is it gay to fuck the homies?

by youresheesh

Summary:

“What if it happens again?”

Now it's Dreams turn to stare, mink blanking.

He has a point, but Dream can't seem to make sense of it, what kind of answer he's looking for, or what answer to give other than 'so be it.' “Then we have fun with it and move on again. If we both, like, want it, then I don't see why—I mean, what's so wrong with that?”

“'If we both want it,'” George echoes slowly and Dream desperately wishes he knew how to shut the hell up sometimes. “Do you...? Want that?”

He's fairly certain his heart skips a beat or two.

.

or: Dream and George come up with a plan to convince Sapnap dnf is real, but their prank turns on them when they take it one step too far.

The mission is stupid but simple: make Sapnap believe dnf is real.

 

It's the ultimate prank and the perfect reminder not to meddle with their business. One too many times has he teased them about each other, about the little jokes they make and the soft voices they have for the other. 

 

He should know better. In no way is he any different; Sapnap has his own ways of expressing his—very platonic—love for his best friends. 

 

So screw him and the sardonic smirk on his lips when he asks Dream's feelings about George's plane touching down in Florida in... fuck, less than two hours. Just two hours that Dream spends regularly walking in circles biting his nails. Two hours. Finally. After years of waiting and months of cursing visa offices and the pandemic and the impatience gnawing at their insides every waking moment. 

 

Two hours, and Dream has no spot in the new house left to clean obsessively, nothing to keep him occupied.

 

Maybe the mission isn't so easy. Maybe the mission is getting his leg to stop bouncing and sitting still on the couch for thirty consecutive seconds.

Sapnap has his lower lip sucked between his teeth, poorly hiding a grin as he tries to stare at his phone not glancing at Dream. He fails, again, and Dream gives him a venomous look that earns him a scoff. “You need to calm down, man.”

 

“You need to fuck off,” Dream says, fingers tapping a rhythm on his leg that makes no sense. Maybe Sapnap is right, but how could he?

 

“We should get you one of those giant hamster balls.” He looks back at his phone unfazed. “Let you run some of that energy off.”

 

Dream breathes a loud, dramatic sigh and sinks further into the pillows with a glare. Of course Sapnap doesn't fully get how Dream's feeling. He met George already. Went to England. He was able to get some of that edge off before the real meetup, but Dream is left with the full scope of it.

 

It's the first time he'll get to see George in real life, get to touch him like he's not an accumulation of pixels on his screen, get to lift him off the ground in the biggest bear hug he's ever given.

 

It doesn't feel real yet. Probably won't until he's actually wrapping his arms around George or even later that day when they order pizza to talk about how George's flight was around the dinner table. Or maybe when he's lying in bed at night finally processing that yes, this is real. George is here, in Florida, in the same house, just down the hallway. And he'll be in the kitchen the next morning eagerly waiting for George to sleep off his jet lag so he can make him scrambled eggs. Pancakes. Waffles. Whatever the hell he wants.

 

Dream needs to stop thinking. George isn't even here yet and he's already planning out the next week down to what juice he'll offer him. Apple juice, no question.

His phone tells him that, God, only four minutes have passed and time is running too slow.

 

“I'm taking a shower,” Dream announces and jumps up. “Don't be late, the drive takes thirty minutes on a good day, George will kill you if you make him wait.”

 

“Dude, I know. You've told me like, five times already to plan in ten extra minutes,” Sapnap sighs without looking up but raises a brow at him when he adds, “You already showered earlier.”

 

Dream shrugs, collecting his phone off the couch. “It's hot today.”

 

“Mhm,” he makes and goes back to scrolling on Twitter, or texting, or whatever he was doing. “Have fun, but not too much. Leave some for George.”

He bites back a remark because really, Sapnap doesn't know what's going to hit him. Now it's all jokes and teasing, but in a few day's time he'll start to question everything he thinks he knows, because Dream and George have a plan. Their mission. And they've thought it through, spending hours in VC giggling as they came up with dumb little ideas on how to make Sapnap believe his best friends are secretly dating behind his back.

 

Sneak away into each other's rooms at weird times, look a bit awkward when Sapnap walks in on the both of them in the kitchen, somehow time it right so Sapnap sees them leaving the bathroom together. Pull hands away from each other when Sapnap enters a room. Leave one of Dream's shirts on George's bed, one of those Sapnap will recognize.

 

There's so many ways to mess with his head until he puts each incident together like a big puzzle and can't write it off as coincidences anymore. It's going to be grand and absolutely hilarious when they reveal it was all a ruse, and Sapnap won't talk to them for the rest of the day. They'll take him to Disneyland if they go too far.

Dream lets water run down his back as he smiles, going over the plan in his mind. It's perfect. They won't be too obvious so Sapnap doesn't get suspicious, and if it ends up becoming a long con, so be it. If on the second day Sapnap calls them out on secretly dating, so be it.

 

Are they the worst friends ever? Definitely. But it'll be funny.

 

He spends too long in the shower for it to be considered normal, but the warm water helps calm his nerves and take his mind off of George's impending arrival. The shower is a place to think, and he probably should've taken a bath instead to kill even more time, keep him occupied. 

 

It works, though, and he makes an effort to pay extra attention to the way he does his hair. Slow and deliberate, because as long as his hands and mind are busy, he's not checking the time every two minutes.

When he ultimately returns to the first floor, Sapnap is already gone and something tugs at Dream's insides, fluttering nervously. It's really happening. Like, actually, right now.

 

And Twitter is none the wiser. Of course they'd announced that George's visa was approved, but they'd kept quiet about the time of the meetup. Some are talking about George already being there, some theories about his face reveal float around, but all in all, no one's expecting them to be meeting at this exact moment.

 

So his timeline is as calm and collected as it can be with his face reveal nearing. Fanart is starting to pop up already, and Dream will have to go on a liking spree soon. He'll probably do it when he inevitably won't be able to sleep tonight or is waiting for George to wake up and join him for his breakfast of scrambled eggs or pancakes or waffles and apple juice.

God, he's never been this excited.

 

Perhaps it's a bit embarrassing that he checks his hair in the mirror and eyes his outfit about a half dozen times, because George couldn't care less. Even if he were the kind of person to judge Dream for an offset strand of hair or a simple choice of clothes, he just got off a nine hour flight. 

 

The only thing in the world that probably matters to him right now is a shower, change of comfortable clothes and a soft horizontal surface to fall onto.

 

Regardless, Dream runs fingers through his hair until it looks done with a purpose and stares into the mirror for a few seconds. He looks good, not better than on any other day, but good. And like he really, really needs to go into the sun.

But they have more than enough plans for that and he's again scheduling the next few weeks full of them when he hears a car. The car. His heart drops and his head snaps around, listening for the car doors. Confirmation. Also because he's rooted to the spot and trying to figure out what to even say.

 

Hey?

 

It sounds so underwhelming and wrong. Totally not appropriate for the occasion, but he doubts any sentence in a human language would be. 

 

His brain isn't functioning, wavering between running to the door and ripping it open to welcome George or letting Sapnap turn the key and gesture him inside. Another car door slams and a bright laughter hits his ears, muffled through the walls but so distinctly George, and suddenly he's all fluttery.

 

Any urgency for coolness or restraint is gone the second he hears Sapnap call him.

 

Dream barely registers the next minute or so apart from his feet being unable to stay still, Sapnap's words explaining to him that he's brought George, and wandering outside after another quick check in the mirror.

 

George looks about as flighty and nervous as Dream feels, eyes seeing everything in front of him that his mind doesn't quite want to catch up to. 

 

It still doesn't feel real. He has to be asleep.

 

But the second his arms wrap around George and they're jumping together, the world crashes back in with its full weight. They're laughing and giggling all the way through. He feels dizzy, lightheaded and delirious with happiness and he never wants to let go. Hands grab at his back, curling into his shirt, with the same mindset.

 

He's so, so warm. 

 

Whether George is overheated from a long flight and arriving to Florida temperatures or if it's from giddiness, he doesn't know and doesn't care. His breaths come jerky against his chest from laughing, little gulps of air in between, and it feels so real that it turns Dream's stomach. 

 

He'll pass out, he's certain.

 

Then they're pulling back still overjoyed, and Dream's body fills with a buzz as things begin to settle in. 

The next few minutes pass in a blur. 

 

From meeting Patches, hauling luggage into the house, showing George his room and office and helping him unpack some essentials, to sitting on the couch again with his leg bouncing impatiently as they wait for George to finish his shower. 

 

It all passes in a series of disbelieving glances and light touches, trying to conceptualize the reality of them being finally together. Pressure on his shoulder that tells him George is actually there trying to get his attention, fingers brushing as they pass items along, and yet it's not settling in properly.

 

His eyes are glued to the wall, replaying the past hour or so in his head over and over, remembering the look on his face when George truly saw him. Actually looked at him and recognized him as Dream, not a stranger in another country that he's supposed to attach to the disembodied voice over his headphones but can't quite. 

 

The very millisecond it clicked and his eyes lit up in recognition.

 

If he could, Dream would live in that moment for the rest of his life.

“I'm never flying again,” George whines, appearing by the couch with towel-dry hair and a too-large shirt. As ecstatic as he looked earlier, he just seems exhausted now and Dream can't blame him.

 

“Here,” he says and pats the couch as he scoots over. George hums and wastes no time draping himself over it like it belongs to him, face mushed into the cushions. It makes him giddy, for some reason, and he barely restrains himself from petting his hair in compassion when George groans.

 

“Everything hurts.” George sighs and shifts to get more comfortable. “I just wanna sleep.”

 

Sapnap shakes his head, though George can't see it. “Better wait a few hours until the evening.”

Everything within Dream wishes he could just send George to bed, so he'll be normal. Maybe that's a selfish thought, wanting George to screw up his sleep schedule just so he can hang out with him quicker. But he really, really needs George to stop being so tired and whiny so he can actually enjoy having him there. Even though just his presence, knowing the mess of dark hair and over sized shirt on his couch is George, makes his chest warm and fluttery.

 

Dream finds himself in bouts of recognition, whenever his mind catches up to reality for just a few seconds at a time and it takes his breath. Makes him want to squeal and giggle as he grabs George off the couch and spins him around in his arms. But he doesn't, because George would complain. 

 

So he merely smiles down at him and keeps his fingers from running through his hair.

 

It's real and it's happening right now, and he has to keep reminding himself that it's not a dream. He's awake; he's pinched himself a couple times already. Nothing could've prepared him for the feeling of actually realizing that it's real. He doesn't think he'll get used to it for a few days.

 

“We could let you nap for an hour before we order pizza,” Dream offers with a testing glance at Sapnap, who considers and then shrugs. 

 

George turns his head so he can look at him, hope in his eyes. “Yeah?”

 

He nods and allows himself to pat George's back. “We'll wake you up and then you get to choose the pizza.”

 

“He's gonna get something gross,” Sapnap complains but it doesn't sound like disagreement. 

As they send George off to his room, Dream ignores the burning in his chest that yearns for another hug. Wrapping him up in his arms again to test, once more, if he's actually there. But maybe that would cross a boundary, or it'd be awkward, or maybe George just wants to get to bed without being held up.

 

This is something Dream had barely thought about in the weeks leading up to George's arrival. 

 

The light sense of awkwardness that comes with meeting an online friend, no matter how close you've been for how long. Trying to figure out each other's paces, when they want to be touched and how much, what kind of touches are too much or too little. If Dream can randomly hug him, put his fingers in his hair, rest his head in his lap, snake an arm around him.

 

What is too far and what is something George expects him to do? Does he want Dream's hand on his shoulder with little to no reason or is he reserved and particular about his personal space? Is he fine with Dream seeking out his company even if it just means quietly sitting next to him watching TikToks, not actually interacting and merely enjoying his presence? Or does he value his alone time and needs much of it, wanting to be left alone when he retreats to his room? He doesn't know, and it's a strange thing to ask.

 

Will George feel awkward if Dream stares at him until his stupid brain has finally processed that he's real? Or can Dream make eye contact without inhibitions and have it not be weird. So far he's had the advantage of not having a face cam and George wouldn't know if Dream stared, but that privacy is gone now. They're on equal grounds now, and if Dream looks at him, he'll know.

 

It's a weird thought because he's so used to not being seen, but something about it is as exciting as it's terrifying.

So later, he tries to stifle himself when they gather on the couch, picking more comfortable seating than the dinner table simply because George requested it and he looks absolutely disheveled from a tough day. He doesn't send as many glances as he'd like to, only allowing himself to stare whenever George is speaking and he has an excuse for eye contact. The plate is heavier than normal so he rests it on his leg, hyper aware of how shaky his hands are.

 

George is talking about his flight, how he couldn't sleep properly because he was too nervous and uncomfortable despite the private area, and Dream stares. Not sure what he'd expected. George looks and sounds the same as on his screen, with the slight difference of being more clear, feeling more present and real. But his expressions, the inflections in his voice and the way he talks with his hands, they're all the same and somehow it takes Dream by surprise even though it really shouldn't.

 

This is his best friend and he's known him for years. Of course he'd behave the same, talk the same, with or without a screen and thousands of miles between them. 

 

Dream smiles when George laughs, watches the twinkle in his eye and feels the couch shake lightly, and he couldn't be happier. This is what he's wanted for so many years and it's better than he could've imagined.

After dinner George is about ready to pass out again but makes a point to drag Dream into his room before he does. Maybe it shouldn't feel as intrusive to be sitting on his bed as it does, seeing as this is the house Dream bought, with his money, and spent hours preparing the room for George's arrival. But now it's George's space, and Dream is a guest.

 

“Is the plan still on?” George asks and Dream raises a brow. “I thought about it the whole flight. We were talking about it before I left, Dream.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” He grins and shifts so he faces George more. “I still think starting off simple is best, and me being in here is probably a good first step.” George nods with a hum. “Should we—uh, should we like, make boundaries?”

 

For a moment, George blinks and considers his words. “Like what?”

 

“Like—I don't know, what can we do and what not? Like, can I touch you without warning or—or can I hold your hand just like that?” Dream explains and suddenly the whole plan feels much more palpable. Until now it was just an idea and he hadn't truly visualized what that would mean. But now... Now he's sitting here feeling his cheeks burn up thinking about the fact that yes, they're probably going to be a bit more intimate at certain points than he'd let himself realize.

 

“Right,” George mutters, then blinks and shrugs a shoulder. “Whatever. I mean, I'm fine with whatever. Within, uh, within reason.”

 

Dream frowns. “What's within reason?”

 

“Stuff friends would do? Holding hands isn't really, like, a weird thing for friends, right?” He narrows his eyes in thought, brows focused. “Nothing you couldn't see yourself doing with a friend. Like, pants stay on and don't kiss me, or something.”

He can't believe this thought is even something that's actually going through his head, but... “You kissed Karl.”

 

“Okay, well—“ A slight sheen of rose settles on his cheeks and he rolls his eyes. “That was different, though.”

