Chapter Text
Some things in Dream’s life are confusing —others, so simple to understand they frighten him. There are a few he keeps on a list, buried deep on the bottom of his bedside drawer to inspect before he falls asleep. Sometimes. Sometimes during the day, too. He tries not to obsess too much over details beyond his control. But a few demand his attention like a sulking child.
There is life and summer evenings and laughter echoing within the walls of their home—and then there’s George. There’s always George.
Their relationship—friendship, situationship?—is as confusing as it is simple. There are two versions…or maybe even more. Version one is what the fans and everyone around them sometimes see—version one is Sapnap rolling his eyes at them, exasperation at the tips of his fingertips and beyond, it’s their friends sharing unreadable looks he never gets to the bottom of. Version one is the fans making silly assumptions and losing their minds at details that aren’t even true. Version one is confusing but also familiar and safe.
Then there’s version two.
Version two is far more complicated—Dream draped on his bed, one hand on his phone and another one wrapped around George’s waist. Version two is struggling not to reach for George across every single room he walks into. Version two is kisses that never wander too close to each other’s mouth, hands that hold them in his own, pressure applied like sealing a letter around him. Version two is also familiar—or starting to be—but it’s frightening and thrilling and absolutely drives him to the very edge of insanity and back.
If there’s another version, that’s his own head’s doing. It’s George’s body not tensing when Dream touches him but relaxing instead—it’s smiles that make his cheeks hurt and the endless sensation of finally having him home. It’s overthinking every single glance and lingering touch.
All of these though, he could’ve somewhat predicted. But months into George living with them brought along other things he never expected, as well. Other things to obsess over and roll around his hands like playdough, thoughts rushing to his head with every word the older says.
He knew George met up with some people back in England—not often, and definitely not as much for Dream to feel jealous. Usually George was too lazy to reach out to someone, even to hook up, and his standards were exceedingly high. Dream never judged him for that. After all, George is the most beautiful person he’s ever met and he definitely deserves the best. That being said, he never considered the idea that George would go out and hook up with people more frequently once he moved to Florida. Maybe he should have. Perhaps. He’s still unsure about that one.
Thankfully, George still doesn’t come to Dream for gossip or advice or anything related to those encounters he has—sometimes when his mind is throwing one of its usual tantrums, it starts contemplating the possibility that his avoidance around the subject means he knows about his feelings, the ones he’s been trying to conceal for the past five years, and is just trying to let him down easy. But Dream still knows .
George might not mention it at all, might act like none of it ever happens but Dream still hears the door closing sometime around midnight and then opening again a couple hours later. His eyes still pause at some random mark on his neck every few weeks—bites only deep enough to last a day or two, just for Dream to witness and feel a bit of his will to live wither—or he might notice he’s wearing the same clothes from the previous day.
George never spends the night wherever he goes. It’s the only source of relief he has at this point.
Sapnap knows too—because of course he does. Sometimes he texts him as soon as the door closes and asks him to watch a movie. He knows it’s for his own credit, but neither of them ever mentions it and sometimes they fall asleep together afterwards. Dream sleeps better then—until he has to wake up and remember and bury bury bury those feelings again, deep enough for no one to find them. Not even a glimpse. Not until he’s alone in bed again, in the safety of his own room, and can let all of those dirty demons out.
The problem is that he really, really thought George didn’t talk about these things with anyone. All things considered, he’s always been quite reserved when it came to private, intimate stuff like that.
It’s not until one Sunday afternoon when he walks inside the kitchen to find George and Karl on the counter, engaged in conversation, that he overhears it.
“...none are really good at it. I swear, the other night the guy came in literally two minutes. I counted. ”
At first Dream thinks they’re talking about the delivery guy or something. He’s pouring himself a glass of water, unbothered by their conversation until—
“You counted ? George if you have time to count to two full minutes in the middle of sex, then that’s a shit fuck,” Karl laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. That’s when realization dawns upon him and he freezes, glass barely making it to his lips before he slowly lowers it back down. He’s relieved George’s back is to him so he can’t see his face right now, but Karl is facing him and when their eyes meet, he has one of those unreadable looks on. He seems amused.
