage. George makes a false face of enlightenment, as if he hadn’t known what Sapnap was talking about. But he makes a critical face, humming thoughtfully.
“Aren’t you getting a little bored of stories yet?” George asks, and Sapnap’s heart sinks in his chest. He ducks his head, hoping the disappointment doesn’t show too blatantly on his face.
“I think,” George continues, one finger under Sapnap’s chin tilting his face back up, “We could try something new?”
George’s skin is soft, a little cold. Sapnap looks up at him tentatively, still not quite eye level with how slouched he is.
“New like what?” He hates how hoarse his voice sounds, nothing smooth and elegant like George. George’s hand moves to hold his cheek, soothing his nerves, thumb brushing back and forth against the delicate skin beneath his eye.
“Like… showing instead of telling,” George breathes, and it’s the first time Sapnap has seen a thread of nervousness in his expression, usually so confident when they’re alone. The words make Sapnap’s dashed hopes rear their head. George gets both of his knees under him so he can pull himself closer, shuffling a little behind Sapnap, chin grazing his shoulder, hands resting lightly on each of his biceps. It’s a little easier, not having to look him in the eye.
“Showing?” Sapnap prompts, when George falls silent, hands simply running up and down his arms, from his elbow to where his sleeve blocks him from going higher. He hums in agreement, and Sapnap can feel the vibration of it against his shirt.
“Come lay back?” Is the only mild reply, an opportunity to back out or continue. Sapnap is rearranging himself to lay against the pillows before he can even think to do otherwise. George looks a little relieved and a lot pleased, practically towering over him where he kneels. The pillows smell like his shampoo, Sapnap recognizes the scent that had been left on his own after George laid in his bed, keeping him awake for more than one night in a row.
He feels a little awkward, on top of the blankets in only the flimsy material of his pajamas. George is kneeling to the side of his left hipbone, backlit by morning sunlight, stealing Sapnap’s breath.
“You know,” George begins, one hand bravely resting in the center of Sapnap’s chest, making his heartbeat stutter enthusiastically, “That first time we were talking, I told you to give it a try.” His hand isn’t moving, a static weight at the top of Sapnap’s ribcage holding him in place without a touch of force.
“Fucking outside, in public,” He clarifies unnecessarily, as if Sapnap hasn’t mentally recorded every moment of that conversation in high definition. Sapnap feels the air in the room thicken as George stares down at him, expression impassive but eyes dark.
“But I’ve changed my mind,” He continues, leaning down a little bit, blocking out more of the sunlight and putting more pressure on the hand at Sapnap’s chest. “I don’t think I’d want anyone else’s eyes anywhere near you.”
Sapnap feels heat crawling across his collarbones, a cocktail of disbelief and desire warming his veins. George doesn’t stop there.
“I don’t think I’d want anyone else to hear your noises.” He licks his lips, “Did you know, in the kitchen, you kept making these little sounds?” Sapnap blushes, thinks back to how far gone he’d felt just by the sound of George’s voice, and the steady weight of hands on his thighs, shakes his head.
“They were quiet, but I could make you loud.” He asserts with a confidence that makes Sapnap swallow dryly. He wants that, wants his throat to be hoarse, breathless. Possessive is a good look on George. His hand slides sideways, and another mirrors it. They’re bracketing Sapnap’s ribcage, fingers fitting into the slight impressions of bone like a key. Barely a moment to breath around the new sensations, and then George is slinging one leg over both of Sapnap’s, kneeling over his lap with both hands holding him down against the bed.
He stutters on an inhale, eyes shamelessly raking over George’s body above him. Soft clothes, smooth skin, dark eyes. George is watching him too. He carefully picks up his hands from where they’ve been laying idle at his sides and places them on George’s knees. George’s face is a contrast of sunlights and shadows from where the light peeks through the curtains. It makes his expressions sharper, stranger. His smile is breathtaking when his hands leave Sapnap’s chest for a moment, overlap Sapnap’s fingers on his own legs and drag their laced hands higher, until they’re pushing at the lowest part of his shorts.
George’s hands leave his, and move back to his chest. Sapnap’s breath catches when they slide beneath his shirt instead of over it like before. His nails drag across Sapnap’s stomach, the fabric of his shirt bunching around his pretty wrists. He sits down fully, warm and heavy across Sapnap’s lap, and leans down a little bit. Sapnap watches his lips when he speaks quietly into the warm air between them.
“You asked me before, if I would use my mouth?” George is making little rocking motions, bracing himself with the hands that press across Sapnap’s chest like hot brands. He can feel himself getting hard underneath the teasing movements, wishes he could hide his face from George’s sharp eyes.