 

“You'll kiss Karl but not me?” Dream spreads fingers over his chest dramatically, looking offended. “I'm hurt, George.”

 

He huffs and leans over to hit his arm, Dream chuckles at the gesture and the annoyed glint in George's eye. 

 

This is what he'd imagined. Messing around and pissing each other off, just like they'd done for years. Somehow it's a relief to find that part of their relationship hadn't changed as it progressed from online to offline.

 

“No kissing unless absolutely necessary,” George revises and Dream snorts at the change. Not like it'll do anything, because Sapnap will most likely call them out within a few days of them disappearing into each other's rooms and sneakily holding hands in the kitchen.

 

“Start after TwitchCon?” Dream asks and gets a nod in confirmation. He grins. “Nick's going to lose it.”

~

The mission should've been simple, but sadly Sapnap is oblivious or simply unobservant. 

 

By day three of making up poor excuses to sneak off together, letting hands on shoulders and arms linger for far longer than necessary and sitting closer than commonly acceptable, Sapnap hasn't given them so much as a weird look.

 

Maybe it's partly on them, because they didn't put in a hundred percent. 

 

They tried holding hands to be caught when Sapnap eventually walks in on them on the couch, but it was awkward, so they didn't do it again. And it wasn't awkward because of the touch or the gesture in itself, it was more sitting there for more than a half hour with their fingers intertwined and neither of them being able to take their minds off it.

 

Minds hyper-fixed on the touch that could've been incidental and nothing worth even thinking about, but they made it into much more than it should've been.

 

There was a clear goal and they weren't doing it because it was enjoyable, but simply because it was a necessary evil. Maybe they should've gone into it with the mindset of yes, human contact is nice and holding hands is an expression of friendship. But they didn't, and that's what made it weird. So there was no further attempt and they fell back on simply sneaking off together and lingering touches.

Day four had them schedule an emergency meeting for if Sapnap hasn't noticed anything a week into it. He's not sure what that would entail, but there certainly needs to be a backup plan. 

 

In fairness, Sapnap probably thinks they're just being clingy because they've spent so many years apart and are catching up. He gives them a lot of alone time when they're not all together for dinner or movie night, and seeing as Dream needs some down time after the tumultuous few days of face revealing, meetup vlogs and TwitchCon, they have an abundance of time.

 

It's nice, though. 

 

Spending time together and in each other's presence even when they're not doing anything or talking, simply existing in the same space. Something they haven't been able to do for years. 

 

And Dream's nerves start to settle, over time figuring out what George's personal boundaries are when it comes to his space. They find a mutual pace, making silent pacts on when random hugs are acceptable and how much time they can spend in each other's rooms before it becomes overwhelming.

Turns out, it's easy. Being with George is easy and comfortable and they don't butt heads. 

 

After a day or two, they've gotten used to each other's presence and it's settled in that they're not separated by an ocean anymore. It's fucking fantastic. Dream has never felt so content and happy with his life, having both his best friends in the same house and getting to spend dinners with them. 

 

They talk shit about bad movies, make too many plans for the near future and argue over food choices, and they hunt Patches across the house for snuggles until they surrender and entice her with snacks. Evenings and nights are spent staying up too long because none of them want to leave the group, and it's much like back when they stayed on call until sunrise. But this time they're in person, and they can throw pillows at each other and threaten violence over stupid arguments.

 

Things could stay just like this for the rest of his life and he'd be more than glad to accept it.

On day five, they stay up late watching movies and even after Sapnap has excused himself, Dream and George linger in the living room talking and talking until their throats run dry. The sun is threatening to rise by the time they realize they really need to get to bed.

 

George gives him a look in the hallway and Dream doesn't need to ask. They've discussed this, or rather, they mentioned the possibility and both agreed they'd be fine with it. 

 

So George walks past his room but lets Dream open the door for him out of respect for his space. For a moment Dream wonders if he's not going to get any pajamas or if he's planning to sleep in just his underwear, though he supposes sweatpants and a shirt are appropriate. It's not like he's been doing anything in them that would require him to get changed for bed.

 

He's not sure why his heart is beating up to his throat when George settles on his bed, rubbing his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time Dream's slept in the same bed with one of his friends. Sleepovers, talking with Sapnap so late they don't notice before dozing off—it's all happened before. 

 

By any means, he's not uncomfortable or even minds sleeping with friends in the slightest, but in a way this is different.

It's not accidentally falling asleep, it's not having a visitor over at his house; it's George sleeping in his bed to create the illusion something is happening between them. That they slept next to each other because they crave a closeness between them that goes beyond simply enjoying the company. Wrapping arms around each other and heads resting on chests to bring their bodies closer. 

 

And it wouldn't be a complete lie because Dream does enjoy that sort of thing even with friends, but that's not the intention. Even if they're not actually cuddling, tonight is certainly meant to create the idea they're doing so in a way that's more than it would be between friends.

 

It's a lot to process and Dream takes his time in the bathroom changing into a comfortable shirt, soft cotton that'll give him the comfort he desperately needs. He pushes the door open for George to enter and hands him a spare toothbrush, and maybe those same thoughts are running through George's head because they brush in odd silence with gazes stubbornly forward. 

 

Dream wishes they'd done this in any other way that's less awkward. Maybe switched from the couch to his room and kept talking until they drifted off instead of heading to bed with the sole intention of sleeping in it together.

 

He feels like a married couple having a fight while still being forced to share a space—only that they're not married, and they're forcing themselves.

“This is awkward,” he mutters between spitting out his mouthwash and rinsing with water.

 

George takes the toothbrush out of his mouth and tries not to dribble toothpaste as he says, “You're making it awkward.”

 

“What—How am I making it awkward?” He sends an offended look in the mirror, bending over the sink to wet a washcloth with warm water. George gestures for him to step aside and spits out his toothpaste.

 

“You're all quiet and like—You like, look at me weird,” he gripes as he fills a glass with water. Dream watches him, thinking about something to say, and after a few moments of silence George adds quietly, “I think I'm gonna sleep in my own room.”

 

“No George, no, I'm sorry,” Dream hurries and grabs his arm despite him not moving to leave. “I didnt—I was just thinking about how it's weird that, like… we're doing this because of Sapnap, not because we—I mean, isn't that weird? Having a sleepover not because it's nice and fun but, like, because of Sapnap? Some stupid plan?”

It takes him a moment to soak up the words. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I thought you'd think it's weird to sleep in a bed with me.”

 

Dream chuckles, letting himself relax. He gives a casual shrug and grins. “It's not gay to cuddle the homies.” George raises a brow at him. “I mean—We don't have to cuddle, I'm just saying.”

 

“Right,” he mutters and rinses out the remainders of toothpaste, takes his sweet time too and let's Dream sweat in the awkwardness. Why does Dream tend to put his foot in his mouth like that? “Fine, I'll cuddle you.”

 

“Wow.” He begins rubbing his washcloth across his face and sighs. “Way to make it sound like a chore. Thanks for doing me a favor, George.”

 

“What can I say,” George says with a haughty tone. “I'm incredibly generous.”

Dream barks a laugh and hangs the washcloth up, watching George clean his face patiently. “You actually don't have to if you don't wanna, George. I was just messing around. Just, you know, by the way. If you're uncomfortable with anything, that's fine. Just say so.”

 

George looks at him like he's surprised, blinking a few times. “No, I know.” He discards his washcloth and turns to face Dream who gives him a smile he reciprocates. “If I'm fine kissing Karl, I'm fine cuddling you, Dream.”

 

“Ugh,” he makes and throws his head back. “If I have to hear about that one more time...”

 

A smack lands on his arm and Dream sends him a look. “Don't be a baby. I'm allowed to kiss whoever I want.”

 

“That's true, you are.” Dream follows George back into the bedroom and waits for him to climb into bed to turn the lights off. “But I'm allowed to get jealous.”

 

“What are you even jealous of? If you wanna kiss me, just say it. I'll do it,” George says and Dream scoffs, finding his way around the bed in the semidarkness.

 

“It's not about kissing you, it's about making the score even.” He settles underneath the blanket, untwisting it in a bit of a struggle and then turns to George who looks at him with a frown. “A kiss is a lot of friendship points, George. I can't let Karl pass me in friendship points.”

 

George snorts. “Friendship points?”

It's petty and maybe a bit possessive, but Dream doesn't like the idea of someone getting to do more intimate things in a platonic way, but not him. George's best friend—next to Sapnap. If Karl gets to kiss him, Dream and Sapnap should be allowed to even the score. That just makes sense, at least in his mind. 

 

Though he's probably a bit out of it and overprotective of his special bond with George seeing as they haven't been able to take their relationship past an online one for almost a decade.

 

“You get what I mean,” Dream mutters and rolls his eyes. “I'm your best friend, I should be allowed to kiss you if Karl is.”

 

“You're so weird,” George says with a chuckle, moving to rest his head on the pillow. “If Sapnap hasn't noticed anything in, say, a week... I'll kiss you. Right in the kitchen, where he'll see.”

 

It's a fair deal. Even though it's tied to a condition and has a different purpose than what it's supposed to, it makes sense and should give the issue some rest in Dream's brain. 

 

But it doesn't. 

 

It keeps nagging him and he knows he needs to ignore it until it goes away. Because it's an irrational thought, and it's stupid to expect George to cater to his jealousy and possessiveness.

 

He sighs and gives in. “That's unfair.” Dream lays down and glances at George who squints back at him. “Karl got to kiss you without conditions and—and, well, just because.”

 

George rolls his eyes, groans. “Oh my God. Dream, give it a rest. It's not a big deal.” 

 

And he should, it's not. He's being whiny. 

 

So he shuts his mouth and... pouts. Like a little kid that doesn't get the toy after throwing a fit. It's half because he's genuinely upset and half because it makes George huff in surrender after about twenty seconds. “Fine. Fine, you're so dumb.”

And Dream laughs as George scoots closer to rest on his elbow and hover over him. He gives George the chance to change his mind, so he doesn't move a muscle until George dips down and presses their lips together. His grin fades with the first drag of lips against his, because oh. He should kiss back. This is an actual kiss, not a quick peck like he'd expected.

 

This is an actual kiss.

 

So he tilts his head, feeling a bit hazy from the way lips pull on his slowly, delicately, like George is mapping them. Committing the feeling to memory. Fingers dare to curl into his shirt, resting shyly on his chest and Dream wraps his own around them gently. Just for a second, before they become more interested in traveling up George's arm, ghosting across his neck and jaw. He applies light pressure with just his fingertips, encouraging George to angle his head and deepen the kiss.

 

Dream can tell he's getting carried away when he sighs into it, barely more than a rush of air past his cheek. 

 

Not that he can blame him, kissing is nice. This is nice, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised that George is a good kisser. Regardless, he pulls George out of it by dragging a thumb across his jaw and stopping the movement of his lips. Before George entirely forgets where he is, who he's kissing, and ends up regretting it.

George pulls away and gives him a look as he orients himself, raising a brow after a bit. “Good now?”

 

“Uh-huh. Yeah,” Dream mutters and nods. “Thanks?”

 

“You're welcome.” George lays back down with a scoff and turns his back to Dream, which lets panic well up behind his ribs. 

 

Maybe he shouldn't have done that. Dream was mostly just messing around, but it could've easily come across as pressuring him. He's putting an apology together in his head when George reaches an arm behind and swats at him. “Dream. Spoon me, idiot.”

 

“Spoon you,” he repeats dryly, processing the words. Right, they agreed on cuddling. “Oh. Yeah, sure. Okay.”

 

Dream moves closer and wraps an arm around him, nestling against his back until he's comfortable. George lifts his head so Dream can slide his other arm underneath, letting him rest on his bicep. 

 

Yeah, George isn't upset, and they're fine. He didn't mess up. 

 

Relieved, he exhales against the back of George's neck, pressing his nose into his shirt. They're okay.

 

“Can I be little spoon next time?” Dream asks quietly and George breathes a chuckle, pressing himself closer against his front.

 

“Mhm,” he makes, splays fingers across the back of Dream's hand and starts caressing his knuckles.

 

Dream doesn't understand what he was freaking out about earlier. Of course sleeping in a bed with George wouldn't be awkward, even if they did it to mess with Sapnap. They're far too close, far too comfortable with each other to have it possibly be awkward. 

 

Even if they've only been together for less than a week, everything about it feels so natural that kissing and spooning isn't even something he's worried will make things weird the next morning. They could probably use tongue without it influencing their friendship, or even go further.

 

Well, okay. Maybe not that far.

~

The mission should've been simple, and maybe they got a bit off track at some point.

 

It started with trying to convince Sapnap that dnf is real, and now it's a mission focused on figuring out their favorite positions to cuddle in. And they're not even discrete about it anymore, but Sapnap doesn't seem to care or have a second thought about it.

 

Sapnap barely pays them attention whenever he finds them clinging to one another, an arm around George's shoulder and heads leaning against each other. If he walks into the living room to Dream's head on George's chest, arm splayed across his stomach and legs hooked with each other, all he comments on is them rudely taking up his favorite spot on the couch. 

 

They quickly figured out Sapnap doesn't question it, at least not out loud, after the first time he walked in on them cuddling on the couch. 

 

According to the act, they untangled themselves in no discrete way and made up excuses—they were tired, feeling clingy—but Sapnap shrugged and said they could do whatever. So they dropped any restraint and blatantly draped themselves over each other on the couch. It didn't even faze Sapnap. And somewhere along the way they stopped doing it for appearances and just because it's nice and comfortable.

At times, usually movie night, they welcome Sapnap into the pile. Not because he begs or even really makes an official request, but simply because he one time glued himself to Dream's side when George's head was in his lap. There wasn't even a question when Dream wrapped an arm around him and they stayed like that until the end of the movie. From there on, it just became the norm.

 

It means that sometimes Dream walks in on Sapnap's arms around George and he lets lips curl up happily as he's drawn into it the moment he drops onto the couch next to them. It's so instinctive and casual that sometimes he wonders how he survived these past few years.

 

At times he grabs the person closest to him regardless of if it's George or Sapnap and drags them into a pointless hug, and they stand in the kitchen like that while he moves around scrambled eggs in a pan for a few minutes or so.

 

Somehow having his two best friends close like that feels like the most natural progression to their friendship.

 

So yeah, the cuddling strategy is a blatant failure. In no universe would Sapnap be convinced they're a thing because they can't keep their hands off each other if he's part of the problem.

During their emergency meeting, they're half convinced they should just make out right in front of Sapnap. Because with how many times Sapnap has seen them sneak out of each other's rooms without forming suspicions, they figure it's gonna need a real kick in the butt for him to realize. 

 

Though, that defeats the purpose, does it?

 

It should be about them behaving suspiciously until he suspects something, not them blatantly throwing it in his face. If it were, they could outright tell him and then go “it's just a prank.” 