“Oh hey Dream, didn’t see you there.”
“Hi.”
George turns then, and his gaze softens when it lands on him—or maybe he makes that up. His mind does like to lie to him, especially when he’s feeling down. It’s fine. It’s one of the few times it’s kind to him so he doesn’t mind it.
“You done editing?”
Dream takes a sip from his water before nodding. “Yeah. Kinda. I still have…some stuff to look into, but yeah.”
“Are you not gonna finish your story? I was engaged.”
George rolls his eyes at Karl, but he still faces him again and relents. Dream wishes they would take this somewhere else. He doesn’t want to know. Not knowing has been good to him. But then again he can’t move. A sick part of him wants to know…especially if George is complaining, not bragging.
“Not much more to tell. They all suck in bed. I don’t know…maybe I should take a break from the whole hooking up with random strangers,” he shrugs. Dream wants to intervene, wants to take a seat right in the middle of them and nod, agree, get involved in the conversation. Yes, he should stop. That’s a fantastic idea.
Karl hums under his breath.
“Maybe you just haven’t found someone you’re compatible with. Like, sexually.”
“Well, they are extremely vanilla. That’s also kind of a turn off,” he says, just when Dream is taking another sip. He coughs as he chokes the second his brain registered what he just said. Karl laughs at his reaction, slapping the table as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. Thankfully, George doesn’t seem to connect the dots as he turns on his seat, concern in his eyes.
“You okay?”
Dream nods, sending daggers Karl’s way.
“Yeah. Went down the wrong…way. I’m fine.”
George laughs then, calls him an idiot and returns to his conversation, unbothered.
He’s wearing one of Dream’s hoodies. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t fixate so much on things like these—details that most people would be able to ignore, but that make his own mind freeze mid-thought. It’s not something new, either. George has been stealing his clothes ever since he got here. He claims to find them around the house and be too lazy to wear his own. He believes him, considering it’s true he sometimes leaves his clothes discarded randomly—if he does it more often after finding this out, no one has to know.
“There are apps to find people who match your specific kinks,” Karl is saying then, bringing Dream out of his reverie. “But—considering everything…I get why you wouldn’t want that getting out. Just in case.”
“Yeah, exactly. Ugh,” George groans. “I hate this.”
Karl’s eyes lit up then, and as he starts talking, his eyes won’t leave Dream’s own. “Maybe you should find someone you know…someone you’re comfortable with. That’s usually the best sex.”
Dream is glad he isn’t drinking water now because he would definitely be choking again. He can’t believe Karl has the nerve to suggest that. He hopes George doesn’t realize what he’s implying. Who he’s implying he goes to for sex. It’s already hard enough to keep his brain from conjuring up images of what the older might be into—let alone if he adds himself in the equation as well.
George snorts.
“I don’t know anyone like that.”
Dream purses his lips. Right. He doesn’t.
He swallows down the rest of the water, deciding he’s had enough of this. He should go back to editing. Keeping his mind busy is the most effective way to make it shut up, after all.
He ignores the glance Karl sends his way as he walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.
Just like he predicted, not knowing about any of this was way better than finding out.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
When they used to talk on the phone, George always made comments that implied he didn’t enjoy physical displays of affection. Dream is a touchy person by nature, but ever since he moved here he’s tried not to overwhelm him. If it were up to him, he’d keep one hand on him at all times—but he doesn’t want to be clingy or actually upset him, so he doesn’t. And yet, George doesn’t seem to hate it when he does cave into his impulses. He only shrugs him off or acts annoyed when there are cameras on, which Dream has come to learn makes him feel observed and self-conscious. When it’s just the two of them though, it’s a completely different thing.
George comes inside his bedroom at random times, drapes himself on his bed and the distance between their bodies eventually disappears.
