Chapter Text
Dream had never been very good at staying still.
Call it faulty wiring, call it too much energy and too little room between his bones: no matter what prescriptions he took or what silly little mental exercises he did, it never truly went away.
Over the years, he’d learned to cope with the constant physical energy, and routed it into more productive— or, at least less annoying to those around him— forms. But, it wasn’t until he was properly out of the house, out of college even, that he found rope.
Knot-tying had purpose and utility, and made just enough sense that he could justify it as more than another bizarre hyperfixation. He grew much more useful on his family friends’ boats when he went home to Florida, and it served as thankful cover for the actual reason he’d grown interested in it in the first place.
When he met the idea of rope bondage, it had been because of a tamer proposal from a girlfriend during his first year of college. She’d wanted to try handcuffs— just once, really—but one internet search and six tangent-filled hours later, he’d wound up completely fascinated with something much more complex, and far more beautiful.
It was the artistic part that had first reeled him in, but the more insomniac nights he spent browsing tutorials and performances, the more he found himself drawn to the habits that the person doing the tying tended to display.
There was a polished harshness that came with each careful bend of rope, precise and subtle snaps of pain and a gentle dominance with every heavy fall of a palm. He watched, curious and enraptured, as the one coated in dripping rope cried out and tensed with each new sensation, and decided he wanted to make someone feel like that, too.
Then, of course, came embarrassment and bashfulness. No one would ever want to fuck him if he just came out and admitted that he wanted to bite them until they bruised and turn their ass crimson. So, he kept it to himself for years, and practiced whatever knots he could on himself in the event that, maybe someday, he’d be able to use them.
But, his fingers have been itching more these days, and the more he comes home from work, exhausted and in desperate need to relieve his stress, the more he wants to work up the courage.
So, he does.
An online forum is the easiest thing to do, so that’s where he starts. There are plenty of people, it turns out, who are happy to feel pain and cause it, happy to suffer through rope burn and impact marks, and it makes him marginally less humiliated by his own inclinations. It’s a dizzying array of strangers, hidden behind half-anonymous profiles and very explicit images. He’s too nervous to interact for a while, simply watching as people discuss safety and their kinks and set up meetings to resolve all of it.
Finally, though, he sends a message.
[Dream] 12:07 AM: hey are you still looking for a dom?
[Dream] 12:08 AM: because if you are maybe we could talk?
The man he reaches out to is a beautiful brunet, dark eyes and pale features borne by a sharp bone structure. According to his profile, he’s been doing this for years and, after a recent move, he’s still looking for a new partner. Dream has absolutely no idea how on earth he’ll take the idea of someone absolutely brand new at this, but he’s immediately captivated by how gorgeous he looks when that pale skin of his is speckled with bruises, and he can’t help but try.
It takes a few days for him to receive a response, but he’s thankful he ever even gets one.
[Error404] 5:22 PM: yep i still am
[Error404] 5:22 PM: i’m guessing you’re interested?
[Dream] 5:34 PM: yeah but i uh
[Dream] 5:34 PM: i’ve never actually done this before? is that like a deal breaker?
The ensuing four-hour pause in their nascent conversation makes him increasingly anxious. The minutes go by, one by one, and his nerves fizzle and crack beneath his live-wire skin. The man seemed nice enough in his public interactions— if Dream wasn’t even worth a “no, thank you but I don’t want a rookie” from someone kind, then he might as well take down his own profile altogether. Doubts accumulated over several years float to the front of his mind again, and sinking into the apprehension and dread is easy and timeworn for him. He’s almost restless every single time his phone chimes with a new notification. Finally, finally , he gets the one that he wants, practically launching himself from his couch to chase that tone he’s been aching to hear.
[Error404] 9:52 PM: no not necessarily! have you ever done literally anything like this, or are you just completely out of your depth here
[Dream] 9:53 PM: i mean i’ve never had a partner for this, if that’s what you’re asking. i do know the mechanics of how to rig though and i really want to try something rougher
[Dream] 9:55 PM: i get that you probably want someone experienced, but i’ve always been a fast learner
There’s a pause in the conversation, 404’s bubble appearing and disappearing again for several minutes at a time. Dream keeps his eyes glued to the screen throughout all of it, biting his lip in an ancient nervous habit until he knows he’s close to drawing blood. His leg bounces in a desperate expression of pent-up energy, and if he’d gone only a minute more, he’s sure his entire body would start to grow restless too.
[Error404] 10:02 PM: so i’m okay being patient with you- like we all have to start somewhere. i’ve been doing this for a WHILE now so i can definitely help you figure yourself out. besides, it might be kind of fun to shape my own dom lol
[Error404] 10:04 PM: why don’t we talk for a bit tho first. like if we’re both going to commit to this since it’s more than just us meeting up and having sex we should make sure we’re actually a half decent fit you know?
It all sounds terribly reasonable, and something about this man forming Dream to exactly what he needs in bed makes heat flutter deep in his stomach. He likes knowing he can please his partners, and if this is how he can do that best? To say he’s interested is an understatement.
[Dream] 10:06 PM: you wanna call sometime then?
December
“Hey, thanks for meeting me ahead of time!” There is suddenly a very, very beautiful man standing in front of him, trying to get his attention, and Dream thinks he might just be about to cease functioning. “We could’ve just met at my place, but I work in this area anyway, so I thought we could do this here. I’m glad you agreed.”
Dream can’t stop staring at him— a doe in headlight fluorescence— and he briefly feels as though the world has turned to striped taffy.
The man is smiling, soft lips pulling into a graceful curve. “You, uh, you are Dream, right? You’re meeting me: George?” He asks, suddenly sheepish in a way that makes his cheeks splatter with a kiss of blush. “Please tell me I’m not just talking to an absolute stranger.”
Oh. That’s his cue. “I- yeah, um, it’s- I’m Dream,” He stammers, chastising himself the entire time. “Sorry about that. You just, uh… startled me. I got the little booth in the corner, if that works for you.”
“Yeah, sure.” He nods as he says it, following Dream’s gaze to the table tucked just out of sight, behind the boarded pony wall topped with silk planters. He raises an eyebrow when he sees the small receipt haphazardly abandoned on its surface.
“I ordered for you,” Dream rushes to explain. “You said in our texts that you’d never been here before, but you mentioned what you liked, so I thought the least I could do was cover whatever kind of weird early dinner this is.” He’s suddenly all too aware of just how fidgety he feels.
Instead of being put off, or even all that surprised, George just fondly rolls his eyes and slides into the small booth, pulling a satchel strap from where it lays across his chest and sliding his thick winter coat from his shoulders. Dream can only imagine just how lovely he must be if only he were to keep going with the undressing. “That’s cute,” He teases. “A bit old-fashioned, but it’s sweet.” George’s eyes are the most glorious shade of umber: so dark they’re almost black.
Being closer to him has the unexpected effect of making Dream’s stomach drop now that he’s more able to evaluate the elegant curve of his nose and the soft shadow of stubble that glazes his jaw. “So, do we just… jump right in? I don’t really know how this is supposed to go.”
George tilts his head just-so in contemplation, evaluating Dream as those voidesque eyes peer into him and peel him back one layer at a time. “If you’re up for it. Obviously, keep your voice down, but it’ll help if we get this sort of stuff clarified beforehand, you know? Where do you want to start?”
He takes a moment to think, and watches George study him. He studies right back, doing his best to be undaunted. The smaller man is gorgeous, that isn’t up for debate: hair that fringes on ebony, just slightly curled and framing an alabaster face anchored by a rose-petal mouth. He’s seen pictures of him before, they’ve been messaging for well over a month now, after all, but the flare of a camera lens does not even begin to do him justice. “What do you need from me?”
“What do I need from you?”
Dream nods, and maintaining eye contact gets a little easier as time goes on. “Isn’t it my job to take care of you when we do this?” He asserts, confidence building for a moment before fading back to sheepish caution as his inexperience catches up to him. “A-at least, that’s what I’ve read.”
The brunet snorts lowly at that, morphing into a quiet laugh. “Well, first off, I need you to be a little less timid for me,” George starts, expression softening again as amusement is replaced by curious fondness. “You can’t do what we both want if you’re so uncertain. So, tell me again: what is your job in all of this?” He’s teasing him— a saccharine, curling taunt— but there’s care there, too.
He steadies himself, focusing on the bridge of George’s nose in mock eye contact as he gathers his courage. As his lips part, he does his best to lower the timbre of his voice. “My job, George, is to take care of you. Tell me , what do you need from me?”
He watches, in real time, as George’s pupils dilate just a sliver, eating up more of the dark irises that encase them. “That’s better,” He responds, voice steady but softer now. “I… well, I need someone who’s rough with me,” He starts, pausing to think before continuing. “I need someone who isn’t afraid to hurt me a little. I need someone who knows how to tie knots. Sound like anyone you know?”
“I could make that work,” He lets a hesitant smile splay across his lips. “Is there—”
He’s interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, who places two plates in front of them, each bearing a sandwich wrapped in red checkered paper, the bread replaced with a bagel and mayonnaise with cream cheese. George strikes up polite conversation with her almost immediately, chattering about the recent cold snap and the snowstorm last week. He grins so easily and falls into the steady rhythm of socialization without even a breath of effort, eyes dazzling and enthusiasm contagious. Dream realizes he might just be a little bit captivated by him, even though they’ve only just met.
He finally bids the gregarious waitress goodbye, and turns his attention back toward Dream, who’s stuck awkwardly flitting his gaze around the booth in a bid to hide the fact he was about to be caught staring. George doesn’t notice his fluster, and turns to dissect his bagel. “I think you were asking me something before we got interrupted— does that sound right?”
Dream blinks at him for a moment, trying to remember where on earth he was going before their food had been deposited on their table. “I’m going to be entirely honest, I don’t exactly remember what I was going to ask. I know I was going to ask something , but I’m not sure what.”
Before sinking his teeth into his sandwich, George softly snickers. “Well, guess we can go over boundaries?”
He nods, taking in the words and processing them one by one. “Do you have any hard no’s?” Dream inquires, savoring the feeling of soft bread. “Anything that’s absolutely off-limits?”
George hums, looking off into the distance in a consideration that Dream can tell is mostly mock. He knows his own comforts. “You don’t gag me,” He starts, picking at his fruit as though they were just talking about the weather. “I don’t like having the freedom to speak taken away from me.”
“Okay,” He agrees. “I don’t gag you. What else?”
“If you attempt to put a set of animal ears on me, I’m kicking you out of my flat and blocking your number.”
Dream can't help the unseemly giggle that slips from his mouth, and he’s immediately shot a sharp glare that doesn’t encourage him to stop his laughter.
“Although, I guess that’s more of a preference thing than a hard boundary,” He admits, eyes half-lidded and annoyed, but with a spark of amusement in his dark irises. “I’m pretty open with anything else, so long as we both want to do it. Just talk to me about it, I guess. The only other exception to that is that I won’t kiss on the lips. It just makes things messier, in my experience: too intimate, you know?”
That startles Dream a bit. That’s never been something that’s been off-limits to him, and the thought is almost foreign. The idea of not being able to pin this beautiful man to the mattress and softly bite on his bottom lip while he made him fall to pieces makes his reality feel strange. “Is there- wh- too intimate?”
“Yeah, you know,” George starts to explain, amusement decorating his face, like he’s had this conversation before. “Easier to just keep it at sex. We’re just fucking at the end of the day, and I think it’s better to not complicate it. Does that work for you?”
Dream processes it for a moment, blinking a few times. “Yeah, that’s fine. I wouldn’t want you to do something that’d make you uncomfortable. I can do that.”
“How about you?” He inquires, taking a hefty bite out of his bagel that borders on slightly too much. Dream has to put effort into keeping less wholesome thoughts about what else he’d love to see in George’s mouth out of his mind.