 

It's boring. It would make all the work they've done this past week for nothing. He needs to feel like he figured out a secret all on his own.

“Let me give you a hickey,” Dream suggests and George blinks, frowning at him.

 

“What the—Dream, what,” he stutters and Dream throws his hands up, shaking his head in desperation.

 

“I don't know, dude, he's a fucking idiot.” Dream sighs, rubs his face and wrecks his brain. “Uhm, maybe—I don't know. It should've been enough right? Like, your roommates keep disappearing, sneaking off together, sneaking out of each other's rooms, shirts left behind, they fucking cuddle all the time, like—I mean, how has he not picked up on anything?”

 

“Maybe he knows,” George says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe he, like, saw right through us.”

 

“No way.” Dream shakes his head. “Who would do something like this, George. You know we're insane for even thinking about it, who actually does this shit? Like, actually.”

 

George huffs. “I don't know. He probably just thinks this is normal. You do just, like, exist without a shirt on sometimes, around the house. So if my shirt—or yours is just, like, in my room, he wouldn't think much. And the, uh, sneaking off? Just spending time, I guess.”

 

“I can't believe we're all too close for our own good,” he says and lets himself fall back against the pillows. “He'll probably think 'ah, just dudes being dudes, good friends' if we made out.” George snorts and rests his chin on his hand, giving him an indiscernible look. “What?”

“Nothing,” George hurries and Dream squints. “Just—Okay, look. Maybe a hickey isn't a bad idea, but I don't—I'm not saying you should give me one. Like, makeup, maybe.”

 

Dream gives him an unimpressed glance. “George, what gave you the impression I know how to draw on a convincing hickey?”

 

“I mean, can't be too hard, right? Just some, uh, blue... and, not sure. Yellow?” George gnaws at his lip and Dream laughs almost in demonstration. “Yeah, okay. You're right. But maybe it's too obvious anyway.”

 

He hums in consideration, nodding slightly. Yeah, a hickey might actually tip Sapnap off in a way they don't want it to. But they're running out of options that are more subtle. And on the other hand, will Sapnap really believe they went as far as to give George a hickey just to trick him?

“It's the next best thing, though.” He doesn't really mean to argue, but it's the straw he's clinging to because he's out of other ideas.

 

George hesitates, picking at his fingers before saying, “It'll be really awkward.”

 

“Oh, I—” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to formulate his thoughts. “I guess... I mean, maybe, but like—We're friends, right? And we've kissed and it was fine. Like, I don't think that changed anything, so I don't see why—why a hickey would.”

 

“I suppose,” George mumbles, staring at him for a moment before breathing a deep sigh.

 

Dream puts a hand on his knee. “If you're uncomfortable we don't—“

 

“No, Dream,” he cuts him off. “I'm not uncomfortable, I just—I don't want things to be awkward. That's all.”

 

“They won't be,” Dream assures him with a smile and a squeeze. “There's a clear reason and it's, like, not a big deal anyway. A hickey isn't even that... intimate.”

 

George huffs and rubs his eyes. “Okay. Okay, alright. I can't believe we're doing this. Can you, uh, turn off the lights? I don't wanna—Just... turn them off, please.”

Dream nods and clambers off the bed to flick the switch, drenching the room in twilight. Shifting on his feet, he stares at George who can't seem to settle on a spot on the bed, carefully eyeing the sheets. “You can sit, that's fine,” Dream tells him and George looks up at him, eyes flitting across his face, then his shoulders drop and he pats the bed in front of him. Maybe it's just a tiny bit awkward as Dream sits and scoots closer, trying to find a comfortable enough place for legs and arms, a decent angle that won't have him aching after twenty seconds. “Okay, actually... Maybe it's better if—“

 

“Dream, oh my God.” George groans and quickly scrambles to lay down, resting his head in the pillows. 

 

He suppresses a snicker and follows him, the tension in George's body only increasing when he settles down close. 

 

Dream wants to offer him another out, wants to tell him it's fine to change his mind, but he knows it'll only annoy George. It's not like he doesn't know, Dream's made it clear, and George can make his own decisions.

 

So he doesn't ask, just sends one cautious look as he tilts George's head with gentle fingers for better access. There's no sign for him to stop or slow down, so he unceremoniously puts lips on George's neck and tries to remember how it works. His brain is momentarily out of commission, so he breathes and just presses a kiss into the skin. George scoffs and mutters, “You're so stupid.”

 

Dream chuckles, feeling the tension and awkwardness drain a little, so that's good. It's great. Gives him the necessary courage to flick out his tongue and taste the skin, to which George inhales sharply. 

 

Not how a hickey works, right. 

 

He focuses, closes his eyes and nips at the skin gingerly. Draws it between his teeth for a second and gauges George's reaction. Nothing more than a breath, a shift of his head. So he keeps going, working on the skin in short pinches and bites that actually have George's hand shoot to his shoulder.

He takes mercy on the spot and moves down further, leaving behind only a light redness and he can taste the question in the air, so he says, “Can't make it too obvious. The stream.” He tugs at the collar of George's shirt and places his lips there instead where it'll be hidden by fabric, attacking the junction between his neck and shoulder. 

 

It's light at first, maybe a bit shy because he wants to give George the time to get used to it, but he sucks at the skin in between bites. And it has its effect, maybe not an intended one, but an effect for sure. 

 

Nails dig into his shoulder and George's breath hitches. 

 

Obviously, he should've expected this; a simple physical reaction, but somehow it still makes his chest swell with pride. He sucks harder—to make a hickey. Or, if he's telling the full truth, to get another reaction. Who can really blame him for wanting to hear the hum George lets out, his breath picking up speed, because it feeds Dream's ego so perfectly.

 

Any awkwardness they'd been feeling evaporates into air as Dream bites at the skin carefully, again and again between little sucks and licks. If it mattered who he's doing it to three minutes ago, that clarity is long gone. 

 

George exhales softly, a shaky breath that catches in his throat when Dream takes the skin between his teeth, pinching. A hand pulls at his shoulder desperately and Dream lets off of him, dragging lips up and up his neck to nip at his jaw. And George cranes his neck, offering him a better angle to place kisses until he finds a spot he decides to bite at. Right by the corner of his jaw, staying there for a few moments.

“Dream,” he slurs, turning his head so Dream's lips brush against his cheek and he takes the opportunity, kissing there too. Fingers wander from his shoulder to his neck, cupping its back urgently, and a warm feeling spreads in Dream's stomach, head spinning. Lips are soft against his when he makes his way over and George sighs. 

 

There's a sense of something important at the back of his mind, but he can't be bothered to look, too indulged in the feeling of lips dragging together. He takes George's bottom lip between his teeth and tugs softly, making George lift his head from the pillow to follow him, reclaim him. 

 

Dream breathes a chuckle and tilts his head as he asks for access, tongue licking cautiously until George opens his mouth for him. For a few seconds, he explores coyly, allowing his hand to cup George's cheek in a firm grasp. Then he chases his tongue, licking at it until George lets out a moan and okay, fuck. 

 

There it is, the heat pooling in his stomach, tugging at his insides until it drives him crazy and makes his body act on autopilot. 

 

He moves to hover over George, propping himself up on arms placed on either side of smaller shoulders and deepens the kiss.

It pulls a whimper out of George and he thinks he might pass out when a leg brushes his thigh. He breaks the kiss in favor of traveling lips down George's neck and to his collarbone, sneaking a hand along his side until fingers dip underneath annoying fabric. 

 

George mutters something incoherent to him and leans into the touch, a hand flying over Dream's and pressing down so he'll grip at his side tighter. 

 

Then it lands on Dream's back, scratching nails along it which makes him groan at the feeling. 

 

Dream explores bare skin with curious fingers, giving George the firm touch he so obviously desires as he drags his hand up his side. Then, when George moans as Dream bites at the skin underneath his collarbone, he grinds his hips and an electric shock runs through his body.

 

“Fuck, Dream,” he whispers, breath punched out of him and fingers digging into his back. “Please.”

 

The world spins around him and he whines at the needy tone. Dream steadies himself on his forearm and repeats the motion, once, twice, until his eyes flutter and George hooks a leg around him. 

 

Fingers find his ass and tug, begging him to keep moving and he obliges. With a groan he buries his face against George's neck, grinding his hips until the satisfaction of their erections rubbing together through clothes makes his breath hitch. Like an urge satiated after growing impossibly unbearable.

 

His fingers tear at the pillow, cramped into it ruthlessly and George moans his name, sending every last bit of restraint he had flying.

His shirt comes off in favor of nails digging into his back sharply and he hisses at the pain, grinding their hips together roughly until George is panting beneath him. Mouth hanging open and head leaned back, chin in the air and offering the line of his neck to Dream. 

 

So he bites at parts of his neck not littered with tiny red marks to see what other sounds he can pull out of him in combination with the thrusts of his hips. They're enough to make his head spin and heat to rise from his stomach into his chest, gnawing at his ribs.

 

Dream's finger finds George's nipple and it punches a mewl out of him, hips meeting his thrust midway. 

 

He's going to lose it, they both are.

 

Somewhere at the back of his mind a little voice tells him to stop, but he doesn't understand why.

 

And then shy fingers sneak underneath the waistband of Dream's sweatpants, digging into the flesh of his ass in a sharp pull, and the voice is gone. George gives him a squeeze and Dream growls, burying teeth into George's neck. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make him whine. The speed of his hips increases and George welcomes it with legs wrapping around them, panting between little moans and pleas.

 

Frantic hands tug at his sweats and boxers, pushing them halfway down the curve of his ass until Dream helps him out. For some reason his cheeks burn when it frees his dick, but George's hand is already struggling with his own pants. He lifts his hips and Dream helps him pull them down just far enough. 

 

There's a tiny sense of embarrassment when their hard dicks touch without the protective layers of fabric preserving some form of decency, but it also makes his brain light on fire. His mind feels numb and yet hyper-aware, every little drag of sensitive skin against skin amplified, nails in his shoulder a constant pressure that should probably hurt but doesn't.

George gives a dissatisfied groan and hisses, “God, move, Dream.”

 

“I am,” he says but increases the severity of his movements just to hear that sweet moan it forces out of George. “Fuck—“

 

He presses his nose into the junction between his neck and shoulder and focuses on his rhythm, steady and unrelenting thrusts that have their erections drag against each other pleasantly. George breathes heavy by his ear and he listens to the little hitches, tiny moans behind it that grow increasingly desperate each time. 

 

It sounds heavenly and Dream wants more.

 

Long fingers curl around their dicks and George whimpers. That noise will be the end of him, or the feeling of them rubbing against each other. 

 

If he weren't so close already he'd ask to fuck him. And just maybe George would let Dream work him open on large fingers until he's ready to take him, let him push his cock in slowly, inch by inch, until he's a moaning and panting mess. And fuck, he'd pull out almost entirely before driving back in to make him scream. Over and over as he thrusts into tight heat and listens to desperate pleas and moans of his name.

 

Just the thought sends him over the edge and he comes with a long moan, jerky movements as he grinds through his orgasm. 

 

He takes a few deep breaths before he wraps his hand around George's dick and jerks him off quickly, a groan ripping through his throat at the sudden change and pace. 

 

Like this, it doesn't take George long to follow, spilling over his hand as his breath catches in his chest and he bucks into the fist. It shouldn't be as hot as it is, because Dream's mind is slowly coming back down to earth and that's his best friend.

What the fuck was that?

 

He tries to grasp at reality as he lays there, out of breath and heartbeat in his ears, hand still around George's dick and sticky with his cum. Both of theirs. Oh. 

 

Oh, no.

 

They were supposed to... It was meant to be a hickey, not them getting hard from it and rubbing their dicks together until Dream came onto his literal best friend and jerked him off after. 

 

In fairness, it's been a while for both of them since they got any action, but that's just his brain in a panicked state trying to excuse it. 

 

God, he messed up. They messed up.

For a minute or two, he outright doesn't dare to move. Too much of a coward to confront whatever expression he'll find on George's face. Never in his life has he been so scared to suffer the consequences of his actions. Yeah, they fucked up big time.

 

Slowly he pushes himself up and sits, and when George blinks his eyes open there's alarm and dread in them. If Dream wasn't panicking himself, he'd probably be able to taste the anxiety radiating off of him in the air. 

 

He clears his throat and tries to awaken his muscles from their trance, pulling his pants up with choppy movements. He's shirtless still but that's the least of his issues, and George stares at him with wide eyes, lips trembling with unsaid words. 

 

As it all settles in, George quickly averts his gaze and clambers off the bed to flee into the bathroom.

 

Dream drags a hand across his face and controls his breathing, slow and long draws of air because otherwise he'd be screaming. Or sobbing, or cursing. 

 

Just a hickey. Yeah, stellar fucking idea.

~

The mission is easily the stupidest idea they ever could've come up with.

 

It was meant to be some lighthearted fun, messing around to teach Sapnap a lesson, and it ended up in Dream and George avoiding each other's eyes entirely the day after. 

 

Dream had left his room to sit on the couch until fairly late at night, scrolling through Twitter and TikTok to try and take his mind off of what had just happened. And so when he returned, George had safely left his bathroom without having to face him.

 

There was no way Dream could've slept after that. His thoughts revolved around the years-long friendship he felt they'd just messed up in the span of less than five minutes. 

 

How could they possibly recover from this?

And then he calmed himself by telling his anxiety that, no, they're far too close for even something as big as this to ruin them. 

 

It'd be awkward for a few days, maybe weeks, but in a matter of months they'd laugh it off. A momentary hiccup. Something they'd never tell their friends about but make multiple references to in order to make the other blush in embarrassment. It could be something funny if they approached it the right way.

 

But as comforting as that thought was, it opened up a whole other storm in his brain. Because now he had to confront the fact that— even if it's just a tiny part within him—he wanted to... be intimate with George. And George with him. Otherwise either of them would've stopped before it could go that far. 

 

No matter how deeply buried within them that part was, there had been at least some curiosity. What if they slept with each other? Would it be nice? Would it be different than with others?

Dream figures they're not the only ones to harbor that kind of curiosity towards their best friend, but the difference is they actually did it. Took that extra step that turned an idea into reality, and now they have to deal with the consequences. 

 

So Dream's night was spent coming to terms with the fact he'd been curious about sleeping with his best friend for God knows how long now, and what exactly the consequences of them actually doing it would look like. 

 

Is it a once-off thing, over and done, now it's happened and that curiosity within him would die? 

 

Or would he subconsciously engage even further thoughts and ideas? Maybe now that they'd crossed that first boundary, he'd think about going a step further. It's not unlikely, because at the time, he'd had explicit thoughts of fucking George instead of just getting off together, dicks in hand. Unfortunately, he'd be lying if he said something about the thought didn't still intrigue him.

So that's how he found out that yeah, there's some curiosity left. And... he'll have to deal with that in due time.