It’s later that very same day that he comes in without knocking—as usual—and muffles a yawn before lying beside him.
Dream locks his phone, turning to watch him. He’s fresh out of the shower, hair still a bit damp and skin smelling like soap. He looks soft in another one of his hoodies, this one so big on him he can barely see his fingers.
“What’s up? Where’s Karl?”
“He went to get food with Sap.”
“Why didn’t you go with?”
George rolls his eyes. “I’ve barely even seen you today.”
Dream’s heart skips a beat. It’s not the first time the older has implied he’s missed him, but it still warms him up so much he hopes he doesn’t notice the blush high on his cheeks.
“Well I’m here now,” he says, and this time he gives in—because George looks so soft and fond and pretty, and he’s so close and he smells so good and he’s just said he stayed home just to be with him so maybe it’s okay, maybe he’s allowed. And he is. As soon as he tugs him closer, George goes, barely pretending to whine in complaint before he shuts up and curls by his side, as if he belonged right there in that spot. “Are you cold?”
“No, why?”
“You were trembling a bit,” he says, but George shakes his head. He can’t see his face as it’s buried in his chest, but he can still feel the movement against him. He wraps him even closer, his entire body relaxing now that he’s here. He’s never felt this comfortable around anyone else, even if they’ve technically only met in person months ago.
“I just showered.”
Dream nods, eventually going back to his phone as George just lies there.
He doesn’t want to bring it up. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He can pretend it’s not even a thing, that he didn’t overhear anything and life will continue on as usual—but he can barely think straight as it is and all he’s doing is pretending to scroll through Twitter without paying attention to anything he sees on the screen.
He doesn’t even realize he’s talking until he blurts out, “So you’re not hooking up with anyone again?”
George looks up at him, eyes wide before he frowns. “What?”
“I—I just meant like, what you were talking about today. With Karl. I was there so.”
“Yes Dream, I saw you there. We talked,” he laughs, and he nods, glancing back at his phone even though the screen is locked once again. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe? I still…I still want to have sex so probably will keep doing it even if it isn’t…optimal.”
“Optimal,” he snorts.
“Yes, idiot. Whatever.”
Dream puts his phone down. His brain is going a mile a minute once again—it’s hard to keep up with it, sometimes. He’s used to it. Kind of.
“I…why would you want to have bad sex? Isn’t it better to have no sex at all?” he asks, and maybe he’s wrong for saying these things, maybe it’s a bit selfish, but George doesn’t seem to genuinely be enjoying any of his hook ups. Why bother putting them both— himself , himself of course—through all of that misery? Isn’t it easier to just…not do it anymore?
“Is that why you never get laid?”
Dream freezes.
“ What? ”
George sits up a bit at that, leaning on his elbows as he regards him with curious eyes. He shouldn’t look so naturally good. It’s unfair. He knew he was beautiful from the pictures but even the camera did him no justice. In person he looks better than he’s ever done before—and those eyes , the way he looks at him…he feels exposed, almost naked. And he loves it.
“I mean, is it because you’d rather have no sex than shitty sex?”
He coughs.
“I—I’ve never…I don’t do casual hook ups with random people,” he states, and it’s the truth. He’s never done that before. He’s sure it’d be uncomfortable and awkward. He needs to at least know the person on some level in order to trust them enough with…all that. Sex to him has always been intimate and a pretty big deal. He knows the grand majority of people his age don’t think the same. Sex is just sex to them, and judging by George’s actions, he must agree.
“When’s the last time you got laid, then?” George asks next, raising an eyebrow his way. “Your ex? That was years ago—”
“Yes, and ?” he snaps, coming off a little more aggressive than he intends to. He sighs. “I’m fine. I don’t care as much about it.”