He hadn’t thought about it that much, in all honesty. Dream’s inexperience lies heavy as he contemplates the plethora of vocabulary and clips he’d seen over the years. There were things he didn’t care for, sure, but he didn’t feel like much was off the table. “I don’t want to treat you really badly.” George works on his dinner while he waits for him to explain. “Like, okay, I’ll degrade you and punish you and stuff if you want, but I don’t want to really treat you like you’re less than what you are. I’m not that kind of person.”
George nods. “I don’t really care for intense degradation anyway.”
“Beyond that,” Dream sucks on his teeth for a moment as he thinks. “If you’re gonna push back, that’s fine, but please don’t really insult me.” He feels embarrassed saying it, and his cheeks inevitably heat just slightly, but George softly pats his bicep in a gesture of reassurance.
“Okay,” He affirms. “I won’t do that. Do you have any other, like, concerns?”
He shakes his head in response, going back to his own dinner as he tries to forget just how small George’s hands were against him. He desperately wants to fold them between his.
Talking with George is effortless, and he soon finds them falling into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth, as though he were meeting up with an old classmate from high school instead of a near-stranger. He’s expressive, face scrunching in and out of his emotions as they converse; he tips his head back and forth when he giggles; his shoulders dramatize each of his movements. Dream loves watching him, and he could almost say he’s already enamored even though they’ve just met.
There’s no way that George doesn’t know he’s staring. The man’s dark eyes gleam with intelligence and keen observance, taking in the world around him in every one of its flickering frames. He doesn’t choose to comment on it, and Dream honestly can’t say whether or not that’s a mercy or a condemnation for later. His thoughts wander, as they frequently do, despite the captivating man in front of him, and he can’t help but think about how beautiful George would look with hickeys blooming up his neck, or with tears on his face, or splayed out in bed, taking Dream’s—
“That was good,” George sighs, humming with satisfaction as he leans back in the booth. “I wasn’t sure how much I’d like your pick, but you chose something pretty okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Don’t push your luck. I don’t give out compliments liberally.”
He scoffs fondly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in mock disdain. “Oh, so you’re that kind, are you?”
George catches his gaze, and his irises spark with mischievous intent. “And what kind is that, Dream?”
One corner of his lips curls as he briefly glances around to make sure no one’s near. “The snarky kind, Georgie.”
The recipient makes a noise of contemplation. “Perhaps I am. Perhaps I’m not. I bet you’d love to find out though.” A knee knocks into his beneath the table as George shifts closer, the cracked pleather of the booth creaking with every push of his joints. He settles only a few inches from Dream, looking up at him through dark, dark eyelashes. He feels tangerine flame lick at his cheeks from the proximity. “Since we’re on the topic, one last thing before we head out: what do you want me to call you?”
Struggling to get his mind wrapped around the fact he can smell George’s shampoo— like sandalwood and salt air— it takes him a few moments to remember how his tongue is supposed to function. “What?”
George softly elbows him in the ribs, pointed and just short of too harsh, and it sets off a complaint from within his throat. “What do you want me to call you in bed? You know, is there some sort of title or honorific you wanna hear me moan out?”
Imagining that takes hardly a second, and the thought of George’s pretty lips parting to sweetly call out his name in the height of euphoria brings violent shades of crimson to his face. “I, um- well, I’m not really sure,” Dream has suddenly forgotten every single possible pet name he’s heard in his life. “Not ‘daddy,’ but I’m not picky otherwise. You can choose.”
The brunet hums thoughtfully to himself, but Dream can tell it’s just perfunctory and that he has already long had an appellation picked out for him. “So generous of you, letting me choose.” Suddenly, a slender hand is placed on his knee before carefully drawing upward just an inch or two with a feather-light touch. In tandem, George leans in close, hot breath ghosting over the shell of his ear as he whispers: “How about sir , then?”
There’s no use trying to hide his blush anymore, and the low tone in George’s voice— graveled and entirely too seductive for a public setting— makes shameful heat flare in his hips before he even has the wherewithal to try and stop it. “ Yes, ” He murmurs, breath on the verge of shaking as he subtly closes his legs the slightest bit. Dream has to clear his throat to try and get a handle on his thoughts, which are rapidly spiraling out of control. “I mean, uh, yeah. Yeah, that works.”
George is still just as close as he was, stage whisper hardly an inch away from his eardrums. “Seems I found a winner,” He blithely comments, and that delicate fucking hand slides up until it can palm Dream, who’s rapidly showing interest despite everything in him screaming to calm down, through the rough fabric of his jeans. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“We’re in public,” He hisses, but he’s far too frozen to push George off (it’s not like he wants to, anyway). “Can we just- I think you should stop.” He desperately wants to chase the barest hint of friction ghosting over his cock, even though he knows that he shouldn’t.
George pulls back at long last with the request, dark eyes more lidded than they once had been. “You have a car, don’t you?” He only pauses long enough to see Dream nod. “I’ll give you my address, then. I know we were meeting just to talk, but how about we put it into practice tonight, hmm?”
He feels like he’s in some strange fantasy. There was no way he was expecting to take George to bed tonight: they were supposed to meet for a light dinner after work, just to see if they were compatible. “That wasn’t the plan.” He murmurs, in a state of marginal awe and arousal stronger than it ought to be.
“I’m a fan of flexibility,” George teases, after which his tone mellows. “But, obviously, no pressure. I know that wasn’t what we outlined when we set this up. I’m happy to just take the train home and set this for another day.”
“No,” Dream whispers, conviction creeping into his voice. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.”
He laughs again— that sweet, high thing that makes Dream’s brain turn to taffy. “I think I do, actually. I can feel the proof right beneath my own hand.”
“Hands off,” It’s a hiss in response. “I’m not walking to the car with an obvious hard-on.”
George withdraws, putting up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I can tell I’ll get more than enough later, if this is any indicator.” He then has the audacity to wink at him, and Dream feels his cheeks flare again.
“You—”
“What?” He bats his eyelashes in false innocence.
“You’re going to be an absolute menace, aren’t you?” He watches George open his mouth for a snappy response, but he cuts him off. “That was rhetorical. I know that you can and will give me hell. I guess I’ll just have to give it back, baby.”
Dream is used to being nervous. A lot of things are intimidating at first blush, whether he thinks back to the high school exams in his past or the sheer volume of crowds on the worst rush hour trains this time of year, but this is a new strain of anxiety.
The entire drive to the address George had entered into his phone, a pale hand doesn’t leave his thigh, tracing circles into his jeans and flirtatiously creeping higher before retreating: just a tease. Willing his brain to keep on residing above his waist is a difficult task, especially as lithe fingers dance across denim. His own arousal aside, he’s still uncertain about this whole affair. Despite how much he desperately wants it, the confidence he has in his own abilities is fairly lackluster the closer he gets to George’s apartment. What if he can’t give him what he needs? What if they don’t… click as much as they do just talking? What if he looks at another person to tie and forgets every single knot he’s ever taught himself?
His mind swarms with questions and insecurities and the fog of lust he’s frantically beating back with nothing but a stick and his anchor on the steering wheel. All in all, it’s a drive he’s barely mentally present for.
He can’t tell if George can feel the nerves that he has bleeding through his skin. If he does, he’s generous enough to not remark upon them, but his infuriating movements never let up. He’s a dreadful fucking tease, tracing along the artery in his thigh just to feel his heartrate tick up beneath the pad of his index finger.
“For someone who told me to stop touching, you’re still remarkably turned on.” George comments, hand sliding high enough to make Dream choke.
“Do you- do you blame me?” He retorts, gripping the steering wheel with every bit of strength— both mental and physical— that he has in him. “You’ve been using my thigh as free real estate for fifteen minutes.”
George snorts, gaze turning nonchalantly to the expressway beyond the windows. “You’ll get to tease me as much as you want later on; let me have my fun for now.”
“You’re—”
“It could be worse,” He giggles as he says it. “I’ve given road head before, and I’ll give it again.”
That causes his face to go scarlet, and there is no response he could give that could possibly redeem the filth that immediately enters his mind. Those pretty pink lips wrapped around him, sinking further and further down until he can see stars , all while he has to keep his attention on the hurtling speed of Lake Shore Drive: he feels himself throb at the thought.
George just hums, clearly pleased with himself as he finally withdraws, pulling a sigh of relief from Dream. “Well, we’ll get time later, I guess. We’re not far out anyway.”
He shoots him a mild glare at his evident amusement, and swallows hard to ignore his body’s own reactions, demanding a response. “Are you always this fucking tempting?”
“Oh, I tempt you now, do I?” There’s a devilish undertone to his question: taunting and unafraid of consequences.
“Don’t give me that,” He hisses back. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
George doesn’t entertain a response, flirting with the line between provocation and reaction. He simply sits pretty in his passenger seat, delicate face and dark, dark hair just in Dream’s periphery. The desire that he has to pull the car over right now and fuck him senseless in the back seat is stronger than it ought to be, if he’s honest, but he knows that the wait will make the whole affair much sweeter.
“My exit’s next,” He remarks, clearly doing his best to appear entirely blasé, but failing when the excitement peeks through. “You can just park out front: street parking doesn’t charge here.”
Dream mumbles out something of an affirmation as his eyes flit between the road and the map-laden screen of his phone, watching the blue dot of his car grow ever-closer to the glowing red flag that marks a new beginning. He just wants this to work out. God , he hopes this works out.
There’s an awkwardness that fills the several long minutes that span his merge off of the thoroughfare to the moment he twists his engine into dormancy. He’s not used to sex starting with this much formality: normally, he’ll be in the back of an Uber with someone whose mouth is already glued to his neck, and the stumbling journey up their stairs is filled with greedy touches and a quicksilver desire for more . But, when he ascends the steps to George’s apartment, loudly protesting from their combined weight, there’s a stiltedness that he finds he hates.
A lot of it is just because of his own misgivings. He knows that George has done this a hundred times before, and he knows that it won’t be this cumbersome once they find their own rhythm, but he can’t help but feel out of place when the door finally swings open and he’s confronted with a living room that isn’t his own.
“Well, this is home,” George starts, gesturing with a shrug of his shoulders to the space around them now. “Nothing big, but I don’t have roommates anymore. The fireplace is probably the nicest thing here, but the rest is pretty alright, too.”
“It’s nice,” He shoots back— an almost automatic response— as his eyes rover over the new surroundings. “Cozy.”
George snorts, ruffling through the hooks next to his door as he finds a place to hang his coat. “You can just say it’s small, Dream. No need to mince words.”
He blushes slightly, flustered as he stammers out a response. “I wasn’t- that’s not what I meant.”
That syrupy giggle falls from his tongue again as he walks past Dream, rolling his eyes all the while. “Bedroom’s back here, if you wanted to go ahead and start figuring this out.”
Feeling more like a lost puppy trailing after its owner than the theoretically dominant one in this scenario, Dream follows him back, socked feet making the floorboards creak, stiff with age. He’s far too anxious to even notice the new visual stimuli of George’s bedroom, and his eyes are instead immediately glued to the man who sleeps there, tracing over the soft curve of his ass beneath his pants as he bends to reflexively smooth his palms over his duvet. He wants nothing more than to touch, and the fact he’s still hard after George’s teasing is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
“So, I was thinking of it going like this,” The smaller man starts but, before he can turn around to properly address Dream, broad hands are gently laid on his hips and tug him ever-so-slightly closer. “O-oh.”
“Is this okay?” He murmurs as he feels the give of soft flesh beneath his fingers.
George just nods, breath catching for a moment. “I thought it’d be best to keep my hands free for this first time. You know, just a contingency and— fuck .”
He can’t help but press George’s lithe body to his, and Dream is certain that the brunet can feel the hard outline of him against his back. He tilts his head down so that he can lowly whisper in his ear, ebony strands tickling his lips as he does so. “A contingency and what ?”
