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I
“Dream, stop, you’re hurting me.” George tries to pull his head away as the blond grabs tightly at the patch of hair behind his ears and yanks harshly.
The dog hybrid stills his hand, gracelessly massaging his scalp with his thick and clumsy fingers. Once again, it’s too rough for George to enjoy it, and he flinches when those fingers tug at the skin of his ears. His two hands fly to grab at Dream’s wrist and stop his movements, and he sighs once his poor head stops being painfully picked on.
“What’s wrong?”
Thursday afternoons are one of the few moments they can spend together without work or school getting in the way, one of their few moments of peace. It’s their movie night (or as Dream likes to call it: bonding time, which is equal parts ridiculous and embarrassing to say) and they are both on their shared apartment couch that has definitely seen better days; Netflix running in the background, an episode of Heartstopper playing that George hasn’t seen, and that Dream is definitely guilty of binge-watching it without telling him.
“You’re hurting me,” he repeats with a wince, and that finally makes Dream drop his arm on the headrest behind his head.
Today, George had been surprisingly needy of affection, and he had decided to snuggle against his friend’s side, bumping his head against his shoulder, asking for pets. First mistake. That’s when Dream had decided to burst the bubble with his strong hands and aggressive touches that had left George not only on the verge of tears but also fearing for his delicate scalp.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” George flicks his ears, massaging the tips between his fingers to relieve some pain. He sighs, grimacing when he accidentally grazes a sore spot, “You’re too rough, you dumb mutt.”
“You don’t like it rough, Georgie?” The blond smirks, getting his face dangerously close and booping the tip of his nose. The brunet only rolls his eyes and pretends that his cheeks aren’t burning as he looks at their small TV.
“Not if you’re trying to rip my ears off.”
“Awwww,” his friend coos while ruffling his hair, even though he knows he hates it. George resists the urge to hiss.
With his knees pressed against his chest, the brunet wraps his tail around him, blinking slowly with tiredness as he tries to focus on the episode. He doesn’t want to fall asleep again and have to rewatch it for the third time. The dog hybrid settles comfortably next to him and crosses his arms, seemingly paying attention as well.
He manages to watch the episode for 5 full minutes without any distractions, yet unsurprisingly, Dream doesn’t drop the subject.
“I don’t get it though,” he huffs, tail thudding heavily on the cushion. “Nobody has complained to me about hurting them.”
George can hear the pout in his voice, and it’s kind of amusing.
“Have you ever petted a cat hybrid?”
There are a few seconds of silence, and then, a meek “No.”
George sighs and takes the controller to pause the show, movie night be damned. He turns to his friend, whose ears perk up at the cat hybrid paying attention to him. He raises his own hand to bury it between golden locks, Dream’s eyelids drooping once he starts scratching behind his ears.
“You mutts,” he says, grinning at how Dream pretends to be offended at the word, “are much too savages. You talk too loudly, invade personal space, stink too bad and don’t know how to control your strength.”
“That’s not-”
George tuts him, index finger digging into the sweet spot that he knows can make Dream drool.
“You have to be gentler with us kitties,” he removes his hand and sits on his calves sideways on the couch, shuffling closer until his knees touch his friend’s thigh. He takes one of Dream’s hands between his two and places it softly on top of his own head. “Can you do that for me?”
The dog hybrid nods enthusiastically, tightening his fingers around his scalp on reflex, but immediately relaxing them when the brunet flinches. He starts by mapping his ears, softly rubbing all around to see where George likes it best —the outer sides— and tries different pressures until he notices the cat sag his shoulders and wrap an arm around Dream’s waist, head comfortably leaning against the crook of his neck.
“Just like that,” he exhales, letting his friend pet his entire head, raking his fingers softly through his hair.
However rough at first, he is definitely a fast learner, and George would be lying if he said he’s not enjoying it. This close to his neck, he can also slyly sniff Dream’s scent directly from the source, and besides the strong musky smell distinctive of dog hybrids and the salt from his sweat, there’s a clear citrusy scent to it. He doesn’t mind it in the slightest.
“Can I also touch your tail?”
George hums, and he feels a careful hand on his lower back. Dream seems to change his mind and target the tip of his restless tail, capturing it between his fingers and squeezing hard. George squeaks, his own nails digging onto Dream’s side at the sudden action.
“Sorry, sorry,” Dream hushes with his mouth brushing the top of his head.
George wriggles his tail free from his grasp and wraps it around the blond’s wrist, trying to keep it still. He should’ve known that wouldn’t stop him. Dream brushes the length of his tail, all the while his other hand is still focused on stroking the silky fur at the base of his ears.
“It’s so soft, Georgie.”
He involuntarily shudders, closing his eyes and hiding his reddening cheeks by pushing his face further into his neck. In their years of friendship, he regrets not asking sooner for this. Dream’s hand wraps around his tail and glides it along, in the direction of the fur. His pants are in the way, and he can’t fully reach the base, but he gets pretty close, fingers sliding through the hole in his sweatpants to reach as close as possible. George subconsciously squeezes his legs together.
“Didn’t know kitties were so soft,” he can hear his voice rumble from where his face is pressed against his throat, and he can feel the exhales of his low whispers against his forehead. “Or is it you that’s soft?”
He doesn’t answer because it’s pointless. His friend is doing such a good job at touching him where he needs him to that he doesn’t register the change in the atmosphere, the way his tail is now looser and being manhandled by Dream, caught between his deft fingers which carefully deliver warmth all over.
“Do you like that?” He hears, and he doesn’t notice the shakiness in his voice or the way the blond doesn’t stop shifting in his seat.
He just murmurs something affirmative, the smell of caramel and oranges pungent in the air and his nose, and he’s so far gone he wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring out of the blue. The dog hybrid turns slightly to his side to cover more of George’s body with his own, pressing him closer, and the hand in his hair feels so nice he wants to cry. His friend is mumbling sweet nothings that he can’t make out, and he’s focused on the way his strong hand is moving closer and closer to the base, rubbing small circles and kneading the thin appendage, closer and closer, until-
George yelps and jumps out off the couch.
“George!” The blond has concern painted all over his face, still in the same position with his arms wide open as if he doesn’t know how the cat hybrid got out. “Did I hurt you?”
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and clenches his fists on each side of his body. He can’t help flattening his ears against his head.
“No!” He scratches his neck, a nervous habit he has, and backtracks slowly when Dream stands up as well. He glances at the digital clock on one of the shelves. “It’s just too late.”
“It’s 11 pm.”
