Work Text:
One Year Ago
“You’re leaving next week?”
George’s voice is full of daggers and they cut across Dream intended to kill. He feels the blood drain from him, feels like he’s being bled out on the floor, crimson across his vision, opens wounds that scream. He hates when George talks to him like this, hates the way it boils him alive, trembling fingers and a desperation to stay afloat. He is drowning.
“You’re seriously leaving?”
The repeated words seem even harsher, in response to the uneasy silence no doubt, and Dream knows he needs to speak. To say something, anything . But words are trapped in his throat, his ribcage constricting violently and strangling him outright.
“For once in your life you have nothing to say? This is fucking rich. God, this is fucking rich.”
Somehow, even now, George is beautiful. He’s furious, enraged, his face scrunched, eyebrows furrowed low and on his forehead. His skin a rosy pink. Across his shoulders is a knitted scarf, bright blue, startling in contrast to the warm shade of his face. His brown hair has lost it’s usual volume, falling down flatly on his brow. Dream will never get tired of him. Could never imagine a time when he is done looking at George. It’s something of an addiction, something of a hunger that always needs to be satiated. It is easy to do when he sees George every day. But now, after it all, after everything , he’s leaving. Dream wonders if he will become ravenous with the distance, if he will be nothing but skin and bone upon return, should he make it back at all, limping home on knobby knees.
Despite everything, he refuses to feel guilty. He knows this is what will be best. For both of them. The thoughts had kept him up all night for weeks, realization hitting him harder than anything else ever had.
“Get the fuck out,” George is pushing Dream then, the palms of his hands pressed into his chest with such intention Dream’s right leg has to step back and brace himself, to keep him upright. “Get the fuck out of here if you won’t even say anything! I can’t even look at you anymore.”
Dream knows he deserves this. He thinks if the roles were reversed he would be reacting the exact same way. So he lets himself be pushed through the threshold of the door, lets George look at him in complete hatred, tears welling up in his eyes and threatening to spill over at any moment. By the time he has been pushed back into the thin hotel hallway, George is grabbing the door, seconds away from slamming it shut and Dream realizes that this may be the last time he ever sees him. He realizes that if George doesn’t forgive this, doesn’t forgive him , then this moment will be their last together. He tries to take it all in, looks at George wishing his eyes were the lens of a polaroid camera, wishes he could carry George with him everywhere he goes, two souls as one.
George pulls his shoulder back, preparing to slam the door at last, when he freezes, the tears finally spilling over. His cheeks become glorious, reflecting outrageous amounts of light, making him radiant . His very own star.
“At least say something .”
The way George’s body shakes against his sobs is heartbreaking. Dream feels corrupt and wicked. He wonders if he will ever be able to forgive himself for making this choice, for hurting George the way he can see him hurting.
Finally, finally, Dream finds words. They are pulled from the pit of his stomach, the hole of despair that is starting to open up violently.
“I’m sorry,” Is all he is able to reply. Pathetic, at best.
“I know why you’re doing this,” George cries, wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, curls himself further into his scarf. They are both still wearing their coats, still dressed from being out in the city. “I just wish you weren’t acting like, like this . I wish you weren’t acting like such an asshole.”
“It’s better if you hate me.” Dream says as plainly as he can - though his voice starts to betray him, wavering in his own emotion that begins to really surface now. “It’s better this way. I was leaving regardless. We can’t do this anymore. We’re dragging it out too far. It’s going to hurt too much.”
They were both going to leave eventually, that was the problem with their lives, the problem with the way things were. Neither of them would ever be quite good enough to get leads on Broadway, despite their aspirations. But national tours, now that was something different entirely. A life full of traveling, of different cities across the globe, of owning not a single apartment, of a life in hotels and changing scenes by the day, by the minute?
“So you took it then?” George is slowly calming down now, though still crying softly. His initial anger turned into something different, a pain simmering below the surface instead of all all-consuming rage.
“Yes,” Dream’s voice is weak.
A sniffle leaves the brunette, his head dipped as he searches to regain some semblance of composure, “You’re going to be an amazing Orpheus. You were made for that damn part.”
If this were any other moment, Dream would agree. He would say so himself, still proud of it, still excited to bring another show to life, to be another character, to become someone new . But it’s not the right moment for it, despite his burning passion, so instead he says, “You’ll be an amazing Fiyero.”
