Work Text:
"You ready?"
Dream has keys dangling from his palm, the ring of one keychain looped around his index finger like an extra piece of jewelry. He's leaning one shoulder on the doorframe, baggy sweatpants low on his hips, paired with a t-shirt that's worn soft and stretched out slightly at the collar. He looks comfortable.
George stretches as he rises from his desk chair and Dream's eyes follow the full length of him. He'd been complaining he was hungry toward the end and Dream had suggested a run out to a drive thru, just the two of them, and that is something George is never going to refuse.
"Yeah," he says. He feels keyed up, the lingering effects of streaming, it always takes him a while to come down, having to be 'on' for so long, he can't just turn it off like a tap.
Dream catches him by the wrist as he passes, using the grip to press him back against the doorframe where he'd been leaning seconds before. He steps into George's space, caging him in, and George's breath hitches as Dream leans down to cover his mouth with his own.
Dream kisses him deep, slipping his tongue between his lips as George sighs, squeezing fingers around his wrist and leaning the weight of his body against George, just the way he likes it.
"Hi," George says when they part, a little stupid.
"Hi," Dream grins back. "Good stream."
"You were watching?"
"Your chat didn't tell you?"
George rolls his eyes. He vaguely remembers seeing something about it, but he tries not to get sidetracked by that kind of thing. He knows Dream had been there at the end, because of the offer of dinner, but Dream gives his appraisal like he'd seen the entire thing.
"It was fun," George says. "I don't know why I get so in my head about it."
Dream ghosts his thumb over George's pulsepoint before dropping his wrist. "I don't either."
Dream suffers from the same affliction when it comes to his videos, so it isn't like he can offer George any advice in that regard.
Dream kisses him again, something lingering longer than a peck, and George wonders what has gotten into him, not that he's complaining.
They take Dream's car, obviously. George slips into position in the passenger seat and lets his phone connect to the bluetooth. Dream had stupid music taste, he isn't listening to girly pop the entire drive. Not that Dream ever complains. Occasionally he'll put up a token protest, especially if Sapnap is with them and it's two against one, but when it's just them, when they're driving off into the evening like this, when Dream is in the kind of mood that he starts the car with one hand already curling around George's knee, he doesn't say a word as George's music kicks in.
Dream drives them to McDonalds without asking. He knows that's where George wants to go, even if it isn't somewhere he particularly likes if given a choice.
At the drive thru, Dream opens his window but leans back so that George can shout their order. He prefers it that way, letting George order whatever he wants, knowing that Dream is going to pay for it.
George is half way through his order when Dream's hand climbs up the inside of his thigh. His voice falters for a second, clearing his throat. Dream smiles devilishly, and George continues.
He gets through the order, but Dream's hands are a menace, pinching at the flesh of George's leg, blushing against his growing bulge where he's growing hard. George's cheeks are pink by the time the voice from the tiny speaker tells them to pull forward to the next window.
Dream puts one hand back on the wheel and moves them smoothly forward.
"What are you doing?" George says.
Dream does not meet his eyes, but he doesn't take his hand back.
He keeps it there until the window opens, until an unsuspecting member of staff appears to take their payment. Only then does Dream move his hand, and George curls his feet up onto the seat to hide his obvious erection.
"You're evil," George says.
"You like it," Dream tells him.
He isn't wrong.
Sometimes George likes Dream to touch him, to get him worked up in places where he can't really do anything about it. It feels a bit like turning right on red, like he was telling the stream earlier. Completely legal, but still feels dangerous when he does it. There's no way anyone would know, no way they'd see Dream's hands pushing under his clothes back stage at the droncert, in another room while their friends are at their house, making George hard and aching, but it feels like they might know, that they'll all be able to tell what Dream does to him in back rooms.
They pull up in the car park to eat and Dream won't leave him alone. The stereo keeps playing songs on low and George is afforded the time to eat his dinner, but Dream keeps touching him, reaching over to drive him crazy. It isn't always his thigh, not even always the glances of Dream's hand against his cock, sometimes it's fingers on the back of his neck, his side, pushing up under his shirt.