Things are awkward. They avoid eye contact and mutter a simple 'hey' when they happen to run into each other, and George spends the remainder of the day in his room. So does Dream. Maybe it shouldn't feel so bad because it only makes sense for them both to have to chew on last night for a while, but Dream is miserable. While the thought of going and talking to George about it fills his stomach with cold dread, he also feels lonely and like the world is coming to an end.

 

And to make matters even worse, it couldn't have been more terrible timing. 

 

They'd scheduled a stream for tomorrow, and they're meant to be overjoyed and euphoric to be in each other's company. The announcements had gone out days ago and there's no way for them to reschedule without making Sapnap seriously question them. It's a far too important stream for them to mess with the date afterwards without an explicit reason. 

 

And there's no way they'll explain this to Sapnap— or the fans, for that matter. 

 

Shit, definitely not the fans.

So Dream finds himself lingering in front of George's door, too frightened to knock and forming and re-forming sentences in his head. Until they sound good to him, until they make sense, until he thinks that maybe, he can get George and himself to put aside the awkwardness for the moment. Just until they can properly deal with everything without ruining the stream.

 

This is definitely the most difficult thing he's had to do in his life, but he takes a deep breath to steel himself and knocks. 

 

The answer takes probably more than ten seconds that Dream spends trying to steady his heart rate and ridding himself of the nausea and dizziness tying his stomach together. It's a quiet and hesitant 'come in,' and Dream closes his eyes as he reaches for the doorknob. 

 

The ability to turn back time or disappear on the spot would come in handy right now.

 

George worries his lip when his eyes meet Dream's, and he stands awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds. Hands fidgeting and words completely eluding him. He clears his throat and mutters, “Can we talk?”

There's a moment of loaded silence before George nods and Dream steps inside, pushing the door closed slowly as though the sound would startle either of them. Dream wants to rip it open and run out again, instead he sits down at the very edge of the bed and stares at his hands. 

 

The sentences he'd so carefully laid out for himself just slip from his mind. Dream sighs and runs a hand through his hair, feeling George's eyes on him and the heat rising in his cheeks.

 

“Can we pretend it never happened?” George asks quietly and Dream finally looks at him, the flush tinting his entire face red. He seems tired. “I just don't want things to be weird.”

 

Dream takes a deep breath and nods. 

 

“Yeah, me neither.” He chews on his lip for a moment and considers. “It, uh—It did happen, though. I don't think we can just... like, ignore that. We have to—“

 

“I don't want to,” George cuts him off, staring at him with his mouth hanging open before he speaks again. “I don't—What is there to say? Like, how do you even...”

 

“I don't know, George.” He rubs his face in his hands and shrugs his shoulders, frustration filling his body with a slight buzz. “We were... horny? Or—or we, like, got too into it and then forgot—we forgot who we were dealing with?” Dream looks away, head feeling like it's about to burst. “And... the, uh, curiosity just, I don't know, took over? Like, it happens, I guess.” 

George frowns. “Curiosity?”

 

“I—I mean, yeah?” he stutters, voice too high from insecurity, and he gives George a testing glance, trying to read his thoughts. “There had to have been—I mean, look, don't you ever have like, intrusive thoughts? Like, you know you shouldn't... and it's—it's stupid and weird, but you just think about it? One of those, I don't know, 'what if I had sex with my friend?' type things?”

 

Silence weighs over them like a wet blanket and the blush on George's face only seems to intensify. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he says, “I—I guess. I mean, I...”

 

Dream wants to sink into the floor. “Yeah. Yeah so, like, it's stupid to, uh, think that we never had those thoughts... about each other, right? I mean it's probably just... normal. Curiosity? And then, in that moment we just—we didn't stop it. It makes sense.”

 

“Does it?” George mutters, raising his brows. “Because when I—Those intrusive thoughts, when I get them, I just think... 'ew.' But I don't really go and do it.”

 

“Yeah, obviously, but...” He doesn't have a good answer and he knows it. None that wouldn't have him admitting that, shit, he still thinks about it. That it's not just an intrusive thought he can write off as one, he doesn't think 'ew' and he doesn't discard it immediately after. 

 

That part of him wonders what it'd be like to go even further.

Dream inhales deeply and blows the air out again, gathering all of his courage because maybe it's better to come clean than leave things unsaid to bite him in the ass in the future. “Okay, so, obviously we have some, uh... unaddressed wants, there. But I don't—Like, maybe we just acknowledge that and... keep going? We both don't want things to be weird, so let's just... not let them be weird. Pretend it's the most normal thing that we did it, just like we do with everything else. The... shipping, the art, the jokes, all that. I mean, that's not your average friendship, but we make it work.”

 

George blinks at him, giving him a long look. “What if it happens again?”

 

Now it's Dreams turn to stare, mink blanking. 

 

He has a point, but Dream can't seem to make sense of it, what kind of answer he's looking for, or what answer to give other than 'so be it.' Maybe that's the wrong one, but he shrugs and says, “Then we have fun with it and move on again. If we both, like, want it, then I don't see why—I mean, what's so wrong with that?”

 

“'If we both want it,'” George echoes slowly and Dream desperately wishes he knew how to shut the hell up sometimes. He's talking out of his ass because it's the only way to rationalize what happened and have it be okay after. “Do you...? Want that?”

 

He's fairly certain his heart skips a beat or two.

“I... suppose.” There's no point in denying it at this point, no matter how much it makes him want to curl up under a rock and never deal with humans again. He's already said it, pretty much word for word in undeniable terms. “I don't think after... yesterday, we can pretend otherwise.”

 

George closes his eyes for a second and huffs. “So what? We pretend like nothing changed but we—we like, uh, jerk each other off every now and then? Just, whenever we want to and it happens?”

 

He can't believe he's saying this, but, “Yeah. Why not?”

 

“Oh my God,” George says in disbelief, leaning his head against the wall so he can stare at the ceiling for a few moments. “Do we... make boundaries? Like, how far can we...”

 

Dream aligns the words in dozens of different ways in his head to make them sound less embarrassing, but there's no way to make it not sound bad. “I've... thought about, uh, going all the way, and—I—I mean... I'd be fine with that.” George stares hard, so Dream adds, “That's—So I guess, those are uhm—those are my boundaries.”

It takes George seemingly forever to process those words, and if Dream thought he couldn't be any redder in the face before, he was wrong. Though he's in no position to make fun of George, because he himself feels embarrassment burning in his face like magma. He's always blushed easily, so he's sure he's red as a tomato. 

 

“Okay,” is all he responds. He's about to ask the question when George speaks again. “I am—Oh my God, okay...” George buries his face in his arms that rest crossed on his knees, legs pulled close to his chest, then he looks up again. “I guess it's... not off the table. I mean—I suppose I'm fine with... that, I just have to get used to it all. Wrap my head around it.”

 

Dream nods. “That makes sense.”

“So you're,” he starts and blinks a few times before shaking his head, “Not like, mad, or anything. About yesterday. Or, not mad, I guess. But like, you don't feel super weird about it—about me?”

 

“No, I'm uh, I'm fine with it.” He breathes a sigh, letting the tension and awkwardness subside a bit. At the end of the day, he was right. They're such good friends, no matter the outcome or how they end up dealing with it, of course it wouldn't drive them apart. “I just think 'well, it happened, might as well laugh about it.' At some point, I mean. It's not like we did like, a really bad thing. I'm sure this happens to lots of other people.”

 

George huffs a laugh and it helps Dream relax, so he gives him a timid smile. “I guess it can be funny,” he admits, the line of his shoulders dropping, taking his guard down. “Did you see my dick?”

 

He gapes for a few beats, brain shutting down and booting up again.

 

“I—I wasn't looking, but uh, fleetingly. Yeah,” Dream says and yep, the heat is back in his cheeks.

 

George cracks a grin that would be pure glee if he wasn't still beet red and somehow turning even darker at that. “Did you like it?”

 

“George! What the hell,” he blurts and gets a cackle in return. While he's glad they're fine and can joke about it already, he wishes it didn't end in George teasing him. “No, you know what? No, I didn't. Worst dick I've ever seen.”

And they're almost back to normal, because George laughs and Dream has to chuckle along. Even though maybe now, there's some truth to their flirting. They've always done it, but it's probably going to leave a special aftertaste going forward. Not that it's a bad thing, but he'll probably end up blushing more than normal. 

 

On the bright side, Sapnap might now actually be able to pick up on something.

 

“God, can you imagine this started because we tried messing with Nick, and now we basically have a dick sucking pact,” Dream says and George's face scrunches.

 

“Who said anything about sucking dick?”

 

Dream sees his opportunity and takes it with a smirk. “I'll do it if you let me.”

 

“Oh,” George makes, eyes widening in surprise and Dream laughs. But of course, George catches himself quickly and it gets turned on him. “Alright, go for it.” 

 

At first he thinks it's just a joke, they both do, but then George blinks in recognition of the implications of it. Those kinds of jokes now carry entirely different undertones, and they can't ever be quite sure if there isn't some underlying truth to it. So they stare, trying to read each other until George's brows hike up on his forehead and he opens his mouth, stammers, “I—Uhm. I don't...”

He laughs and braces himself on the bed with both hands, leaning over. “I mean, if you insist...”

 

“Dream, oh my God.” He lifts a foot, threateningly, when Dream pretends to start crawling towards him. “You're so dumb, you're so dumb!” There's a tinge of panic in his voice and Dream giggles, gives him a tempting look. “I will kick you, Dream, I will. Right in the face.”

 

“No, you won't,” he calls his bluff and actually crawls up the bed, something that fills George with panic momentarily and his eyes widen comically. With a firm hand around George's ankle, he pulls him towards himself and indulges in the shriek of fear it coaxes out of George. 

 

It's hilarious, neither of them know what the actual threat is, but the obligatory alarm Dream's performance awakens in George is highly entertaining. As well as the fact that it's so easy for him to haul George halfway down the mattress in one swift motion.

 

Dream almost wants to wrestle with him, but it wouldn't be a challenge and he has to remind himself how it'd look. Considering the... circumstances. Messing around like this is already dangerous, there's no way he could pin George to the mattress and sit on him without implications.

So all he does is keep an unrelenting hand around George's ankle and grin at him, earning him a dirty look. “Let go of me.”

 

“You'd like that.” He tightens his grip as George tries to pry his fingers open. “George, give it up. I'm stronger than you.”

 

George huffs and squints at him. “Why do you want my foot?”

 

“I don't want your foot,” Dream says with a chuckle and tries to catch George's other ankle when he starts kicking at his arm. “Stop kicking me!” 

 

George is fast, but Dream is faster. He receives a venomous look.

 

“What is wrong with you, let go of me.” George turns and tries to free his ankles by bending his legs so they're simply out of reach for Dream, but he follows easily.

“ Free me!” Dream mocks, voice high pitched, having to kneel on the bed in order to not lose his grasp. With another tug, he yanks George back down much to his displeasure, earning him a frustrated groan. 

 

Something about how easy it is for him to move George around and throw him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing brings him immense joy. Not only because, yes, Dream does enjoy being the biggest guy, but also because it's a relief. 

 

They're messing around, and any awkwardness or embarrassment is entirely dissolved.

 

“Put me down, Dream, you're an idiot,” George complains, hitting his back with a fist, but the amusement in his voice undermines the serious tone he's trying to put on. Dream obeys and lets him slide off his shoulder, smirking at George as he rolls his eyes at him. “You suck. I hate you.”

 

And... his thoughts are back there. “I offered, but you didn't want me to, so—“

 

“Oh my—What is actually wrong with you?” He narrows his eyes at Dream, flitting across his face. He merely grins, feeling elated from how easy it was for them to recover after yesterday to the point where he can tease him again. About exactly that topic as well. George puffs and gnaws at his lip in thought, watching Dream carefully before saying, “I never said I didn't want you to.”

Dream blinks at him. “Oh. Oh, wow. Okay.”

 

Rose spreads across George's cheeks but he holds his gaze, determined, and clears his throat. “It's—It's an, uh, intrusive thought. I've... yeah.”

 

“Okay,” Dream says, trying to put order to his mind, and George just looks at him expectantly as if trying to spell out words around his head. “Oh—Oh, you mean, like, right now?”

 

George's eyes go wide. “I'm—I guess? But like, if you don't... want to...”

 

“No, no, I do.” His mind reels with the connotations of it, face heating. “Like, I'll do it, I'm just—I've never... done it. So, y'know, don't expect too much.”

George simply nods, lips pressed into a thin line, and Dream pushes him back with two firm hands on his shoulders, until he sits on the bed. There's an agitated look on George's face and Dream takes pity on him, turning off the lights in favor of the lamp on his nightstand. 

 

George seems grateful enough in the dim lighting, giving him a shy smile laced with anxiousness.

 

For a moment Dream considers grabbing a pillow for his knees when they meet the hard floor, but George's hand brushes his cheek and rips his focus away. 

 

It's a light touch from jittery fingers and when Dream looks up, George exhales a breath, so Dream takes his hand and presses a kiss to his fingers. “You can change your mind anytime.”

 

“So can you,” George says and holds his gaze. Dream nods and splays a hand over George's knee, thumb brushing comfortingly. Then he applies pressure to procure himself more room between his legs, and George exhales. “Okay, fuck. We're actually doing this.”

 

Dream chuckles, but it's breathless. “Yeah, we are.”

 

“Okay. Uh-huh,” he makes nervously and shifts closer to the edge. With a bright red face, George helps Dream pull his sweats and boxers down, closing his eyes to steady himself. Dream's hand works circles on George's thigh, grounding him and providing comfort. Though the tightness in Dream's chest tells him he's about as anxious.

He wants to do a good job, but he's never sucked a dick before, so he desperately tries to recall the times he's received a blowjob. 

 

George breathes heavily when Dream takes his half hard dick in his hand and experimentally licks the tip. Watching intently for any adverse reaction, Dream takes a few moments to taste. 

 

It's a new experience for sure, but he'd be lying if he said it was a negative one.

 

Maybe what does it for him is the clear pleasure that shoots through George's body when he takes the tip between his lips and sucks lightly, just to get the hang of something he has no clue how to even start. 

 

A hand finds Dream's shoulder and his breath hitches. So he does it again, harder, and again. Until fingers tangle in his hair and scratch at his scalp encouragingly. He takes that as his cue to slide down the length, locking his lips tightly so George groans at the feeling.

 

Lips fall open with a pant as Dream hollows his cheeks and presses his tongue against the underside of his dick. Then he almost pulls off entirely, slowly, tongue playing with the tip for a bit. It's experimental, gradually finding out what makes George moan the loudest, what makes fingers tighten in his hair. 

Dream closes his eyes and focuses on the different tricks he can do with his tongue. Until George mewls and bucks his hips, pushes his dick into his mouth. Not far, but it's a clear indication that he's lost his conscious thought.

 

And Dream is ecstatic. It's as good as a verbal compliment, a 'you're doing so well,' which admittedly makes him unusually proud. It's even better because it's his first time, and he's barely in the experimenting phase, but he manages to make George moan like that and lose his mind.