“I haven’t officially gotten the part yet.” George dismisses, “It’s just callbacks.”
Dream scoffs, “It’s yours. I know it is.”
A strange silence settles between them, something not so harsh or scary as before, and Dream feels himself calm. He wants nothing more than to step back into the hotel room and wrap the other up in his arms, clean the tears from his face and kiss a smile back onto his lips. But he doesn’t let himself even consider it. This was supposed to be where they end. This was supposed to be their last moment.
George’s cries continue to subside and a voice so soft Dream almost misses it raises up suddenly. He says, “Come back inside.”
Dream feels his heart in his throat, conflicting emotions spearing him from both sides. His entire being calls him back into that room, save for only a small portion of his brain, a small portion of his brain that knows going back in will make this somehow hurt harder, hurt so much more later on.
“George,” He breathes.
“Please,” George looks up, his eyes slightly swollen and red from crying, eyelashes still wet with tears, “Come back inside.”
A hand reaches for Dream’s, fingertips outstretched, something like being called home.
Dream reaches back.
***
They had met on the national tour of Cats . It wasn’t Dream’s first choice of show at the time, but he wasn’t going to complain about getting a part. It was a way to get his foot in the door, get experience under his belt, put something substantial on his resume. A whole year on the road, traveling with a musical production. He could finally call it his job , not just some hobby or dream. Moreover, it was a well known production that sold out nearly every night despite its unique flavor. Besides, he was still developing his voice and this role let him rely more on movement, ballet and tap and interpretive steps he had honed in college. So he accepted the role with pride, stepping into the light for what felt like the first real time , despite the hundreds of productions he had been in before.
He hadn’t been a particularly important part, just a cat in the chorus and an understudy, but there was something about that show that started to change him. His confidence grew, creating a completely new beast. He started loving his voice, sang more, sang louder , sang prouder . When he started getting compliments from the other cast members, he realized that this could really become something.
And then months before the end of the tour, Deuteronomy got sick.
And suddenly, Dream was no longer an understudy.
The first night he performed, the fluffy haired, giggling castmate he had known for a few months had become something more. Dressed up in black and white, faux tuxedo, glitter on his costume and a voice so clear, spotlight shining on him, Dream nearly forgot his lines.
George was special. Even in those ridiculous cat ears.
***
Dream isn’t sure how they end up here, the hotel door closed, clothes falling off as their bodies press together. His limbs still ache from working out the past few days, preparing for the weeks to come, muscles tight and tense. But that feeling slips away as he pushes George onto the mattress.
“Dream,” George mumbles, “It doesn’t have to stop.”
Dream kisses George like he is made for it, kisses him like he cares for nothing else in the world. He only pulls away to respond, “I cannot live without you.”
“You can,” George’s breath is quick, his eyes big and bright, recovering from the spilled tears, “You did it before.”
“ Cats changed everything,” Dream says simply.
“Then date me,”
“From across the country?”
George runs his fingers through Dream’s hair, “People do it all the time.”
It’s true, of course it is. But Dream is almost certain he will become lost without George, decided days ago that the only way to be free of the pain would be to cut ties completely, to pretend they meant nothing at all. He wasn’t sure he could handle the alternative. He was scared.
“Over a year apart,” Dream states outright, “You want to try to stay together?”
Their bodies are still so close, bare skin on bare skin, their conversation pulling away from how heated the moment had become, minds no longer on the lust that licked across them.
“Yes.”
“And then what?” The anguish is converting to anger, and Dream pulls back, takes a good look at the man across from him, forces himself to ignore the way George utterly consumes him. “And then what, George? There is always going to be another show. There is always going to be a reason for us to be on the opposite sides of the country. When does this end? How much do we break ourselves before we realize we can’t do it?”
“We can be in the same shows. We’ve done it before.”
Dream is pulling back completely now, his body leaving the bed. George remains there, body still exposed, “That was pure luck. We both know it. We take the roles we can get. We’re both tenors anyhow, even more impossible to find roles we love and…” Dream can’t believe he is explaining this. This is the exact thing he had tried to avoid. This is the exact same painful conversation he had tried to run from. He wishes George had shut the door on him before. “It will never work, George. Why can’t you just see that?”
Hurt resurfaces in George’s face, “You aren’t even willing to try?”