It's enough to keep him hard and distracted the entire time they're eating.
He half expects Dream to make a move when they're done, but he simply gathers up all the trash and takes it outside to throw out. When he comes back, sliding back into the driver's seat, George turns to him expectantly, mouth slightly open, lips wet.
But Dream starts the car, his hand back on George's knee like nothing has happened, and pulls away back down the road to go home.
George fidgets, putting his hand on top of Dreams and tugging, trying to get him to move it instead of just holding it still somewhere innocuous.
"What are you doing?" Dream asks.
"You're an idiot," George replies.
Dream takes his hand away completely.
"No," George protests. "Dream, come on, you're being stupid."
"I am?" Dream doesn't even look at him, just keeps his eyes on the road.
"You started it," George tells him. "You know what you did."
Dream shrugs. "Maybe I just felt like it."
George cannot believe how unfair he's being. George is harder than ever at being denied and he touches himself through his sweatpants until Dream reaches over and captures his wrist, just like he did at the doorway to George's office.
"Come on, Dream," George says, complaining. "Just—"
"Just what?"
Oh. Dream wants him to say it. He wants him to ask for it. Fine. George doesn't care. He'll ask.
"Touch me," George says.
"Here?"
George looks out of the window. They're moving away from the bigger road, down smaller ones that are tree lined, back toward home.
"There," George says, pointing to a smaller turn off, an unlit strip of land. It might be a field, possibly swamp, George isn't sure. But it's safe enough to take the car down, quiet enough that they won't be overlooked.
Besides, the windows are tinted. They'll lock the doors.
Dream doesn't answer, but he does flick on the indicator with his thumb and turn off the road.
He kills the engine, not that it makes much of a difference noise-wise. Electric cars are weird, they don't sound the same at all. George likes Sapnap's Porsche, it sounds cool. But Dream's car is nicer.
"Are you going to—" George starts, but Dream turns in his seat, pulling George in for a kiss with a firm hand on the back of his neck.
It's just as good as the one at the door, a little wetter, filthier, it leaves George's toe curling in his shoes as Dream pulls back and growls "Get in the back seat."
George's fingers scramble for the handle, throwing himself out into the humid night air, away from the cool interior of the car. He breathes once, tearing open the back door and clambers into the back. He shifts down, almost onto his back but not quite, and waits while Dream takes his time moving from the front seat.
He's impatient, cock twitching, pushing the heel of his hand down onto it and hissing in relief as Dream crawls into the back and looms over him.
He grabs at George's clothes, pushing his shirt up his torso and biting down on the soft flesh revealed by his navel.
George keens, an animalistic noise in the back of his throat and reaches for Dream. He can't get a purchase though, Dream is tugging at George's clothes, yanking on his sweatpants until they pull free, his underwear with them. He gets George mostly naked right there on the back seat of his car, his cock bobbing free, slapping down onto his belly as he yelps
"Is this what you want, Baby?" Dream asks, laying his hand flat against George's hip bone and pressing, until George's ass is pushed back down against the seat, until he's held in place. "You want me to touch you?"
"I want—" George says, cock straining as Dream takes him in hand. The span of his fist is huge, engulfing George totally, his fingers meeting around easily, crossing over his thumb. It's everything, his palm just this side of rough before it's made smooth by the damp heat of George's dick.
He jerks George slowly, not anywhere near what he wants, what he needs, but Dream appears to be reveling, taking his time. He'd told George once that he liked to take him apart, and that's what it feels like he's doing sometimes, slowly, slowly, taking George apart piece by piece.
"I thought you didn't like the jerkage in my car," Dream says, his hand moving impossibly slower.
George groans, not believing that Dream could be making a joke at a moment like this. He writhes, trying to buck up his hips against Dream's wide palm pressing down on his hip, trying to get closer, to beg for more friction.
"Dream, please—" he says, cutting himself off with a gasp as Dream rolls his thumb over his slit.