He doesn’t. Even when he was in relationships, sex was…fine, sure. It is significantly better when you’re in love with the person, but by the end of his latest relationship, he was very aware of his feelings not being directed to her anymore. He can’t exactly remember the details of the times when he did have sex and enjoy it, but even then nothing was memorable enough. Orgasms are good, of course. He does jerk off every now and then. But it’s just that. Something he does when he’s bored or tense or a little bit horny—when thoughts of George keep coming up inside his head no matter how hard he tries to shake them off. He always feels a tiny bit guilty after, a part of him wondering if George would be disgusted if he found out.
“Are you sure? Helps with stress.”
He glances at him, finds George watching him amused, almost entertained by his reactions. He probably is. Dream can feel himself blushing like an idiot.
“I…I can’t—like I said, random people aren’t my thing,” he explains. George mumbles something out then, so low Dream doesn’t catch it, the older’s eyes darting around the room. “What?”
The dark irises return to him, focused and relentless before he says, “I said maybe you should try with people you already know, then.”
Dream scoffs.
“Yeah I’m sure Sap would definitely want to hook up.”
George stares at him in disbelief, gaping before his face contorts into one of sudden anger. “ Sapnap ? What’s wrong with you?”
Dream stares back, confused as he watches the older suddenly stand up to leave the room. He wasn’t even being serious when he mentioned Sapnap. They’ve been best friends since he was a little kid, for fuck’s sakes. That’s like his brother.
“What? George—wait. Where are you going?”
He’s about to open the door, his back still to him.
“Nothing, forget it. I’m gonna sleep.”
“ George. Can you please just get back here and talk to me?” he pleads, and he isn’t sure what has him finally caving in—maybe the way Dream sounds a bit hopeless, voice soft and gentle in the way it only gets when it comes to him. He watches his shoulders drop, losing their tension as he turns back to face him.
“I just—” he crosses his arms over his chest, gazing at the floor. “I meant me. Not…not Sapnap. Why would you even want to have sex with him?”
Dream’s entire world stops at his words. I meant me I meant me I meant me I meant —
“W -What ? You? You want to…us? Sex?”
George looks at him then and laughs. He looks a bit mean still but at least he isn’t mad anymore. “Come on Dream, you can ask an actual question if you really try.”
He isn’t sure he’s capable of forming coherent sentences at this point. He clears his throat and utters out a weak, “Us?”
George exhales something heavy, sitting back down on the bed as his fingers play with the hem of his hoodie. Dream’s hoodie. “I was just thinking about what Karl said. Maybe someone I’m comfortable with could be better, you know?” he pauses. “But if you think it’s weird or—I mean, I didn’t even ask you if you were attracted to me so maybe that’s why you said Sapnap and that’s completely fine—”
He almost laughs at that. Maybe he would if he wasn’t freaking out. Didn’t George say that there wasn’t anyone like that when he was in the kitchen? What made him change his mind?
“I’m not attracted to Nick.”
“Then why did you…”
“I didn’t think you meant yourself. Wait then that means— you are into me?”
“Shut up, don’t act like you don’t know you’re hot,” George rolls his eyes. Dream blinks. He’s confident in his looks, sure, but it’s not something he’s actively thinking about—let alone imagining George thinking that. “Look, it just sounded like an okay idea. But maybe it’s not. Maybe I should just…keep trying with strangers until I find someone I like. Or, start actually going on dates first and get to know—”
“ No. I mean—” he clears his throat. “There’s no need. That sounds like a hassle.”
And also like one of the worst ideas he’s ever heard. It’s bad enough having to endure knowing George sleeps around with people who aren’t him—but dates? George hasn’t been in a relationship in years, not since Dream has come to terms with his own emotions. He’s always known it to be a possibility in the future, that eventually the older would probably be interested in finding someone, despite his many comments about finding relationships asphyxiating, but it’s always been so far off that—that he didn’t think…
He’s not ready for that.
George must realize where that reply stems from…at the very least can hear the words laced with jealousy, because his eyes are smiling when he tilts his head and asks, “It does, doesn’t it?”
Dream wants to have him curled around him again.