Dream reaches for his shirt and starts to pull it on. He doesn’t respond, just lets the words fade out.
He knows George will hate him.
He knows he will hate himself.
He pulls his coat on.
He walks out of the hotel room.
A brief image flashes across his vision. George on the bed, shirt still off, chest exposed and milky pale, face covered in glittering tears and shining just the way they do on stage.
***
The theater is unlike anything. Dream found it when he was just a kid, somehow getting roped into a play - the local theater was desperate for a child actor to fill a young role. It hadn’t come naturally at first, took countless nights reading lines with his mom by a dim light, candles burning. He was exhausted from the daily rehearsals, fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow at night.
And he absolutely loved it.
He didn’t think it could get any better. When he was on stage, he was brand new. He was powerful. He could completely detach from Dream and become something totally different.
Dream would do anything to keep theater in his life.
Even if it meant ruining everything else completely.
***
Rehearsals for Hadestown aren’t as exhausting as many rehearsals he has had in the past. There is less movement, more voice and effects and mood. It’s so intricate and deep, emotionally exhausting on every level. His colleagues are extremely talented, and it has Dream wondering how he ended up with the lead, despite being surrounded by raw and unrelenting aptitude.
In mere weeks he will be on the road, performing hundreds of times, for hundreds of thousands of people.
He tries to ignore the ache in the back of his skull, a memory, a reminder.
Big clear eyes and brown fluffy hair. A ringing laughter that shakes him to the core. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. Not anymore.
***
Present Day
August 27, 2022
The retelling of a classic myth featuring Orpheus, Eurydice, Hades, and Persephone, is a showstopper. Hadestown continues to capture the attention of new and experienced show goers. Attending this performance will leave you entranced and begging to see it again. The Lyric Theater has hosted this show for a few months now, but a sudden surge in success may be attributed to a new lead actor who plays Orpheus. This actor has now been nominated for a Tony Award, after leaving the touring production of Hadestown and capturing hearts now on Broadway.
Information regarding the actor may be found below. It is clear that he has great things in his future.
-New York Theater Guide
***
It had been a long time since Dream had been back to New York. The streets were different than normal cities, filled with something he could only describe as magic. It had never been a place he pictured himself. He nearly wouldn’t allow himself to dream that big. Broadway had always felt so out of grasp.
But now-
Now, things were real. The apartment door in front of him. The theater he would be performing in for the next countless months only blocks away. He imagined what it would feel like. Seeing the theater from the stage side for the first time. Meeting the others. Getting to play the role of Orpheus again. This time, for real .
***
Dream wakes up in his new apartment to his phone ringing. He’s only half awake as he grabs for it, still a bit of a mess, his eyes blurry, his hands unstable. As the phone is brought in front of his face he barely believes what he sees. Thinks he must be dreaming. His phone screen is covered with a picture of George, his name scrolling across the top.
He hadn’t deleted his number. He couldn’t bring himself to despite the hundreds of times he tried. It had been over a year since he saw George. Surely, this was a mistake. Surely.
Part of him is desperate to let it go to voicemail. He can feel that searing wound opening up in his chest again and even the thought of it made him ache in a way he had tried to avoid so wildly. But it doesn’t matter what his brain has planned.
His finger swipes to answer the call.
“George?”
Even his name feels like gold upon Dream’s lips. Something in it is magic, laced with something just a bit intoxicating.
There isn’t an answer for a moment. Dream is worried that maybe it was a pocket dial, a drunken mistake. But then-
“Hi, Dream.”
Silence feels like glass being shattered. Dream prays for it to make him fall apart too. The way his heart is pounding in his chest threatens to kill him on the spot.
“Hi.”
More silence.
“Uh,” He has to say something , “Uh, well, how…how are you? Or, why…what’s up?”
“This is stupid, God I’m just such an idiot. I just couldn’t - I’m not…listen. I just read a review of Hadestown at the Lyric Theater.”
“Oh,” Dream says dumbly.
George clears his throat on the other side of the line, “You did it.”
Dream has always wanted this. How could he not? To be performing on Broadway? Finally, after everything? But he knows that it had been George’s dream too, and that makes him feel guilty, despite it all. Despite a little shimmer of pride that tries to surface.