“Still, I think I should…” with his back facing the door, he tries to walk towards it without bumping anything in the process. “I should shower.”
“Oh.”
Dream looks confused, and rightfully so. He tries to take one step forward, but George takes two backward. His t-shirt is creased where George had been leaning onto him and it leaves one of his shoulders exposed. It’s tempting.
“Yeah,” George turns, hands linked on his back tiptoeing quickly towards the bathroom. “Good night Dreamie!”
He hears a faint “good night” just as he closes the door, and he sighs loudly, back against the wood. Almost as if they were burning his skin, he starts discarding each of his clothing items without any particular order or finesse, yanking at the collar of his t-shirt and tugging down at his sweatpants, carelessly leaving them on the floor.
He feels uneasy as he hops on the shower, turning the water on to the coldest setting, hoping Dream will hear the water running and won’t try bothering him. He sucks air through his teeth when the ice water touches his skin, letting it pour over his head and swirl under his feet, taking away Dream’s scent with every drop.
Once his breathing has evened out, he brings a shameful hand to his back, reaching around his tail and lowering further until his breath hitches. It’s too thick and sticky to be water from the shower. When he brings his fingers to eye level, he can smell the sweetness clinging onto them, and he blushes.
He grabs his vanilla soap and makes sure to scrub his body clean.
II
“It’s not going to work, Dream!”
He’s pulling at his hair, pacing around in the room as his friend watches him from where he’s laying on his bed. He’s amused, George is stressed.
“Just tell your professor to let you take the exam next week.”
“He’s not going to let me.” And really, he doesn’t know what is more stressing, the fact that he’s probably going to fail this class or the fact that Dream doesn’t understand. Because he has already explained this to him a thousand times in the last half an hour.
The dog hybrid gets back to whatever he’s doing on his laptop and George huffs. It will definitely not work; he can’t take a free day at his job because although he is one of their best baristas, he has arrived late too many times to have that privilege, and he doubts his professor will be so generous as to change his entire program to accommodate one student.
“Georgie, calm down.”
“I can’t!”
“You’re making my room reek of anxiety.”
He sits by the end of the bed, crossed feet on top of it and holding his head between his hands.
“I will fail this class and then I will fail all of the others and then I’ll have to drop out and be the disappointment of my family.”
Dream settles closer to him in the bed and pats his head gently, giving him a light scratch behind his ears.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Dream! What part do you not underst-”?
His back hits the bed as Dream catches one of his ankles and pulls to make him fall. He gasps for air and he’s ready to yell when the blond crawls closer, lying beside him and rubbing his wrist against his neck. George slaps it away immediately.
“OW!”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His ears flatten against his head and a hand goes up to cover the spot Dream has rubbed. The dramatic dog hybrid kisses the back of his hand pretending to be the one hurt.
“I’m scenting you,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Why would you do that?”
“To calm you down?”
And now they’re both confused. They both stare at each other, and George puts some distance between them, grabbing a pillow and hugging it. Dream rests his head on his palm, elbow firmly planted on the mattress. His tank top is pulled up and he can see a little bit of his happy tr- no, don’t go there.
“Don’t you do it?” The blond asks.
“Rub our necks? No.” He feigns being disgusted, but he has to admit he’s a little bit curious.
“It’s not that,” Dream presses two fingers to his pulse point and rubs the spot for a while. “It’s to mix our scents.”
“What for?”
George's eyes follow his movements, engrossed with the way his fingertips seem to shine wet, and too eager to know what it would feel like to have them rubbing the same spot on his neck.
“Depends,” he says, and George has known him for long enough to know he's avoiding telling the entire truth, “I just wanted to do it to calm you down. I guess it’s just a dog-hybrid thing.”
George bites his thumb, engines whirring inside his head. It’s now Dream’s turn to follow his hands with his eyes, fixating on his mouth. George takes his spit-slick finger out.
“Okay,” he sighs, getting comfortable on the bed. He decides to lie on his back again, closing his eyes. “Show me.”
There are a few seconds of hesitancy where Dream doesn’t move, but he gets quickly into action. Two damp fingers, he assumes they are the same ones that he used to touch his own neck, come to rest on his pulse point and start rubbing up and down. He flinches when Dream speaks again, not expecting to hear him so close.
“Do you know how our scent comes from here?” He grazes the side of his neck, going down to the junction of his shoulder.
George nods, swallowing hard. He tries to control his breathing, because this is supposed to be relaxing after all, and focuses on making his mind go blank.
“And do you know how rubbing makes more come out?”
The brunet opens his mouth, just to close it again. He didn’t know that. He always assumed it was random, triggered by emotions or situations, and he didn’t imagine you could stimulate it yourself. He shakes his head. He feels stupid for not realizing sooner. His neck is starting to feel humid, as if he were sweating.
“It’s supposed to be soothing, you know,” the blond whispers, and it makes his skin crawl. “Because you wouldn’t trigger it in a threatening situation, and your mind realizes you’re not in danger.”
And it’s starting to work. The tension in his back is disappearing, his tail wrapped around his thigh, his head sinking back on the fluffy duvet. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that Dream is hovering over him, now with his index and middle finger on one side of his throat and his thumb on the other. He’s making it harder to swallow.
“And when you mix it with the scent of a person close to you, well,” his voice is merely a whisper, and George appreciates it. “It doubles the effect.”
And indeed, the musk of oranges and chocolate seems to swirl around the perfume of his own cherry blossom and caramel. It makes a relieving combination, and he parts his lips to breathe in more through his mouth. Still, his own scent is the most dominant smell in the room, and he wants to change that.
“I want to do it too,” he turns his head to the side, opening his eyes. He’s met with a glossy look. Dream removes his fingers from his throat, and George almost whines at the loss. He pushes the pillow he was holding out of the way.
“Touch yourself,” he says, and George lifts one eyebrow, pursing his lips. “Oh my god, your neck, Georgie. Pick up some of your scent.”
He does exactly that. His neck is definitely damp with his sweet smell, and he rubs his fingers on it to get as much as possible. He reaches out with his hand, and Dream doesn’t move, eyes on him the entire time. George avoids his gaze. He rests the tips of his fingers on his shoulder and starts trailing them closer to his neck. It’s now Dream’s turn to close his eyes with a pleased huff, tail wagging behind him. The brunet feels less judged this way, and he gets bolder.
He touches where shoulder and neck meet, doing small circles to see if it will work to get more of his scent out. It does. George shuffles close enough for their chests to meet, and confident in his actions, starts rubbing his cheek against the base of Dream’s throat. The dog hybrid grumbles something that he can’t understand and his strong arm wraps around his waist, allowing George’s head to reach higher.