He takes a deep breath. A part of him, a small part that he ignores most of the time—let’s call it reason —knows this is a plan for disaster. Best friends aren’t supposed to sleep together, especially if one of them is in love. If George knew about his feelings, he probably would be going to someone else for this. He wouldn’t be comfortable with that, or want to use Dream and risk hurting him in any capacity. So not telling him is probably breaking some moral rule out there. But at the end of the day, if he’s only hurting himself and not George, he really doesn’t give a fuck.
And so reason is ignored yet again.
“I wouldn’t mind…trying.”
George smiles.
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure. But—we should…talk it through. First. Yeah,” he nods.
He can’t believe George wants to have sex with him. How is he so calm about this? Has he thought about it before? Has he fantasized about being touched by him the way Dream has? Or has the idea really just came up to him the moment Karl suggested it? Did they talk about him when he left the kitchen? Does Karl know?
He blinks, trying to make his brain shut up.
“Sure. What you wanna know?”
“Uh…when you said not vanilla—”
George quickly shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand around. “It’s fine. I can do vanilla, too. I can do anything.”
Dream nods, trying to think of a way to say the things he actually wants to say. He doesn’t want George to feel unsatisfied with him, too. He thinks that would actually kill him. What if he decides he also doesn’t meet his expectations and goes to find someone else who does?
He clears his throat. “But—but maybe we’re into some of the same stuff?”
At this, George’s grin spreads. He looks so smug all of the sudden, so confident when he looks at him. Dream wants to both kiss him and wipe it all away—reduce him to nothing but needy whimpers and pleading sighs of pleasure. He’s pretty sure he’d be into anything George was, as long as it meant he enjoyed it.
“Oh. Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he frowns, a tiny bit offended.
“You just don’t seem the type, that’s all,” he shrugs, but instead of elaborating on what he means by that, he lies on his back and looks up at him. When he talks next, he bats his long eyelashes at him as the words spill out of his red mouth, “Would you be into…being a little rough with me?”
He feels a magnetic pull towards him and resists the temptation—they have to talk first. Besides, they never talked about doing anything tonight. That’s probably off the table. Surely. These things have to be planned beforehand…they can’t just rush into it—
“Dream?”
George is still looking at him. He sits a bit closer to him, but still making sure to keep enough distance between their bodies to be safe.
“S-sure, yeah? Why not?”
He giggles then, the sound so light and fluttery it makes something flare up inside Dream.
George slides a hand down his comforter and the younger stares at the pale fingers, the thin wrists—his hands are so small. He is so small. He could overpower him so easily, pin him to the bed and—
“Are you nervous? We don’t have to do anything right now.”
Dream averts his gaze, the heat now spreading down his neck, too. “We can do whatever you want. Whenever. I’m cool.”
George is grinning. He can see right through him. Even if they haven’t been living together for longer than a couple of months, he can read him so well. Especially his voice. He’s been hearing it for years. That’s one of the reasons Dream fears his feelings for him are a little too obvious now that he can actually see his face—but if George knew, he wouldn’t be suggesting this. He’s safe.
“You’re cool . Right,” he licks his lips. Dream has an inkling he knows exactly what he’s doing to him. He can already feel himself getting half hard in his pants, which is embarrassing considering he hasn’t even touched him yet. But George was right…it’s been so long since he’s been intimate with another person…. years. And he didn’t think it would matter, that it’d make much of a difference, but this is George. It’s them.
“You’re just so…”
“So?”
“Pretty,” he breathes out.
George’s face gets so red then that Dream feels himself relax a little bit. Good. He isn’t the only one affected after all. The older is just better at hiding it than he is.
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious—but yeah,” he nods to himself. “We can go slow. Try…things out. Do you uh—do you want to set some rules or something?”
George’s face contorts into confusion, a hint of annoyingness to the edge of his voice when he asks, “Rules? Like what?”
“Like—I don’t know. Anything you want off the table?”