“Well, yeah,” Dream mumbles, “I actually, um, just got an apartment in New York. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“No,” George says almost immediately, “No, it’s not ridiculous at all. I knew it would happen. One day. I told you it would. Don’t you remember?”
Yes, Dream wants to admit, yes, George. You believed in me when no one else would. You were my everything.
Instead he says, “I do.”
“Well, that’s all. I’m sorry I called. I bet it was weird. I just had to tell you I saw. And I had to tell you that I’m happy for you.”
George hasn’t held a grudge. Despite the awful terrible way Dream had left things. Instead, he had called him and congratulated him on accomplishing one of his major life aspirations. It hurt Dream so badly he curled up on his side, tucking his knees into his chest like some sort of toddler, scared and laying alone in a near empty apartment.
But this is who George is. This is what he is like. Kind. Caring. More than anything else. Even now. Even after all this time.
“Thank you,” Dream whispers, “I really appreciate hearing from you. It’s…” Good to hear your voice. “Great to hear from you.”
“You too,” Is the reply, “Enjoy New York. Maybe I’ll have to make a trip out to see the show.”
***
It’s stupid. Dream knows it’s beyond ridiculous. But ever since that damned phone call he looks out into the audience before the show each night. Even if George was there, he would never know. The theater houses nearly 2,000 patrons a show. He wouldn’t be able to find anyone, not even his own mother.
But God, it doesn’t stop him from trying.
***
The winter passes with little change. Dream wonders if the end of this show will end his run on Broadway forever. He cherishes every performance he has left.
***
Dream is dripping with sweat. His throat is dry, desperately asking for water. Each heaving breath he takes shakes him, his eyes looking out over the shadowy figures that fill each seat in the theater. Most of the standing, clapping, the roar and cheers fills his head like thick smoke. He takes another bow, it’s indulgent he knows, then steps back to be shoulder to shoulder with the others.
When the curtain starts to close he is almost thankful. It’s about to be his very own version of the weekend, two days without shows. A reprieve from the chaos of his typical life. And when there are no more lingering eyes on him he drops to the stage floor and lets his legs splay out to, his back hitting the cold wooden boards below.
“Every time I think you can’t leave more on the stage, you do. If you keep giving them so much of yourself I don’t know how much will be left.” The voice comes from the actress who plays Eurydice, and she bumps his elbow with her foot playfully. “Go home. And don’t come back to the theater until you have to. Okay? You’re going to work yourself to death.”
It takes Dream some time to get himself up. Sometimes after the show he signs some playbills at the back exit. But he’s beyond tired, feels it deep in his bones like he’s being drained with each step he takes. So he changes and puts on his coat, exiting out the side door, hopeful to escape before he can be seen. He’s only one step towards his apartment when a figure runs towards him.
Dream puts up his arms in an apologetic fashion, excuse waiting on his tongue, feet ready to flee. But then he sees the man quickly jogging for him. Familiar brown hair, longer than he remembered it, but the same big eyes and white toothed smile. He’s wearing a black winter coat, a familiar blue scarf around his neck. The tip of his nose is pink with cold, his shoes crunching over the salted sidewalks.
“Dream!” He says, “Wait!”
Even without the command, Dream’s feet had stopped in their tracks. He is stuck to his very spot, body weak, knees nearly trembling.
“George? What are you doing here?”
An authentic laugh slips from the brunette’s lips as he comes to a halt a few feet from Dream, “I told you I was going to try to come and see you, didn’t I? It took me a while to get tickets. I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re selling out shows like wild. Don’t get me started on what it cost me-”
Dream isn’t sure why he does it. But it’s an urge that shoots through him so fiercely, he is sure that if he doesn’t hug George, he will collapse on the spot. So he interrupts George’s explanation with a hug that’s maybe too intense.
He doesn’t expect for George to reciprocate it.
But of course, somehow, after all this time , he does.
“I missed you too,” George laughs, somehow reading his mind. Dream doesn’t let go. George hugs him back. “You’re amazing, you know that right? You deserved to be on that stage. You belong there. Truly. ”
Dream isn’t even listening. His head is a swarm of bees trying to figure out why George is being so nice to him. Why he is here. How he can be so kind after all the cruelty Dream made him endure.
“Why don’t you hate me?” Dream pulls back from the hug and asks outright.