“For you, I would. I’d make you feel so good you’d want to cry.” He whispers softly. George is so close now, close enough that he’s all Sapnap can look at, can’t divert his eyes to calm himself down, can’t run away from that dark, dark gaze. His body is still moving on top of Sapnap’s, the maddening drag of friction tearing Sapnap’s composure apart. He can hear his own shaky breathing escaping him in uneven bursts, flushes at the sound when it makes George smirk.
George is looking at him so reverently, cataloging each reaction like he hasn’t seen the mechanics of sex plenty of times before. It makes Sapnap feel cherished, lessens the nervousness that has been taking away from the excitement. Returns a little bit of his courage to him, enough that he takes one hand away from George’s leg, brings it to the nape of his neck. George waits for him patiently as he tries to catch his breath.
“Can you, uhm. Can you kiss me, please?” He asks, voice cracking desperately at the end. George’s teasing expression melts, cracks into blatant adoration that has Sapnap’s eyes closing at the nakedness of it all before George’s lips even meet his.
It’s warm, is Sapnap’s first thought. George’s mouth against his is a warm, comforting stamp of affection. They hold it there for a moment, closed and chaste and sweet. Until the roiling anxiety in Sapnap’s stomach has simmered down into red affection and anticipation. Then George pulls back a little, and Sapnap has a brief moment of regret that it’s ended so soon, before he’s tilting his head a fraction and pressing in again.
That’s closer now, George’s bottom lip fitting in between Sapnap’s perfectly. The firm seal of their lips gentles, becomes softer, more pliable. Sapnap can feel spit starting to slick both of their lips, creating wet, breathless noises that make the blush on his cheeks migrate down his neck. George pulls a hand out of Sapnap’s shirt, using it to cradle his jaw, direct him exactly how he needs. Sapnap lays back against the pillows, surrounded by the scent of George, lets his body nervously press up and into him with every gentle kiss.
George pulls away for a moment, runs soft fingers over the stubble on Sapnap’s cheek, waits for his eyes to open.
“Good?” He asks. His cheeks are red, darker than Sapnap has seen them, and it makes him want to see more of his skin flushed dark and hot.
“Good,” Sapnap breathes, can’t keep his eyes from sliding back down to George’s lips, a little wet with a sheen of spit that makes Sapnap want to touch. George doesn’t give into the gentle tugging of Sapnap’s hand at his nape, keeps a couple inches between them.
“When I had you on your bed,” He starts, eyes glassing over like he’s remembering the way he’d directed Sapnap to lay down, held his wrists. He trails off, and Sapnap smiles a little at the hint of lost composure.
“Yeah?” He prompts, and George’s eyes focus in on him again, at the confident expression on his face, and he tries again.
“You listen so good, darling. The idea of tying you down,” He sighs breathlessly, and Sapnap swallows, thinks back to the stretch of his arms above his head, the way George had looked at him with approval when he held the position even when his hands had left Sapnap’s wrists. “Taking what I want from you while you let me.”
Sapnap is panting now, George grinding down on him in little, teasing circles. He’s surely able to feel the way Sapnap is fully hard through their pajama pants. Sapnap tries to keep still, can’t help the way his hips twitch up into George in small, desperate motions. It only serves to make George press down heavier, force Sapnap’s body back down against the bed.
George leans away for just a moment, and both of his hands go back to Sapnap’s shirt, removing it quickly. His sharp nails drag at Sapnap’s skin, leave pleasantly warm scratches behind where they move too impatiently. George’s hands linger at his wrists when he raises his arms to shove his shirt off, gather the fabric and press back his arms like that other night.
Sapnap hears himself groan quietly, the way George is stretched over him, pinning him down at the wrists and hips, leaving him no where to hide. They stay like that for a moment, Sapnap avoiding eye contact as best he can, flushed and wanting. Then George shifts a little, resumes the rocking of his hips, and Sapnap can’t help but imagine it. Himself, tied up in all those ropes, no clothes between them, George sitting on his cock until he cries, begs for release.
“Were you thinking about this that day?” George says, panting a little, “I was, I wanted to pin you down so badly, pull those blankets off and make you whine.” Sapnap squeezes his eyes shut, gasps when George presses down even harder, nods in agreement.
They separate briefly, and George finally pulls the shirt off of Sapnap’s wrists, allows his hands to go back to George’s thighs while he takes off his shirt, too. Sapnap nervously shifts his hands higher, lets them settle at the smallest part of George’s waist, pulls him down until their bare skin is pressed together, George’s face buried in Sapnap’s neck, pressing hot kisses to the skin. Sapnap keeps their pace steady with gentle tugs at George’s body, can feel where their dicks line up through their pajama pants, loves how easy it is to drag him in by the waist, so small in Sapnap’s hands.