 

For a minute or so he closes his lips snugly around his dick and bobs his head, testing just how far he can take it before he gags. His tongue returns to the underside of George's dick as he moves up and down the length, applying a different pressure and suction on each repeat. 

 

George thanks him with fingers cramped in his hair and a series of pants and moans that sound like music to his ears. 

 

It doesn't take long for Dream to get used to a dick in his throat before he can take him all the way. He finds that the trick is breathing deeply through his nose to lessen the gag reflex, and just a few attempts have him almost completely adjusted to the intrusion. 

 

Maybe it's weird to be proud of that fact. But when it hits the back of his throat and he barely gags, his chest fills with pride.

Dream returns to playing with the tip, tongue repeating the same movements and applying the same suction as before, and George slurs, “Fuck, Dream.”

 

Nails scratch his scalp, tugging at his hair and Dream moans at the feeling. It makes George inhale a sharp breath and yeah, noted.  

 

Vibrations. 

 

So Dream slides down the length and hums, which coaxes a guttural groan out of George along with fingers splaying at the back of his head. Keeping him in place as he breathes, obviously trying to cling to some remainder of reality. Dream does it again and fights against the pressure of his grip, pulling off to suck at the tip.

 

“Dream,” he chokes out when he deep throats him again, and it sounds like a warning. 

 

But Dream thrives off danger, so he starts bobbing his head while finding the right pressure of his tongue and suction as he hollows his cheeks. George makes a half-assed attempt at yanking him off by his hair, but Dream's stubborn and digs fingers into his thigh as acknowledgment. “You're—Fuck. Fuck—”

Breath hitches and hips stutter as George groans, nearly making Dream choke as he comes. Maybe, under different circumstances, Dream would be kind of grossed out by the feeling of cum spilling into his throat. But right now, he moans through it because fuck, he made that happen. He made George feel so good despite it being his first attempt. He doesn't even mind the bitter, salty taste as he pulls off and looks up at George.

 

Mouth agape still and eyes closed, he pants and tries to return back to earth. Dream waits for him to open his eyes to lick his lips and grin. “I take it that was okay?”

 

George huffs, breathless and a bit out of it, then nods lamely.

~

Dream wakes with an arm slung around his waist and he yawns, running a hand up and down the arm until George stirs behind him. But he merely grumbles and pulls himself in tighter, pressing his chest to Dream's back. Not that he's complaining, even though maybe he turns a bit red as the events of yesterday seep through the cracks of sleep.

 

Okay, yeah. He sucked his best friend's dick and then they settled on cuddling until they fell asleep. So what?

 

It's not like they hadn't talked about it and mutually decided it's fine. So there's no reason to let it be awkward now. Especially because... Dream enjoyed it. A lot. And he spent half the time they cuddled thinking about turning over and asking to make out. Even if at the end he decided against it, that idea settled stubbornly in his brain and still plagues him.

 

So clearly, what's considered acceptable and normal in their friendship has substantially shifted. 

 

Or rather, got entirely shaken up and now the lines are a bit blurred, and Dream likes to push his luck. He's really, really enjoyed pushing his luck with George as of late.

“I wanna make out,” Dream announces, shifting until he's lying on his back and can look at George who raises a brow at him tiredly. “I'm bored. Can we... make out?”

 

George groans and mutters, “Morning breath.”

 

So, very much against his will, Dream pulls George to his feet and drags him into the bathroom down the hall just to shove a toothbrush into his hand. It's accompanied by constant complaints, but George relents and squeezes toothpaste from the tube. Dream eases the pain of getting yanked out of bed immediately after waking up by wrapping his free arm around George from behind. He receives a bitter look in the mirror that he counters with a smile around his own toothbrush.

 

“I hate you,” George says despite the foam filling his mouth making him mispronounce his words, and Dream snorts a laugh.

 

“Mhm,” he makes, brushing fingers across his chest. It's awfully domestic, and a part of Dream glows at the thought of how quickly they settled in after finally moving together. It's been years in the making, but they never could've expected the full scope of it.

 

He's happy.

After teeth are brushed and faces cleaned with warm water, Dream doesn't waste any time. He doesn't even bother returning to George's room, just grabs him by his hips and pushes him against the sink. For a split second it makes George lose his balance and he blinks up at him when he catches himself, and Dream dips down to capture his lips. 

 

George breathes in surprise but leans into it, tilting his head and slotting their lips together as he brings hands up to Dream's back.

 

He sighs into the kiss, relaxing fully with the pleasant sensation of fingers stroking his back. What was meant to be him messing around for a minute turns into a lazy kiss, lips caught in slow motion and brains mushy, large hands gripping George's waist tightly. He'd craved something like this.

“Wanna lay down,” George mumbles against his mouth and Dream complies, pulling back with another drag of his lips. It's only when he cracks his eyes open and finds George in his arms that it fully settles in that, oh wow, lazy morning kisses with his best friend. 

 

Yeah, that's a thing now, apparently.

 

Not that it discourages him from pressing George into the pillows when they make it back to his bed. It should probably be weird. He should probably be more freaked out by how much he enjoys splaying George out on the mattress to hover over him. Or that he feels an impatient twinge when George spends a few seconds draping the covers over them to get comfortable, adjusting pillows without paying Dream much attention.

 

But it doesn't feel weird. It just feels like a natural extension to their friendship, something to bring them even closer than they already are. Admittedly, they've always had a strange aspect to their friendship, being unconventionally possessive with each other. To the point of obsession at times.

 

They're well aware of the jokes about them being infatuated with each other, and Dream can't say he entirely disagrees. Though it's probably not the right way to describe it. But at the end of the day, the fans aren't wrong to pick up on their unusually close relationship.

 

So if they've never quite committed to the norm, why should they worry about doing so now?

“Kiss me, idiot,” George demands and Dream blinks his thoughts away, meeting an antsy gaze. A grasp lands on his shoulder, tugging lightly, and Dream smirks as he leans down.

 

“So needy,” he breathes against George's lips which makes him pull back to squint at him in bewilderment. Alright, maybe that was a bit too forward.

 

Dream gives an abashed chuckle and George rolls his eyes. “You're the one who asked to make out. How am I the needy one?” He wants to argue so bad, but the desire to make out is much worse, so Dream swallows his pride and gives a dismissive shrug. George blocks his attempt at a kiss and grins at him. “Say it. Say you're the needy one.”

 

“You're such an idiot,” Dream mutters, but George only raises a brow, a hand firm on his chest to keep distance between them. “Alright. I'm the needy one. There.”

 

George smirks. “That's what I thought.”

The hand gives and Dream doesn't miss his cue, diving down to return his lips to their rightful place. He adjusts his elbows around George until he's comfortable and slides a hand between his head and the pillow. Soft hair tangles with his fingers and he scratches gently at his scalp, making George sigh.

 

They start slow and shy, reenacting their earlier kiss, lips dragging lazily against each other, heads tilting to find the right angle, soft breaths between them. It tickles his cheek, sending waves of warmth down his body along with the caress of George's hands on his back.

 

George's teeth tug at his lip playfully then and he can feel a smile. He mirrors it and bites at George's lip in return before slotting their mouths together again, more demanding and hungry. A surprised draw of air catches in George's throat and Dream feels accomplished.

 

He grins and falls back on their previous tempo, long but intense draws of lips against lips that make his mind reel. Slowly but surely, Dream is losing himself to the feeling. Forgets the world around him and feels more at home in George's arms than anywhere else. He'll stay in this moment forever if the universe allows him.

At some point, he stops thinking and moves on autopilot, consciousness lingering somewhere between here and where George is taking him. His surroundings and sensations become an accumulation of sheets rustling, fingers brushing against stubble and nails tickling his scalp. Lips that taste his own again and again in a steady rhythm that could put him to sleep if he wasn't too busy savoring the feeling, trying to make it last for infinity.

 

Dream is about to roll onto his side and pull George close to keep kissing him like that when a tongue darts out, seeking access that gets granted happily and without hesitation. 

 

Moments, maybe minutes pass as George explores his mouth and Dream lets him without fighting back.

 

Fingers ghost over his shoulder blades, down his spine, mapping the expanse of his back with light touches and caresses, making him feel like maybe he died and went to heaven. Then George pulls away to breathe and Dream murmurs, “You're a great kisser.”

 

A huff of air rushes past his face and lips are back on his, claiming him without ambiguity. Dream can never kiss anyone else again and George is making that very clear with the way he coaxes him, holds him with a tight grasp and licks into his mouth to make his mind spin. He's not sure how much time has passed or why George has decided Dream belongs to him now, but it fills his chest with a warm, golden light.

 

And Dream steadies himself on the mattress to return the favor, deepening the kiss with his tongue chasing after George's. 

 

Maybe he gains dominance or maybe George lets him, but regardless Dream spends a few minutes discovering without any intervention from George. Because he can never kiss anyone else either. Dream won't let him.

They find a mutual rhythm, tongues dancing back and forth and lips tugging at each other repeatedly, and Dream has lost his mind to it long ago. He's buried deep in the feeling of it all so he barely recognizes the knock at the door. Dream freezes before George does.

 

It repeats itself and they break apart to look at each other, panicked gazes and clouded minds. Seconds pass as Dream catches up to what's happening, where they are, and what they're supposed to do.

 

A cover story. They need to figure out a reason why Dream would be here in case Sapnap enters the room, and—

 

“Yeah?” George calls as he slides out from under Dream, laying down further away from him and grabbing his phone. He gestures for Dream to do the same and even though it takes him a moment, he plays along.

“Are you naked?” Sapnap asks.

 

“What the hell? No,” George responds and the door opens to reveal Sapnap in basketball shorts and sweater, raising a brow at Dream's presence.

 

“Oh, hi.” Sapnap nods in his direction and Dream merely responds with a casual wave, heart beating in his ears but... why? It dawns on him that they're supposed to act suspiciously, so why is he freaking out about potentially getting caught? “Pancakes or waffles?”

 

George looks at him and he meets his eyes, shrugging. “Waffles.”

 

“You plan on making breakfast?” Dream asks, getting a nod from Sapnap. “Not without supervision.”

 

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I can safely make waffles, Clay.”

 

“I don't trust you to not burn down the kitchen two weeks after we moved in.”

And so their lazy morning of kissing each other senseless ends in favor of Dream watching Sapnap with eagle eyes—and also, frankly, because Dream needs a break before he ends up getting their dicks out again. Not that he'd thought about it during their make out session, but it's not unreasonable to think it would've gotten to that point if they'd kept going.

 

But now that he's thinking about it, yeah, he's thinking about it. It makes him nearly unable to look at George at certain times during the day. Namely, whenever George moves into his personal space, puts a hand on his arm or sits on the couch with their legs brushing.

 

And God, is it embarrassing. Restraint isn't something he usually struggles with, but he finds himself unable to banish those thoughts when they do appear. 

 

Maybe it's because he'd sucked George's dick without expecting anything in return, and now he's horny. It makes him wonder if he can sneakily pull George into the bathroom for a few minutes. What it'd take to convince him to return the favor and how he'd go about it, what his lips would look like around his dick.

 

So yeah, he stubbornly avoids looking at George's lips.

 

If George picks up on any weird energy around him, he doesn't mention it. Sapnap is still oblivious. And Dream is practicing his poker face whenever George is near him, looks at him, so he won't turn bright red later during the stream. On camera. In front of tens of thousands of people who will be analyzing his every interaction with George.

 

Crap. He's absolutely screwed.

It's not the only reason Dream feels his stomach turn whenever he thinks of the impending stream. He'd face revealed days ago and watched the Internet's reaction go down, mostly on Twitter and Instagram. Fans were understandably beside themselves with joy and... other feelings. He's encountered his fair share of thirst tweets on his timeline, and while they fed his ego, they were mostly used for the purpose of being read out loud so he and his friends could laugh at them.

 

All in all, the face reveal went over okay, but that was before everything. Today, he's going to be on video, live, after whatever mess he'd gotten himself into. While he doesn't consider himself shy on camera, and he doesn't think he has stage fright or that he'll say anything stupid, fear lingers at the edges.

 

He can't even point out exactly what it is that's making him tremble with nervous anticipation hours before the stream, because he just plans to act natural. No exaggerated reactions or what he'd do for his YouTube videos, just him and his friends as they always are.

 

But with having George there to distract him in ways he cannot let show on his face, his nerves are as high strung as they haven't been in a while. What if George makes a secret reference to what's been going on behind the scenes these past few days and Dream flushes red? What if chat picks up on it and puts two and two together?

 

So he's absolutely shitting his pants.

George, on the other hand, seems as calm and collected as usual even as they're setting up and making last minute preparations. He desperately takes the opportunity when Sapnap goes to take a piss beforehand and warns George, “Don't say anything about... y'know.”

 

“What?” He gives Dream a horrified look and hisses, “ Of course not. Do you think I'm insane?”

 

Dream throws his hands up defensively. “A little.” This gets him a glare and Dream snickers. “I'm just saying, don't make any references you think no one will get or... I don't know. Just don't bring it up at all.”

 

“Yeah,” George sighs, shaking his head as he turns his attention to the screen in front of him, clicking around a few windows. Dream watches him prepare the stream, worrying his lip to the point he's picking at the skin with his teeth. George glances at him. “Dream. It'll be fine.”

 

“Okay,” he says, unconvincingly.

 

“Nervous?” Sapnap asks as he wanders into the room with a slight smirk in Dream's direction.

 

Dream replies with a sigh and runs his hands through his hair, fixing it afterwards because right, he'll actually have a camera pointed at him. At least he's given George a warning, so if he just manages not to blush too hard, it'll actually go over well.

And it does. He makes a point to focus more on the donations and chat messages excitedly ranting about finally seeing his face, that he's good looking and nothing or just like they pictured him. Of course the focus is on him for the first ten minutes or so, his face, the fact that finally, people are seeing him.

 

Perhaps he's just as excited as everyone else. It's not like he planned on being faceless, and he's been ready—no, desperate—to face reveal for quite a while, so getting it over with and not having to hide anymore feels like the best thing in the world. So do the compliments, of course.

 

They do get the occasional comment about the way Dream looks at George, or the other way around, but that was to be expected either way. With Dream in between George and Sapnap, there's lots of little touches that chat blows out of proportion and he can already see the edits. 

 

Slowed down with romantic music, everything seems... not platonic. It's gonna happen, and his TikTok will be a mess for weeks.

But he's happy. Dream smiles his entire way through the stream because he's with his best friends, he's face revealed fully, he's growing surprisingly comfortable on camera, and they can finally start the next part of their lives. Dream can go outside.

 

Yes, once or twice, he does blush because even though George doesn't reference their, well, sexual encounters or them kissing, he does tease him still. Nothing unlike he usually does, so no one would see it as something other than routine, but to Dream it now holds an extra meaning that wasn't there before.