George’s smile fades slowly, becoming a thoughtful grimace. “I mean, I don’t fully forgive what you did. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover from…you know, it doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, I still care about you, Dream. Regardless of how things went down. You were trying to protect us both. Even if I think it was the dumbest shit ever. And I just…I just want you in my life. Even if it is just as friends. We should still support each other. Shouldn’t we? You just performed…. on broadway !”
Tears well up and immediately spill over. Dream hasn’t cried in front of George much, and it takes the other by surprise. He wants to blame it on the emotional performance he just put on as Orpheus, or how tired he is. But in reality, he is simply consumed by George, George, George .
***
The full size bed fits them awkwardly. George had offered to go back to his hotel but Dream had insisted he stayed. If they only had one more day together for the foreseeable future, he would make it count. So when Dream wakes up and his arm is haphazardly strewn across George’s sleeping form, he can’t even get himself to care. He closes his eyes and takes it in. The feel of his skin. The smell of sleep that hangs in the studio apartment like a promise, like something is there with them, holding them together in this moment.
Dream cares about two things. Begging for forgiveness and begging for George to stay .
But somehow, even when George wakes up, even as they explore the city together, he can’t get himself to say anything.
***
They are getting ready to settle into bed on the last night together before George flies back to Columbus, Ohio. Apparently, where Wicked is on tour for the next few weeks at the Ohio Theatre. It almost makes Dream miss his traveling days. There was something freeing about it. But he says nothing of it, just sad their time together, reunited, is coming to an end so quickly. It’s quiet now, after a day of catching up and talking, running wildly around the city. Dream gave George a tour of his favorite spots, taking him backstage at the theater if only for a short time. Now, they are both in pajamas, t-shirts and boxers, adjusting the pillows and blankets to allow them for as much space as possible. Touching George was a luxury he couldn’t afford tonight. Not if the other was leaving in less than 12 hours.
“George,” Dream says, words from the day start to bubble. Things he wasn’t intending on saying. Things he was going to keep to himself. But George would be gone so soon. He had to say something. He had to.
“Hmm?” George hums absentmindedly as he throws a pillow towards the head of the bed.
“Forgive me,” The two words had been scrambling to be free all day, now in the open air. George freezes his actions, turns his head towards Dream and makes a face that looks a little like pain.
“Dream, please, let’s not-”
“I’m sorry,” Dream starts muttering, “I know bringing this up is going to ruin today and we had such a good time but I just, I can’t not say sorry. I was so mean to you, I did something horrible. And now you’re here and being so amazing. How am I ever supposed to…How could you ever forgive me? Not that I expect you to…But somehow I am still so desperate to go back in time and take the hurt away from you. I never meant…I didn’t think I would still care so much. After all this time. I didn’t think at all .”
“Dream-”
“Tell me what to do. Anything. I want to repay you. I want you to hurt me this time. You have full permission to be a jerk before you leave tomorrow. Slam the door in my face. Yell at me.”
“Dream!” George’s face is angry, flushed in emotion. He stalks towards the taller and grabs his shoulders roughly, thumbs pressing into his collar bones just slightly, a taste of pain Dream latches onto. He savors it. “Stop it, do you hear me? Stop it!”
Dream says nothing, frozen by the way George acts. He just stares into those big eyes and feels himself weakened by it.
“I’m here by choice. And I told you. I can’t just forget what happened. But it doesn’t take away what I know. And I know I care about you, and that you did what you did in a silly attempt to keep pain away.” George reaches with his hand and cups the side of Dream’s face. He leans into the touch, eyes closed, savoring the moment as valuable as gold. “You need to get it into your head that I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”
Before Dream can really think his head is nodding on it’s own accord, wildly, “Yes, okay, I…you…”
“I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need the apologies. I don’t need you feeling bad, or sorry, or angry. I didn’t come here seeking retribution.”
Dream nods again, plainly.
George steps back then, his hands falling back to his sides, the oversized white shirt draping over his shoulders slightly askew, “If you want to repay me, anyway, there is a much better way.”
It shouldn’t surprise Dream, what begins to unfold before him. They had been feral when they were together. And George was always so willing, so wild and ready to submit at any moment. But as George pulls his shirt off and tilts his head slightly, exposing his neck to Dream, Dream feels himself almost forget how they got to this moment.