George keeps occupied at his neck, kisses giving way to bruising suction and sharp teeth. Sapnap knows that he’ll be covered in bite marks tomorrow, groans at the thought of them showing in all of his loose-necked shirts.
One of George’s hands comes up to hold his head in place while he works, long, thin fingers carding through dusty brown hair, curling tightly in the strands. When George speaks next, the words are pressed into the skin just underneath his ear, make Sapnap arch and whine at the ticklish sensitivity.
“You said he liked pulling your hair, right? The friend with the truck?” Sapnap’s breath catches as George smiles against his skin, teeth against his skin. “But I bet he was too gentle with you. You need it a little rough, don’t you, baby?”
George’s hand doesn’t pull tighter though, and he doesn’t say anything else. Sapnap burns when he realizes he’s waiting for confirmation before he continues. He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out fragile when he answers.
“Yes, please, George.” George laughs, but grabs onto his hair with more force, making him bare his neck through force, leaning down to suck on the skin between his collarbones, tongue hot and teasing against the bone.
“Begging already, baby? Have I teased you for too long?” Sapnap whines, the words pressed to his skin making his eyes roll back in pleasure. He yanks George forward a little more, to grind up into the softness of his body, feels them both shiver and gasp.
“Yes, yes, please, anything.” He mumbles, fingers curling into George’s waist, hardly caring what words he strings together. It’s not good enough for George though, he pulls back and levels Sapnap with a demanding look.
“Stop rutting up into me like a slut and tell me what you want,” He demands, and Sapnap feels himself turn red again, ducks his chin to avoid George’s eyes. George is firm on top of him, not moving, agonizing stillness against Sapnap’s cock. He gives in after a few moments, George remaining steady while Sapnap squirms and pants in silence.
“Want you to ride me, please Georgie,” He begs in embarrassment, barely above a whisper. George softens immediately, melting back down into him and tilting his head back up to press their lips together reassuringly.
His tongue presses against Sapnap’s, assertively leading the kiss. Sapnap lets his mouth hang open, shyly moves his mouth against George’s tries to keep up with assault of lips and teeth until his lips shine red with abuse and spit.
“So good, darling, perfect for me,” George gasps in between kisses, both hands fisted in Sapnap’s hair, forcing his head into the right angle while he swallows his moans greedily.
“Just relax,” He mumbles into Sapnap’s lips, and with a wet noise he separates their mouths for a moment. There’s the sound of rummaging in the nightstand, and by the time Sapnap has negotiated his brain back into functioning enough to open his eyes, George is squarely back on top of him, shimmying out of his clothes.
He doesn’t know where to look first, the dark wisps of hair on his navel that lead down, the tight muscles of his thighs where they bracket Sapnap’s hips, soft and firm at the same time. Or where he’s hard, pretty pink dick wet and gorgeous against his stomach. Sapnap’s mouth waters and he wishes that either of them had enough patience to drag this out, let him taste every inch of George’s perfect body, worship him like he deserves. But they’re going on weeks of teasing, of building up to this moment, and he can’t be bothered today, just let’s George direct them both.
George lifts himself a little higher on his knees to adjust, and Sapnap pulls his own clothes down to around his thighs, just enough to get his dick out. George gets one hand wet with lube before he reaches behind himself, and Sapnap swallows, watching the way George’s dick twitches impatiently while he works.
His hands go back to George’s thighs, pull their bodies a little closer until their cocks are pressed up against each other, hot and perfect. Sapnap uses one hand to wrap around both of them, slick and wet even without lube with how much they’re both dripping. George licks his lips, looking down in between them while he shoulder moves in steady motions.
“Look at you, baby,” He breathes, eyes dragging over Sapnap. He shudders, feeling so exposed laid against the covers, hand moving faster around them. George’s thighs are tightening around his hips, and he wonders how many fingers George has inside himself, if he’s efficient or teasing, dragging it out. He lets his free hand move to George’s ass, squeezes hard and earns a honeyed moan in response. George’s eyes are a little glassy, breaths coming shuddery. His free hand is keeping his balance on Sapnap’s stomach, sharp nails digging in whenever something feels particularly good.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” George pants, blinking slowly, trying to concentrate, “Ruin you for anyone else.” And Sapnap has to pause his hand at the possessive note to his voice, the way he feels so pinned beneath George, his body, his words.