Dream's teeth glint on the edge of his bottom lip, a delighted smirk at George's struggle. George feels hot, a flush climbing down his chest, shirt rucked up under arms where he's starting to sweat.
"You do like it though, don't you George?" Dream says.
He moves his hand up and down, using the leak of George's precum to slick his way. His fingers feel impossible, grip tightening momentarily as he gets to the tip so that George's cockhead is enveloped in nothing but Dream's touch.
"God," George chokes. "I can't— I'm not going to last, Dream."
"Yes you will," Dream says, not stopping even though George has warned him. "You can last for me, Baby."
George groans. He knows what game they are playing now. George had told stories about Dream on stream and now Dream wants a bit of his own back.
It's not that Dream really cares, but he also loves to tease George for the way that George can't help but mention him all the time. Ignoring the way that Dream is just as bad.
"Tell me," Dream says.
"I'm—" George tries, still trembling with the impossibility of staying still, knowing that without Dream's hands holding him down he'd be fucking up into his grip in no time. "I'll try. I will."
"Good," Dream praises, dropping a kiss onto the bend of George's knee. There's a bruise there, left by the scratch of the carpet in Dream's office the last time he was on his knees for him. "You're good, aren't you?"
George nods, lifting a hand to cover his face, cheeks scorching under his palms. He must look a mess, he can feel the way his hair is starting to stick to his forehead, knowing that the humidity in here, the heat of their bodies, will have it turning curlier and curlier in the way that Dream loves.
Dream's hair, too. They're both going to look fucked out when they get home, but George can't find it within himself to feel any other way about that than fucking pleased.
Dream's hand speeds up suddenly, the air escaping George's mouth in a rush. He makes a sound like a mewl, embarrassing, and squirms under Dream's hand.
"Shh, Baby," Dream says, a wicked smile adorning his mouth. "I've got you."
"I'm not going to—" George babbles. "I can't, Dream. I'm going to come, I can't—"
He wants to be good, to hold on like Dream said, but Dream isn't making it easy, isn't playing fair. He flicks a nail under the head of George cock and George hisses, his cock jumping into Dream's palm, and feels the tell-tale push of his orgasm approaching.
All at once, just when George thinks he's going to drop over the edge of his rising climax, Dream lets him go. George pants, cock flushed and leaking, twitching up into nothing, seeking out the touch that has so cruelly been ripped away.
"No," he whines, grabbing at Dream's arm as if to pull him back, nails digging in.
Dream just chuckles, petting a hand down the side of his thigh. "Shh, Baby, you're okay."
George pouts, his lower lip bitten and pink. "Not fair," he says.
Dream smooths circles into George's outer hip and flicks his hair out of his eyes. "I'm giving you what you wanted," he says. "I'm touching you."
"Yeah but you're not finishing the job," George protests.
"Oh, Baby," Dream coos. He moves closer, bending over George to bring their mouths together, George's cock trapped against the soft fabric of his shirt. George tries not to buck up, he really does, but his hips thrust against the press of Dream's body all the same. "I never said I'd finish the job, did I?"
"Please, Dream," he says, sweetly, trying to play into his hand. He bats his lashes and twines a hand in the back of Dream's hair. He rolls his body seductively, all sinewy and languid the way Dream likes him, coquetteish and alluring. "I'll be good."
"Weren't good earlier though, were you? Can't help but mention me on stream."
"Only good things," George says. "Only how you take care of me."
Dream hums, continues stroking at George skin, like he can't get enough, like he likes the feeling of soft skin covered in coarse hair behind his fingers. He rubs his mouth against the stubble on George's jaw too, his own beard catching with a susurrant swish.
"I do take care of you," he says.
"Yeah," George agrees, because Dream is letting him rut up against him. He must be making a mess of his shirt, his sticky precum leaving a trail in his wake, but George can't stop moving, pushing his body up, panting hot and wet into Dream's neck. "You make the car nice for me, and you're going to teach me to drive. Even showed them the elephants."