“No,” he immediately answers, barely allowing Dream to get the question out. He starts sliding himself closer to him across the bed, making something inside him stir.
“No? N-nothing? You’re fine with…anything?”
“We can talk specifics later. But yes. You can do whatever you want to me, Dream,” he shrugs, like he didn’t just say enough words to make him so hard he’s now straining in his jeans.
“ Oh .”
They stare at each other then—they’ve been this close before, but never for this long, and never maintaining such intense eye contact. He can smell the soap in his skin again, and a hint of toothpaste, too. He wonders how soft the skin between his thighs is, how he sounds when he’s too aroused to form words. He stares at his mouth, the red lips he’s imagined doing ungodly things to him more times than he can count. He’s irresistible.
He realizes then that George is waiting for him to take the lead. He’s not going to do it himself. He’s such a little shit, even now. He should’ve guessed as much. He doesn’t mind it though, not now that he’s gotten full consent. He only hesitates for a couple more seconds before throwing the remnants of caution to the wind and crashing their mouths together.
Everything in his brain goes quiet, thoughts freezing before melting down completely.
In an instant, the older is kissing him back just as eagerly—wrapping both arms around his neck to bring Dream down with him. He tastes minty and fresh and his lips are silky soft against his own. He can’t believe they’re kissing. He’s pictured this moment so many times in the past five years, but never truly allowed himself to believe it would actually happen.
George is demanding—just like he expected—pressing warm fingers on his nape and asking for more as he parts his lips, inviting his tongue inside. Dream gives his lower lip a tug and presses in, swallowing down the whine he lets out and exploring his mouth. The kiss is so passionate it steals the breath right out of his lungs. It’s wet and a bit messy—both of them moving quickly, desperately, as if they couldn’t waste a second longer. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe the tension that’s been building between them hasn’t been just inside his head.
He wants to make this not only good but great for him. He wants George to never want to go back to anyone else—he wants him to remember Dream tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. He wants him to think of him every time he wraps his own fingers around his hard cock, to come to the thought of him, and only him. The possessive urge that runs down his body makes his skin burn hot to the touch.
He uses one of his hands to hold onto George’s waist, his fingers not hesitating before wandering beneath the fabric of his hoodie—he’s not wearing a shirt underneath, and so when his hand meets soft skin he lets out a groan against his mouth. George trembles under him and kisses him a bit more fiercely. He’s holding Dream as if he was afraid he might slip away if he let go of a single inch of him.
Dream slides his lips down his chin and jaw, evoking such a loud whine when his lips meet the side of his pale neck that he curses. He’s pretty sure he could come just from listening to George—his imagination never came close to the real thing. He’s so hard it physically hurts and they’ve only just kissed.
“ Dream —shit, touch me. Please .”
He bites George’s neck then, just a bit, not enough to leave a bruise—even though he wants to, so badly. Wants to mark him up, use his body like a blank canvas and watch the purples and reds and pinks burst to life every time he looks at him. Anything to make him remember this very night.
Something untamed takes over as George buries his fingers in his hair and pulls. He doesn’t even realize what his hands are doing until he’s flipping them over in the bed and placing George on his lap—both thighs wrapped around a single one of his legs. He can see him so well from down here, see the way his body is flushing, the way his eyes are bright like stars as he stares at him with something very close to amazement.
“Take the hoodie off—come on,” he says, George nodding as he helps him slide the fabric out of his arms and throw it somewhere across the room. The sight of his chest is enough to have Dream’s mouth watering. He’s seen him shirtless, but never for too long and definitely never like this. He’s never been allowed to touch.
You can do whatever you want to me, Dream.
He takes that to heart, deciding not to spare a second thought to his actions as he pulls him closer, hands on his lower back.
“You can—touch there,” George says, and Dream knows what he means. He nods, sliding hands lower and lower, squeezing his supple ass in his big bands. “ Shit. Yeah, yeah. Just like that.”
Dream decides he won’t move his hands from that very spot anymore—his ass feels so good in his hands, so round and perfect that he never wants to stop. He leans his mouth closer to his chest and wraps both lips around one of his pink nipples next, George throwing his head back as a guttural moan abandons his mouth, hands coming down to Dream’s hair once again.
He’s so sensitive anywhere he touches—every patch of skin is like a nerve ending and George is so responsive. He laps at his nipple, making it wet under his tongue until it’s dripping, hard and warm against his mouth. He squeezes his ass once again, this time helping him move his hips forward until his erection brushes against Dream’s thigh.
“ Ah , ah—”
“Think you can—shit, think you can come like that?”
“ Yes. Yes. I can.”
He leans back on one hand to watch his expression. He looks gone; blush high to his cheekbones, eyes watery, eyelids so heavy he can barely see them at all.
“Yeah? Gonna ride my thigh until you come all over me?” he asks, and he isn’t sure how he manages to sound so calm and in control when inside, he’s losing his mind.
George shuts his eyes completely then, nodding as his hips start moving a bit faster, following the aid from his hand. He’s a desperate little thing.
“ Dream. Yes, yes. ”
“You look so good right now,” he mumbles out, half wishing he would’ve taken his pants off as well, but he can’t waste a second longer on that, not when George already looks so close to the edge. “So desperate, fuck. Go faster.”
The older nods, sweat clinging to his neck, the red spreading down his chest as he uses Dream’s shoulders for support, squeezing them until his knuckles go white. He imagines he would look just like this while riding him , and the thought is enough to have him groaning, the hand still on his ass rising to deliver a slap that has George choking on his loudest moan yet.
“Guys! We’re back!”
They both freeze at the sudden sound of Sapnap’s voice echoing down the hallway. He didn’t even hear the front door opening—
“Are you fucking serious,” George mumbles under his breath, rushing to slide out of Dream’s lap, legs trembling as he makes it to the floor.
“Go in there—” Dream says, pointing to his bathroom, the footsteps getting louder now. The older groans but does as he’s told, shutting the door after him. Dream takes a random pillow from his bed and quickly covers himself with it, pretending to be using his phone just as Sapnap opens the door.
“Hey—where’s George? Thought I heard him.”
Fuck.
“Uh, not here.”
Sapnap is about to speak when suddenly his eyes zero in on the pillow placed right above his groin. His eyes widen as he clears his throat. “Oh…were you…? Damn, sorry dude. Forgot to knock.”
He shakes his head, embarrassment clouding his sight. “I wasn’t—”
“Nah, all good. Uh. Just get downstairs when you’re done. We brought dinner.”
He nods, mortification running down his face before Sapnap sends another awkward glance at the pillow and shuts the door once more. Dream groans, screaming into his hands. He isn’t sure how he must look, but probably aroused enough to make it obvious he was in the middle of something. He’s sweaty and flushing and still so uncomfortably hard he wants to cry.
“Well, well. That was awkward for you,” George’s voice says then. He looks up, finding him now leaning against the wall as he stares at him, amused. He’s still shirtless and he can see a bruise blooming around the edges of his right nipple. Oh fuck.
He wants to devour him whole, push him against the wall and have him right here and now—
“I hate you.”
“Sure you do. I hate fucking Sapnap . He just had to—whatever,” he rolls his eyes, picking the hoodie up from the floor and sliding it back on. Dream stares at him and realizes he isn’t hard any longer. He blushes.
“Wait. Did you…in there?”
George is smirking once he’s done. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
He walks towards him then, like a predator approaching its prey, and leans down until the next words are whispered right against his ear, “It was easy. I was so close already, Dream.”
He shuts his eyes, a rush or arousal running down his spine. He shivers.
“ George. ”
“Just join us when you are done, too. Think of me,” he finishes, giving the pillow covering his raging erection two little pats before walking out the door.
Dream stares at the shut door for a second longer before deciding he’s pathetic as he slides a desperate hand down his pants and wraps his fingers around his cock.
It doesn’t take too long at all.