“Please,” He begs again, past the point of shame, just wants George around him, warm and tight and perfect. His hips are kicking up impatiently, too much for George’s hand to steady the motions, and it’s making him flinch on top of him, moaning when his fingers move too fast or too hard as a result. George levels him with a chastising look, but the effect is a little softened by the way tears are wetting the corners of his eyelashes, cheeks and lips dusted red, his own cock drooling in need against Sapnap’s.
“So greedy,” He breathes, not-unkindly, but takes his fingers out regardless and swats away Sapnap’s hand around them to shuffle closer. Sapnap is practically shaking in anticipation, feels the points of warmth where George’s little palms balance against his chest as he lowers himself down.
“Stay still,” George commands, in a voice so gorgeously strained. Sapnap nods, bites his lip as George sits all the way down, nails painful where they cling to Sapnap’s skin. Sapnap takes the moment to look at all of him; the way his head is thrown back a little, eyes squeezed shut while he adjusts to the stretch, neck shining with a thin sheen of sweat that Sapnap wants to feel against his tongue. His stomach is twitching, Sapnap’s hand, which had been firmly planted on George’s ass slides around front until he can press his palm to the skin, cover his tummy with one broad hand and feel how the muscles jump when their breathing jostles George too much.
His other hand is on George’s thigh, squeezing and petting in turn, trying to feel as much bare skin as he can, desperate to leave bruises in the shapes of his fingers in places hidden under George’s clothes, leave a mark that only they need to know about.
George’s eyes open, meet Sapnap’s desperate gaze, and then he’s pulling up, stealing Sapnap’s breath, until there’s only the tip of Sapnap’s cock inside. He stay’s like that for a second, thighs shaking at the strain, before he pushes back down.
Sapnap groans, throws his head back against the pillows as his vision goes spotty with how hard he clenches his eyes shut against the wave of pleasure. Once George has adjusted to the movement, he repeats it, starting slow. He watches Sapnap writhe from on top of him, gasping out praises when he has the breath for it and running appreciative hands over his chest when he doesn’t.
He’s quick to speed up, Sapnap can tell they’ve both been impatiently waiting, and once George has worked up to a rhythm, bouncing on his cock without giving either of them a chance to breathe, he lifts his hips up, meeting in the middle. George groans, collapses on top of him, and buries his face in Sapnap’s neck. He’s twitching his hips forward and back now, grinding down but letting Sapnap take over.
“So good, baby, just like that,” He moans softly, lips catching on the shell of Sapnap’s ear.
“You gonna make me come, darling? Gonna show me how good you are?” Sapnap feels like he’s half a second away from coming, furrows his eyebrows and tries to hold out, tires to be good for George. He rearranges his legs, being them at the knee to get some better leverage, holding George down by the waist while he fucks into him.
George is still mumbling filth into his ear, arching and moaning on top of him. Sapnap reaches a hand between them, wraps George’s cock in his hand, pumps him the the rhythm of their bodies. Digs his thumb into the slit while he bites at George’s shoulder to muffle his own groans. George’s arms wrap around his neck, hold them flush together while he whines, tenses, and goes quiet, spilling hot and wet between their bodies. Sapnap feels his own eyes roll back at the feeling, thrusts once, twice, spills inside of George, messy and spent.
Their chests press against each other as they pant from the exertion, bodies slowly cooling under the sweat and air conditioning while they recover. Sapnap sighs in exhaustion, nose wrinkling at the feeling of cum drying between their bodies. He nudges at George’s shoulder and receives an incomprehensible grumble in return.
“C’mon Georgie, I gotta get a towel or something, let me out.” George sighs against his skin, but pushes himself up, makes a disgusted noise as Sapnap’s cock slips out and his thighs are left wet and messy. He lays back down to the side, lets Sapnap slide out of the bed with shaking legs.
The bathroom is connected to George’s bedroom, thank god, which makes for a pretty easy trip. Sapnap cleans himself up quickly before getting a washcloth for George. He grumbles a little at being moved around in the bed, ready to pass out and nap, but allows himself to get wiped off. Sapnap tosses the cloth into a laundry bin when he’s done before slipping underneath the blankets alongside George eagerly, bare skin cold in the bedroom.
George immediately latches onto him, hands wrapped around his body, fingers tracing his shoulder blades softly.
“Warm,” He comments, the tip of his nose cold where it burrows against Sapnap’s collarbones.
“You too,” Sapnap replies, feeling the softness of his hair and skin, the perfect fit of their bodies pressed together. George smiles against his chest.
“So,” He laughs, “Did I measure up to all the stories?”
Sapnap blushes, hides his face in George’s hair.
“Fuck yes.”
George laughs again, and Sapnap smiles, too tired to do anything else but fall asleep just like that, wrapped around each other in George’s soft blankets.