“And- and, uh, to make it an easier transition for you.” There’s a tremor in his voice, slight but certainly present. George instinctively arches just slightly, returning the pressure against him by pushing back.
At that, Dream can’t help but rut against him— just barely, testing the waters. The friction of his slacks against the head of his cock is enough to make him groan into George’s neck. “Where’s the rope?” He tries not to let his impatience show, but he thinks his lungs will shrivel in his rib cage if he doesn’t make George fall apart soon.
“Bookshelves in the corner: there’s a wooden box,” He responds with an immediacy that tells Dream he isn’t the only one feeling the way he is. “If you’re just doing my legs, then- then two of the smaller bundles should be enough.”
He absolutely despises having to slide his hands from slender hips, the desire to satiate and the anxiety of dominating locking into battle with each other as he makes a beeline for the shelves in the corner, practically sagging with the weight of volume upon volume. Dream has never cared less about spines emblazoned with the name of a thousand false worlds, and his fingers practically shake as he tears open the box in question.
Opening the maple lid reveals a confusion of crimson line and a dozen other scandalous acquisitions that he couldn’t care less about at the moment: if this went well, maybe he’d be allowed to explore them someday. Dream’s grip closes around rope, and he takes a breath before tossing words over his shoulder: “Get undressed for me.”
He has no idea how he’s going to execute this. Sure, he knows the theories of dominating; he’s watched a thousand and one videos over the years; he sees the beautiful man before him, wanting to submit. But, all of this in consideration, he still doesn’t know what he’ll actually be like once he’s given control. Dream doesn’t think he’s one to be particularly cruel, but how could he negotiate the lines of generosity, authority, and making sure George hangs in that fragile space between? His hands begin to shake at the prospect, but he knows that there is no place to show that here.
When he turns around again, he finds George, entirely bare and all too beautiful, perched on the edge of his bed like a delicate display. He nonchalantly traces patterns onto his carpet with one foot, fingers fiddling simultaneously with the patterning on his blankets. He’s the picture of lovely: flawless skin, dark hair just long enough to pull. Dream feels like his brain will simply stop working soon. His hands feel limp.
“Well, don’t just stand there and gawk,” George jokes, shifting his weight so that he’s leaning back onto his arms and invitingly spreading his legs ever-so slightly. “I won’t bite unless you want me to.”
The snipe pulls a laugh from him, and he thankfully feels some of the tension thaw in the air between them. “I’d prefer if you didn’t for now.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes and further slinking into poor posture. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Can I- I can touch you?” Dream stops right before he reaches the bed, making one last check before even daring to start.
Rather than respond, George grabs the wrist belonging to his free hand and tugs him down until his palm can softly spread over the flesh of the other’s thigh. Even though he hasn’t been unclothed for long, his skin is already starting to take on chill. Dream’s grip tightens slightly, digging soft indents into the body beneath.
He’d look beautiful writhing on these sheets because of him.
Dream’s hand darts upward, fingers spreading and locking so they can softly push at George’s chest until he’s flush with the mattress. “Bend your legs.”
He’s watching him intently, abyssal eyes tracking each twitch of Dream’s fingers and evaluating him. Dream is supposed to be in charge here, but he’s intimidated by the simple focus of his gaze: he’s unnerving in his strange beauty. Nonetheless, despite the fact he holds reservations in those eyes, George obeys, drawing his heels into body and crooking up his legs so they’re bent at the knee. He assumes the new position without shame, eyes never once breaking with his. There’s something about the lethally subtle confidence of his that makes a part of Dream spark with recognition: he wants to quash that confidence, to take it in his hands and mold it to a more agreeable shape. He’s been given permission to, and he intends to follow through.
As he touches George, manipulating his legs just how he wants them so that he can begin to tie him up, he finds it difficult to be anything but gentle. If he had to put a name to it, Dream would say that he’s the wicked sort of Venus whose figure was languidly draped across the ceilings of Renaissance Rome, modeled after Michelangelo’s lover, rendered in lead and cloaked in brilliant cochineal. In this modern day, he looks ethereally out of place: out of time.
The rope unspools in his hands according to its normal agreement with gravity, loops falling out of place as the bight wrapped around the center is pulled softly out of place. The crimson is bright against his own tan hands, and he can only salivate as he holds it against George’s skin like a color swatch of the most carnal variety. He knows the motions: he’s practiced this exact tie on himself a hundred times.
“Are you gonna get started anytime soon?” George teases, flashing an impish smile down at him, completely unaffected by the situation despite the fact Dream is rapidly approaching mental shambles.
He narrows his eyes at him, digging fingers into a soft thigh hard enough to bruise. “You didn’t tell me you were a brat.”
George only lets out an aloof little sigh, settling back against his sheets as he tips his face toward the ceiling.
Dissatisfied with the lack of response, he squeezes harder, until George softly winces. “You aren’t being very cooperative, George. You’re supposed to be the submissive one here, just in case you were having trouble remembering.”
He simply shrugs, shifting against cotton. “You aren’t being very dominating , Dream.”
Narrowing his eyes is an automatic reflex, and his annoyance propels him forward, fingers grasping onto rope and finally starting to loop it around lithe limbs. George continues to watch him, not fighting against his hands as dyed hemp starts to dig into the soft flesh of his thighs. As he starts to work, Dream suddenly becomes alarmingly aware of the fact that there is a man he barely knows beneath him, entirely exposed and happy to be so. It makes his cheeks heat: a fact which, of course, George doesn’t miss.
“See something you like?” He teases, eyes flicking down to gesture to his cock, starting to flush pink as he grows increasingly interested in Dream.
“I’m literally about to fuck you,” The retort comes easily, syllables punctuated and segregated by the tightening of frictions as the ties comes together. “So, yeah. I like most of what I see right now.” Dream pauses for a moment, before hissing: “Fucking brat.”
That seems to please George, who falls back against the bedspread with a haughty sigh.
“I’m tying your hands together just for that,” Dream snaps, before rushing to add: “Only if that’s okay with you.”
The smaller man peers up at him, evaluating his intentions with pinpoint accuracy. “Fine. Go ahead and see if that’ll change my behavior.”
Dream harshly grabs both of his wrists, roughly looping rope around the columns as he begins to tighten it and lace them together. “You know, in all of our little talks, you never mentioned that you were so disobedient.”
“I don’t like the term ‘disobedient,’” George snickers, alarmingly pliant despite his complaints. “Makes me seem like I’m not good at being a sub, and we both know you wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t something special.”
He doesn’t dignify the brunet with a response, only narrowing his eyes and pulling the frictions nearly flush to the delicate bones of George’s wrists. They’re tied together, resting lightly on his flat chest and rising and falling along with his breath. There is a challenge in George’s eyes, practically daring Dream to wrap hands around his throat and squeeze for all he’s worth. He finds himself shocked at how much he wants to, and simultaneously how unbelievably averse he is to it now that the idea of actually hurting someone is presented to him, willingly and with full consent. The cognitive dissonance unsettles him, and he tries to brush it off, shoving it into some cobwebbed recess in his white matter.
To distract himself from whatever is bubbling up his brain stem, he uses broad hands to press against George’s chest and keep him flat against the mattress. Lips and teeth come next and, at the end of the day, it’s not all that different from a normal, vanilla evening. Dream has always loved to mark up his partners, whether that be with his mouth, a sharp grip on soft hips, or mascara-dyed tears running down flushed cheeks. So, of course that’s where he starts with George; except, this time, he can really use his teeth for once.
George is pliant and easy, craning his neck to the side to give Dream as much access as he wants. His skin is smooth and warm beneath his lips and, if he really slows down and tries hard enough, he can feel the gentle tempo of his heart dancing against his carotids. That won’t do: he wants George gasping until his soul pounds against his ribcage. He takes the chance to suddenly bite down, and the brunet finally makes a noise.
It’s lovely: not much more than a quick intake of breath, and there’s hardly any pitch to it, but George came into this acting aloof, and he was determined to shake that from him, even if his own confidence was lacking. Dream rolls soft skin between his teeth, sucking hard enough to bruise it purple, and makes sure that the pressure he uses to keep George held down is enough to keep him truly immobilized.
Bound wrists try to push back at his clothed sternum, but Dream refuses to move, setting teeth marks into a pale shoulder deep enough to last for hours. That makes George properly moan, crackling at the end, and he smiles against his flesh.
“Not so much of a brat now, are you?” He teases, beginning to carve a trail down the other’s chest.
George wants to talk back; he can feel it. He wants to snap and insult and snarl, but he somehow refuses it, perhaps deciding to give him mercy for his first time doing this. “Feeling good doesn’t equal submission, sir. Learn that now.”
The timing is almost perfect, his placement exactly right, and he tugs at one of George’s nipples with his teeth. It isn’t all that hard, just enough to pinch, but he lets out a breathless screech, attempting to twist away but ultimately stopped by Dream’s grip. “Keep trying,” He murmurs, letting a harsh edge he’s never fully held onto before seep into his voice. “I’ll just keep doing this when you act out.”
The other is clearly fuming, and Dream isn’t used to the response. When he’d first reached out, he’d assumed that this would be the typical dynamic that he’d seen in most videos: he would be dominant and a little rough, and George would submit. He hadn’t expected him to fight and lodge his contempt. It made Dream feel nervous in his actions, and his hands were suddenly too bruising, and his teeth too unkind.
“Do- do you want to stop?” He asks, timid and uncertain. Dream can’t look him in the eyes.
George just scoffs, anger completely evaporating. “What are you talking about? God, no. We’re just starting out.”
“But you seem so upset, and—”
“That’s part of it,” He takes his bound hands and pushes up at Dream, urging him to lift his head so they can meet eyes. “I act like a brat, and you tame me a bit; you know, show me my place. I’m not actually upset, Dream.”
The blond tilts his head to the side, confused but doing his best to grasp. “I don’t- Why?”
George shrugs. “All part of the game. I know this is sex, but, like,” He starts, trying to explain. “Think of it as a play. I’m acting out a character, and so are you. That’s why we have these agreements, you know?”
“How am I supposed to know when you actually want to stop, then?” Dream feels embarrassed even having to ask. It’s like all of the reading he’d done over the past couple years had meant nothing at all. The real thing is before him and, suddenly, everything is different.
He smiles, crooked and toothy. “Oh, believe me, you’ll know. That’s the point of a safeword, and the colors. If I don’t say any of that,” He reassures. “Then, know I don’t really mean it. I’m not upset, or legitimately distressed; I just think it’s fun to make your job a little bit difficult.”
“So, you want me to earn it?”
George nods, dark hair ruffling against the sheets. “That’s a good way to think of it. And I have to earn it, too. Doesn’t feel as good to me if I didn’t make you put in the effort.” He’s devious, smirk curling on his full lips.
He starts to understand. It’s another set of rules in the game he wanted to play. Dream isn’t the best with rules and regulations, but he knows how to follow them, and if George wants to play hard to get, then he can happily indulge them. “In that case,” He starts, picking his words carefully. “You are going to sit there and take whatever I give you, no matter how little or how much. Do you understand?”
“Good luck, sir. ” George spits as he looks down at him with hooded eyes.
Dream frowns at that, mind working through various equations to figure out a steady plan to establish his position here, since immobilizing George was clearly not enough. When something finally formulates, he quickly backs away, sloppily pulling his sweater over his head, ruffling his hair as he does. “I think I know a good way to entice you.”
The other simply watches him from his position: legs splayed and shame nonexistent. “Do you, now? And what would that be?”
Rather than explaining (that would be far too simple), Dream’s hands go to his belt next, registering as the buckle clicks and falls. Maybe he should remember where he puts that, now that he thinks about it. The rest of his clothes come not long after, all under George’s watchful and curious eye, which roams his figure with every inch of newly-exposed skin. He doesn’t hide his desire all that well.