“I'm not gonna say it, George,” he complains with a nervous laugh that was supposed to sound lighthearted. “I know you want me to say it, but I'm not gonna.”

 

“It's true, though.” George snickers and for that, Dream jabs his elbow into his ribs. “Ow, Dream.”

 

“Oh my God, I'll say it, you guys suck,” Sapnap butts in and Dream sends him a warning glare. “Dream thinks George is better looking in person.”

 

Dream splutters. “Sapnap!”

 

“It's true! It's true,” George claims between bubbling laughter and Dream wants to sink into the floor. “He does. He couldn't take his eyes off me for the first, like, two days.”

Of course he explains that it took him a bit to accept George was here, but neither his friends nor chat will hear it, so he surrenders and makes his peace with having to hear that quoted for the rest of eternity.

 

So there was some teasing, George trying a bit to make him embarrassed and blush, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would put him in a situation he couldn't reason away, and he's really happy about the stream. It went better than expected and their fans are obviously elated, actively talking about it on Twitter for hours after.

 

There's dozens upon dozens of screenshots, people changing their profile pictures to different takes of his face, and he smiles at his phone as he scrolls through everyone's thoughts and feelings about the stream, the meetup, him. He giggles at some outrageous dnf conspiracy theories, gets nervous about others that happen to get some things distressingly correct.

The evening turns into night and he allows himself to come down from the events of the day. 

 

It sure was a lot, but he's glowing, not ready to turn in yet despite being fairly exhausted from being on the edge of his seat all day.

 

Dream takes another selfie. For some inexplicable reason, his finger trembles over the button for a second or two, but he taps the screen and watches people's reactions start to flood in on Twitter. One more photo to the pile of profile pictures for his community. 

 

It seeps into his brain that this is his life now. He doesn't have to hide anymore, he can go places or snap a random photo and share it. He just did, and it was fucking freeing despite not being the first.

“You gonna brag about your face all the time now?” George asks and Dream looks at him standing in the doorway, holding his phone up with the screen turned to him, displaying his selfie.

 

“I don't know,” Dream says, poorly suppressing a smirk. “Do you think my face is something to brag about, George?”

 

He rolls his eyes and comes to sit on the couch next to him. “You—” he starts, considering for a moment before taking a breath. “You do look good. I don't think I've told you, because that's not really... my thing, but yeah.”

 

Dream gives him a grateful smile. “Thank you, George.” He returns the smile, so Dream's morphs into a grin. “You think I'm hot.”

 

“Oh my God.” George groans and immediately gets up to leave. Without hesitation, Dream follows. “You're so dumb. This is why I don't say these things.”

 

“Say it again and I won't tease you about it anymore,” Dream prompts, following George into the hallway. “Pinky promise.”

 

George huffs. “You're the worst. You're ugly.”

 

“George, what the hell!” he laughs, catching up when George walks faster. “Take that back. You don't think that.”

 

“I do. It's the truth.”

 

“Is that why you wanted me to get you off? Twice,” Dream points out and George whirls around, eyes wide.

 

He hisses, “Not that loud, Dream. What if Sapnap hears?”

 

Dream snickers and grabs George's arm, because he's got an idea, and he spent all day working his brain to the point of mental fatigue. Besides, their morning session was so rudely interrupted, so Dream deserves to close that off.

George mutters under his breath when Dream shoves him into his room, not even flicking the lights on. The moon is bright enough even through the curtains, and George stands in the middle of Dream's room raising a brow at him as he pushes the door closed. He doesn't protest, though, placing his phone on the nightstand before he wordlessly sits on the bed.

 

It makes Dream laugh a bit considering how nervous they were to do anything just a few days ago, and now George is so nonchalant about it. Or he's simply good at hiding his timidity, but inside he's all fluttering nerves and racing thoughts.

 

If so, Dream quiets them with a kiss. Unceremoniously crawls up to George and kneels in front of him, pressing their lips together. George gives immediately, opening his mouth for him to lick into it and a hand lands on Dream's jaw, another one on his shoulder for balance when Dream nearly tips him over with the force of the kiss.

 

“Calm down,” George mutters, only for Dream to deepen the kiss and demand more. 

 

Fingers wander to his chest and push, beckoning Dream to lay down and he complies easily, because George follows. Climbs on top of him, sitting on his stomach, and kisses him like that.

 

Dream huffs through his nose and inclines his head, letting George taste into his mouth for a minute before tangling fingers into dark hair and claiming the lead. It coaxes a groan out of George with the sheer intensity of it, a bruising kiss that'll leave both their lips red and swollen.

 

Nails scratch his chest lightly through the shirt as George tries to keep up with him, chasing his tongue and lips until it turns a bit messy. Dream isn't sure if he likes comfortable morning kisses or this more, in either case he doesn't have much brain to think about it in the moment. Because George's tongue is on his, his breath comes in short pants and Dream's hands itch on his hips, begging to wander lower.

 

“Butt,” Dream urges into the kiss and George pauses for Dream to ask, “Can I grab your butt?”

 

George scoffs and nods, reclaiming his lips as Dream digs fingers into the flesh of his ass and it pulls a short whimper out of George. He'd be bullshitting if Dream pretended to never have noticed George's ass with a suppressed admiration, but oh well. He doesn't have to lie anymore. Better yet, he gets to touch instead of look.

As good as it is, Dream has bigger plans, so he flips them over and shoves George into the mattress with a yelp. And he puts lips on his neck, in just the spot that made George's breath hitch last time. He nips at the skin with his teeth and George draws air sharply, nails surely painting crescent moons into Dream's shoulder. 

 

He moves to a sharp jaw, thumb underneath to tilt George's head back so he has more room, and places a few gentle bites until George wraps legs around him. Dream finds a spot that draws a moan out of George and lavishes his tongue over it, sucking the skin between his lips. 

 

Arms only beg him closer and he sees it as encouragement, dragging teeth over the sensitive spot before he sucks again.

 

When the nails in his back begin to ache, Dream runs his hands up George's arms until he has them wrapped snugly around his wrists, holding them beside his head. George reacts with a whine, offering nothing but weak resistance. Not that he would've stood any chance if he really tried. Dream opens his grasp to slide up and intertwine their fingers, being welcomed with a firm squeeze.

And Dream spends a few minutes nibbling and sucking along his jaw, placing kisses here and there, no matter how impatient George becomes. Legs tightly around his waist, hands clutching desperately to his and breathing wordless pleas. It turns Dream into an insane man, but it's too enticing to keep going even though they're both clearly losing their minds.

 

“Dream,” he laments, shifting underneath him, trying to get his hands free.

 

“You really put me on the spot earlier.” A quizzical noise pushes past George's lips, mixed with clear dissatisfaction. Dream puts his mouth to George's ear and whispers, “Trying to make me say you're pretty on stream. Asking if I'd kiss you for a subgoal? Making me blush on purpose.”

 

“God,” George exhales, barely audible. “That's what this is about?”

 

“Mhm,” Dream makes and bites underneath his ear, pulling a soft squeak out of him. “You misbehaved.”

 

A breath, shaky and surprised. “Fuck.”

 

That's the sound Dream likes to hear, so he grins and sucks at George's neck with the intention of leaving another mark, making him mewl and try to twist his hands free, futile. 

 

Cruelly, Dream thrusts his hips once to cause George's breath to catch, legs squeezing around him. A series of unintelligible complaints mix with pants and groans while Dream places marks on George's neck and occasionally rocks his hips until he's so hard George must surely feel it.

“Dream, c'mon,” he begs after a while, still fighting against the hands pinning down his own. Dream hums in question, not satisfied so quickly. “Please, Dream.”

 

He clicks his tongue. “Say you're sorry.” Dream emphasizes with another thrust and a bite.

 

“Fuck. I'm sorry.” George writhes beneath him to no avail. “There; I'm sorry.”

 

Music to his ears, and he grins. 

 

Finally, he lets George's hands free and they fly to his back, traveling down until he gets enough leverage to indicate he needs Dream to keep moving. Dream groans at fingers sinking into his ass through his sweats and he places a kiss by George's ear. “Let me fuck you?”

 

It's a question more than anything, but it comes out as a request. George nearly gasps at the words, staying silent for a few moments.

 

“Shit, okay. Yeah,” he breathes and Dream props himself up to look at him.

 

“Yeah?” he asks confirmation.

 

George nods, blinking at him out of clouded eyes. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Please.”

 

Dream huffs. “Oh, 'please,' George?”

 

“Shut up,” he mutters, flushing red and averting his eyes to look at his nightstand. “Do you have...”

 

“Mhm, got everything.” George raises a brow at him and Dream only shrugs as he clambers off of him. “Just in case.”

George ignores the redness painting his own cheeks and smirks, sitting up. “You wanted this so bad.”

 

“Oh, you're not one to speak,” Dream reminds him and places the bottle of lube and a condom on the bed before crawling up to George again, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Who was begging just a minute ago?”

 

Dream pulls the fabric over his head and discards it beside the bed, unabashedly letting his eyes roam down the expanse of George's exposed chest. He swallows, barely collecting himself enough to hold his arms up so George can remove his shirt as well. “And who's blue screening because he saw me shirtless?”

 

A wicked sneer spreads on George's lips and Dream rolls his eyes, bushes him back into the pillows and tugs his sweats and boxers down in one swift motion, following George's gaze intently. Dream grins and counters, “Like you're not staring at all.”

 

“I'm—“ His gaze snaps back up, unable to come up with a defense. Dream makes quick work of his own pants with a perpetual smirk that only grows when George's eyes fall on his dick and widen. “Oh.” Dream can only bark a laugh and George clears his throat. “Fuck, you're big.”

 

“Thanks,” he says sarcastically, coming to rest between George's legs who shifts underneath him, eyes raking over his face. He inhales and tries to wind down when Dream reaches for the lube and pops the cap open. “Just relax.” He presses a kiss to George's cheek. “I'll take care of you.”

A nod, then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Dream intentionally brushes his hand along his leg to let him know where he is, so it doesn't come as a surprise when he presses the pad of his finger to George's hole. It forces a shaky inhale, but his eyes stay closed, breathing even, so Dream pushes in.

 

George whines, tensing up as his head tips back, and Dream leans in for a kiss. After a few seconds, George relaxes into it and Dream starts pumping his finger in and out carefully, his own stomach dropping at the thought, the feeling of George around his digit. If that wasn't enough, George lets out a moan, drawn out and needy, that makes Dream's dick twitch in anticipation.

 

“Oh my God,” George mutters against his lips, voice shaky and half out of his mind.

 

Dream exhales a laugh and whispers, “Big hands.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

He curls his finger to coax a mewl out of him and spends a few moments to find his prostate. Maybe it's a bit embarrassing, but he's done his research. Fell down an entire rabbit hole of how gay sex works, but it's paying off because George almost cries out when he finds the spot. “There, there. Please.”

Repeatedly he hits that spot and George loses himself in a series of moans, sheets crumpling underneath his grip, arching his back. 

 

So Dream adds a second finger and continues that same movement. George pants in rhythm with the thrust of his fingers and Dream gives him a minute to get used to that second digit before he starts scissoring.

 

George's eyes shoot open and he blinks at him, mouth agape helplessly, and Dream gives him a smile before kissing him. He works him open like this for a bit, swallowing moans and whines and reveling in the way George's legs tremble around him. A string of words that barely make sense push past George's lips, but Dream can make out their purpose.

The third finger takes George's breath away for a few seconds and Dream lets him adjust before moving. Eyes flutter and George becomes a mess of moans and pleas while Dream opens him up, fingers threatening to tear through the sheets and ruin them.

 

“Ready,” George barely manages. “Dream.”

 

Dream strokes his prostate to hear that reaction again and says, “Alright.”

 

George pants as Dream rolls the condom onto his dick, only cracking an eye open when he places a pillow underneath his ass and lines himself up. 

 

It hits Dream then and there. 

 

He's about to actually fuck his best friend, this is not some kind of joke or a bit that went too far. Now or never, back out or forever deal with the fact they went through with it.

He takes a deep breath when he pushes in because really, he'd already put his fingers inside George, had his dick in his mouth, so they're past doubt. And it feels fucking heavenly. For a few seconds he has to actively keep himself together or he'll fall apart, only letting out a guttural groan when he's entirely bottomed out and George's moan penetrates the rushing of blood in his ears.

 

“Fuck, George,” he breathes, all other words eluding him.

 

There's a nod and nails tugging at his ass in a plea, so he moves. Pulls out almost entirely and drives back in and muffles a moan against George's neck. Then he does it again, and again. George whines, squeezing legs around him when Dream creates a steady rhythm with his hips that makes his eyes roll back.

 

His mind fills with pants and moans, fingers digging into his flesh, the warm tightness around his dick that'll ruin him for all other people.

 

George's voice echoes in his ear begging for more, needing him to go faster and harder, and Dream kisses him into silence. Shuts him up because he's going to enjoy this for as long as he can and if it means driving both of them into insanity, so be it.

 

This is what heaven must feel like. Burying himself into George over and over, filling him up entirely before leaving him empty and whining, then thrusting back in as he slowly picks up his pace. George is out of breath, unable to close his mouth or open his eyes, brows drawn together, and he's so fucking pretty. Dream can't help but stare, does his best to withstand the urge to let his eyes drift shut or roll back into his head just so he can watch.

 

And he thinks he's found his favorite sound in the universe. It's that high pitched moan that catches in his throat when Dream shoves his dick deep inside him. It's almost as good as he feels around his dick, tight and clenching at every thrust to give and take more, even though they risk shattering to bits every time.

Dream thinks George's nails may have broken skin from how they cut into it, but he's never cared less. He'd let George scratch him bloody all over if it meant getting to have him to himself like this, to be the only one who gets to thrust into him and make him feel fantastic until he screams.

 

He's possessive. With no one as much as George, but there's a reason for it. 

 

Dream nips at the skin of his neck, biting gently as he adjusts his angle until George cries out and holds his breath. Lips drag against Dream's cheek, unable to produce a coherent sound, but Dream knows to hit that same spot again.

 

When he does on the next thrust and the one after, George buries his nose and mouth in the crook of his neck to muffle his noises. Dream has half a mind not to stop him from doing it, because there's a chance Sapnap will hear. So Dream listens for the muted screams whenever he hits his prostate, mixed with moans he's not sure are his own or George's.

The heat pooling in his stomach rises and rises, so he grips George's hips to hold him in place and drives into him at a cruel pace and intensity, hitting that sweet spot with each thrust. His cries become desperate, chasing his own orgasm and Dream aims to make him come entirely untouched.

 

Dream can make out his own name between unintelligible sounds and words that don't sound like anything, and a second later he cries out and squeezes around his dick. Hands fly away to grip at the sheets as he arches his back and lets his head fall back in a drawn out groan. 

 

Dream watches with blown eyes until he can't hold on any longer, because George is too tight around him, too good, and the thought of him coming on just Dream's dick pushes him over the edge. 