“Repay me, then,” George says, and it may be the most charge he has ever taken, “You know what I like. Give it to me. That’s how you can make it up to me.”
It shouldn’t be like this, Dream thinks. They should do this right. They should try to date, or talk more. Or just be friends. But the way George is standing there, presenting himself like something to be won, has Dream’s boxers tightening and tenting, his heart pounding. If this is it, if he never sees George again, then he wants this. He needs this.
Dream crashes into George with force that must be expected, because George barely moves. Lips immediately attach to the pale neck, moving with experience, recharting known territory. It’s like following steps he has done thousands of times before.
It’s like coming home.
“I want it quick, Dream.” George is moaning, his arms wrapping around Dream’s shoulders and pulling them together, “I want it to hurt.”
A smirk spreads on the blonde’s face, and a streak of familiar confidence rushes him. This is a familiar dance. Yes, this is familiar. “Anything you want. Tonight, I repay you. I’ll give you anything. Tell me. Tell me.”
It’s true, almost frighteningly so. Dream is sure he would do anything George asked of him at this moment.
They end up on the bed, George pinned and squirming between Dream’s arms. He kisses George as if in worship, lighting his body on fire with each kiss. Some he leaves as pecks, others, deeper and open mouthed, treating George like the God he is. Hands over hips, pressing to leave marks just how the brunette likes.
“C’mon, Dream,” George entices him, teases him, begs him to go on, “C’mon, repay me .”
It’s a dance like nothing before. Deep and intent. Dream loses himself in it, in how much he cares for the person on the bed below him. He thinks he’s losing his mind. Because if theater was the thing in his life that mattered the most before this very moment, it certainly doesn’t feel like that now.
George is his everything. His world feels upside down.
By the time Dream is dipping his fingers into the band of George’s boxers, they are both hard, grinding against each other wildly, pupils blown wide as they lock on one another. George is panting rapidly, squirming under each touch, each glance. He’s desperate for it, begging with everything he has. And Dream wants nothing more than to give it to him.
“How do you want me?” Dream asks, his voice low and gravelly. He isn’t sure if it’s from performing every night for months straight, or simply how gone he is, falling into some deep and dark pit.
“Want to take you,” George moans, “Need to. Get me ready. Please, Dream. Don’t stop now. Please.”
Dream can’t deny George of anything. Never again.
He moves quickly and slowly at the same time. Hands running over the milky white skin below him, kissing along bones and praising each dip and swell along his body. By the time Dream has George’s boxers off they are both fully hard, cocks bumping into each other when the movements works out just right. It has George moaning lewdly, body jumping into and away from touch at the same time.
“You look so beautiful,” Dream praises, “So wonderful, underneath me. Look at you. God, just look at you.”
George manages some sort of strangled noise, halfway between a whine and a moan, blush engulfing him down to his collar bones. He turns his head to the side, biting down on a pillow there, clenching his eyes shut. Overwhelmed , Dream thinks. But oh, this is just the start.
Dream is holding his breath as he reaches forward and traces a line up the side of George’s dick. It reflects his body, longer than it is wide, standing tall and so red around the tip. Dream wonders how quickly he could get the man beneath him to cum, to release everything that has been building up to this moment. He grips it fully then, earning a gasp from George, who genuinely seems to be losing himself, his movements seeming out of his control.
It spurs Dream on, obsessed with the way the feelings move between them.
It's not scary, never with George.
He pumps George a few times generously, watching his hips join into the rhythm. Their active lifestyle keeps them fit, and Dream can’t help but admire the way George’s muscles tense and move as he strains into the touch.
“Dream,” George pants, finally opening his eyes and looking back to the man above him, “Dream, please, either let me cum like this or fuck me already.”
Awe or shock, maybe a mix of both, simmer across Dream like hot rain, and he shakes his head to get a grip. Slowly, he moves his left hand forward and starts to push his thumb against George’s rim, his right hand still making work of his cock.
“Dream,” George seems to be chastising him almost, deeply set on chasing satisfaction, “You owe me. You said so yourself. Repay me. Make it hurt.”
George’s teeth are clenched, eyes locked harshly on Dream’s. Things have never been like this before, some new struck balance. It’s intoxicating, and Dream thrusts his thumb into George without another thought.