Finally, he slides his jeans down his legs, and groans in relief when his cock bobs out, briefly slapping against his stomach before settling heavy in his own hand. “You were so desperate for this that you practically wanted to fuck me in public , as dirty as that is,” Dream talks, but he isn’t confident in what he’s saying. “So, how about I give you what you want, and you cooperate with me?”
George remains silent as the larger man straddles his chest, lowering his thighs until he can feel hot breath ghost along his shaft.
“Open your mouth,” He orders, tapping the head of his cock against a pair of soft lips. “You need to make it up to me for being so difficult.”
George’s eyes meet his, and there is a lethal undercurrent in their depths. His pupils are blown, his cheeks are dusted in blush, and Dream doesn’t miss the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, yet he smirks and declares: “No.”
The view is a pretty one, but he’s been untouched this entire time, and he desperately wants to feel the heat of George’s mouth around him. “Excuse me?” Dream begins, hand going to grab for the brunet’s chin. “You were so determined to get my cock on the fucking car ride over, but now that I’m giving you that privilege, you say no ?”
The other just nods, smirking in response as he resolutely refuses to budge.
“I’ll try again: open your fucking mouth, George.” He intentionally lowers his voice, trying to put every ounce of frustration he’s felt in the past half-hour into the words. His thumb digs into George’s chin, applying a light bit of force in a bid to get him to part his lips.
He refuses, and Dream presses harder, feeling his mandible begin to shake in response to the push, fighting a losing battle between an opposable thumb attached to a strong arm and the muscles in his cheeks. George manages to hold out for about thirty seconds until his jaw snaps open, Dream’s thumb tracing his spit-slick bottom lip. “I don’t want to grind my teeth.” Is what he says, brushing off the loss with pride.
Pleased with this, he holds his lips apart, thinking about the feeling of that pretty pink tongue against his cock. Dream’s never had a partner who let him fuck their throat, and George had told him himself, in late-night messages, that he loved the feeling. All he wants to do is feel some sort of relief. So, experimenting, he thrusts two fingers into his mouth, and is promptly bitten. Dream snatches back his fingers, small indents in his skin from George’s canines.
“You little—”
“You have to try harder, sir,” George taunts, swiping his tongue over his front teeth for show. “If you want to fuck my throat, you need to be mindful of my teeth.”
Dream is still perched above the other’s chest, cock throbbing and already starting to drip precum, and the twinge of pain in his fingers is enough to make him seethe. “You don’t get to get away with that one, doll.”
He feigns innocence. “Oh, whatever will you do to me?” He even bats those beautifully dark lashes of his for dramatic effect. “Choke me? Spank me? How’re you gonna make me do what you want?”
Everything comes to a halt.
He could hurt George. George was telling him to hurt him; the opportunity was right here, in front of him. Dream could discipline him and make him regret his transgressions, giving him the right in their push-and-pull to actually get what he wants and feel some pleasure. It’s all right there, and he fucking freezes.
George notices where he falters, even though his path to Dream’s facial expressions is considerably obstructed. “You okay?” It’s his turn to check in, now.
“I don’t—” He starts, words living and dying on his tongue before he can get them out. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet. I’m really sorry, but I just—”
“Hey, it’s fine,” There’s a twinge of disappointment on his face, but George’s tone is sincere as he struggles to meet his eyes from the harsh angle. “You’ll work up the courage to do it. I wasn’t comfortable with punishment at first, either.”
The reassurance surprises him. “Really?”
He nods, tugging in the corner of his lip as he thinks back and pulls from some past that is unreachable to Dream. “Yeah, intimidated me for a while. My first dom was soft, too, so it wasn’t really a part of anything I tried at the beginning. When I moved on to someone else who was a big fan of paddles, I was scared out of my fucking mind.”
“But, you… you like it now?” Dream asks, almost scared to broach the subject.
“Oh, god, yeah,” He rushes to answer, quick and stumbling. “ Love it now. You’ll get more comfortable with it over time, as long as you want to do it.”
Dream lets his shoulder slump a bit. “I’m sorry that I can’t, but I just… the idea of really harming you scares me.”
“The odds of anything actually dangerous happening are pretty low,” George heartens. “But, we’ll try again next time, yeah?”
The promise of a next time instantly brightens his mood and pulls him from the edges of withering self-doubt. George wants to do this again? He wants to be patient with him and wait for him to grow? The thought is surprisingly touching, considering that he currently has a cock resting against his chin. “Okay. Next time.”
George smiles back at him, clearly wanting to put the interruption behind them. He wiggles in his place, arms kept down by Dream’s own knees caging him in. “Come on, then,” Pretty lips open for him again, tongue poking out invitingly. “I don’t really have a gag reflex, so you might as well take advantage of that. I’ll just elbow your thigh if I need a breath.”
It takes him a long moment to process what exactly George is giving him. He was supposed to have taken it by conviction and force alone, but it’s simply being offered. Dream knows that the other would far prefer the initial struggle, but the fact he’s caving for this makes his cock twitch. “Aren’t you just something else, baby? That desperate for me that you’d just give up, huh?” It’s a last-second bid to recover from the awkward stutter they’d had in pace, and George thankfully humors him.
Dream can’t help but hiss as he starts to cant his hips forward, the head of his cock dragging along George’s extended tongue. It’s hot and wet, and the stimulation feels like heaven, so he keeps going, letting one hand tangle in George’s hair and push him further down his length.
“Shit, you feel good.” Dream lets his fingers tighten just slightly in the other’s hair, which makes him groan around the cock in his mouth.
He pulls George’s head toward him, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut to deal with the strain of taking more of him down his throat. It’s a gorgeous sight, and Dream can’t tear his eyes away when he feels a nose press against his pelvis at last. “Fuck!” He gasps, doing everything he can to not buck his hips, despite how desperately he wants to.
George makes a soft noise— denoting neither pleasure nor discomfort— looking up at him through lashes already misted with tears, and Dream feels himself throb. He slowly draws his hips back, giving the other downtime to adjust before thrusting back into that delicate heat.
Dream has always been torn on how he feels about blowjobs. On the one hand, it obviously feels nice, but there’s always been a part of him that hates how his partner is just left floundering without stimulation the entire time. Past girlfriends have always reassured him that it’s fine, but he’s always felt a twinge of bitterness in the back of his throat as he uses someone else’s. This time, though, he knows that this is all part of the song and dance they perform.
…
[Dream] 2:57 AM: so you get off on that huh?
[Error404] 2:57 AM: oh yeah absolutely
[Error404] 2:58 AM: nothing feels better to me than when someone uses me to feel good
[Dream] 2:59 AM: so what youd just be okay being a service bottom and that’s it?
[Error404] 3:01 AM: ....okay i didn’t say THAT
[Error404] 3:01 AM: i just like knowing i’m… lesser ig in someone else’s eyes? i like getting to just not think for a bit
[Dream] 3:02 AM: brian’s a bit too loud?
[Dream] 3:02 AM: *brain FUCK
[Error404] 3:02 AM: lmao you’ll be calling me brian later with how loud i am ;)
[Error404] 3:03 AM: jokes aside the answer is yeah. it’s good to just be quiet
[Dream] 3:04 AM: that isn’t even a funny joke
[Error404] 3:05 AM: BITE ME
…
George likes it when his pleasure is ignored: he asks for it to be, to an extent. So, for the first time, Dream is allowed to fully push that doubt from his mind and fuck into his mouth without guilt. His fingers tighten in ebony locks, and he focuses his efforts on going slow and deep: it’s enough to give George a reprieve, but not enough for him to forget what he’s being used for.
“That’s it, baby,” Dream gasps out, feeling heat already starting to build deep within the coils of his hips. “So good, taking me like you’re made for it.”
Noise erupts from between his legs, something close to a gag but not quite. George’s cheeks are streaked with tears, apples stained red from the inconsistent access to oxygen over the past few minutes, and he looks fucking stunning.
“Fucking pretty, too,” He compliments, swiping a thumb through the trails of tears. “God, it’s nice getting to do whatever I want, and you’re all tied down and helpless.”
It isn’t possible with Dream between his lips, but he thinks that George is trying to scowl. Accompanied with the souring of his facial expression, he jabs Dream’s knee, just like he’s said he would if he wanted to stop. Recognizing it, he pulls out in an instant, cock shining dully in the lowlight from George’s spit.
The older man sputters and coughs for a second, trying to regain his breath. “I’m not- I’m not helpless,” Another gulp of air. “See?”
“What?” To say he isn’t exactly comprehending is an understatement. “Isn’t that the point of this whole situation? You like being tied up and, well, helpless.”
George laughs, tossing his head back to bear the column of his throat, speckled with pretty bruises. “But you stopped ,” He begins to clarify. “Nothing goes without my say-so here, Dream. Sure, I let you have your fun, but if I don’t like it, it ends. I hold the power when it comes down to it.”
It makes him pause to think. Dream’s understanding of their dynamic had been entirely flawed. Granted, he had an excuse because this is all terribly new to him, but he’d never once thought of it in those terms. It was still about control at the end of the day, but suddenly the balance of power in their little equation seemed far more fair. “Okay, yeah. You’re right.”
“I mean, dirty talk all you want, it’s hot, but I want to make sure you know who’s really in charge here: it’s about what I want.” He winks at Dream, nipping at his thigh, and the two of them can’t help but laugh.
Wanting to get things back on track, he climbs down from his position straddling George’s chest, now painfully hard against his own stomach. “Well then, do you want me to open you up for me? Is that agreeable ?”
George readjusts against the sheets, subtly spreading his legs further. “I don’t know, sir. If you want to fuck me, that’s kind of a necessary step.”
“God, you give me so much lip.” Dream mutters under his breath, already evaluating what he wants to do next.
“Oh, I know I do. After all, I just gave you— hey! ” The snarky response is interrupted as Dream manhandles him, rolling him over and pulling him back until he’s on his knees, with his face pressed into the blankets. It muffles what’s left of his complaint.
The new sight makes Dream’s cheeks take on gentle rose from the sheer lewdness of it all, and the fact that he is absolutely desperate to fuck this man. “Much better,” He declares, unable to hide the awe in his voice as he finally touches sensitive flesh, kneading there. “Ass up, face down: where you belong.”
George is dripping, cock completely neglected between his thighs, and it’s easy to see him twitch from what Dream says. “I- I don’t—”
He interrupts, trailing a finger down the other’s spine that drags gooseflesh along with it. “You do. You belong here, just like this, and you like being as much.” Dream suddenly drops to his arms, draping himself over George’s back and scratching lines from his chest to his stomach. “And what you’re going to do is be good, obey me, and stay right there while I fuck you with my fingers. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” George attempts to make his voice even when he speaks, but there is a quaver there that is undeniably submissive. He wants this turn to happen just as much as Dream does.
He realizes at this point that he hadn’t asked where George’s lube was: a bit of a critical oversight. Withdrawing, he makes a beeline for the bedside table, ruffling through old receipts, pennies, and half-used tubes of chapstick. Finally, he spots a small black bottle and retreats, resuming his spot on the edge of the bed.
This has always been one of Dream’s favorite parts of sex: he knew how to make his partners writhe and moan before he’d ever actually fucked them, and the satisfaction of that alone was enough to keep him going for days. He spreads George with one hand, dribbling cold lube directly on his skin and making him try to shuffle away. Nonetheless, he stays firm, and doesn’t give him a chance to get used to the temperature. Dream’s middle finger rubs against his rim, finally working warmth into the lube and making George try to push back unhappily. Now, he can’t be having any of that.
Dream grips his hip harder, fingers digging to the bone in an attempt to control his movements. “I told you to stay still,” He hisses. “Stop squirming.”
“If you want me still, then keep me still.” George snipes, wiggling in his even-tempered hold.
“Excuse me?” Dream asks, incredulous.
George scoffs. “You heard me. If you want me still, why don’t you make me ?” His voice is so taunting and it somehow sets Dream’s veins on fire. “You’re clearly just half-assing it, and then acting surprised when I—”
He doesn’t give him the opportunity to finish the sentence, something inside of him finally moving past frayed and snapping entirely, beyond his discomfort and beyond his control. His open palm falls hard on the curve of George’s ass, enough force behind it to move him up the mattress by several inches. It sends the most addictive fucking noise tearing through George’s throat, and Dream decides he would do anything to hear it again. The next noise he gets is a beautifully broken, high whine as he goes to wrap coffee strands around his knuckles and use them to drag the smaller man upright until he’s nearly flush with Dream’s chest.
“Is this still half-assed to you, Georgie?” He growls right into his ear, able to feel him trembling in his hold. “You’d better fucking take that back, before I make you regret it.”
George’s breath comes in soft gasps, threadbare and reeling, but, when he turns just slightly to peer back at Dream over his shoulder, there’s deep satisfaction in his eyes. “ There we go.”
Dream doesn’t understand. “What did you just say?”
And then he has the audacity to laugh . “Now, this is the Dream I wanted to see.”
Finally understanding, he narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on George’s hair when he scoffs. “You were trying to get a fucking rise out of me?”
George doesn’t respond with words, only smiling sweetly and batting dark eyelashes in mock innocence.
“Oh, you will regret that.” He promises, sinking his teeth into a pale, unmarked stretch of alabaster high on George’s back. It’s not enough to put the tang of copper and iron on his tongue, but it’s close, and it sends the recipient keening. Shoving George back into the sheets, face-first, by his steeled grip on his hair is the next natural step. It’s rough, and it matches the heat in his blood when he mercilessly holds him down. “Now, you will stay still while I fuck you open, or I’ll turn your ass crimson, do you understand?”
It’s an empty threat. He hadn’t had the fortitude to go through with George’s punishment earlier, and there is no way he can suddenly summon the courage in the span of a few minutes. George doesn’t have to know that, though.
George has gone completely pliant beneath him, softly quivering. “Yes.” He breathes into the sheets.
“Yes, what? ” Dream pushes, still enraged that he’d been strung along. He digs his nails into the impact mark he’d only just laid to emphasize his point.
The man beneath him lets out some kind of strangled moan at the pinpricks of pain. “Yes, sir.”
“That wasn’t so fucking hard, was it?” Dream finally slides his dominant hand from George’s hair so he can slick his fingers again.
“No, sir.” George whimpers, arching his back just slightly further to present himself in a show of saccharine submission.
The shift in compliance is gorgeous, and seeing George like this— tied and bound, completely exposed and at his mercy— sparks that thing inside of him that he’s been too nervous to address for so many years now. He did this to George; he made him tremble and bend and want. It’s absolutely intoxicating, knowing that even though they’ve only just met, Dream is already so trusted. Fueled by whatever glorious neurons are lit up like the skyline at night, he starts to speak, and he hardly knows what he’s saying, but he knows it feels right.
“God, look at you: so fucking desperate and I’ve hardly even touched you yet,” He taunts, fingers sliding against delicate flesh just to tease, not provide relief. “Do you want my cock that badly? Maybe I should just make you come on my fingers instead if you’re so pathetic.” God, what am I even saying?
He’s nervous, but George just mewls into the sheets. “D-Dream—”
“That’s not what you call me here.” He reminds him, finally sliding a finger into the first knuckle.
George’s hips start to tremble almost immediately, and he’s clearly doing everything he can to obey Dream’s earlier command. “Sir,” He tries again, breathing raggedly around the shapes of consonants. “ Please , need more than your fingers.”
His middle finger slips in to the hilt, and just imagining this heat around his cock is making him dizzy. “Is this not enough for you?” Dream retorts, twisting inside of the man he’s questioning. “And since when do you get to make demands?”
“I’m sorry,” George keens, high and throaty and half-smothered by pillows. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Dream works a second finger in, feeling him start to open beneath him. “Who’s in charge? Who decides what you get?”
“You are,” He gasps. “You’re in charge, you choose.”
He curls his fingertips, pressing on George’s walls until he finds that sweet little bundle of nerves that makes his knees start to give out. Dream has to dig his hand into his hip and haul him back into position as a loud moan punctures the sanctity of George’s bedroom. “Good boy,” He’s absolutely enraptured at the way his shoulders shake as he tries to keep his composure. “You might get the final say, but I’m in charge, Georgie: don’t you forget that.”
The brunet nods desperately, clearly doing whatever he can to keep his still position and maintain his submission. It’s a beautiful sight, truly, and when Dream switches to scissoring him open, it only becomes sweeter as the bow of his spine deepens even further.
“Need—” George gasps, and he thinks he’s going to ask for more. Instead, he asks for less. “Need a break. Too close, please, sir.”
Dream feels a wicked sort of sadism settle inside of him at the words. He’s not ready to physically punish George, not yet, but he’ll happily torture him a little. “Oh, you’re too close, are you?”
He waits for George to mewl out confirmation, hips trembling the entire time.
“Well, I think you can go for a little more, don’t you?” Teasing lilts cling to the pickups of his words. “You can get closer , because you can be good for me.”
“I can be good for you!” George gasps out his agreement, struggling as he spasms around Dream’s fingers.
He slips in a third, and George almost screams. “Yes, you can, baby. So good, so obedient .”
Based on George’s earlier comments on the terms “obedient” and “disobedient,” Dream has presented him with a test. He can either complain, with the tacit implication that Dream will finish him right here and right now; or, he can submit, and the night can go on as planned.
He waits; George struggles. “I- I’m obedient.” He finally scrapes out, and Dream rewards him by withdrawing, causing him to slump in relief.
A part of him glows with pride at the fact he’d finally managed to pull George to heel. His rebellious nature had been a surprise from the moment that he’d spent the entire car ride positively torturing Dream, and it’s almost a sigh of relief now that he doesn’t have to fight anymore.
“Want me to wear a condom?” He asks, desperate to wrap a hand around his cock and give himself any stimulation.
George hums something in response but, after it becomes clear that the other cannot hear him, he speaks. “No, sir. You’re clean, and I like it inside.”
He has to bite his tongue from making a joke about breeding that would absolutely shatter the mood.
Pouring lube onto his fingers, he warms it up on his palm before finally slicking himself up and approaching the event he’s wanted to take part in for almost a month now. George is pretty before him, red ropes digging into his thighs beneath a perfect ass, excess lube just barely coating the space in between the two. He already looks ruined, and they haven’t even fucked.
Even if it was the best of times, Dream is doubtful either of them are going to last very long once they start.
He makes final adjustments: pulling George’s knees back far enough so that he’s right on the edge of the bed and perfect for Dream’s height, and asking if he needs a pillow beneath him, as he’s pressed awkwardly chest-first into the mattress.
“No, sir.” He replies, but there’s clearly something else on his tongue.
Dream notices because, while they may be new together, he was doing everything he could to notice all of George’s little habits so that he could make him fall apart as beautifully as he knew how. “What d’you want to say to me, hmm? I know it’s something.”
There is silence for a long time, finally interrupted when Dream presses the leaking head of his cock against George, which immediately breaks his resolve. “ Please ,” He begs, without even being asked. “I need you to fuck me.”
He bends down, their height difference making it so that he can whisper directly into George's ear, hot breath dancing along its shell. “Don’t worry: I’ll use you ‘til you’re spent.” With that, he pushes in.
From the moment the head of his cock catches on George’s rim, he sees stars. He’s tight and hot and all things sinful, and the noise that accompanies it is filthy enough to make him blush on George’s behalf.
“B-big, fuck .” The smaller man whimpers, spine drawn into a tense line while he waits for Dream to finally press flush to his hips.
It’s a slow process, and he can tell that they’re both desperate for it to move onto the next stage, but they have to stay like this: locked together and still, as close as two human beings can be.
Dream can feel how much the other’s body is trying to adjust to the intrusion, and he dares to press a light kiss to George’s spine. “You okay?”
He nods, breathing just starting to edge into ragged. “Yeah, just— ah , you’re a lot.”
“Tell me when you’re alright to keep going.” He spends the wait continuing to kiss and bite at George’s upper back, littering him with even more marks of possession that he knows will positively glow come morning. It’s a slow refuge in the midst of unfamiliar territory, and Dream is quite honestly thankful for the reprieve. He can get his thoughts under control, recover a bit of the stamina he’d lost, and just get to make George feel appreciated. Hands wander and lips soothe; peace is measured by the thimbleful.
After a time, he starts to feel the tension bleed from George’s body before he tries to stabilize himself as much as he can. “You can move, sir.” The words are muted, partially from strain, partially from arousal, and partially from the fact he has nothing to brace his face against from his position.
George might be a horrible tease and a bit of a brat, but he also feels incredible . All of the buildup is worth it, because there is a beautiful man beneath him, skin speckled with the marks that he himself had left and covered in rope he had knotted with own hands, softly gasping out moans with each experimental thrust Dream gives him while he tries to find a pace that works.
Truth be told, he’s never been this turned on in his life. The entire situation was still foreign to him: strange, with nerve-bitten edges that kept surfacing. Despite that, the process of holding someone down, of yanking on his hair, of tying him up so that only Dream could decide how and when he moved, all of it was unbelievably arousing. He’s finally been given the chance to act out a fantasy he’s held for many years, and the situation is not disappointing him.
“So tight for me,” Dream scratches out, starting to rock into the smaller man a little more quickly than he had been. “Like you’re meant to take my cock.”
George whimpers, moans starting to pitch in time with the increase in tempo. “Feels good.”
It’s a start, but he’s still shifting the angle of his hips so that he can find exactly where he needs to be to make George scream . “I know it does, baby: I can see how hard you are. Are you this easy all the time, or is it just me?”
“It’s- I’m not easy,” He protests as his breath starts to gradually pick up. “It’s just been a while.”
“Convenient excuse,” Dream snarls, knowing that it’s a bold-faced lie. “But we both know it isn’t true. Just admit it, George: admit that you’re filthy for me.”
He decides that he likes the taste of venom on his tongue.
George refuses at first, holding on stubbornly to his pride. Despite the dam of his teeth, a litany of sounds slips through anyway and shows just how false George’s exterior is. He can try all that he wants, but there are certain things that he cannot hide, and Dream knows it. “Admit what ?” He manages to choke out after a handful of rough thrusts, clinging to the cliffs of sanity before he inevitably tumbles from them.
There is a moment where he contemplates what to do. There are limits, there is a comfort zone, and there is George: George lies before him, and he knows what he wants. He wants a fight and the struggle that comes with it, and Dream will deny him that to a certain point, but if some indulgence will get him to crack? That is worth its weight in gold. And, so, he stops.
He’s buried to the hilt inside of the smaller man, and every single nerve in his body is screaming at him to move again, to chase that pleasure. George’s walls twitch around him, seemingly demanding the same thing, but he stays still, fingerprints digging lavender into narrow hips.
“Wh- why did you—” George tries to crane his head to see, but the amount of his own bodyweight pressed into his upper chest makes it impossible for him to swivel his neck all that much. “Why did you stop?”
Dream takes a long ten seconds to feign contemplation, humming and pulling in the corner of his lips. “Well, there’s something that I want,” He starts, selecting each word carefully so that he can pin George between a metaphorical rock and a hard place. “But you seem to not agree with what I want.”
“I’m not saying it.”
“Then you should have no problem…” Dream leans down, pushing harder into George’s spine and making him feel the full weight of his presence. “Stopping this right now. Because that’s what people who aren’t filthy would do. They’d let me pull out,” A bite to a pale shoulder. “And stop talking to them like this. They’d let me clean them up and forget the debauched things we were doing, wouldn’t they?”
George stiffens under him, and he can practically feel his resolve waver.
“So, I’m giving you a choice, doll,” He straightens himself again, grip softening so he can practice an unbearable amount of self restraint and withdraw from the man he’d been wanting to sleep with for weeks. “You tell me what you are, and you beg for it, or I leave you here until you’re back to normal.”
They’re both still breathing hard when he pulls back, and he watches George’s body rise and fall with each breath. He’s twitching around nothing, precum slowly dripping onto the sheets, and he’s having a very difficult time keeping his hips still. Despite that, he’s quiet for a long time. Seconds stretch to what feel like hours, time turning molten as he waits for George to cave in, and he does his best to think about weather reports and the last phone call he’d had with his mother in a bid to forget just how badly his cock is throbbing.
“I want you to fuck me.” He finally murmurs, voice timid and ashamed.
Dream sighs, rolling the confession around in his hands before he chooses to comment. “That’s nice. I want to fuck you too, you know; but, that’s not what I asked for.”
An exasperated breath crackles through the air and George is taking on enough blush that it can be seen spreading across his shoulders, obscuring some of the lighter bites that had been left there earlier in the evening. “I- You’re the one in charge, and—”
He cuts him off with a tut of disappointment. “Still not it.”
“ Fuck, okay!” George’s breath shakes as he takes in air to fuel his pleas. “I- I’m filthy , and I’m wrecked, and whatever the fuck else you want me to say. I need you inside me. Please, sir.”
At that, he tugs the other’s hips back toward his, a little gentler. “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
While George may have taken his time in making his choice, he faces no resistance when he pushes back in, wrenching a moan from the other that pours over his senses like honey. Dream didn’t have it in him to be able to punish him properly, but he had taken a man— cocky, sure of himself, experienced— and made him bend. It was a feeling unlike anything else he’d ever experienced, and he could see himself easily learning to get drunk off of that power.
George is beautiful as he falls apart, crying out with abandon when Dream finally finds his prostate and dedicates every ounce of his energy to making sure George will remember him the next morning. Gasps and moans spill from rosebud lips, his back arches so much that Dream fears it may snap, and he writhes against his binds, frantic for any stimulation that he can find.
“S-sir! Please!” He eventually begs. Dream can feel how tight he’s getting, and knows that he doesn’t have much left in him to keep going. “Please, I’m close, please—”
“What do you want? I need you to fucking tell me.” His response almost fades away in between his own groans, wanting nothing more than to make the heat in his hips go away.
With a particularly hard thrust, George practically shouts, jaw beginning to tremble. “Please let me come, I— fuck! — I can’t take it anymore!”
Dream knows that he’s close, himself. If it had been entirely up to him, he could’ve finished five minutes ago, but he’s been batting off that lyme-bright pleasure for the sake of seeing this through to the end. “Why should I?” He strains, hoping to cement George’s submission one last time before they both exhaust themselves. “Why do you deserve that? You’ve fought me all night.”
“I’m sorry!” Later on, he can chalk it up to arousal and a frantic need to come, but in the moment, George’s voice is nothing but sincere. “I should’ve been good— I should’ve listened to you— I should’ve- I—”
He hushes the other, wanting to avoid incoherent babbling so close to the end. “It’s okay, baby. You finally learned your lesson and decided to be good, and you know what good boys get?”
“They can- they get to come?” George whimpers, frenzied hope lacing his syllables and muddying the clarity of this voice.
Dream pushes him further down, forcing his hips to cant at just the right angle. “That’s right. Come for me, filthy little thing.”
And George listens, gasping out a strangled moan hardly a second later as he tightens, hard, around Dream and coats his sheets and some of his calves in white. He makes the prettiest noises, moans quickly turning to whines of overstimulation, and Dream can’t be expected to last long in these conditions.
He spills inside of him with hot streaks, not letting up the motion of his hips until he’s thoroughly edging into oversensitive territory, thoughts absolutely frazzled. Dream can hardly think about anything outside of the orgasm he’s just had, and sunspots cloud his vision as he attempts to return to his body. It was intense and overwhelming and everything he’d been hoping for.
“Dream?” The older man mumbles, starting to collapse beneath him.
Blood still roaring in his ears, it takes him a moment to recognize that George is calling for him. “You okay? You sounded really strung out there at the end.”
He hums, eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M fine. Just… please tell me you know how to do aftercare.”
“Have some faith in me!” Dream immediately protests, thumbs already rubbing absentminded circles into the other’s lower back. “Do you want Ibuprofen? Ice? Or should I just clean you up?”
“Just clean-up, I think,” George decides, carefully rolling his shoulders to the best of his ability in his strained position. “I’m not all that out-of-sorts.”
Dream knows that he doesn’t mean the last phrase in any malicious way, but it makes him wilt nonetheless, a small noise escaping from his throat.
There was no way that George wouldn’t notice and, from the way he sighs, it’s clear that he does. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. You did good for your first time!” He tries to reassure.
He’s still hanging in that glorious afterglow, but a note of bitterness lies in the back of his throat. “No, it’s alright. I get it,” Dream laments, starting to untie George with tired fingers. “I wasn’t really ready to handle all of your backtalk, and the- I couldn’t go through with punishing you, and all that stuff.”
“Okay, I need you to know that if I had the use of my arms, I would be holding your face,” George mutters from his place. “But, seriously. For someone who’s never done anything even, like, adjacent to this? You were pretty damn good. I mean, you made me beg: me . I don’t really do that.”
That piece of knowledge does help tamp down the uncertainty in his chest, but the fear of disappointment still rages behind beneath it, kindling doubts a thousand times over. There is a question he’d been wanting to ask since the moment George got in his car, and now is as good a time as any. “I know I didn’t… hit the mark, but, um—” He takes a steeling breath. “Would you ever let me try again? I get if you don’t think this’ll work out or if I’m just not up to—”
“Dream,” George interrupts, voice emphatic with no room for error. “Yeah, I want this to happen again. One step at a time, right?”
So, he does want to do it again. I didn’t fuck it up that badly. Move on: just move on . “Let me finish up with the rope, and then I’ll grab a washcloth. Could you sit up for me?”
He helps George rise from his position so that he’s kneeling on the bedspread. His skin, front and back, is covered with bites and claims by hungry lips, and streaks of cum still cling to him: a beautiful mess. Dream unties his hands first, watching with rapt attention as he delicately stretches away the stiffness, body lengthening and arching all for his view.
George notices his staring. “You just fucked me, and you’re already ogling again? Tone down the libido, mate.” He laughs the whole way through, unable to say any of it seriously, and it’s infectious; Dream can’t help himself when he joins.
It turns out that, quite often, he can’t help himself when it comes to George.
December
It’s raining that evening, which is rare this time of year. Normally, the heavens only opened for hail and sleet and snow, but the barely-temperate deluge is almost welcome, in retrospect, even if it makes his journey to George a bit more treacherous.
The roads are slick and the asphalt glares with the jagged luminescence of the street lights above; the disorientation of it all is only compounded by the all-encompassing roar of heavy rain. He feels drained by the time he pulls up in front of the low brick building he’s starting to recognize. Dream executes a mercifully swift parallel park, and gathers the overnight bag and nigh-useless umbrella he’d brought with him in a futile attempt to ward off the wind-driven downpour. Pulling out his phone comes next.
Thursday, 7:42 PM: i’m here and it’s MISERABLE out so could you maybe come to the door before i get out of my car? i really don’t wanna get soaking wet
He’s arrived a few minutes early, but George’s response is blessedly prompt.
Thursday, 7:43 PM: yeah i’ll head down rn
Dream lets out a steadying breath and leans back against his headrest. Sure, last time hadn’t been perfect, but all things got better with time, right? He hadn’t made George incoherent, but he had come pretty hard, and was honest about his assessment afterwards. There was room for him to grow and improve, and he was itching to try and show George that he could be a capable partner for him.
He thinks about what he’d looked like last week, flush splashing down his torso; bruises stamped into his delicate thighs and a supple ass; sex-mussed hair and the edges of a fucked-out facial expression. When he’d finally come apart, Dream had watched him claw at the ropes tying his wrists together, grip shaking as he painted his own sheets with white and cried out, getting so fucking impossibly tight around Dream and—
He has to clear his own throat in order to break his train of thought, breathing deeply and willing the searing blood rushing south to abate at least a little bit. He hadn’t even made it out of his car, and he was already getting hard: for fuck’s sake. Dream normally held a fairly tight degree of control around his own responses but finally getting to indulge in a fantasy he’d held for years? That was proving to be just a bit too much, even for him.
As he tries to regain control of himself, his phone buzzes against his thigh, and Dream tilts his gaze downward to see an announcement that just redirects his eyes.
George stands under the eaves of his building’s front door, arms wrapped around himself from the chill of an uninsulated foyer. He’s wearing a butter-hued sweater which is large enough to reach his knuckles, but not so big that it swallows him; he’s a glorious spot of color amidst a bleak backdrop of winter monotony and wind-worn stone façades. The barely-there wave he lifts his hand to perform doesn’t help the flicker of contentment deep behind Dream’s ribs. It’s distracting enough that, when he yanks the key from the ignition in a rush to start the evening he had been looking forward to (and desperately fantasizing about in bed almost every night), he manages to forget to undo his seatbelt, and is brought to a halt before he can even go anywhere.
Well, that’s just the slightest bit embarrassing.
After successfully unbuckling the latch, he only braces himself for a moment before darting out into the torrent and, while the distance between his car door and George was likely no more than twenty feet, every single inch is a well-fought battle that he ultimately loses as he feels his hair grow damper with every step and his own wool sweater become saturated with rainwater. When he reaches George to take desperate refuge beneath the ledge, he can feel the rain tracing down his face in rivulets, dripping from his jaw to wreak havoc on any parts of him protected by his clothing.
“Well, I didn’t really need an excuse to get you out of your clothes, but this does seem like a good one.” George pokes, an eyebrow raised and mouth quirked in mischief.
“If you wanted me to strip, you could’ve just asked, Georgie,” He teases right back. “Just because I’m in charge doesn’t mean you can’t make requests .”
“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” He snipes, turning on his heel and leaving Dream to scramble for the front door before it inevitably closed and locked once more. “If you let me make requests, who’s to say I won’t start making demands ?”
Dream scoffs. “As if I’d let you get away with that.”
“Oh yeah?” His quip is immediate, the lock to his own front door clicking as he lets Dream in. “Then don’t back out of your punishments, like you did last time.”
A part of him deflates at the comment, although he knows it’s true.
George can sense his unease— always painfully attentive, apparently— and makes sure to chime in to reassure: “Hey, it’s alright. It was your first time doing this, and you did pretty well. I’m just trying to make sure you know that you’re allowed to be as rough as you want with me until I tell you that it’s too much, okay?”
He steps past the threshold as he mulls it over. “What if you can’t tell me?”
“You mean if I just go completely nonverbal?”
Dream nods, toeing off his shoes and resisting the desperate urge to shake the water from his hair like a fucking dog.
The other hums in response, his perfectly dry slippers finding their place next to the door as well. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think we’re there yet. If that does happen, though, I have a little clicker somewhere in the nightstand, I think.”
It makes sense, because of course it does. “That’s… good. To know, I mean.”
George briefly beams up at him, lifting a hand to pat him on the cheek. “There we are. Come on, now: get some of that confidence back for me, yeah? I want you to really fuck me tonight, Dream, no holds barred. I know you can do it, you showed me as much last time, I just need you to stick to your own wants.”
The soft hand laid over the sandpaper stubble on his jaw makes his face heat just slightly, and he has to look everywhere except for George to get it to abate. “I- okay. Yeah. I’ll do that; you deserve that.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” The hand is gone from his jaw, and he can breathe again. “How about we go get set up. We can talk more about what we wanna do while you’re working on the rope, yeah?”
He nods in affirmation and follows behind George as he makes his way toward his bedroom. Now that he’s a little less nervous than last time, Dream takes several moments to take in the nooks and crannies of a life lived well, all on display in the quiet hallows of someone’s most personal space. Old picture frames line the tops of tall bookshelves, knickknacks filling up the spaces in between until it makes Dream wince to think about the sheer annoyance dusting all of them must be. A watch lies alone on his dresser, plants struggle for limited urban light in a deep-silled window, and a few sweaters are haphazardly strewn over a narrow armchair perched in the corner. It smells faintly of fresh linen and George’s shampoo, the open bathroom door a likely culprit.
Dark wood trim matches dark hair and darker eyes, and the dimness of the lamp on his nightstand only makes George’s alabaster skin glow even more. He wants to see even more: desperately, suddenly. “Strip,” He says— no, orders— as he starts to slip out of his normal tone and into this simmering tar of desire. “I remember where the ropes are.”
George tilts his head in surprise for all but a moment before the quizzicality is replaced by mischievous satisfaction. “Yes, sir.”
The moment after he tears off his soaked sweater, he doesn’t disguise the heavy-lidded gaze he regards George with, practically salivating as he watches sunshine give way to skin which had seen a distinct lack of it. The smaller man playfully embraces the hunger in his eyes at first, but the moment his fingers glance over the buckle of his belt, Dream can spot the change in his posture: the bowing of his head, the downward slope of his shoulders as he starts to wilt in submission. He hadn’t fallen so easily last time around, and George looks beautiful like this, fabric pooling at his feet and dark eyes looking up at Dream for direction. He makes speaking difficult, and Dream’s eyes are still just glued to his face.
“On the bed,” He tells him, watching as lithe limbs carry George over to the edge of his mattress. “On your back this time. I want to see what you look like when I ruin you.”
George complies without issue, and without words. He settles against the sheets, legs just starting to naturally fall open: old habits and older intuition. It’s tempting to just stare, and let his eyes devour the flush that’s starting to creep down the planes of George’s chest, but he knows that he can make it so much more stark before he indulges.
The ropes are kept in a tidy box filed away on unassuming bookshelves in the corner, along with a veritable collection of other items which almost made Dream blush. He leaves all of those for the time being, though, knowing that biting off more than he can chew isn’t how he wants tonight to start. The hemp line is rough in his palms, but not overly so, as he wraps his fingers around crimson bundles and pulls them into the lamplight, where gold meets garnet and his gaze falls to bare ivory lying languid against the sheets.
Dream unceremoniously drops the bundles of rope on the bed, right next to a long run of narrow leg, and hesitates for a moment.
“You can touch me,” George reassures, reading him as though Dream is broadcasting signal in Morse. “You’re okay to do this tonight?”
The concern touches him, his chest flickering with something warm as he meets the dark eyes gazing up at him. “Yeah, I’m fine, I just—” Dream pauses again, searching for the exact words. “I don’t want to back off and disappoint you again, you know?”
George’s mouth quirks upward in a gentle curve, expression soft. “You didn’t disappoint me last time, Dream. Would I have liked it if you hadn’t stopped yourself? Yes. Did you still do really well for our first time together, and your first time doing this, period? Also yes,” He clarifies, taking his time to make sure the words properly sink in. “I’ll tell you if something is too much, alright? So just… don’t stop.”
He nods, long fingers finally making contact with a soft thigh, skin cooled by the inevitable chill of the air around them— valiantly fought off by George’s radiator, but creeping nonetheless. He lets himself linger for a moment, appreciating the silk beneath him, before wrenching him open. “Spread your legs,” He does his best to let authority creep back into his voice, and the shiver that follows from George proves he’s done a good enough job. “All the way. I’ll tie your ankles to the bedposts.”
These were easy knots: simple, single column ties just above the bones of his ankles, secured to an unmoving object. It was the first tie he’d ever learned, and one he’d done on himself a thousand times over for practice. Taking hold of a pale limb so that he can begin to wrap the bight around it comes almost naturally at this point, enraptured with the immediate contrast of the bright, dyed red on empty alabaster. If he focuses, he can feel George’s heartbeat beneath his skin.
Wrap twice, cross over the bight, form a loop, thread the bight through the loop, pull taut. Simple.
He holds the tail in his dominant hand, quickly running fingers between the cuff of rope and George’s ankle to make sure it wasn’t too tight. “Pull for me, baby.” The pet name is reflexive, and Dream doesn’t even notice it.
George tries to tug away, but Dream’s grip— and the loops of rope— are too steadfast, and he goes nowhere.
“Not too tight?”
“Just right.” He confirms, sliding slightly against the sheets as he repositions himself and his voice fills with contentment.
He finishes off the one ankle, tying him to the foot of the bed with something equally as simple, but equally as steadfast. The other goes just as well, and it’s hardly two minutes later than George is completely spread for him, dusted with flush and cock starting to harden against his thigh. It’s a beautiful sight, but Dream needs to see more .
“Can you sit up for me?” He prods, tapping fingers on George’s left shoulder to nudge him along. “I want to try something more complicated.”
He looks pleasantly surprised, but complies nonetheless, propping himself up until his body forms something closer to a ninety degree angle.
“Stay just like that and let me work, okay?” Dream honestly can’t tell if he’s ordering or asking him, but he hopes that George listens either way. “I want to make you look so pretty.”
Not like he needs help on that front , his brain unhelpfully supplies.
George hums out the equivalent of a yes and lets his shoulders relax as Dream grabs for a longer length of rope, mentally puzzling out how he wants this to go.
This is what he loved about rope: it could become exactly what you wanted it to be. Sure, there were certain patterns you should know, and common forms that were the easiest to do, but for the first time, Dream truly has the freedom to actually play with his work, and it’s on the body of such a beautiful man. He still can’t believe that he’s gotten this lucky.
He starts with loops around George’s chest, near the bottom of his ribs, and threads tails through bights until a pattern starts to emerge. Dream can tell that the brunet is watching him carefully, tracking his movements and where he places his hitches.
“You seem like you’re having fun.” He finally comments, head just slightly tilted and one half of his mouth quirked up.
Dream’s concentration slips just slightly as he shifts his gaze from low on slim hips to meet those gorgeously dark eyes. “Oh, um… Yeah, I guess I am. Why’d you say so?”
He hums, amusement splayed about his sharp features. “You just have this look on your face. You look really happy: calm, I guess, if that makes sense.”
There’s stuttering for a moment, but he eventually gets a hold of his words again. “I am happy,” He agrees, shooting a thousand-watt smile his way. “I like getting to take my time and wrap you up. You look… god, you’re just lovely.”
George’s eyes soften for all but a second before he flips fully back over to unbridled mischief and self-satisfaction. “Make me look prettier, then.”
“As you wish.” Dream accompanies the response with a melodramatic flourish that sends George into soft giggles.
He’s really cute like this.
Dream does his best to get back his focus, letting his mind slip into that quiet, calm state as he starts another bundle of hitches that crawl up George’s back. “Think I’ll tie your hands above your head, if that’s okay?”
He assents, letting Dream push him down into the bed with a broad hand on his chest. His hair softly dusts the sheets, spreading out like a halo behind him as he watches the man responsible. “This is really nice work, you know.”
The compliment surprises him, and he can’t help but stare. “Oh- I, uh- thank you. I wanted to do something as gorgeous as you are; you deserve that much.” Dream can’t help it when he feels gentle blush rise to his cheeks.
“Well,” George settles, kindness in his eyes. “Color me impressed. You actually have a lot of skill.”
Dream has to tear away his gaze from George’s before his face goes from rose to crimson, taking a pale, narrow wrist into his hands and working out how he’d like to have it restrained. His own fingers twitch as he fights the desperate need to press his lips to it, opting instead to pull hemp line over paper-thin skin covering the thrumming life of his own blood. Maybe if he could just wrap the rope around like that …
He takes his time, making sure to carefully layer his ties from halfway down George’s forearm all the way up to his knuckles until he wears a webbed cuff. Once his movements start to slow, tying off his final bit of tail so that he can use it to anchor him to the bedpost, George cranes his head to get a better look of where his wrist lies in Dream’s lap, jeans just slightly damp from when he got caught in the rain.
“Someone's feeling elaborate, good god.”
Dream can’t read the intention behind his words, not sure if it’s a taunt or a compliment. “I- um, I’m sorry? I think?”
The bound hand reaches out to lightly grasp the dip of his waist, and he can’t help but stutter. “No, it’s pretty. I didn’t mean it as like… a jab or anything. Sorry that I wasn’t all that clear. You’re doing a really good job tonight, sir.”
He fights the smile that spreads across his lips, daring to finally be confident for once. “Well, I’m glad you think they look pretty, because you won’t be going anywhere in them.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a dare in his tone. “Feeling good about how tight you’re gonna have me tied down so you can use me?”
The encouragement helps, and he lets it fuel the tight loops as he tugs George’s pretty wrist toward the bedpost to finally secure it. “Yes, I am, baby,” Each syllable is accompanied with a new, sharp draw of rope. “No matter how much you squirm tonight, no matter how much you pull, you’re staying right here for me to do whatever the fuck I want with."
He watches as George’s eyes grow hazed in real time, the fog only sending a violent spike of heat down to his cock. “Please, sir.”
Dream realizes that he’s rushing a bit when he finishes the frictions that attach that lovely wrist to the headboard, but he gives everything a once over and nothing looks out of place. “Why don’t you pull for me, doll,” He tells him. “Nice and hard.”
“You sure I can pull hard ?”
“Are you questioning me?” He immediately retorts, pressing his grip briefly, but harshly, into a slim arm.
George swallows, but the devilry still remains strewn across his face as he makes direct eye contact with Dream and pulls, just as hard as he’d been asked.
The next two or three seconds take place in a strange sort of slow motion: time moving like chilled molasses as his eyes track George’s movement. He watches as his wrist jerks, tugging on the knots which bind him, only to be faced with rope slipping out of place. His hand, fingers instinctively curled from where they’d lain lax against the sheets, shoots from its place and is carried by the force of his tug before George can even think about stifling it.
In short, George punches him in the face.
His knuckles meet the edge of Dream’s right cheekbone and snap his head sideways seconds before either of them can process what’s going on. The resounding thwack of flesh hitting its pair rings out across George’s bedroom, followed by several long moments of stunned silence.
Surprisingly, it’s not the man who’s been objectively slighted who finds his words first. “Oh my god, I am so fucking sorry! Are you okay?”
Dream’s gaze is glued to where it had been shoved by the impact of a surprisingly forceful blow, blinking quickly to combat tears and the unshakeable shock. “Ow.” Is all that he manages, already feeling throbbing pain spiraling from his cheekbone to his eye.
Considering that his arms hadn’t been fully tied down yet, George’s hands come up to his face, tilting his jaw this way and that so he can examine the damage he’d done. All the while, his fingers trace over bruising flesh, softly marking the outlines of what he’d done. “Shit.”
“I thought I was supposed to be the sadist here,” Dream manages to make a crack, looking down at George through the corner of his eye. “Fuck, you hit harder than I thought you would. How bad is it?”
The brunet looks up at him with a grimace, guilt decorating his pretty features. “Well, I think you should untie me so I can get you some ice. I managed to break a couple blood vessels in your eye, and I think I, uh… I think you might start bruising soon.”
“Wait, seriously?” A bit of panic starts to rise like bile in his throat, and he snaps at George. “You gave me a fucking black eye?”
The other’s face falters, eyebrows quirked up in concern. “I- I’m really sorry, I—”
“No, I’m sorry,” He interrupts, dragging a hand down the portion of his face that George’s own fingers aren’t caressing with surprising gentility. “I didn’t mean to get upset. I know it was just an accident. Here, let me untie you.”
Dream slides from his grasp, loathe to lose the intimate contact, but he’s doing everything he can to not cry in front of the man he’s supposed to fuck senseless. “Do you want me to undo everything, or just the stuff anchoring you to the bed?”
“Just the tail’s fine,” George supplies, a laugh in his voice. “I can handle not tripping over my shoelaces.”
There isn’t a response that would make much sense beyond actions, so he slides the knots apart until George can scoot forward on the bed and swing his legs off of the mattress. He makes absolutely no move to get dressed, and Dream has to put effort into not salivating as he stands and walks past him, completely bare and glowing with crimson rope against pearl skies. Despite the pain in his face, his eyes are immediately stuck to George’s slim figure, roving over that gorgeous ass of his and imagining how much prettier he could make it by turning it black and blue. Dream still can’t believe that he’d been given a chance by someone like him, even if he had admittedly just socked him in the face.
The bedroom seems hollow without George’s presence, and the bed is just a little too big again. This was still a ceiling he didn’t know and, at the end of the day, although he was a very welcome guest, he was still in a strange home.
The time it takes for the brunet to fetch ice gives Dream a moment to calm the discomfort that was fanning a little too hot in his hips, taking a few breaths to will his own savage arousal to settle. He’s almost pathetically weak to this man, and George doesn’t even have to try , which is what makes it all the more infuriating (in the best possible way, of course).
“Hey, I got ice,” George calls, rounding the corner with spare lengths of rope hooked over his shoulder, a bundle of tidy cloth in his hand, and still awkwardly half-hard against his thigh. “I don’t know if you wanted painkillers or anything, but I can go get some if you—”
“No, no: just ice is fine, really.” He butts in, softly, and scoots over on his perch at the edge of the bed to make room for him.
He sits down immediately to his right, reaching now-cold hands up to tilt Dream’s jaw again. “Here, let me just...”
The ice against his face is cold enough to make him wince at first, eyebrows instinctively scrunching together as his mouth twists and a frankly embarrassing noise slips from between his lips.
“Sorry,” George is full of apologies. “I can’t believe I actually hit you, oh my god. I will literally do anything you want tonight, yeah? I mean, do you- do you want to fuck my throat? I have toys, I have—”
He can’t help but softly snicker, cutting him short. “Listen, it’s fine. Shit happens: I’m sure you’ve had rockier times.”
“Oh, god , have I.” George huffs, shaking his head with reminiscent frustration. He softly presses the ice further against Dream’s cheekbone as he does so— a pleasant bit of tandem that only makes him sweeter. “Want me to tell you about some of them while we wait for your eye to go down a bit?”
Dream nods, unable to stop the amusement from lighting up what’s visible of his face. “Can we lie down though?”
The smaller man doesn’t respond, just softly pushing against Dream’s chest until he’s flat with the bed. George crawls up next to him, entirely bare (save for Dream’s own handiwork), and drapes himself over his half-clothed body, fingers still resolutely holding the ice to his cheekbone. It’s breathtakingly tender, and he thinks he could get very used to having such a beautiful and completely unclothed man right at his side. He dares to wrap an arm around George’s waist and pull him closer, to which he thankfully receives no complaint. He’s warm and soft against him.
The ice is cold enough to sting, but it’s fading fast as numbness starts to take over, his skin complaining about the cold, now, rather than the impact of George’s bony hand.
“Well, I’ll start by going way back to my first year of university, when I started trying all of this stuff,” He begins, squirming just slightly to get more comfortable. “I was seeing this guy, and we’d done a few sessions. We were both entirely new to it, so when I asked him to be a little rougher, he instead went a little too rough and, long story short, I had to stop the scene."
Dream can’t help but interrupt. “Jesus, were you alright?”
“Oh, yeah,” He reassures, shaking his head in its place on Dream’s chest. “I was fine; it was just that I was really unused to any pain at that point, and it wasn’t his fault that I got overstimulated, anyway. We were both kind of stumbling around if I’m honest. Anyway, he went to go and get some ice, but I was still stuck to the headboard with handcuffs, and he had my legs spread. Oh, I was blindfolded too. And still hard. All in all, not the best position to be left in.
“Turns out, the exact moment he decided to fucking get ice, his roommate came home, absolutely fucking hammered, with four people we didn’t know in tow.”
“Oh no,” He grimaces. “I can see exactly where this is going.”
George scoffs, breath dusting flushed skin beneath it. “‘Oh no’ is one way to put it. It also turns out that, when the door was open, his bedroom was in full fucking view of the foyer.”
There aren’t even words to describe the second-hand embarrassment he feels for a George of so many years ago. “Oh my god.”
“Like, I could hear that they were there; I could hear the guy I was seeing desperately trying to distract them, but none of it worked and five people I just did not know got to see what I looked like tied up, bruised, and about thirty seconds away from coming.”
Dream’s face burns at the thought. “Please tell me that’s the worst one. Please.”
“Oh, it’s definitely not. My ex-girlfriend’s parents walked in on us one time. At least I wasn’t the one tied down that time, but oh my god, nothing in my life has ever been so mortifying.”
“Was that—”
“Wait, I take it back,” George interrupts, giggling helplessly as he recounts his worst days. “I had the cops called on me once, actually. Or, my dom did, technically. Apparently, his walls weren’t very well-insulated, and his neighbors heard every single impact and every single scream I let out over the span of hours . At least they didn’t call until the scene was over, thank god.”
That one shifts him from being embarrassed for George, to laughing with him. “The actual police? You’re telling me taxpayer dollars went to an armed police officer going to your dom’s apartment, knocking on the door late at night, and demanding an explanation for you being punished?”
George snickers. “It wasn’t just one, it was two. It was in a smaller town back home, and needless to say, they weren’t the busiest department on the planet.”
“Why do all of these stories involve other people? Please tell me your sex life hasn’t just been one long parade of being walked in on.”
“It’s not, don’t worry. Let’s see, what are some good ones…” George trails off, combing through an apparently extensive catalog, if his time spent in silence is enough of an indicator. “I tried seeing what getting slapped in the face felt like once. A blood vessel broke instead and left a massive blue patch on my cheek for a little over a week that I could not cover, no matter how much concealer I used.
“One time, I was hooking up with someone, and she had these absolutely awful silk sheets. She left me alone for like a solid two minutes, and I somehow managed to slide right off the bed while tied up and completely unable to stop it. Oh! I broke a bed once; that was just kind of funny, though.”
“You actually broke a bed?”
“I actually broke a bed,” He responds, clearly smug and somewhat proud of the achievement. “Less fun than that: some guy decided to choke me unannounced while his dick was down my throat and, needless to say, I practically bit straight through him from the surprise.”
Even imagining the sensation of teeth falling hard on his own cock made him wince.
George just pokes at him further, rubbing a bare leg against the bulge in his pants that has refused to go down despite the starburst of pain on his face. “But, yeah. You getting punched in the face is definitely not the worst thing I’ve had happen, but I am still sorry.”
“It’s just—” Dream starts, not immediately sure where to go. “It isn’t the punching. Like, yeah, that was an accident, and I’m not upset with you or anything, but it’s the fact I messed up that simple of a knot.”
The brunet just tuts, his free hand grabbing for the one Dream has wrapped around his waist to push it further up to the pretty patterns around his ribs. “Come on, Dream: look at all of this! It’s beautiful.” The hand that rests atop of his feels like far too intimate of a touch, and his cheeks flame.
“George, you’re very sweet, but you complimenting the other stuff I did can’t resuscitate my ego. It’s dead. Six feet under. It’s gone. Long past. I can’t come back from fucking up tying you to the goddamn bedpost.” He punctuates his sentence with a groan, embarrassed and ashamed.
There’s a huff off to his side as George repositions himself, straddling Dream’s hips and looking far more tantalizing than any human being has any right to be. He lets his eyes fall to half-lidded when he speaks, accent low and smoother than toffee. “Well, I’m going to try, and you can’t stop me.”
“Is that the angle you’re going with tonight?”
The hand that had only just been grasping his pushes downward until Dream’s broad palm can grip his hip instinctively. He’s suddenly seized with such a desire to turn that same hip purple so violent and so strong that it almost startles him. George is so fair, and the only blemishes his skin are graced with are a handful of beauty marks that spatter across his stomach. Dream thinks he would look even more beautiful somehow with more to interrupt his ivory expanses.
“Maybe it is,” He teases, tilting his hips down just slightly so that he can grind his cock against Dream’s bare stomach, softly gasping at the friction. “Maybe it isn’t.”
On the one hand, he doesn’t want to give in to his taunting, because Dream knows the entire point is to brat and get a rise out of him. On the other hand, fucking George into the mattress is all he’s been able to think about for the past week.
“Stop moving, Georgie.” He warns, digging his hand into the man in question’s hip to emphasize the seriousness of his point.
George smirks. “Or what, sir ?” The title, rather than one of respect, is filled with mocking, and Dream decides to give in to what he wants.
He swats the gentle hand away from his face, grabbing for George’s wrist until he can use it to harshly pull him off of his lap. He uses the hand on his hip to press him into the mattress, their positions suddenly reversed. “You think you can keep getting away with being a little fucking brat, don’t you?”
All he gets is a hum of affirmation and a mischievous tilt of his head.
“Well, I’m not having it anymore,” Dream decides, tightening his grip where he can and making George softly wince beneath him. “I’m going to tie you up properly this time, and then I’m going to make you regret teasing me like that.”
George’s eyes slide to half-lidded, clearly pleased with himself and with Dream’s own change in demeanor. “Good fucking luck. I’m not one to regret much.”
Unable to stop his own desire, Dream leans down and sinks his teeth into George’s previously-unmarked neck. He digs as deep as he can without breaking skin, sucking hard on the mouthful he has between pastel canines so it can bruise oh-so-pretty. George lets out a strangled cry at the sensation, his one free hand grabbing Dream's bicep for purchase. “Get back to me in an hour on that one, doll,” He threatens— no, promises . “You’ll have changed your mind."
For the first time, he makes George properly cry that night. His eyes are still puffy as he holds onto Dream like a lifeline, half-asleep and even more intoxicated from the fade of dizzying pleasure. His thighs are laden with fresh bruises in the shape of Dream’s large hand, and he’d been so easily overwhelmed with sensitivity that cleaning him up had actually been difficult.
Despite all of that, before he drifts off, he murmurs: “Thank you.”
Dream decides, then and there, that maybe it’s worth pushing past his own misgivings and self-hatred if he gets to have George like this: soft and pliant and so fucking perfect for him. He’d looked even prettier than usual with tears streaking down his face, flushed with pleasure, and the way he’d writhed and begged would be stuck in his mind for at least several straight weeks, haunting him every single dull moment waiting for pasta water to boil in the kitchen, or when he was in bed, or in the shower. Dream had hardly even had the wherewithal to focus on his own orgasm, so determined to make George’s tears turn to ones solely caused by euphoria as he reeled.
George is warm on top of him, where they’re curled up beneath his sheets, and his weight is grounding as his own mind keeps on turning while the other’s is rapidly slowing down. He’s only half-draped over him, clinging to his side like the world would end if he didn’t. It’s natural and easy to wrap an arm around his pretty little waist and pull him close, fingers lilting over his forearm where it gripped at Dream’s shoulder.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks, for probably the eighth time since they’d finished.
The brunet rouses, stuck in that strange, hovering place halfway between the blacks of sleep and consciousness. “Yes, Dream. I was fine twenty minutes ago, and ‘m still fine. Promise.”
He bites his lip, still uncertain. “But are you sure? I mean, I made you sob , George.”
“And I liked it,” He replies, almost immediately. “I would’ve told you if I didn’t. You need to stop worrying so much. Besides, I punched you in the fucking face; I can take a few tears.”
Dream scoffs. “Well, that’s definitely not the first time I’ve been told that.” Now that George’s body is free of rope, he can trace fingers over the marks left behind— smooth and uninterrupted by twisting fibers. “But I’ll try. For you.”
“Just for me, huh?” George teases, pressing closer as he softly giggles. “What an honor.”
Some sort of noise of mock disgust leaves his mouth as he rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Make me.” The retort is automatic, hardly even conscious thought.
“If I wasn’t so tired, I fucking would, baby. Don’t you doubt it for a second."