 

Mind whites out, world turns over, hands hold on for dear life.

 

He comes back down with a deep groan and pumps himself through the remainders of his orgasm. George breathes underneath him, ragged and too quick, and Dream collapses on top of him to match their rhythms.

His sense of time evades him and he doesn't know whether they lay there for five minutes of an hour, but eventually Dream rolls off and goes to discard the condom. Limbs all gooey and trembling, mind stuck in a fog, like his brain doesn't want to process his surroundings.

 

For a minute he rests his hands on either side of the sink and relaxes, semi-aware of his reflection in the mirror. He looks frazzled, to say the least. Hair a mess and flushed face, sweat clinging to his forehead. 

 

So he turns on the faucet and plugs the bathtub, because if he needs anything right now, it's a relaxing bath.

 

George grumbles in defiance when Dream tries to convince him to get up, unwilling to move even for a bath, but eventually gives in. They clean the biggest mess off their bodies and climb into the bathtub. The warm water provides immediate relief and George sinks against Dream's chest, hair tickling his neck, and he wraps arms around him.

Both of them just lie there for a while, eyes closed and breathing even until their rhythms align, inhaling the faint lavender scent. Whether George enjoys the company as much as Dream does is out of the question with how he runs fingers up and down Dream's arm after a while, turning his head to rest against Dream's jaw.

 

He can't help but smile, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. Something about the gesture strikes him as different and sticks stubbornly to his brain for a few minutes. 

 

It's nothing out of the ordinary anymore, he's kissed George plenty of times. Fleetingly or to calm him, long and intense, lazily in the morning or hungrily during sex. Nothing about it should feel any different but he can't shake the feeling.

 

In the end, he chalks it up to it happening in an intimate moment after they've slept with each other. 

 

Hormones, him being clingy and emotional, so of course it would appear more meaningful. His possessiveness had reached new levels earlier, when he thought about never letting anyone else kiss George, much less sleep with him.

 

What a weird thought.

 

Dream dwells on it, because perhaps it's something he should keep under wraps. He's always been possessive. He's possessive of George, Sapnap, any of his closer friends, his cat, but maybe this level is one step too far. No matter how close, George should be able to have relationships and friendships with other people without Dream getting jealous. Even if he's his best friend.

 

A pit opens up in his stomach at that. It's persistent, and Dream can't quite put his finger on why that feels weird, until George sighs and cranes his neck to place a kiss on his jaw that makes him smile. 

 

And it clicks.

 

Oh.

~

The plan... backfired. Hard.

 

Or maybe it was just the catalyst. 

 

Either way, Dream finds himself in a bit of a pickle and also feeling incredibly stupid. He's unequivocally in love, fallen hard and far for his best friend who he's been intimate with in a way they said would be platonic.

 

The next day is spent reevaluating their relationship, the past few years where every little moment together seems to lead up to the one big conclusion he's reeling from now: he's entirely infatuated with George, an infatuation that goes past the jokes of random Twitter users and him seeking out Fanart of himself where his best friend is his boyfriend.

 

His fond voice, his special way of speaking that's only for George, the quizzes and strangers thinking they were dating, edits of them interacting that he smiled at so often. His insistence on being wherever George goes on the Internet, having him be a part of his every waking moment, being in a bad mood if George didn't pay attention to him.

 

Moving someone he's never met in person across an ocean to spend hopefully the rest of their lives near each other, if not together. Being unnecessarily nervous about showing his face to George, because what if he didn't like it? When really, that wouldn't matter to a friend.

It's unbelievable that he hasn't put two and two together until George pressed a kiss to his jaw and Dream realized he wants just that, every hour of the day, never anything else. Being with George in a way that matters, just for the sake of being together. Something no one else gets, that's just for them, so intimate and domestic it should make his toenails curl but instead fills him with butterflies.

 

He wants George to love him. 

 

Not in a platonic way how he loves Sapnap, but more all-encompassing. Something so beautiful and unique only they could create it, a kind of love that settles so deeply it's almost unbearable if they're not together, next to each other.

 

Dream writes down different ways to tell him in his notes app. Not with the intention of ever showing him, but simply because he needs to get it out of his system. 

 

His bathroom door is locked because he cries and he couldn't explain why. It's not so much the fear of not being loved back or having to live with this for the rest of his life, but more how overwhelming it is.

 

It came so sudden and hit him so hard it derailed his entire world, stealing the air from his lungs when he tries to conceptualize the difference in his feelings for George.

 

What he thought it was and what the truth has been that he wasn't ready to see.

 

And now he has to think about how to handle it all going forward while coming to terms with it at the same time. Being so desperately in love with George had never crossed his mind as a reality despite all the jokes and theories. It hadn't been part of the plan.

 

It makes him dizzy—his insides hurt.

For all this time, the waters were muddied because how could he truly be in love with him? They were just jokes, nothing real. The flirting was to play into it, their closeness a result of years of friendship, and his possessiveness simply who he was as a person. Never had he thought to look at those jokes and wonder if there was a different angle to them.

 

He should've. Maybe it would've been easier to deal with had he realized while George was still in England. Then he could've given himself the time to fully process and get over the initial shock without George being right there.  

 

Close enough to touch but just out of reach.

 

So Dream cries, because it seems like too big of a task to take on by himself but nothing he can share with anyone. He cries because he feels hopeless, at the bottom of a valley with no way out and no chance of getting to where he wants to be. His eyes are rubbed raw and foggy by the time dinner rolls around, and he doesn't want to leave the bathroom.

Is it obvious that he cried? Dream doesn't remember what he looked like before so his reflection in the mirror tells him nothing. He looks tired and empty but maybe he always has, or maybe that's just because he knows he is and to George and Sapnap he'll look normal.

 

Dream washes his face and swallows the lump in his throat before leaving the bathroom. 

 

He'll sit there and say he's not feeling well, maybe he came down with something, and he'll assure George everything is fine if he asks. Because walking into the kitchen now, for only the second time that day, he realizes how it must look to him.

 

They'd slept with each other, went all the way, and the next day Dream retreats entirely and doesn't speak to him. Doesn't even leave his room for more than five minutes. Regret burns in his stomach because despite George not showing any sign of distress when he looks as Dream enters the kitchen, internally he must be panicking. 

 

If that first time left him a wreck, what is he thinking now?

Dream and George sit in near silence as Sapnap rambles on about plans, wanting them to make the drive to Karl's in the coming weeks and meet up with Quackity somewhere. If he senses the strange atmosphere, he does his best to talk over it. And Dream makes an effort to glance at George and smile in a normal way from time to time, to give him the impression that it's not him or last night that has Dream locking himself away in his room.

 

How successful he is in that is up for debate, because whenever George meets his eye, there's apprehension in it. Something silent that tells Dream that yes, he has noticed. And he is attributing it to yesterday. So Dream gives him a softer smile here and there until George starts reciprocating it.

 

At the end, George relaxes a bit. 

 

A deep breath leaves him and takes the tension with it, shoulders drooping and expression loosening up. After dinner, Dream excuses himself to his room again because, well, he's not feeling too good. At least George seems to have put his greatest fears aside, which gives Dream a great amount of relief in turn.

 

What he hadn't considered is the possibility of George following him, slipping into his room five minutes after him. Dream has to keep himself together so he doesn't show any physical reaction, merely staring at him out of wide eyes.

 

“Are we good?” George asks, standing a safe distance away from the bed, fidgeting in his spot.

 

Dream nods, willing his voice to remain steady. “Yeah. Of course.”

 

“Okay.” He steps up to the bed and kneels in front of him, the dip of the mattress causing a strange sense of dread to bubble up within Dream. Against his own will and out of his own control, Dream holds his breath, and George picks up on it. Of course he does, because this really isn't Dream's day. George stares, assesses him for a few seconds, before pulling back and frowning at him. He notes, “We're not good.”

 

“George,” he says, voice breaking a bit, but he doesn't know what else to say. All he wants is for George to not blame himself or feel like this is in any way his fault, but he can't tell the truth. Not yet at least. 

 

It'd be too much; it could break them.

“You said it wouldn't matter. That it won't change anything,” George says lowly, lip pushing forward in upset. 

 

“It won't. It didn't,” Dream hurries and George scoffs. “No, listen. I just... need time. I—I don't know. I can't explain it to you right now.”

 

George gives him a sharp look. “This is the exact reason I didn't want—And then you convinced me it was fine. You were so sure, Dream. I knew it would be a bad idea, but you—And now you're the one who, I don't know, has a problem with it?”

 

“I know. I'm sorry.” 

What else is there for him to say right now? Even though it's not good enough, and George looks like he's about to cry all while furious. Dream can't blame him and he can't tell the truth because it wouldn't change anything. Whether he pulls back because sleeping with his best friend made things awkward or because it made him realize he's in love with him doesn't make a difference at the end of the day. 

 

The point is he said it wouldn't change anything, and it did.

 

George takes a deep breath, eyes boring into him. Then he shakes his head and gets up without a word. So Dream tells him, “This isn't about you at all, you know? It's about me. You did nothing wrong. I'll come around.”

 

“Oh right, 'it's not you, it's me,'” George points out and it makes Dream realize how he sounds, so he shuts his mouth. 

 

This isn't salvageable at the moment, so he lets George leave. Maybe it's better to let him be mad at Dream for a while before trying to fix the situation.

It doesn't stop him from crying again. Even though he knows they'll recover and get back from this, that doesn't prevent the anxiety from seeping through the cracks. It feels so much like he just ruined their friendship and turned George away from him forever, ended their years-long relationship and plans for the future because he was too stupid to realize what George had known all along.

 

They never should've done this. 

 

They should've left it at that first incident and laughed it off, never let it go further, and they would've been fine.

 

Or he should've noticed ages ago that he was hopelessly in love with George.

 

God, he fucked up so bad.

 

Dream hurt George as well as himself, put a huge damper on their friendship and ruined the memory of the first few weeks of being together. So even if they recover from this, Dream feels awful. 

 

He lets himself sob for a while, face mushed in his hands and throat burning, head threatening to explode any second. His chest constricts painfully, lungs fighting for air, but it's freeing to let it all out.

 

Crying is exhausting, it leaves him dizzy and drained, eyes itchy and urging to fall closed but he can't sleep. 

For what seems like the entire night, he lays in bed willing his mind to rest without success. His thoughts run rampant and he threatens to slip into tears again whenever he recalls the look on George's face when he realized Dream had been wrong about it all turning out fine.

 

It looked like heartbreak. 

 

Something he had seen in George's eyes less than a handful of times throughout their years together, only ever when something absolutely devastating happened in his life. But never had Dream been the cause. 

 

Never did he have to watch George's heart ache knowing that he had broken it.

 

Dream can handle George being angry at him. Hell, he can handle George not wanting to speak for him for a week. What he can't handle is hurting George.

 

Even when they joke around and Dream says something thoughtless that wouldn't be a big deal, he's quick to apologize and make sure George forgets about it the next minute. He has his affectionate voice to let him know he didn't mean it, his little gestures and words he'll use to say 'I love you' without saying it. Because he hates hurting him, even if it's something small.

 

This isn't. This is big. Maybe this could break them if he doesn't handle it delicately or waits too long to tell him he still loves him, no matter what. That nothing has changed about that fact. 

Even though it's four in the morning and Dream feels absolutely wrecked physically and mentally, he grabs a note and scribbles those three little words on it, adding a sad smiley and—for good measure—a heart. 

 

Because he's dramatic and corny, half out of his mind and he doesn't know what to do.

 

Maybe it's the wrong way to go about it, but George knows him well enough to understand what he means.

 

Or at least he knows him well enough not to misunderstand.

 

Dream makes an effort to be quiet as he pads down the hallway and kneels in front of George's door, sliding the note underneath. He hesitates for a second before letting it disappear completely where he won't be able to retrieve it if he changes his mind. 

 

No going back now, so he lets out a silent breath.

 

He makes it to the kitchen for an early morning snack to calm his nerves before George catches up to him, and for a moment they stare at each other. Fridge door in hand, in his boxers and a shirt, he waits for George to say something because his brain is out of commission. He wasn't prepared for a confrontation, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense that George wouldn't be able to sleep either.

Slowly, he holds up the note with I love you in his handwriting, raising a brow. Dream opens his mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. Heart beating incessantly in his ears, he gives a desperate shrug that he hopes tells everything he can't say, and George sighs, placing the note on the counter carefully.

 

“I hope you don't think that's just gonna make everything good,” George says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 

Dream swallows around the lump in his throat. 

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Then... what the hell?” George shakes his head in disbelief, throwing up his hands and points to the note. “What is that even supposed to be?”

 

He feels small, slowly pushing the fridge door shut as he collects himself. “I just—I guess I wanted to just... let you know. That,” he explains, gesturing to the note himself. “Like, nothing changed about that. I still love you, I always will.”

 

George groans, rubbing his face in his hands, giving him a desperate look. 

 

“I know that, Dream. I never questioned that. I just don't—“ 

 

He makes a frustrated noise and bites his lip, thinking for a moment. 

Dream holds his breath, glad to know George is confident enough in Dream's affection towards him to not doubt it even for a second no matter what, but anxious nevertheless. 

 

“ Why would you—We did all that. All of the making out, and the... you know. You told me it was okay, and it was, because you had so long to change your mind, and you didn't. But then—what? You fuck me and decide that... actually, no; you're not comfortable with it? Why would—I don't understand why you'd change your mind after everything, so suddenly, after you were so sure you wouldn't be uncomfortable with it.”

 

“It's not about that,” Dream defends, pressure in his chest growing and growing and he feels like he's about to cry again.

 

George huffs in frustration and spits, “Then what is it about? I don't understand.”

 

He stammers. Fuck. “I can't—Please, can I just... have time? A few days, maybe?”

 

“Days,” George echoes, giving him an incredulous glare. “Days, Dream? To do what? Figure out why you're so uncomfortable being with me? You don't need a reason, you can just... say so.”

“Fuck, George.” He takes a step closer, huffing. “I told you, that's not it. Listen to me, please. I'm not uncomfortable with you, how is that not obvious? I was the one asking to do all of that. I initiated like, all of it. So what makes you even think that...”

 

George gapes at him, taking a while to collect himself. A breath visibly meant to steel him, eyes closed for a moment, and he calms. 

 

He looks serious when he asks, “Do you like me?”

And Dream falls for a second, the floor underneath him ripped away, that lurching sensation in his stomach telling him to hold onto something. He tries to play it off, poorly. “George...”

 

“Please don't—“ He holds up a hand. “Just answer the question.”

 

Where's the harm in admitting it? 

 

Dream wrestles with the question, trying to point out the catch. If George knew, for sure, what unforeseen consequences could it have? A part of him says it's too big of a thing to just exist between them without altering them in ways they can't come back from. But he can't find what those would be.

 

If George could be fine with intimacy to the point they've shared these past few days, why would he draw the line at Dream loving him?