He screams out below him, but doesn’t pull away. In fact, George starts to push down onto Dream’s hand searching for more. Dream makes quick work of preparing him, only pumping his cock when he feels like being a tease, intent on keeping George right on the edge. Begging. Pleading.
“I’m ready, Dream. Can’t you tell? Give it to me. Now.”
The commands make Dream’s brain foggy, and he fumbles from the bed in a desperate search for more lube, or a condom, or-
A hand grabs the back of Dream’s neck harshly, brings him back to the bed. He freezes, breathing rapid and-
“Don’t you dare do anything besides fuck me right now. ”
It’s almost too much. Dream can’t stop his racing thoughts, as George’s hands pull him to bed. He’s following a siren’s song. He is entranced, he is thinking only of the pleasure of the man below him and nothing else. And if this is what he wants, if this is how he can repay George for the hundreds of ways he fucked up, then by everything in him, that’s how it will be.
Pushing into George feels familiar and different. Things have changed. They have lived a year apart from each other. Despite everything, despite the more angular parts of George’s body now, the way his tone bites and commands, it still feels like they are back together. It still feels like they are sharing a stage, hands entwined for the curtain call.
“God, yes, yes, yes, fuck me, Dream. God, so good. I forgot, fuck, I forgot how good you feel. I forgot-
George’s babbling is cut off by the first thrust of Dream’s hips. Hard and pointed, just as George is begging for. He moans, nearly a yelp, and tears begin to well up in the brunette's eyes. It was not an uncommon thing when they were together, but the imagery makes Dream remember that last night in the hotel room. How beautiful the tears had looked on George’s eyelashes when he said goodbye. It was supposed to be the last time he saw him. And now…
“Right there,” George whispers, and his legs hook around Dream’s waist, somehow pulling them closer together. Something in him seems to break. Something in him seems to change. Dream just keeps thrusting, hard and deep, arms looped around George, keeping him still and perfect. “I forgive you,”
“George,” Dream pants, in more warning than anything else.
“I - ah! Fuck, I forgive you. I never hated you. I never…ahhhh, fuck!”
They are both close, it’s easy to tell. George starts locking up, his body becoming even more tense than before. And Dream feels himself aching. George feels so good, tight and warm, everything he remembers, everything he desires. His abs start to burn with each thrust but it spurs him further, faster, until his legs are hitting against George with every thrust, and George’s tears are falling in earnest now.
“Dream,” George calls out, voice broken, shattered, “Please, make me cum. Please, repay me. This is what I want. I want you .”
Dream’s vision blurs, he reaches his own peak so violently, he grabs onto George’s right shoulder and left hip with fingers that are sure to set bruises. He uses George as an anchor, some way to hold him close to this world. The pin points of pressure must help edge George on, and one particularly deep thrust later has George’s cock bobbing, white splatter along his chest, without so much as a touch.
It’s impossible to stop thrusting right away. Dream works them through it, his hands becoming gentler where they are settled, his movements slowing and becoming less harsh. He half registers how hard George’s body is shaking, and finally, after pulling out, he can’t help but wrap George up in his arms as he falls on his side to the bed.
“George,” Dream whispers, panic befalling him as the emotional high washes away, “George, are you okay?”
George takes a few deep breaths, lets himself fall into Dream’s arms further, “You just fucked me the best I’ve ever been fucked. And you’re asking if I’m okay?” A soft chuckle escapes Dreams lips, relief on its heels.
They hold each other in silence. Everything that needed to be said, needed to be done or amended, somehow seems at peace. There is no longer worry or regret pooling in Dream’s stomach. There is a new freedom here in these moments.
“I don’t have to go to Ohio,” George says after a few silent minutes have passed. Dream had been tracing little circles on George’s hip, and his hand freezes.
“What?”
“I stopped touring last month. I needed a break.”
Dream props himself up on one elbow, “Why did you lie?”
“I don’t know,” George shrugs, “You’re just doing so amazing. I guess I just…Maybe jealousy, I guess. But I have an audition, actually. That's why I’m in town.”
Like flint and steel, sudden and bright, hope flashes across Dream’s vision, “In town? For what?”
“I don’t want to say unless I get the part. But I’m excited. And it would mean that I would be moving here too.”
“Be with me,” Dream’s words are pure, “Be with me. Stay with me, George.”
“Fine, Orpheus ,” George concedes, “Spring will come again.”
It’s a fresh start.