“Do you like it?” He hears against his ear, and the cat hybrid nods, rubbing in his face more in the process.
“’t smells good,” he slurs, tangy orange invading his nose, slowly saturating each of his senses. Why do cat hybrids never do this?
“You smell good, Georgie.” He pets his hair, and although kind of dog-like, he doesn’t hurt George this time. He’s getting gentler with his energy, and the brunet feels something swirl in his stomach at the thought of Dream paying attention to the little details. “So, so good.”
In a surge of adrenaline, and without knowing what he’s doing, he starts rubbing his wrists on Dream’s chest, desperately trying to get more of the stickiness coating his skin. His tail is thrashing wildly at this point, and he’s panting for air, an air that feels sweet and bitter inside of his mouth.
Dream holds the back of his neck, and although he would never admit it, the cat hybrid’s lips are now dangerously close to the blond’s throat, and there’s a primitive urge inside of him to taste it, to let his tongue soak with his best friend’s scent, to lick directly from the source, to bite into it. And he gives in.
Pink lips attach to the base of his friend’s neck, suckling the wet skin there, and before he can revel in the explosion of flavors on his taste buds, a hand comes to his chest and pulls him away.
“I think that’s enough.”
George struggles to regain his breath, sighing loudly and letting his head fall. He’s dizzy, he’s confused, he feels drunk. His tail has somehow found its way under Dream’s top and he has to physically pull it away with his hands because his own body seems to not want to cooperate.
Dream positions a pillow behind his head, and he’s grateful because it seems to suddenly dawn on him just how sleepy he is.
“How do you feel?”
His tail thumps and George pinches one of the mutt’s ears. He has to fight the urge to do something stupid, like sling his leg over the blond’s hips or catch his thigh between his own.
“So good, thanks Dreamie.”
His best friend smiles, and after a few seconds of shifting, he pulls a blanket over his body. The brunet blinks slowly and inhales hard, a pleased smile drawn on his lips. He feels a kiss against his forehead and closes his eyes, fists tightening around the blanket.
“I’ll cover your shift tomorrow so that you can do your test.”
George passes his exam with flying colors.
III
“Dream.”
“Yes.”
George huffs, walking around the couch to stand in front of him.
“Dreeeeeeeeaaaaaaam.”
The blond lifts his gaze from his laptop screen.
“Dream.” He insists, and he knows he will be teased later for being so whiny.
“What?”
George signs for him to take his headphones off and the blond rolls his eyes before complying and pulling them down to his neck. He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. The brunet suddenly feels too self-conscious about what he’s going to ask him.
“I need you to leave next weekend.” He says in one breath. He keeps his eyes down, tail in his hands to keep them busy.
“What? Why?”
Here comes the hard part. George had been postponing it for two weeks, knowing it would be difficult to explain. He’s had this conversation in his brain a thousand times already, trying to get ahead of possible questions and uncomfortable explanations. There’s a long silence where he tries to gather some courage, searching for the best words. In the end, he keeps it simple, his two weeks of practicing thrown out of the window.
“My heat will be starting.”
“Your what?”
And oh no, this was one of the worst scenarios he had imagined could happen —besides, you know, his best friend getting disgusted by it and never wanting to speak to him again. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Should he sit next to him? He tries not to let Dream know that he’s nervous through his scent.
“My heat?” He repeats.
A puzzled look. George blinks. So does Dream. He mentally groans. They definitely need to have this conversation.
“Okay.” He sighs and plops down on the couch next to him.
Dream folds his laptop, fully removes his headphones, and sets everything on the coffee table. George prepares to have what’s probably going to be the most awkward talk of his life.
“So, cat-hybrids,” he blushes, and crosses his legs on the couch. “We are kind of different.”
“Figured,” his friend smiles and tries to poke one of his ears, which George skillfully avoids by flicking it away. He sticks out his tongue.
“Do you have a knot?”
Dream freezes, and he seems so shocked by the filthy question coming out of his lips that the brunet can’t help but chuckle. There’s carmine tinting his neck and ears, and his forearms come to rest on his lap. Subtle. Is he that easy to tease?
“Why do you ask?”
Typical of Dream to play dumb and ignore a question with another question.
“Just answer, Dream.”
The blond swallows before biting his lip. The cat hybrid feels like he’s talking to a 5-year-old. And he’s never been one for patience.
“Yeah.”
Now it’s George’s turn to feel embarrassed, but he collects himself mentally. It’s too hot for it to be the middle of November, and even though he’s in short sweatpants and a hoodie, he wishes he had picked a light t-shirt to be around in the house. But the faster he gets this over with, the faster he can flee to his room in mortification and bury his face on his pillow to scream.
“Cat hybrids don’t have that. Some of us go through heats, and that’s how we get pregnant.”
It’s funny how the two boys are avoiding eye contact, almost as if they’re children being told about the birds and the bees. Which is technically the case.
“We? But you’re a boy, you can’t get pregnant.”
“I can’t, but sometimes male hybrids get them as well, it’s how the brain is wired, and it’s believed to be linked with sexuality.”
George believes that if he keeps going on Dream’s cheeks might explode. He’s bouncing one of his legs up and down and George’s heart wants to burst out of his ribcage. They’re quiet for a few seconds, and he’s already thinking of an excuse in his mind to leave the room when the dog hybrid speaks.
“So, what happens in those heats exactly?”
I don’t want to do this.
“We just, you know” he waves his hands in the air, trying to find a way to say it as delicately as possible. “Want to be mated.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
He waits a couple of uncomfortable seconds before planting his socked feet on the ground and pushing himself to get up.
“Wait,” a hand comes to grab his wrist and he is yanked backwards to fall onto the couch. The fingers around his arm disappear as soon as they’ve appeared and the brunet massages the tender skin. “Does that mean you’re bringing someone home? To, uh, mate?”
George wishes he hadn’t looked him in the eye, because he can’t resist his puppy eyes. His ears are pointing forward and his head is tilted to the side, and George wants to, he really wants to-
“No,” he shakes his head to clear his mind. “I usually spend my heats alone.”
“Why?”
This is also the part of the conversation he didn’t want to have. Because he doesn’t like to think about a lean and pale body, pointy ears, and a long and sleek tail curling into the air. He should like soft fingertips, a smooth and hairless body, delicate hands, and slender hips that would split him open with calculated and sharp thrusts. Because that’s what he should think about, and that’s who he’s supposed to like.
And yet, when the fire in his gut consumes him and his back is planted on the mattress, nails digging onto his own thighs to resist the urge to surrender to the feeling, all he can imagine is rough and strong hands, floppy ears and tanned skin, shoulders that could encase his frame and hold him down, sturdy thighs on both sides of his hips that would stay rooted on the mattress as his best friend-
“It’s just not my thing, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t trust anyone to… take care of me.”
Good, George, the safe option. Project your trust issues on the fact that you just want Dr-
“Aww, little Georgie’s a princess who wants to be spoiled? Are cat hybrids not strong enough to fuck you as you want?”
The brunet slaps his friend’s knee, forming an O with his mouth as he pretends to be outraged.
“Dream! What is wrong with you?”
“Am I wrong?”
He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms on his chest. He turns his head to the side sharply, a small squeak escaping his mouth as he fakes annoyance.
“Don’t be mad, Georgie,” a finger comes to the underside of his chin, bringing his face back towards the blond. “I’m sure you’ll find a nice kitty to pin you down.”
“I am done with this conversation,” he gets up and stomps towards the hallway, red cheeks but also suppressing a giggle in his throat. Two strong arms pin him to the wall, and his friend can barely hold in his wheezes as he wipes at his eyes.
“Come on,” he tries to compose himself and regulate his breathing, all the while holding George’s biceps in his grip, leaving him no way to escape. “You can always get a nice dog hybrid to do the work, you know, us dog hybrids are so much better at everything.”
Dream puffs his chest and they both dissolve into laughter, George trying to push him away to no avail.
“Dog hybrids suck, I trust them even less to satisfy me.”
“Oh yeah?”
He seems to have hit the mutt’s pride and he smiles to himself. The blond gets closer to him, this time with no trace of amusement in his voice.
“You wouldn’t be able to handle a dog hybrid.”
George shivers at the idea.
“You don’t know what I can handle,” he raises his chin in defiance.
“A little bit of roughness and you’re done for, can you even handle me holding you like this?”
He looks at the hands on both sides of his body, fingertips turning white, and he scoffs.
“This? Oh, you can’t possibly break me this easily.”
Dream truly looks like he wants to break him. It leaves his skin covered in goosebumps. He gets his mouth closer to his ear, and if George was a sane man, he wouldn’t shudder at the way the blond towers over him.
“You don’t know what I’m capable of either, kitty.”
And it’s intentional the way his lips graze his furry ears. In this position he can also sense that his scent has grown richer and darker, and damn if he wants to taste it again. If they keep going like this, he’ll have to explain why there’s a wet patch on his sweatpants, and he truly doesn’t want to.
But it’s too tempting to waste an opportunity like this.
It’s his turn to get on his tippy toes and get his mouth close to the blond ears.
“Sounds to me like you’re making promises you can’t keep.”
Dream’s tail is wildly wagging from side to side, and George’s is whipping the air; they both seem to reconsider their conversation and the dog hybrid is torn by his competitiveness and their friendship. A flash of doubt has him relax his hold around George and he takes the chance to scurry away from him.
“George…”
They look at each other with blown wide pupils, chests heaving. George is the first to surrender. He’s not in the mood for more teasing, he doesn’t know if his poor heart can take it.
“Do you have any other questions?”
“What?”
“Questions, Dream.”
A pause. And then,
“No.”
“Okay,” he scratches his neck, holds the tip of his tail between his hands again. “Good night, Dreamie.”
And with that, he’s gone.
IV
“I’m paying next time,” he protests, holding the cone in his left hand and eagerly eyeing the brown and white ice cream scoops. Dream takes the keys out of his pockets and skillfully unlocks the door without dropping his own cone.
“Okay, okay.” The blond hums, devouring it in a way that gives George brain freeze only by looking. “You can just say thank you, you know.”
“Thank you, Dreamie.” He bumps his head on his shoulder and enters the house behind him, carefully delivering short licks to the milky chocolate. “I haven’t had ice cream in so long.”
Dream’s thumb wipes a creamy streak along George’s chin, wiping his finger on his napkin and taking a bite at his own ice cream. George cringes. The dog hybrid shuts the door and locks it from the inside, all the while determined to finish his disgusting coffee scoops before sitting down.
“I wanna taste yours.” He goes to reach for his cone, but Dream pulls it away.
“That’s so unhygienic, Georgie.” His friend lifts it over his head, where he knows the brunet won’t be able to take it. “Trying to lick my ice cream?”
He pouts, but Dream doesn’t fall into the trap, so he just sighs, making his way to the couch, where he plops down. The blond decides to take a nearby chair and sit backwards on it, forearms propped on the backrest. He makes all kinds of pleased hums and sounds, trying to show off how good his ice cream is. He pouts again, to no avail.
“Do you want to try mine?” He offers, and George doesn’t answer, side-eyeing him suspiciously. “Do you?”
George nods. The dog hybrid scoops some with his finger and offers the sticky digit. “Then take some.”
“Ew, that’s even more unhygienic.”
“So you don’t want it?”
He makes the gesture of bringing it to his mouth, and George evaluates his options, the cold cream already starting to melt. It can’t be that bad, can it? Before he has the chance to judge it rationally, he leans forward and closes his lips around the finger. The first thing he notices is that the flavor isn’t bad at all, even though he deeply dislikes coffee and everything related. The second thing being how Dream almost goes cross-eyed and tries to pull his finger away.
He bites lightly at his fingertip to stop him before he has the chance to lick it off and frowns. When his tongue actually cleans it, he pops it out of his mouth. The blond stares at his index finger dumbfoundedly, then at his lips.
“Scratchy.”
George wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yeah.”
He resumes licking his own chocolate and vanilla.
“Stick your tongue out.”
“Huh?”
“I wanna see it.”
George turns his body to the side furthest from Dream, trying to eat his ice cream before it starts dripping down his fingers.
“No.”
“But it’s so weird!”
“You are weird.”
The ice is too cold for his gums, and he feels forced to stop, smacking his numb lips to regain sensation.
“Please.”
“Leave me alone.”
Now it’s Dream’s turn to whine, and for George to ignore him. But he isn’t as stubborn as his best friend, and he knows that even if he avoids it today, he’ll never hear the end of it until the blond gets what he wants.
He extends his arm, making grabby motions at the dog hybrid until he gives him his hand. He takes the fingers to leave his palm free and brings it close to his mouth. Making sure the blond is watching him, he licks a thin stripe across his hand. It strongly tastes of salt and Dream.
“Woah.”
“Weird huh,” he bitterly spits the same words his friend had said earlier.
Dream looks at his palm, tries to feel it with his thumb and closes it in a fist.
“No, I-” he’s interrupted by his forgotten ice cream, a drop of it falling on his jeans. “Fuck. George, I didn’t mean-”
“I know, Dream, it’s fine.”
“No!” he catches his face in his hand before George can turn away from him, “it’s not weird, it’s just different.”
George quirks an eyebrow at the stickiness covering his jaw and cheeks.
“Did you just grab me with your DIRTY PAWS?”
Dream’s eyes widen, and he removes his hand. The brunet swipes two fingers on his ice cream —the chocolate one, because it will stain more— and smacks them across the blond’s cheekbone.
“Oh Georgie,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eyes as he gets up. “It’s on.”
He yelps, jumping out of his seat, trying to gain some distance.
“Stop!”
He licks faster, desperate noises when it starts dripping down his hand and wrist. Dream gets closer with a predatory smile and barely pays any attention to his ice cream. And it’s easy, really —partly because George knows there’s no point in trying to outrun him, partly because he doesn’t want to—, the way Dream corners him against the kitchen counter.
Tightly grabbing his cone, he smushes it on the cat hybrid’s jaw, who yells at the sudden coldness. He strikes back by smearing his’ on the side of his neck slathering it up until his chin.
“You put so much more!” Yells the blond, giving him a coffee beard and getting some on his hair.
George wriggles as the cream tickles his skin, making a face when it lands on his hoodie and leaves a brown spot behind.
“Look what you've done!”
Dream looks at his half-destroyed half-melted cone, then at his face. He smiles and gets closer.
“Sorry, I won’t let any go to waste.”
Before he has a chance to react, the blond plants his hands on the counter on both sides of his body and surges forward, licking a wet fat stripe on his face, smooth tongue easily catching most of it on his left side. George dries it after him with the sleeve of his hoodie, knowing it’s very likely he’ll never be able to get rid of the stains.
“Your turn,” Dream points at his neck, pulling the collar of his t-shirt to bare it.
“No.”
“It’s only fair.”
As it seems to be a common occurrence now, the brunet can already feel heat pooling in his cheeks. He still shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest to reinforce his point. He decides to just put down the remains of his ice cream on the counter, and his friend copies his idea.
There’s molten ice cream sliding down the side of the blonde’s neck at an alarming speed, and the dog hybrid stops it and picks it up with his thumb before it disappears down his top. He brings it to George’s mouth.
“You seem to have something for my mouth,” he deflects.
“Maybe I do.”
He brushes his bottom lip, and George subconsciously parts them, wetting them quickly. He’s cautious as he puts the digit in his mouth, holding his breath as Dream’s chest stills too. He doesn’t close his mouth all the way, making a show of swirling his tongue for the blond to see instead.
George doesn’t know how he must look like, and he hopes he’s not making a fool of himself as he tightens his lips, sucks in, and slightly pricks his finger with his sharp teeth. He wonders, wonders what would happen if Dream closed the distance between them, if he lifted him to sit on the counter, if he were able to confidently nuzzle him and swipe his tongue all over…
Someone calls.
They both jump, patting at their pockets to stop the offensive ringtone. He verifies it’s not his, and Dream fishes out his phone, ‘Mom’ across the screen in white letters. He composes himself, clearing his throat, and they look around.
“We should clean.”
The call ends, just to start ringing again, this time even louder. He pushes at his chest, walking away.
“You owe me a new hoodie.”
V
The closer the weekend gets, the antsier he becomes. He takes his week of heat leave and decides to spend Monday lazing around. Tuesday before the start of his heat, he cleans the whole apartment.
And by clean, it means he cleans. He vacuums and mops the floor of the entire house while Dream is in class, polishing every table and counter and surface available, dusting off shelves and bookcases, and cleaning the windows until they squeak. Dream finds him on his knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the floor of the shower, equipped with a toothbrush for the tile joints. He knocks on the open door so as to not startle him and offers half of his lunch.
After that, he does his laundry, dumping blankets, pillowcases and bed sheets on the washing machine, with a dash of bleach and the softener that smells of flowers. While they are spinning around the washer drum, he cleans his room, clearing the table, and the floor and letting the windows open to air it. When everything is put in the dryer, he prepares another load, this time with his dirty clothes. He also puts his fuzziest socks and pajamas to wash, although he knows he won’t be needing them much once the real thing hits.
By dinner, he has a clean white bed waiting for him and a folded baby blue pair of pajamas under his pillow. To say he’s proud is an understatement. He eats scrambled eggs and sausages with Dream, and between each bite, he gets up to organize something in the living room (at some point, the blond has to physically stop him from getting up for him to finish his plate).
When the night comes, and the smell of powder detergent and bleach is stinking up the room, he falls asleep with a smile washing over his face.
On Wednesday, he sleeps. He sleeps a lot.
He gets out of his room past noon, bleary-eyed and kind of lost.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, and joins Dream on the couch, curling up against him. He must fall asleep again because the next thing he knows is that the blond is serving him a bowl of soup and force-feeding him. In the afternoon, after a long nap, he’s more active and does some work for college, typing away on his laptop next to his friend.
On Thursday, Dream is the one that starts getting antsy. He’s supposed to leave Friday afternoon, and he already has arranged to stay at his friend’s house for the weekend.
In the morning, he comes in with two big grocery bags that he has exclusively bought for George. The cat hybrid is pleased as he digs through them, swishing his tail from side to side as he puts everything in the cupboard. There’s orange juice, small water bottles, instant soup and ramen in case he’s too tired to do anything else, fruit, too much fruit, pineapple juice, cookies, cupcakes, chocolate bars (every type imaginable), candy and painkillers.
When questioned, Dream just shrugs.
“I read you need to replenish lots of sugars.”
George ignores the way it makes his stomach churn.
Later in the day, the cat hybrid hides in his room and starts arranging his bed. He pushes pillows towards the headboard and sides, and sheets to the end to make a big circle. When he looks at the result, he flushes red. Having to go through this process every time he’s going to have a heat is embarrassing. He makes it nicer by smoothing it down with blankets and his duvet.
There’s a knock on the door and he rushes to it. He cracks it open lightly, an accusatory look on his face as he interrogates with his eyes the dog hybrid on the other side. The dog hybrid in question is holding between his arms what looks like a big heap of his clothes, all reeking of him. His cheeks are pink, and his ears droop low.
“What’s this?”
“I read it could help.”
He leaves them on the floor, and George hurriedly picks them up.
“Don’t leave them there! They’re going to get dirty!”
Great, now his nose can pick up the smell coming from what seems to be a thousand of Dream’s hoodies. And he doesn’t mind. The blond is still standing there, paralyzed, and George figures it’s only appropriate to thank him.
“Thanks, yeah, they are helpful.”
What the websites had failed to mention is that the clothes were only helpful if coming from a potential mate. And if the hybrid going into heat wasn’t interested, they would simply return the clothes to avoid their scent from getting into the nest. He turns around on his heels to drop them on his bed, a satisfying itch now that he knows what his bed had been missing.
“Can I come in?”
George looks around.
“Uh, sure.”
He gets himself busy by starting to push hoodies into the empty gaps that the pillows had made. The shape of his nest is starting to look acceptable. It was probably the best one he had ever done so far. He hand-picks the t-shirts he likes the most or that he knows to be the softest, and hides them, guilt burning in his cheeks at the thought of what he would be doing with them later.
Dream steps in but stays by the door frame, looking around.
“It looks nice.”
“I know.”
He chooses a pair of sweatpants to fold and puts them under his pillow for him to wear later.
“It smells nice too.”
George snorts.
“Of course it does, the room now stinks of you.”
Dream steps closer, and George straightens his back as he keeps folding clothes.
“That’s not what I meant; it smells sweet.”
George turns his face not to look at him, his ears flat to his sides.
“It’s just my pheromones,” he mumbles quietly, “it’s to attract potential mates.”
“Right.”
And then,
“I’m surprised a mutt’s nose is able to pick it up.”
He fails to suppress a smile as Dream barks a laugh. A hand comes to ruffle his hair and he doesn’t bother hissing to scare him away. He makes a pile of folded clothes and puts them in the middle of the bed.
“I won’t be needing those.”
“Okay,” but he doesn’t pick them up. He just stands awkwardly, a bed between them, and George decides to get inside to give his nest the finishing touches. “So, are you ready?”
“Dream,” he chuckles, “I’m not going to die.”
“Right,” he says again. “If you need anything else…”
He looks around as if trying to find something that needs fixing or that he can tidy up. Unfortunately, the brunet has already made a good job at leaving everything spotless.
“You have already done a lot, thanks for everything.”
Dream’s tail is barely wagging, and that is usually a sign that the dog hybrid is worried or upset. George plays with the edge of a blanket, fiddling with it.
“Will you be okay? Does it hurt?”
George scratches his neck.
“Only a little, but it’s fine. It happens a few times a year, so I’m used to it.”
“How come you’ve never told me before?”
“It aligns with big holidays, or I usually book a spontaneous trip to see my parents. But it’s not a comfortable experience to have your parents hear you fuck yourself with a dildo.”
He says it as nonchalantly as possible, but Dream reacts to it as if he has been slapped in the face. He can tell he’s scanning the room to look for hiding spots, and George hopes he’s not using his nose to actually locate them.
“Do you, uh, need me to buy you more?”
The proposal is so out of place and so Dream he doesn’t even feel embarrassed. There’s still an air of awkwardness in the room, one that the blond is not-so-subtly trying to replace with his own scent.
“It’s fine,” he grins, cocking his head to expose his neck.
If the dog hybrid weren’t so eager, he would’ve felt bad for being so provocative, but as always, it’s Dream the one that offers.
“Can I scent you? To calm you down?”
“Sure.”
He walks around the bed to the closest side to George, and he’s mindful of the way he doesn’t get in his nest or disturb its arrangement. He must have done a lot of research then. He doesn’t know how that makes him feel. How much has he read?
His friend rubs his neck with his wrist for a few seconds, bringing it to stroke George’s throat with it once it’s coated slick. The cat hybrid grabs his forearm, rubbing his cheek against it and purring softly. Although Dream isn’t quick with his actions, he does retrieve his hand after only a few minutes.
“Better?”
The brunet just blinks at him, biting his lower lip, too entranced to speak.
“Alright,” he picks up the pile of clothes from the bed after giving him a few soft pats and walks towards the door. “Good night, Georgie.”
He turns the light off before shutting the door, and George falls back.
It takes him long to fall asleep.
V + I
The birds are chirping and light peeks through the blinds. He checks his phone.
6:32
Cool. He got 3 full hours of sleep. He tosses and turns but he can’t fall back asleep. He knows his heat won’t hit until at least 24 more hours, but his body is starting to feel… uncomfortable.
He wraps a blanket around his shoulders and his mind decides that the couch is going to be so much better, so he softly walks in its direction. Unsurprisingly, a blond mop of hair and two twinning ears peek from the backside of the sofa, and he playfully tugs at one of them before padding around and sitting on the armrest.
“Hey,” he greets, yawning and covering his mouth. “Why u up?”
The blond looks miserable, rocking purple circles under his eyes and hair pulled back from raking his fingers through it too many times.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He doesn’t ask the reason why George is also there, because he already knows the answer. The brunet wraps the blanket tighter around himself and stifles another yawn. The dog hybrid just opens his arms, and he silently accepts the invitation, climbing onto his lap. He buries his face on his chest contentedly and inhales more of Dream’s scent.
“You’re too quiet.” He lifts his head to look at him, “are you worried?”
Dream nods, a hand burying in chestnut hair to stroke at the base of his furry ears. He sinks back with a quiet rumble in his throat.
“Don’t worry so much about it,” he says, and the blond huffs as if not believing him. “It’ll be over before you can miss me.”
“I always miss you,” the dog hybrid mumbles against his hair, and George delivers a quick comforting kiss on his cheek.
If there’s something the blond is good at, it’s worrying. He’s always been more anxious, George can always tell, he can always smell it. But even now that the living room smells acidic from the stress, there’s an underlying hint of something he can’t pinpoint.
Despite the lighthearted banter following this week, things seem more tense now, more serious. He’s the one that ends up bringing his wrist to Dream’s neck, hoping to ease his nerves. It works until his friend catches it and plants a kiss on the inner side.
“Yesterday,” the blond starts, before keeping quiet.
“Yeah?”
The brunet pushes himself by planting both hands on Dream’s chest, and the blond cups the back of his head, drawing small circles with his thumb.
“Yesterday, you accepted my clothes,” he gulps and George’s breath hitches. So he does know, after all. His eyes are wide open, ashamed of having been caught. “I thought it meant… I thought you…”
“You thought what?” His heartbeat picks up, and he can feel Dream’s is in a similar fate beneath his fingertips.
“Forget it.” He huffs and shakes his head
“Dream, tell me.” George implores, head spinning at how unreal the situation feels.
“It’s dumb anyway, I just read it on a website, it’s probably wrong.”
“Tell me, please,” he hopes his pleading eyes have an effect on his friend, although he's refusing to meet them. His tail finds a way to sneak out of the blanket and wrap around the blond’s arm that’s resting dangerously close to his hips. “What did it say?”
“That if you put my clothes in your nest,” he smiles shyly, and god, he’s so whipped, and he needs him to finish the sentence. “It means that you accept me as your mate.”
“Is that what you want?”
The tip of his tail is caught between deft fingers, and he doesn’t bother to flick it away this time.
“No,” the dog hybrid confesses, and the brunet deflates. “I don’t want to be just your mate, but I’ll take what you want to give me.”
He can’t believe he’s hearing right.
“Wait, Dream,” his anxiety spikes up again. “You what?”
His eyes start to water, and he thinks he goes through the 5 stages of grief in the span of 10 seconds.
“Wait. I,” he starts, trying not to hyperventilate in the process, “I did accept your clothes, but you have to understand that we… I’m different.”
“Georgie…”
“No, wait, Dream. You don’t know how cat hybrids work and I can’t give you what a dog hybrid-” he starts rambling, panic rising up his throat, his mind working too fast to give him a break.
“George.” He says it firmly this time, and he noses at his cheek. “I’ve thought about it for a year.”
His hand slides down his tail. A steady hand wraps around the base in a loose fist. George pants against his mouth, anticipation prickling at his skin.
“We’re different,” the blond whispers against his lips, “so teach me how to handle you.”
It’s George who closes the distance, but Dream meets him in the middle with just as much fervor. He can’t blame his hormones for wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him back and locking their lips over and over again. The blond is respectful in the way he keeps his hands on George’s knees, but he manages to convey just how much he wants this too, with hard lips on his jaw, tongue licking at his teeth and soft nips below his ear.
The blanket proves to be too much, and he lets it fall, only to feel big hands covering his back on both sides of his lower ribcage. Dream is probably the most rational person out of the two, because while George is a gasping mess in his hold, the blond keeps his distance, not allowing him to press too close. George’s fingers work on both of his shoulders, parting with a smack of their lips to attach them to Dream’s pulse point. It’s too good, and his friend throws his head back, a small wiggle to his hips that the brunet assumes is his tail wagging. His scent is headier this time, sweet where he swipes his tongue and powerful when it hits his nose.
There’s a strain in Dream’s sweats that definitely wasn’t there before, and he shuffles to press against it. The action is met with a low groan and a fist around the base of his tail.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” his friend pants, his temple against his.
“Why?”
He makes a point of rolling his hips, rubbing his own neck with his fingers and resting them across the dog hybrid’s lips, where his tongue pokes out to lap at them eagerly. It’s sloppy and too wet, but it spreads a tingling sensation all over his spine, hairs standing on end as he imagines how it would feel to have that tongue all over his body. Dream sighs, composing himself as George is each passing second more and more lost in the feeling.
His movements come to a stop as his friend forces his hips to a halt, and the cat hybrid —judging by the bulge pulsing under him— knows it hurts Dream as much as it hurts him.
“We just shouldn’t,” he says, and George knows he’s struggling to stay focused with the way his fingertips dig harder and harder. “not when you-”
He shifts his weight on top of his lap and squeezes his legs, smirking when Dream whimpers.
“My heat hasn’t fully hit yet,” he informs him, hands on top of the blond’s to ease his grip, “I know what I’m doing.”
He delivers a soft kiss to his jaw, kisses down to his pulse point, back up to the corner of his mouth. He is suddenly lifted when Dream decides to stand up, and he has to tighten his legs around his waist to hold himself up.
“Then maybe we should take this to your bed.”
George hears the question in his voice. He knows he’s the one who’s actually in charge of deciding what they’re going to do, and he knows what going to his nest implies. He knows he would be accepting Dream as his mate. The brunet shyly nods, and he almost rolls his eyes when the dog hybrid’s tail wags excitedly. He is fast secured against Dream’s chest with his strong arms as he walks to his door and opens it without difficulty.
“Smells so good in here,” he confesses against his ear, “it was so hard to resist yesterday.”
He is laid carefully on the bed, and he shuffles to the center, waiting for Dream to get in. He still seems hesitant, so George pulls at the hem of his pajama top and flips it inside out as it passes over his head.
“You can get in.”
And as Dream obeys, he realizes the blond was giving him a last chance to change his mind. They both get on their knees, and George wraps his forearms behind his neck to pull him in for a kiss. The dog hybrid targets the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, untying them and sliding them to the middle of his thighs.
Dream certainly doesn’t expect the lack of underwear, because even with his eyes closed and his mouth on George’s, his fingers scan the area looking for fabric to pull at. He wastes no time and wraps his hand around George, to which he can do nothing more than to lean on his shoulder and pant against his skin. His palms are rough, as he had already imagined, and he definitely is stronger in the way he squeezes the base of his dick and brushes his thumb on its head. He doesn’t mind it in the slightest.
After a few strokes, he stops him by grinding the heel of his palm onto Dream’s bulge, to which he loudly groans. George pushes him until he’s lying on his back, and he slips his fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging down his underwear too. He isn’t ready when he sees it thick and heavy against his stomach, base a bit swollen. He digs his thumb on it experimentally and Dream fists the blanket below him.
“That’s my-”
He does it again, and the blond yanks at George’s hair, too close to his ears. His scalp tingles, but he doesn’t feel any pain, so he lowers his head with the intention to suck Dream.
“Wait.”
Before continuing, the blond sits up and takes off his tank top. George takes the opportunity to fully remove his own bottoms, and when he does, Dream pulls at the brunet’s thigh and points at his mouth. The cat hybrid takes the hint, and he timidly shuffles until he’s sitting backwards on Dream’s chest, patiently waiting for instructions.
“Come on,” two hands grab the sides of his ass, and his own hands wrap around Dream’s length. “Present yourself to me.”
Thank God Dream can’t see his face. He lowers himself slowly until his chest hits his friend’s lower abdomen, curling his tail into the air, and he feels a finger near his entrance, the blond mouthing dangerously close. He gets back at him by doing the same to his dick, scratchy tongue against its head.
“Fuck George, you taste so good,” he moans, and George’s brain supplies him with images of the dog hybrid’s nose and chin wet with slick. He clenches around nothing, eagerly lapping at Dream as he feels two fingertips rub and pick up more of his slick. “You feel so good.”
When he decides to wrap his lips around the head, the dog hybrid slips his fingers inside. They’re bigger than George’s, but there’s no resistance and they go all the way in fairly quick. His lips stretch around Dream as he tries to take him deeper, and he can’t help but mewl at the feeling of being stuffed on both ends, surrounded by his friend and his smell and his taste.
“I’ve wanted that tongue on me for ages,” he hears inside his fuzzy brain, and it encourages him to swirl it and relax his throat.
Dream also adds his tongue to the mix, wet muscle lapping at his entrance around his fingers, and he’s determined on licking all the slick that drips out. George arches his back, pushing himself against the still fingers inside him, and his friend starts moving them, nails on the swell of his ass that he hopes end up leaving bruises.
He does his best to keep up with the pace, but after a few sharp thrusts of Dream’s wrist that target the sweet spot inside of him, he has to give up with his mouth. He pushes himself up until he’s almost in a sitting position, fingers tight around Dream’s knot, and he rocks his hips back and forth, accompanying the blond’s movements. He has to reach behind to claw at his forearm with a loud plea of “Please, not yet” when it becomes too much and he starts to see white spots behind his closed eyelids.
The dog hybrid takes his fingers out and manhandles him onto his back, just as George comes down from his near orgasm. There are tears prickling in his eyes and threatening to spill.
“Please, Dream,” he sobs, needing to feel his body on top of him.
He parts his knees and pulls them close to his chest, and he throws his head back when the tip of Dream’s dick catches on his rim, not fully pushing inside yet.
“I need you, Dream, fuck, please.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a kitty to fuck you?” He teases, pushing in agonizingly slow, making him feel split in two.
He’s coherent enough to spit out, “Fuck you, you dumb mutt.”
A hand comes to wrap around his throat and it’s wet with his slick —which turns him on more than it should. He whines when their hips touch, Dream’s dick pulsing hot and thick, and it makes his head spin.
Two rough hands come to tease his nipples, and he can’t possibly move to avoid the direct stimulation, so he just arches into it, the torturous handling shooting pleasure straight to his dick. He can’t stop it this time, and he has no time to warn Dream before he’s coming untouched, tears wetting his temples and cheeks as he shakes and whimpers.
Although shocked, the blond just holds him while it lasts, not once stopping his ministrations and keeping his hips still.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck indeed George,” he finally takes off his hands from him, his sensitive pink nubs too tender. “That was so hot.”
George wipes off the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and he hisses when he feels his friend shift to pull out.
“Don’t.” He says as he palms at his still hard dick. “We’re not finished yet.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice, and the dog hybrid eagerly complies. He rocks his hips back and forth, grinding into his hole to check the resistance, and if George hadn’t cum half a minute ago he surely would be doing so now, because his head is pressing directly against his prostate.
He swipes his hand on his stomach to gather his cum and it’s now his turn to grab Dream’s neck with it, successfully scent-marking him.
“Come on, puppy. I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle dog hybrids,” he pushes himself up, lips next to the furry blond ears. “But it seems to me like a stupid kitty is too much for you.”
That definitely does the trick, because the next thing he knows is that his throat is being pinned to the mattress, his back forcefully arched with every thrust, and the blond’s sharp teeth digging onto his shoulder. And that’s exactly how he had expected his best friend to be.
It’s sloppy in the way their hips smack with a squelching sound; wet with the way he keeps leaking all over, and dirty, with cum around Dream’s neck and sweat, scent and slick covering their bodies. When he looks down, the dog hybrid nipping at his collarbones, he sees patches of violet and crimson forming under his skin, and he can’t wait for more, he can’t wait to see them the following day. It’s… obscene. His hole is being abused, stretched beyond what he thought to be his limit, and he feels so amazingly full, a hint of the shape of Dream’s dick on his lower belly that he can feel with his fingertips under the taut muscle.
Then, just as his thigh is pushed next to his body to open him further and Dream starts to pound onto him relentlessly, he feels the edge of something swollen trying to get in. He reaches out with his hand, clumsily bumping into his groin and bending to reach lower. He smiles.
“Wanna knot me, dumb mutt?”
Dream’s eyes are hazy, and they’re fixed where they’re joined. George sees nail marks scattered all over his hips and waist, blooming bruises and scratches on his thighs from being manhandled like a rag doll. With one leg being pushed down, he slings the other one over Dream’s shoulder, creating the perfect angle for the dog hybrid to close the gap between their connected bodies.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
His ability to remain rational is impressive to George. But he can also see the flush in his cheeks, the way he bites his lip to hold back his moans and grunts when he thrusts deep, or how he closes his eyes when the brunet purposefully grinds against his knot. And he would be lying if he said it hasn’t been the object of his fantasies for months.
He wraps a hand around himself, just to tip himself quicker over the edge.
“Do it, Dreamie,” he mewls, and the blond leans down to kiss him. He whispers against his lips, “I need you.”
With renovated vigor, he starts rolling his hips, this time more focused on getting deeper, and he slowly starts pushing it inside. They’re both panting, George is gasping for air as his senses become overwhelmed with Dream, and when it’s finally all the way in, he lets go and he’s coming again, clenching hard around Dream’s knot and shouting his name.
When he comes to his senses, he lazily encourages the mutt by clenching a few more times and he feels teeth sink on the side of his neck as something warm spills inside of him.
When Dream shifts so that they’re both lying on their side, George’s leg hauled over his hip, he almost feels the urge to cry at the overstimulation of the knot tugging at his hole. He must make a noise of discomfort, because his friend shushes him and starts petting his air, gently rubbing the back of his ears.
“How much?” He barely gets out, trying to curl up to Dream. “Time.”
“Like, half an hour?”
He whimpers, closing his eyes and letting himself be touched until his body doesn’t feel like it’s going to break anymore. He pokes at his lower belly, long bump where Dream fits, and he experimentally clenches lightly, feeling it twitch. Dream groans.This is going to be so much fun.
“Sleep if you want, kitty. I’ll be here.”
His eyelids are indeed droopy, and he knows that he should get some rest before his heat comes, so he nods and snuggles up to the blond, closing his eyes.
“Dream.”
“Yeah?”
He hides his face on his chest, and shyly interlocks their hands. He feels a kiss on one of his ears.
“About what you said, I don’t want to be just your mate either.”
There’s a pause, Dream kisses the top of his head again.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yeah, I like you.”
Words seem to fall short with the way Dream’s tail starts wagging enthusiastically. They both start giggling, a gush of fresh air cooling their skin from the uncontrollable tail, and his friend kisses him with tears in his eyes.