He's breaking out all the stops now. He doesn't mind sounding this stupid with Dream, breathless and eager, almost begging but not quite. Dream knows it's a game, George playing sweet, him playing mean, when in reality it's so often the other way around.
"Take care of me now, Dream," he says, that rising feeling back again. He's going to come, going to spill all over Dream's clothes and make him filthy. "Let me come."
Dream's fingers stop their circling, grabbing flesh instead and using the leverage to lift himself up and off. It makes George groan in frustration as once again his pleasure is denied him, his cock aching, dripping with unspent promise.
"Please," he says, unsure how much of this begging is the game, how much is just him. "I want to come. Please."
His hand reaches for his cock of its own accord and Dream catches him around the wrist, pushing his hand back against the seat and pinning it there.
"Ah, ah," he says. "No touching yourself."
George grasps on to the loophole forming. Dream loves a technicality.
"Can I touch you, then?" he says. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, playing innocent, watching Dream's eyes grow dark, black pupils swallowing green.
"Yeah?" he says. "You want to touch me, Baby?"
George nods. "I'll do it so good. I'm goated. Then you can give me your hand too."
"Oh can I?" Dream says, already working the waistband of those sinful sweatbands down under his balls. His cocks is thick, long, hard, flushed as Dream takes it into his own fist and pumps himself a few times as George's mouth waters.
George reaches for him and Dream lets him, sighs as George wraps his fast around. He can't cover it entirely, but they've done this enough times that he knows that Dream kind of gets off on that.
"Big," George says.
Dream makes a noise because he likes to get his ego stroked along with his cock.
"Can you?" George says. "Together? Touch me while I touch you?"
Dream considers him, moving his hips to push his cock through George fist. "Okay, Baby," he says. "But you don't get to come until I decide."
George suppresses a grin, because he knows he's won. Dream would never have denied him fully, not without talking about it first, but it's good to feel like he's the one that got away with this.
Dream shifts, his foot knocking against the closed door. He's a little too tall for this, his feet down in the footwell rather than able to stretch along the seat like George, but they're making it work.
George continues to stroke him, paying attention to the thick vein that runs down the underside of Dream's cock, thumb flicking over it.
"Dream," he says. "You said—"
Dream touches him.
It's almost instant, the fire that alights back in his belly, the twist of his arousal. It's almost painful, he has to take a second where his hand pauses in its task because it's almost too much. He isn't sure how long he can keep doing this, keep being denied. He needs to make Dream come, so that he can.
And so he moves his fist, twisting his hand, pulling out all the tricks he knows from doing this time and time again. He knows Dream, knows that a gentle squeeze against the head is good, but what's even better is when George uses his other hand to reach down and cup his balls, pressing his fingers to the sensitive skin behind.
Dream growls and drops his head down, his hair tickling George's chin.
"So good, Baby," he says. "You're so good to me."
George likes that. He likes being told he's the best, he knows that he is but it's nice to hear it out loud.
His own cock is a mess now, flush bright red, so hard it hurts. He's leaking buckets, Dream's hand smearing it all over him, streaks of it pooling in his public hair. He's going to be sticky all the way home after, he'll have to sit in his mess and it won't be fun, but he's pretty sure he'll be able to convince Dream to get into the shower with him and wash him clean.
Their wrists bump together. It's kind of uncoordinated, going at different speeds, but the awkwardness of it, the desperate way they're tugging at each other, only gets George hotter.
Dream is moaning now, a raspy grunt in his throat, his hips undulating wildly as he fucks up into George's hand. He can feel that he's getting close, cock hardening, his balls drawing up.
"Gonna come on me?" George says.
George likes the idea of things being messy. He hates the sensation, he'll be grumpy about it afterwards and complain all the way home, but there's something about being so dirty that really appeals to him in the moment. If he's going to have to deal with being sticky anyway he might as well watch Dream's greedy eyes pop, have Dream surge forward and bite down on his lip with how eager he is.
"Yes, Baby," Dream pants, George's fist growing wetter, Dream's grip faltering on George's cock. "Gonna come on you and then use it as lube to get you off."
Fuck. Dream is just about perfect. It's kind of disgusting, but that just makes it all the better.
George thrusts his hips up into Dream's fist, because Dream is not in a position to be doing anything about it. He's close, but so is Dream, barrelling towards an orgasm. He can't hold it like George. Outside of the bedroom, it's George that's the instant gratification guy, Dream that can sit with a project for months at a time, but in bed it's totally the opposite. Dream is greedy, he wants what he wants when he wants it, and George likes Dream to make him wait.
Dream makes good on his promise a few moments later, coming over George's fist with a heavenly cry, his face screwed up, lines at the corners of his eyes so beautiful that George has to reach out and touch his fingertip to them.
He comes all over George's cock, dripping thickly down over his fist, landing in hot rivulets onto his sensitive, throbbing skin. It works its way between Dream's fingers too, coating his shaft and Dream keeps up a faltering rhythm on George's cock.
It's disgusting. George loves it.
George strokes Dream through it, keeps going until he has milked everything from him and Dream hisses in overstimulation, pulling away. He pushes a messy kiss to George's hairline, murmuring praise as he keeps moving his hand.
"Can I?" George says. "Dream, please, can I come?"
"Look at you," Dream says, ignoring the question.
George looks down, watches Dream smearing his own come all over George cock, another bead of George's own precome squeezing from the tip.
"Dream," George says.
Now that his focus isn't on Dream, he's immediately urgent again, needs to come so badly. It hurts, the waiting, his thigh trembling, calves tensed. He's shaking uncontrollably, shivering under Dream's hands.
"So fucking hot," Dream says, and George is unsure whether he's ignoring him on purpose or if he's just transfixed.
George puts a hand on Dream's face, nudging his chin until Dream looks him in the eye. He looks dazed, eyes wide and glassy.
"Dream," George says. "Please, I need it now. Okay?"
"Okay," Dream says, nodding. "Come for me, Baby."
George comes. He comes so hard the air punches out of him, feeling slightly sick as he barrels headfirst into a stone wall of blinding white. He can't see, his ears pound, his own pulse loud and booming as his cock pulses. He can feel it, the way he's straining against Dream's hand, the way it seems to go on forever, coming and coming, like he's never going to stop, like it will never be over. Dream has done this to him, made him so weak and desperate and wanting that now he's been released he'll never be free.
He is though, eventually, his ears are still ringing a bit, and he can't catch his breath, but he stops coming enough that he can blink his eyes open and see Dream looking at him with that same, satisfied stare.
They kiss, both breathing heavy, both loose and happy and satiated. Dream runs a hand through his hair, making it look even worse, and George tugs on Dream's collar and bites down gently on his shoulder. They stay touching, petting, connected to each other until their heartbeats return to normal and they agree that they can probably go home.
Dream helps George back into his clothes, pulling them back on over the filthy mess that Dream has made him. It's hidden, but George can still feel it, damp, staining the inside of his clothes. He can't wait for Dream to take him home. He's going to use Dream's shower, his fancy shampoo for curly hair that George doesn't bother buying. He's going to put that stuff in it too, afterward, the one in the tube that Dream keeps on the counter next to the sink. He likes how it makes his hair look when he does.
His legs feel wobbly as he gets back out of the back seat. A quick glance confirms that the seats stayed miraculously unmarred, and George takes a few faltering steps back to sink down into his rightful place beside Dream.
"So," Dream says, when he gets back in too, turning the engine on to take them home. George clicks in his seatbelt, flips down the sun visor to take a look at the hopeless nest that is his hair. There's no fixing it right now.
"What?"
"About the jerkage in my car, still not a fan?"
George laughs, full throated, and turns in his seat to look at Dream who is looking back with his own matching grin. "I'll concede," George says. "The jerkage is pretty good."
Dream leans over to kiss him, just once, and then he takes them home.