 

There's no reason for that to be the thing that breaks them, not when they've been through more difficult ones.

 

It's such a simple little thing, so innocent.

 

Something so beautiful and pure.

 

Do you like me?

George looks expectant, open enough to either answer that Dream thinks maybe he can just say it and they'll laugh it all off. That it won't change them. There's hope in his truthful answer, and he can see it in George's eye as well. He's hoping for a positive, so they can both move on.

 

He's hoping Dream will say yes.

 

That's when it all falls into place, and instead of an answer, Dream asks, “Do you?”

 

Lips part in surprise and George blinks at him, shell shocked. Caught. Stares like a deer in headlights, like he didn't expect to be found. 

 

It's as good as a verbal answer, and Dream wants to sink to the floor and hold his head in his hands because of how loud his heartbeat echoes inside it.

“Holy cow,” Dream mutters and drags hands over his face, through his hair. “Oh my God, George.”

 

“You like me,” George notes and Dream lets out an incredulous breath. “You—Is that... why? At the end it was, like, too much?”

 

“No, no, I—“ He hangs his head and inhales, giving his brain the oxygen it's so obviously lacking. He's fucking dizzy. “I just realized yesterday. Like—I mean, in the bathtub. There's when, uh, where I... yeah. I didn't even...”

 

George frowns until his words take meaning in his brain. “Oh my God, yesterday?”

 

“I know!” Dream exclaims, unable to resist a chuckle. He feels a bit insane. “I felt so fucking stupid.”

 

“I—I thought, after these past few days and the way you were behaving, especially after yesterday... that there was no way,” George stammers, processing. “But then you mentioned how—well, how you initiated all of it, and I thought... maybe—”

 

“Yeah.” He pieces together what George is trying to say and failing miserably. “I never considered it. Like, there were the jokes and all, but I never really... paid attention. I guess. I mean, I was so dead set on us being best friends and—Just, that you were only that to me, that I didn't even think about it hard enough. That there, like, could be something more. Like, actually. Not just jokes.”

 

George snorts, shaking his head in a trance, eyes wide almost like he's looking through him. “You're so dumb.”

 

“Okay, to be fair, the lines were a bit blurry,” he says, letting a grin sneak onto his face. “How could I have known wanting you to come to Florida wasn't just to, like, spend time as friends, but... well.”

 

He pauses, giving him a look, then he adds, “Kiss me.”

 

“Yeah, that.” Dream smirks. “Among... other things.”

 

“No, I mean do it.”

 

Dream blinks. “Kiss you?”

 

“Yes,” he hisses with urgency and frowns at him almost offended, so Dream laughs and crosses the distance in a few swift steps to cup George's cheeks.

 

Hovering an inch in front of his lips so George tries to close in, he grins and mutters, “You are needy.”

 

And George groans, pushing against Dream's chest with his hands. “Nevermind. Get away from me.”

 

Dream barks a laugh and puts hands on his waist to keep him in place, leaning in again. “I'm sorry. Please?”

 

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, George brushes their lips together which Dream counters by tilting his head and increasing the pressure. They set a slow pace and as Dream smiles against George's mouth, it gets reciprocated. George brushes a thumb along Dream's jaw, curling his hand against the side of his neck, into his hair. It makes his stomach flutter, light and filled with electricity.

 

When Dream nips at his bottom lip and drags a tongue across it, George melts into the kiss with a sigh and grants access. Dream dips between his lips gently, tasting and letting George's tongue meet his.

 

Something pinches in his mind, an idea, something they haven't done yet, and in one easy motion Dream lifts him onto the counter. A soft yelp escapes him and Dream giggles, receiving a light slap to his shoulder. George shakes his head but allows Dream to claim his lips again as he stands between his legs, pulling him in close to his body.

 

They remain like this for five, ten minutes. Letting their nerves and brains calm down, and Dream kicks himself a bit for not just telling George right away. Even though it turned out fine, he could've prevented some hurt if he'd just had the courage and trust to act.

 

But on the bright side, George is in his arms, kissing him, and he's fairly certain he can convince him to be big spoon later.

~

The mission is a success, just in ways they hadn't expected.

 

This morning, Dream woke up to George snoring quietly next to him and as creepy as it may have been, he just watched him for several minutes. Long lashes that tickle his cheeks, relaxed expression and lips slightly apart, pouting a bit. It made him giddy, chest filled to the brim with uncontainable affection.

 

And he woke George with a peck to his lips, snorting a laugh when he startled awake. More minutes were spent watching George wake up, brain booting up sluggishly and occasionally flicking his eyes open to glance at Dream and tell him to stop staring. Dream quieted him with a kiss each time, much to his dismay because 'morning breath.'

 

So, like last time George had complained about it, Dream dragged him into the bathroom and made him brush his teeth. Not without essentially wrapping himself around George which got him muttering about clinginess and personal space. Both terms Dream had decided George has no right to anymore.

 

“I'm breaking up with you,” George said when he had to free himself from Dream's grasp to spit out the toothpaste.

 

Dream grinned at him in the mirror after following suit. “We're together? Officially?”

 

George filled a glass of water before answering, nonchalantly, “Not anymore.”

His brain busied itself with getting used to the term 'boyfriends' and it etched a permanent little smile into his cheeks, something George would've called him cringe for if he knew. He's good at pretending he doesn't care much about all the cheesy, romantic stuff Dream does, but Dream knows him far too well for his own good. There's no doubt it makes George a little warm inside.

 

So Dream kisses him slow and passionate, laying on their sides, arm pulling George in impossibly close. They smile into it whenever teeth tug at lips playfully or their breaths tickle a bit too much and they wrinkle their noses. It's another lazy morning for them filled with giggles and soft kisses and Dream doesn't plan on leaving the bed today.

 

The first change of pace comes in the form of George breaking the kiss to mutter, “You're a good kisser, too, by the way.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Dream grins, soaking up the rare compliment. “I believe I used the word 'great,' though.”

 

“You did,” George confirms, pressing a kiss to his lips knowing full well Dream is looking for more, but he remains stoically silent.

 

“Come on now,” Dream laments, lightly pinching his side. “Say it.”

 

“You'd like that.” He picks Dream's hand off his side and Dream pouts, making him roll his eyes. “Fine. You're a great kisser.”

 

“I am,” he agrees and pushes George onto his back, caging him in with his body. “What else am I great at?”

 

George groans. “Oh my God. Get off of me, weirdo.”

 

He laughs and kisses him, this time with an agenda. His tongue pushes into George's mouth, winning the fight for dominance easily, and George whines when he traces fingers down his side. Dream claims his lips, tugging at them with his own until he's sure George's mind becomes lost in the moment. 

 

Then he dips fingers beneath his waistband and grins at the breath George sucks in.

 

The confused, disoriented look in his eye when Dream pulls away and rolls off makes him chuckle as he rips open his nightstand drawer. George sucks a bitten-red lip between his teeth and raises a brow but watches patiently, without a word, and let's Dream flip him over on his stomach and tug his boxers down.

 

Dream's first finger makes him gasp, bury his face in the sheets, gripping at them tightly. He lets out a moan when Dream pumps his finger in and out and presses kisses to his shoulder blade. 

 

“I wanna do you from behind,” Dream informs him and makes his mind reel along with another finger, getting a permissive hum muffled by the sheets. “You have a great ass.”

 

A gasp instead of an answer when Dream crooks his fingers, massages them in and out until George's hips stutter in an attempt at getting more. He scissors them, spreading him apart further in preparation, and George mewls. Fingers fly to the pillows and cramp up in them, a groan falls stifled in the sheets, and Dream has found the spot.

 

The third finger draws a higher pitched noise from George, muscles in his back working as he keeps in all else. Dream finds his prostate again and again and listens to the little pants, watches the way his knuckles turn white from how hard he's gripping at the pillows. It's enough to make his boxers strain from how hard he gets, growing more impatient with each beautiful moan and whimper.

 

But he takes great care of working George open before he so much as thinks about getting his dick out, aiming to make him utter incoherent words first. And George loves every second, pushing back against his fingers until Dream has to hold him down with his free hand.

 

When he begs, managing to form his name in between a drivel of diverse words and noises, Dream finally relents and pulls his own shirt off, tugging his boxers down and reaches for the lube and condom. 

George takes a breath and says, “I'm clean.”

 

His brows ride up in suggestion, face half buried in the mattress but obvious, and Dream licks his lips. 

 

“Oh. Yeah. Me too.”

 

So he skips the condom and lubes up his dick before positioning at George's entrance, getting a deep sigh as he teases with the tip. “Dream, I swear...”

 

He chuckles and ghosts lips against the back of George's neck as he pushes in. His prize is the feeling of tight heat and a long moan that lasts until he's buried entirely. Immediately he sets a rhythm because really, he's prepared George enough, and he closes his eyes to let himself drown in the feeling. It's almost too good to handle and he finds himself groaning at nearly every thrust.

“Fuck,” Dream exhales and changes the angle so George will squeeze around him. “You feel so good. So tight.”

 

George whines at that, flexes his hand until Dream obliges and intertwines their fingers. He pins George's waist to the mattress and fucks into him, finding a flow that has George cursing into the sheets. Then he shifts his hand down to cup his ass cheek and squeeze because yeah, fuck, he really does have a great ass.

 

He'll never get enough of this. They've only done this twice, but he already knows there's nothing and no one on earth that compares. Stuffing his cock into him over and over, and George fitting him so perfectly, making the sweetest noises. It's heaven and hell and everything in between. Dream could lose himself in it, and he almost does when George shifts beneath him, tightens his muscles along with the different angle. Heat pools, seeps into him and nestles everywhere.

 

“Oh, fuck—” Dream chokes out followed by an unmistakable moan, and he drives in until he finds George's prostate. Neither of them will last long with the way George cries at every thrust. It's here that Dream truly realizes how vocal he is. And how lucky they are that they have some soundproofing due to their profession.

 

Not that he's complaining, because God, he loves the way George screams for him. It only encourages him to pump into him faster and harder to hear more of it, and George holds onto his hand for dear life. 

The heat in his stomach expands, grows larger and hotter and he aims at that sweet spot that makes them both go insane.

 

Dream holds off until George comes with a cry, tensing around him so tightly Dream couldn't keep it together if he tried to. 

 

For a moment he loses focus on reality, floating in darkness until he returns into his body, stuttered thrusts of his hips carrying him through his orgasm as he spills into George.

 

A whimper tells him to finally stop moving so the overstimulation doesn't get too bad, and he breathes for a minute before collecting himself. He places a kiss on George's cheek, his neck and shoulder, then pulls out and rolls onto his back.

 

He's sweaty, but they'll have to change the sheets either way.

George reaches out a hand for him to take and when Dream meets his eye, he gives him a tired smile. Dream returns it and they just lie there for a bit before heading into the shower. They make out more. Slow and sensual, because they're both exhausted, and Dream thinks about getting to do this every day now. 

 

Maybe he'll make it his routine if George lets him. Morning sex, make out in the shower, get breakfast, do whatever activities during the day, go to bed and suck George off. Or have more sex. Whatever they're feeling in the moment.

 

He'd love that.

 

If things went his way, he'd have this until the end of time. Him and his best friends living together, and maybe he and George will start sharing a room not too far into the future because they spend all their nights together anyway.

 

Sapnap will hate their little kisses at every chance and the fact they're unable to keep their hands off each other, but in secret he'll smile at their happiness.

 

It's the perfect future they've built themselves.

“Not in the kitchen,” Sapnap gripes when he walks in on them, George on the counter with Dream between his legs, hands on his hips, and they both frown at him. As he goes straight for the fridge, seemingly not frazzled in the slightest, Dream and George exchange a perplexed glance.

 

They'd decided to drop their little scheme for... obvious reasons, and just settled on doing whatever they wanted, wherever they wanted. Well, with a few exceptions. But it just means that if they want to make out in the kitchen, or on the couch, or really anywhere Sapnap could catch them, they're going to. Because there's no point in hiding it if they're going to drop the news anyway, and a conversation about it would be awkward to say the least.

 

So, drop Sapnap into cold water and let him figure it out the direct way it is.

 

Or, that was their expectations. 

“Did you know?” Dream suspects with a sigh, making Sapnap turn to them with a bottle of orange juice in his hands, raising a brow as he lifts it to his lips. Dream scrunches up his nose. “Nick, glass. Please. That's gross.”

 

Sapnap rolls his eyes and opens a cabinet. “Of course I knew. I'm not stupid. You've been all over each other since the day he got here.”

 

Another look gets exchanged, discrete, like a secret between them. Maybe one day they'll tell him the full truth so they can laugh about their stupidity. For now, they'll leave it at that.

 

Then George huffs. “Why didn't you say anything?”

 

“I'm not getting involved in... whatever this is.” Sapnap gestures in their direction. “I figured you'd tell me eventually. I mean, don't get me wrong—I'm happy for you and everything, but it's not like this was a surprise.”

 

Dream groans. Everyone but them, apparently.

 

So their plan had worked, with the minor detail of Sapnap not playing his part properly. He was supposed to call them out, but chose to let them stew and question their entire scheme. Or, well, chose not to get involved.

 

But the end result was the same.

 

“I'd appreciate if you didn't fuck in the kitchen, though,” Sapnap adds with a sharp look. “Or in any common spaces, actually. If you must make out—please, keep a safe distance between your dicks so temptation doesn't get the better of you.”

 

George wrinkles his nose. “What is this—a school dance? Make room for Jesus?”

 

He snorts and Sapnap gives them a stern look as though he didn't see the joke. “Absolutely. Nothing Jesus wouldn't approve of in any common spaces especially when it's where food goes as well.”

 

“We weren't planning on... doing anything like that,” Dream assures and pinches George's side when he purses lips in mock disagreement.

 

“Great. Congrats, then. Proud of you for getting your shit together, and all.” Sapnap downs the rest of his orange juice and raises his brows at them. “Who wants to shoot at each other with nerf guns?”

In a way Dream is glad that everything more or less stays the same. Apart from the occasional moment or whatever happens behind closed doors, it's almost as though their dynamic didn't change in the slightest. More dnf jokes get thrown into the mix and Sapnap feigns exasperation whenever they interact—muttering about filthy dnfers—but all else could've been any other day in their lives before it all happened.

 

And it's good. Because Dream had been fantasizing about a life with his two best friends for two or so years, and he's getting just that.

 

Besides being his boyfriend, George remains his best friend and he wouldn't have it any other way.

 

He thinks about it as George and Sapnap form an alliance against him and chant Manhunt over and over while chasing him across their property with nerf guns in hand and giggles filling the air. 

 

It's just how he'd wanted it all to be—with a not inconsequential alteration to his and George's relationship, but at the end of the day, maybe it doesn't have to change much about them.

Notes:

I wrote this before the meetup but never got around to posting it. This is a very self indulgent fic I'll admit, but it's kinda cute so there you go.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed :)