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The thing about George is that he’s not very ambitious. He had a taste of working a normal job, and it only took him a few months to realize that just wasn’t really for him. He got bored staring at a screen full of numbers and code all day, even if he was good at it. He didn’t enjoy having to look at emails and answer them on time. He didn’t enjoy the fact that it was apparently frowned upon to curl up on his floor and take an afternoon nap, or have his entire second monitor dedicated to Runescape, no matter that it didn’t impact his actual work at all.
So he didn’t want to work, but he did enjoy the niceties in life. He spent a year reselling sneakers to stupid rich kids in London and then got mugged exactly one time before he gave that up and moved back in with his mum. It wasn’t the most glamorous life, and while he lacks ambition he does have a brain… and with that brain, it didn’t take too long to figure out the quickest and easiest way to make money on the internet.
-
It actually feels like he’s just memeing the world sometimes, with how it all fell into place.
He actually enjoys it, too. It’s funny, because he didn’t have too much interest in sex as a teenager. He felt too weird about liking guys, and it was just easier to avoid the whole thing than have some kind of crisis over it. At uni, he was too overwhelmed by everything expected of him, and he barely remembers the few encounters with people he did have.
But in his bedroom, by himself? When it’s just him and the camera? He can do what he wants, and not only do people not judge, but they pay him for it. He can say the stupidest, most ludicrous things and - they just give him even more money?
Once his bank account was fat enough, moving to America seemed like the obvious choice. He didn’t want to spend his life in stupid, rainy London where there was a chance he could run into someone his mum knew or an old classmate any time he went out.
America seemed bright and shiny, and it didn’t hurt that his dad already lived in Florida with his second wife. George already likes her better than he likes his actual dad, and in the year he’s been in the States he hasn’t thought once about moving back home.
-
George makes good money with OnlyFans, but not living alone in downtown Orlando money. Not if he also wants to keep up some of his more expensive habits, like never cooking a single meal for himself and ordering five hundred dollar hoodies that he can’t even expense like he does the sex toys.
So the roommate thing – it just had to happen. He couldn’t exactly put up an ad, but he knew Sapnap’s girlfriend from mutual OF creator friends and Sapnap knew a guy with some kind of dorky job that needed a place to live and didn’t give a shit if his roommate jerked off for strangers on the internet. It turned out that the dorky job was coding Minecraft mods for people who make millions of dollars on Youtube.
George isn’t judging. He’s been known to enjoy mining a craft in his day. And Dream might not be a perfect person, but he actually sort of is the perfect roommate. He sleeps most of the day and spends a stupid amount of time in his bedroom, just like George. They have a few mutual friends between Sapnap and his girlfriend and a few other people in Florida that George has met, so it isn’t like they live entirely separate lives. They enjoy the same tv shows when they do end up hanging out together on occasion. Neither of them cook, so the kitchen stays clean, and George even gets the bonus benefit of Dream’s cat without having to clean a litter box. He never even has to smell it because it stays in Dream’s bathroom.
All in all, it’s pretty epic. He thinks that maybe he should have considered getting a roommate ages ago if it’s as easy as this.
And then comes the day when they cross into being actual friends. George can’t usually hear Dream up and about in the apartment, but the sounds of frustration drifting from his side of the apartment are extra loud and angsty on this day. It reminds George of an old uni friend who would get like this and then go out and drink – up until they were no longer friends because of the destructive nature of those episodes.
A little nervous, George peers out of his room to see Patches, the cat, sitting idly in the sun spot, her tail flicking. He joins her, lying down on the carpet while they both look over at Dream’s room. He debates if he should knock on the door.
But that debate ends prematurely when the door opens in a blaze of fury. Dream rushes out, but when he sees George lying on the carpet of their living room with the cat, he stops short.
“Oh, sorry,” he says and then it’s like watching a balloon deflate. All the hot air around him dissipates and his roommate is just left looking flat.
“You okay?” George asks, because he feels like that’s what you’re supposed to ask.
“I didn’t realize you’d hear that, I just–” He walks over to the postage stamp sized kitchen and grabs a sugar free Gatorade from the fridge to down in one long gulp. His throat works fetchingly while he swallows the Gatorade and George, for some reason, can’t take his eyes off of it.
It’s not like he doesn’t know Dream’s an attractive man. He knows. He just – you’re not supposed to shit where you eat, right? He’s heard that somewhere. And it’s not like Dream is anything other than rigidly straight.
Dream throws the bottle into the trash bin and takes a deep breath.
“I’ve hit a wall on a project I’m working on,” he explains like nothing happened in between his last sentence and this. “It’s just – I know it’s an easy fix, but I just can’t, like, see it. Sorry for being loud and making it your problem.”
“I could only hear it because my door was open,” George admits because, due to the nature of his job, he thoroughly tested the soundproofing on the walls the first chance he got.
Dream leans against the counter of the kitchen, looking down at it like he’s contemplating hitting his head against the surface.
“I could take a look at it,” George offers before he thinks better of it.
This makes Dream look up, a strange expression of confusion on his face.
“I do have a degree in Computer Science, you know,” he tells Dream, realizing that maybe he doesn’t know this actually. “I even worked a few months coding until I realized I hated, like, deadlines. Do you want to see my CV?”
“What’s a CV?” Dream asks.
“A resume, idiot,” George says before laughing. He loves when he knows things other people don’t, and this is two for two. “Look, do you want another pair of eyes, or not?”
Dream looks apprehensive and George can tell he’s having an internal debate about something, but he comes around the counter of the kitchen to stand in front of George and Patches. By the time he makes it there, his decision is made.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it. Doesn’t hurt, I guess.”
George sits down in Dream’s chair, still warm from his body heat, and finds the error in under five minutes.
“Wow,” Dream says with admiration in his voice. “You’re actually good at that.”
“Not just a pretty face,” George says, flashing him a grin.
Dream snorts, but any comeback he has stays restrained in his own mind. “Let me buy you lunch to thank you for saving my sanity?”
George does not try to argue, even though finding the issue only took him a few minutes. He’s pretty sure Dream was just suffering from having stared at it so long he wasn’t really seeing it anymore.
But George will never turn down free food. Or free anything, really. That’s why he has an entire trunk of sex toys from brands he never intends on promoting.
“As long as I don’t have to put clothes on,” George says. He’s wearing a pair of shorts he’s definitely had since sixth form, and a t-shirt that has a soy sauce stain on the shoulder that he doesn’t think is ever coming out.
“We can order from – mm, maybe, that Thai place?”
George wrinkles his nose up. “Don’t want Thai right now. McDonalds?”
“No fast food,” Dream says.
That’s another reason they work so well as roommates. They seemed to find their even footing with each other almost immediately, and there’s little of the awkwardness that can come when people try to dance around each other. Something about Dream just exudes comfort to George.
“What about that sub shop in College Park?”
Dream’s face lights up. “Yes!”
An hour later they’re sitting in the living room. George is cross-legged on the floor with his food spread out on the coffee table, while Dream hunches over to keep from spilling anything on himself or the sofa. There’s a Twitch stream open in front of them, someone doing wild Minecraft jumps. George doesn’t follow streamers nearly as much as Dream does, but he’s surprised at how into it he can get.
“Did Nick ask you about that party this weekend?” Dream asks, once they both stop housing the food long enough to actually talk.
“Yeah,” George says. “Are you going?”
“I was thinking about it. You should come.”
George doesn’t mind a good party, but he also doesn’t love to commit his time without thinking about it, so he just shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see.”
Dream rolls his eyes. “You’re so weird.”
“Says the person who literally only got mustard on their sandwich.”
“Mustard is good,” Dream defends.
“Mustard is gross. Disgusting. Like, the actual worst.”
“You don’t have an opinion. You’re afraid of avocado.”
“I’m not afraid of it,” George says. “I just don’t like it. There’s a difference.”
“You screamed when I handed you chips that already had guac on them.”
“Screamed out of… offense.”
Dream shakes his head in indulgent frustration. They go back to half watching the stream. There’s something soothing about sitting with Dream that’s hard to pinpoint. He doesn’t drain George of social currency, doesn’t force George to present the best version of himself to be liked.
It’s easy to just… chill.
Instead of rushing back to his room, he stays longer, pressed up against their uncomfortable couch to keep talking shit to Dream who gives it back as good as he gets it.
In fact, it’s not until an hour later that George realizes he’s late for his weekly liveshow.
“Oh shit.” He stands up abruptly, hitting the coffee table in the process. “Fuck, ouch,” he says, flicking his leg like he can fling off the pain.
“What is it?” Dream asks with concern dripping from his lips.
“I’m late,” George explains, hoping Dream won’t ask more questions. It’s true that George doesn’t like committing his time to things unless he thinks it through, and his weekly liveshow is one of the many battles his avarice lost to his laziness. His OnlyFans videos do well, frighteningly well, actually, but it’s the weekly liveshow that helps keep him relevant, keeps his fans on the hook and coming back for more. If he could point to one thing that contributed to his growth in this industry without choosing, like, his natural looks, it would be this.
He can’t be late.
“Oh,” Dream says maybe a million years later, a hint of pink high on his impressive cheekbones. “Yeah, you go, I’ll, uh – I'll clean this up.”
They don’t really talk about George’s job. George knows that Dream knows. He wouldn’t be doing something in their apartment that Dream wasn’t comfortable with – he made it clear when he agreed to room with him. But it’s still not a topic that they bring up. George has appreciated that Dream doesn’t make a big fuss out of it or ask questions about other creators in the space like there’s some big convention that George might have met BigTittyRedHead69 at.
“Thanks, Dream,” George says, already headed toward his room.
“Have fun?” Dream says, but it comes out more as a question and that makes George pause.
“Did you just tell me to have fun?” he asks, a giggle blossoming up out of his stomach at the audacity.
“Yeah?” Dream says, looking so unsure that it’s funny.
George laughs loud and bright. He’s still late and he should be hurrying to check his equipment and get set up, but instead he’s here with his hands on his knees doubled over in laughter at his roommate’s antics.
“Well, what am I supposed to say?” Dream says, eyes laughing along with George, but the question is genuine. “Do that thing with your hips again?”
“Ew,” George says, which is his standard reaction to his friends acknowledging his body. It’s okay when strangers do it, but friends? Weird. But he adds a laugh so Dream knows it’s just like, normal-weird, not freaked-out-weird.
“Go like, get naked, or whatever,” Dream says, giving an exasperated shake of his head that makes his hair go bouncing around.
George doesn’t bother with a comeback because he does actually need to do exactly that.
-
He ends up going to Sapnap’s stupid little party, and having some of his stupid little drinks, and getting a stupid amount of drunk way faster than he should.
“George is such a fucking lightweight,” Sapnap says, shoving him. He’s been making fun of George for the same thing for the past hour, with the only difference being that his voice gets louder and louder the more drinks he has.
“And you’re an idiot,” George says, enunciating carefully, like that’ll prove to everyone that Sapnap is wrong.
“Get up and walk a straight line,” Sapnap challenges him. “Or say the alphabet backwards.”
George stands up carefully, drink still in hand, and turns so the back of his head is facing Sapnap. “A, B, C, D-”
“You fucking cheater,” Sapnap bellows.
Everyone else is laughing, the half dozen or so people with them. The apartment Sapnap and his girlfriend live in isn’t huge, but it’s big enough and there are enough people in it that they’ve scattered between Mario Kart in the bedroom and some people milling on the balcony smoking something that’s definitely not a cigarette and this group George is in, the ones camped out on sofas.
Dream is somewhere here. They arrived together, but Dream has a lot of mutual friends with Sapnap that George doesn’t. George tends to stick closer to Sylvee and her friends. They don’t exactly talk shop, but it’s just a common ground that bonds them.
As the night passes, George only gets drunker. The clumps of people shift and change as one or two trade places. People leave, and a few new ones arrive, and when it’s dwindled down to a dozen or so, they have the brilliant idea to order pizza.
“Margarita for me,” George says, for the tenth time. He’s plastered against Sapnap’s shoulder staring at the phone screen.
“We have drinks here,” Sapnap says. “If you want a margarita, go fucking make one.”
George thumps the back of Sapnap’s head. “Margarita pizza.”
“The fuck is a margarita pizza,” Sapnap mumbles.
As he’s staring at the screen, a text pops up from Dream. do u kno if casey is still dating that guy from ucf
George sits back and looks away, like he’s invading Dream’s privacy. It’s weird - he’s never really thought about Dream hooking up with a girl. George is pretty sure he’s never brought anyone over, at least, and he doesn’t leave the apartment that often.
He wonders what Casey looks like. He thinks about Dream and can’t imagine a type, so his mind just defaults to pretty and blonde, like the stereotype of a Florida girl. She’d probably have to be into video games. Or Minecraft, at least.
“Bro,” Sapnap says, slamming his shoulder into George’s. “Are you gonna fucking tell me what a margarita pizza is, or not?”
“Just…” he trails off, suddenly not very hungry at all. “See if it’s on the menu, yeah?”
Time passes funny when he’s been drinking. One second he’s thinking too hard about Dream asking Sapnap a question, and the next minute the pizza is here in front of him and Sapnap has, shockingly, managed not to order him a margarita pizza.
“You suck,” he tells Sapnap without looking up.
He eats one slice of a subpar pizza and then suddenly Dream is in front of him with an Uber already ready to go. Finally someone with some sense.
The Uber doesn’t take long to drive from Sapnap’s apartment to theirs, not at this time of night when all the Disney families are off the roads. Dream plays with his phone on the drive and George very maturely does not ask if he struck out with pretty, blonde Casey.
No need to kick a man when he’s down.
Back in the apartment, Dream insists that they drink water and George is the one who makes it into a game.
“I bet I can chug more water than you,” he says confidently. He’s learned that he has no gag reflex while he sucks on dildos on camera.
“What?” Dream asks, disbelieving at George’s claim. He sounds like one might after a chipmunk challenges a falcon on who can fly further. “You’re on.”
“You’re on,” George says back, ignoring how Dream’s relaxed face looks so beguiling in the harshness of their kitchen lights. “Something stupid, that is. Because I’m going to beat you.”
They set ground rules because it turns out that they are both as competitive as the other, and neither of them want the other to cheat or find a loophole.
“And no distracting me,” Dream adds at the last minute.
“How would I distract you?” George says, even though he absolutely intended on finding a way to distract Dream. “I can’t help what your brain, like, fixates on.”
Dream’s eyes laser onto George’s throat as he talks. Maybe George has something there. A lot of Sylvee’s friends were laying kisses on his cheeks by the end of the night, maybe the girl with dark lipstick went a little farther down than he thought. He swipes at the spot on his neck to get rid of whatever Dream is looking at, and Dream’s eyes snap back to his while his cheeks flush.
“No distracting me,” Dream says again with a tsk tsk implied in his voice. He picks up his own glass and nods at George’s, a command for him to do the same.
“I’m not promising that,” George says. “Just don’t get distracted, and you’ll be fine. Stop victim blaming, Dream.”
“Victim blaming?!” Dream says, outraged at George’s audacity, but amused all the same.
“Three, two, one,” George says, counting down to start as per the rules. Dream got to fill the glasses in exchange for George being able to control when they start. He simply uses a tool in his arsenal.
He chugs.
He chugs quickly, water sloshing around inside his glass as he opens his big mouth and lets it fall down the hatch.
His glass hits the counter a millisecond before Dream’s. “Ha! I win, idiot. Stupid idiot, thinking you could beat me.” He swipes the excess water off his chin.
“No way, that was totally me,” Dream protests, mirroring George and wiping his face.
“Take the L, idiot,” George says, pointing a finger in Dream’s chest.
He has two seconds before Dream’s mischievous eyes warn him that Dream’s about to do something. With a loud battle cry, Dream crosses the distance between them and lifts George over his shoulder and drags him into the air.
Shocked, it takes George only a moment to start laughing and pounding Dream’s back in protest.
“You cheater,” Dream says, walking him calmly towards the lounge.
“I didn’t cheat!” George says between gasps of laughter. “You’re just a loser, Dream, admit it.” He punctuates the statement with a punch to Dream’s kidney.
Dream heaves him onto the couch and then the torture begins – he reaches over and manages to find the one spot that tickles and goes ham. George pushes at his hands, loving the way they feel on his skin, even if he can’t stand the sensation of tickling. He really doesn’t like it, but Dream has no way of knowing that. It’s not like it comes up in casual conversation. He hates tickling, but he likes rough housing, and he hates to be that guy, but –
“Red, Dream,” George says and Dream stops. Honestly, George is shocked Dream knew what he meant by red. Maybe there’s more to his vanilla roommate.
“Did you just –” Dream says, leaning back on his haunches with an amused smile. “Did you just safeword out of a tickle fight because you were losing?”
“Not because I was losing,” he says, serious as anything. “Just don’t like it.”
“Sorry,” Dream says and hangs his head all depressed-like. He really has a way of telegraphing his emotions, George thinks. He would be either really good at OnlyFans or really, really bad. George checks him out briefly, in the way that his sober brain won’t allow him to. Yeah, George would definitely subscribe.
“You didn’t know,” George says. “‘M not, like, mad about it.”
Instead of continuing to beat the dead horse, Dream reaches onto the coffee table littered with George’s leftovers from the night before and grabs the remote. He throws something on the television and collapses into the couch beside George, thighs touching.
In his drunken state, George doesn’t mind. He pulls his shirt down where it rode up during their wrestling and then sinks further into the couch. Yeah, he’s comfortable here. Maybe too comfortable.
“What’re we watchin’, Dreamie?”
“I don’t know,” Dream admits. “What is this?”
“Um.” George squints at the screen. A guy and a girl are being all moody at each other. “Some kind of heterosexual bullshit.”
“Heterosexual bullshit,” Dream repeats with a little smile on his face. “Have you ever indulged in heterosexual bullshit, George?”
“I’ve dabbled,” George says. “Perchance.”
“Oh, is that so? Like - for your - you know. Your job? Or for fun?”
“I don’t do scenes with other people for my job,” George says. “But I guess I wouldn’t call it fun, either.”
“Girls do nothing for you?” Dream asks again, squinting. “Wild.”
“Woooooow,” George says. “Gay people exist. Alert the presses.”
“I’m not - I’m - George! I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just like… those girls were all over you tonight, and they were - they were hot. Any one of them would probably let you get it.”
George doesn’t really think that’s true. He’s shockingly rizzless, for someone who makes his living by turning people on. Somehow it never translates into real life. He likes that Dream doesn’t see that, though.
“Ooh, is Dreamie jealous?” George asks.
“Yeah,” Dream admits openly. “I haven’t gotten laid in so long.”
So he definitely struck out with the mysterious Casey.
“That’s what porn is for,” George says.
Dream smirks a little. “Yeah. I know. Trust me. I know.”
That’s… not really the kind of response George was expecting. He’s not as drunk as he was at the party but he’s definitely not sober, and he actually pictures Dream watching porn for about five seconds too long.
“TMI,” he says, and hopes Dream doesn’t realize how belated of a reply it really is.
“I could just put that on,” Dream says. He has the same look on his face that he did during the water chugging, and as he was tickling George before George made him stop.
Dream likes a challenge. It’s not new information to George. The context is just a little different now.
George doesn’t safeword him again but he does slouch further onto the couch and says, “No, ew. I don’t want to watch your stupid porn.”
“How do you know my porn is stupid?” Dream asks. He finds that way too funny, for some reason.
“Because it just is,” George says.
“And I guess your porn isn’t?”
“No.” George cocks his chin stubbornly. “When I watch porn, it’s the best porn, actually.”
He leaves out that he rarely watches it these days.
-
If he thought he and Dream were compatible roommates before that night, well, afterwards, they’re nearly inseparable. Before, they’d usually only hang out once or twice a week in the lounge watching something together. Now, it’s every night except Wednesdays because Wednesdays are George’s liveshow days.
Time spent with Dream is just… easy. It’s fun. He likes having someone to turn to and share any and every thought that comes into his mind. Dream will laugh at him or tell him he’s stupid or agree, but there’s never any judgment meted out with it. Dream will usually shoot back something equally dumb or shocking – like they have an unspoken tit for tat rule.
They develop a system for take out, a reliable rotation of their favorite places with one or two nights a week reserved for going out to try a different restaurant in person. Occasionally, they’ll meet up with Sapnap and Sylvee for some socialization, but normally, it’s just the two of them huddled over a table and forcing bites of the other’s food to try.
Chores are now a thing they do at the same time, to make sure the other one isn’t cheating. Saturday mornings, they put on a playlist and clean enough of the apartment that Dream doesn’t feel like his skin is crawling. George doesn’t really care one way or the other, but Dream convinces him that it’s only fair to do his share. He uses these Bambi eyes to guilt George into it which wouldn’t work if they were coming from anyone else. He imagines Sapnap trying to bamboozle him with doe eyes and shakes his head. It wouldn’t work.
Because he doesn’t want Sapnap to like him. He has a desperate need, however, for Dream to like him.
Ugh. The things straight men do to him.
For one miserable evening when Dream’s busy with a project, he swims through the faceless profiles on Grindr in the Orlando area and he just –
He doesn’t want any of them.
Which isn’t a shock. He’s always been weird about sex stuff, not really showing much interest even after he figured out his big gay awakening. Some of the bodies in these profiles are objectively hot, but he can’t imagine the rigamarole of chatting these guys up, Ubering to their place, and then having mediocre sex with them. What if they recognize him and expect him to be a sex god?
He’s only a masturbation god, at best.
Dream finishes his project, punctuated by a loud whoop of “Let’s fucking go!” and George deletes the app again. He’d rather hang out with Dream than go get laid anyway.
The door bursts open and Dream walks out, grabs George off the sofa, and swings him around in celebration. “It’s finally fucking over,” he says.
“Put me down, you oaf,” George says, because he feels like he should, but truthfully, he loves when Dream manhandles him.
“Shut up, you love it,” Dream tells him, and then deposits him back on the couch and collapses next to him.
“What were you working on?” he asks, because the curiosity has been eating him up all day. They’ve watched a few of the videos of these Youtubers that buy Dream’s mods, and George has been racking his brain all day wondering which one this was for. His favorite is Skeppy, a content creator who loves to troll his other content creator friends. He’s funny in an immature way, and George loves it.
“Stupid mod that would – makes a big fucking, like, tornado thing,” Dream says, and then yawns. He’s been at it all day and all through last night. George barely saw him yesterday between his own job and Dream’s.
“Scawwy,” George says.
Dream huffs in amusement. “It is. I tested it with Callahan, and it’s – yeah. Fucking scary. Should make a good video, though.”
“Dinner?” George asks, knowing it’s his turn to order and pay.
“Is it finally Thai night?” Dream asks hopefully.
George checks the schedule and sighs. He doesn’t hate Thai, but it’s not his favorite. “Yeah, looks like it is,” he lies. They’re supposed to have Greek tonight from the hole in the wall place Sapnap introduced them to. But, he supposes Dream has earned his choice tonight. He deserves a little treat.
He orders the food and Dream shows him the mod while they wait. It’s impressive. The line of code is thick. He yaps at Dream about his day, the weird thing his dad said on his phone call earlier, about the fight the neighbors were having when George went down to pick up their grocery delivery of deliciously processed breakfast foods.
It’s Dream’s turn to grab the food when it’s delivered. That’s the rule, the one who doesn’t order and pay has to go talk to the delivery person and secure the food. Dream’s so much better at this part than George, he always comes back with a story about the person. George usually just hopes they’ve dropped it and run.
“We had a rough work week,” Dream says to him when they settle into their spots on the couch to eat dinner.
A lick of confusion curls around George’s stomach, because what is Dream talking about?
“You did,” he says, letting his puzzlement show. Yeah, George had a rough time at his liveshow this week because of some asshole trying to dominate the conversation and take over making George do what he wants, but he’s a pro by now. He can handle some wannabe giga chad in his chat.
“Nah,” Dream says, taking a bite of his massaman curry and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “That guy was being an asshole and you know it. I could tell it was messing with you. But you shut him down.”
What.
What was –
What.
“You –”
“He was trying to, like, stomp over everyone else for his weird fetish shit, but you put him in his place,” Dream says proudly.
“You watched?” George gasps out, taking all the air out of his lungs.
“Yeah?” Dream says like he’s now the one confused. “You’re really good at your job. Nutted so hard this week.”
George can’t even come up with a response, dignified or otherwise. He feels shell shocked and the only thing he can possibly even do is just to face forward, stare at the tv, and pretend his brain doesn’t feel like it’s just left his body.
-
George figures at this point there are two options.
The first is that Dream is actually just memeing him. That Dream isn’t remotely serious about it, or that if he did watch George’s stream it was just to be able to perfectly execute a prank intent on making George seem stupid for believing it.
The second is that Dream watched his stream, and got off to it, exactly like he said.
He isn’t sure which one he’d actually prefer, but at least the first option feels safer. He’d understand it being a meme. He wouldn’t love it, but – it’s familiar ground for him with his friends. Sort of. Like, he can’t imagine Sapnap being committed enough to watch George jerk off on stream just to carry out a joke. But maybe Dream is more committed.
Committed enough to not just watch but also pay for George’s OnlyFans, since his streams are subscriber only.
George can’t stop thinking about what Dream saw. It had been fairly tame. George doesn’t go wild with his stuff. He’s not taking three fake dicks at once. He doesn’t use any ball gags or nipple clamps on himself. He doesn’t own anything from Bad Dragon. He doesn’t even jerk off to pictures of people that they send him, no matter how much money they offer.
He just gets himself off. He’ll use toys - a fleshlight, a vibrator, some normal non-ten-inch dildos. Once in a while when he does his special top-tier subscriber VIP streams, he’ll use a cockring and really edge himself. But the one that Dream saw? That was just plain old jerking off, with the only added flair being a little purple vibrator he likes to use on the tip of his dick.
And Dream watched him use it. He watched George slowly get naked for the camera, pulling off one piece of clothing at a time. He’d watched George get himself hard with his basketball shorts still on, turning to the side and showing how his dick poked out and tented the material.
He likes to set tip goals for his chat. Had Dream been one of the people donating to get George to show a little more, go a little further? The jerk Dream talked about had been trying to convince the entire chat that George was ripping them off because he never did any of the ‘hard’ stuff - wanted to get everyone to boycott George until George agreed to wear lacy panties or hump a diaper.
George doesn’t care for how lace feels on his skin, and the only way he’d be into any kind of diaper fetish would be… well, he can’t actually figure out a scenario right now, but it wouldn’t be on camera for some random bellend.
Feeling stupid, he finds himself looking at a list of usernames of people who are subscribed to him. There’s no point to this, not really. It’s not like one will jump out at him screaming that it belongs to his roommate. It’s not like there’s a Dream123 that he knows has to belong to his Dream.
There are a lot of people on this list, actually. He can’t look at it for too long or he gets overwhelmed.
George slams his laptop shut and then takes a deep breath. So what if his roommate has been watching his shows – for some elaborate prank or otherwise. It doesn’t change anything. Not really.
But it does mean that Dream is… well, more like what he isn’t. He isn’t straight. No straight man watches another man get off to get himself off. Like, that’s just not a done thing.
Dream isn’t straight. Dream watches his porn. Dream sits on the other end of this apartment while George is masturbating on camera and… and he comes. Nutted so hard this week, was what he said.
The implication there is that he’s watched enough of George’s shows to know that other guy was out of line and unusual. He’s watched enough shows to have come harder than other weeks. A tiny part of George wants to know what it was that made him come so hard so that he can do it again. So that he can make Dream come the hardest he’s ever come in his life.
Okay, maybe it’s not such a small part of him.
But why hasn’t Dream said anything before now? Why hasn’t he shown an interest in men or talked about them or –
He’s calling Sapnap before he can think better of it.
“Idiot,” Sapnap says in answer when he picks up the phone.
“Sapnap,” George says in the same tone, like the word is a synonym for idiot. In George’s eyes, it is.
“What can I do for you?” Sapnap asks. “Want to try to talk me into another epic party where you drink too much and cry over pizza? Because after that show, I’m not sure I’m ever inviting you to another soiree again.”
“Bro says ‘soiree’ like having twenty people in his girlfriend’s apartment with bad beer and nasty pizza was some kind of grand affair? Get real,” George says back, caught up in arguing with Sapnap before he can get his question out.
He wants to ask about Casey. He wants to hear from Sapnap that Dream hooked up with this girl, or was at least interested in her enough to ask Sapnap about if she’s currently single. But Sapnap’s given him enough time to think better of it now.
Maybe he shouldn’t ask.
Or maybe Sapnap just isn’t the person to ask. Because Sylvee has known Dream for as long as she’s been with Sapnap, right? And he’s reasonably sure Sylvee wouldn’t hold something over his head like it’s torture material for a month if she sniffed out weakness.
Yeah. He’ll ask Sylvee.
But since he has Sapnap on the phone… “2V2 me?”
“Hell yeah,” Sapnap says, and they both load up the game.
-
He and Sapnap play for hours, and once they’re finished George promptly crashes. He’s always been a deep and thorough sleeper, so it’s not really a surprise that he wakes up almost ten hours later. His brain especially tends toward hibernation when he’s stressed about something.
When he stumbles into the kitchen, Dream’s door is shut. George isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved about that, but after he has some breakfast he decides he can’t just sit around stressing over his roommate all day.
He has a job to do, after all. He usually spends the day after his livestreams doing photoshoots, so he showers and does all of the normal prep he does before a shoot. He skips shaving because some people like the stubble, but does make sure he rubs himself down with lotion so everything is soft and moisturized and smells nice.
That last one is just for him, really.
He doesn’t usually go all out for his photoshoots, but one thing he’ll allow people to do is send him underwear. He looks through the box of freshly washed ones that he’s never worn on stream before and pulls out a pair of blue and green striped boxer briefs.
He’s not sure why, but he’s feeling them. He gets his bed made up and arranges his pillows the way he likes, then spends half an hour making sure the lights are set up in exactly the right places and his camera is positioned at precisely the right angle.
People really wouldn’t believe how much trial and error goes into a few lewds. Since he works alone, all of his photos are on a timer, so he’s constantly getting up to check the composition and then getting back into position.
Almost three hours pass before he’s satisfied with the photos. He gets them inched down to just below his hip bones, trimmed pubes peeking out, but stops there with the photos. He switches to video instead and lies back, sighing as he strokes his hands over his body. He likes touching himself, both sexually and non-sexually.
He thinks he’d like being touched, too, if it were the right person touching him. He rests his hand on top of his cock, through the pants. He’s hard now; it never takes that long. He makes eye contact with the camera as he slides his hand down and into the material to grip himself.
He says a few words every now and then but mostly it’s just the natural sounds of getting himself off. He knows the viewer will only be able to see the boxer briefs stretched tight, and the movement of his knuckles under them. That’s what he wants, for today at least. To leave a little mystery. For… whoever watches.
A deep moan sounds out of him. His hands feel good under the material, the fabric giving him just enough friction to grow harder. He’s a professional. He’s so good at this. He’s the goat, really, he’s –
An intrusive thought barges its way into him, entirely uninvited, and it stops him so thoroughly that he almost comes too early. What if – what if Dream watches this video? What if Dream is the kind of subscriber who delves through everything – the photos, the lewds, the unboxing videos he does occasionally with new toys? What if – what if Dream watches this video and gets off to it – and George has been thinking about him this whole time?
Fuck.
His boner hardens further, something that rarely happens at this stage. He’s – it hasn’t been long enough for him to be this far gone. But he can work with that. He can use it. He’s – once again, he reminds himself, he’s a professional. And that means something.
“Fuck, I’m so horny today,” he says aloud. He used to feel so stupid talking to no one while he does this, but now it’s almost like practice. Like a dress rehearsal for the real thing.
He’s thinking about someone else touching him again. He never does that. Not really. He’s gotten used to the mechanics of this dance, maybe using the flash of a celebrity body to keep his erection from flagging. He’s never thought about big hands stroking him, about the calluses on hands and fingers that come from playing Minecraft in between coding sessions. He’s never thought about a body bigger than him, that would dwarf him if it covered him fully.
He has to squeeze himself to keep from coming too soon. With the darkness of these briefs it’s easy to see the moisture he can feel gathering at his tip. He plays it up, pushing the darkened material out with the back of his hand while his fingers play with his glans.
“Feels so good,” he says, letting his breaths fall in pants. His hips undulate on the bed, like he’s fucking up into something and also back onto a dick too – truly the best of both worlds. This video is going to be so much shorter than his usual ones, but hey, he’s just being efficient.
Dream’s green eyes pop into his mind again because George just knows he’d appreciate being efficient. He’d get it. He’d – Dream would get him off quickly because he’d know how desperate George was to come. He’d help him get there quickly because he always caves to George’s demands.
Part of George wants to push up off the bed and go walk into Dream’s room and demand he explain his comment from earlier and then also take care of George’s erection.
They have an unspoken deal to clean up their own messes and this is starting to feel like Dream’s mess.
-
“You got a package,” Dream tells him the next day when they sit down to eat dinner together. It was George’s turn to order sandwiches and Dream’s turn to pick them up from the delivery driver – one he’s started to recognize and call by name, which is too far for George.
He’d walked back upstairs juggling too many boxes.
“A package?” George asks stupidly while Dream struggles to thrust the unassuming brown parcel into his arms so he can set the sandwiches down on the counter. It’s very important that they not get their sandwiches mixed up. One time biting into Dream’s stupid tomato infested monstrosity was enough to learn that lesson well.
“Are you doing any, like, sponsorships?” Dream asks with his back turned, pulling items out of their designated bags. “Do people send you PR stuff? Adam and Eve or whoever? I dunno how this stuff works.”
He’s asking about it. Lord in heaven, he’s asking about it. George isn’t sure how to handle this.
“I mean, they try to send me stuff in the hopes I’ll leave a good review on it,” George ends up saying. Dream turns back around and plops George’s sandwich in front of him on his usual spot on the coffee table. “I prefer that to when creepy dudes try to send me toys.”
“Creepy dudes?” Dream asks, more of an invitation to let George rant about it than a castigation.
“Yeah, and it’s like – used toys. They want me to fuck their fleshlights or, I dunno, use their butt plugs.” George makes an exaggerated grossed out face.
Dream matches it entirely. “What the fuck? That’s like - disgusting.”
“Right?” George allows a moment of feeling vindicated.
“Do you get to just like… block them?” Dream asks. “You should just block anyone that does that.”
The scowl on his face is actually cute. Fuck, George thinks. He should not be finding that so cute.
George shrugs. “If they won’t take no for an answer or start getting mean, yeah. But I can’t block everyone that gets a little creepy. Sometimes they just need, like, boundaries, and then they’re fine.”
“Still,” Dream says. “If anyone gets too creepy, tell me.”
“Why?” George asks, amused and charmed. “What could you do?”
“... I don’t know,” Dream admits. “But they should still know where the line is. You’re a person, you know.”
“Yeah actually, I know,” George says, amused. He takes a huge bite of his sandwich. Fuck, he was hungry. “I’m the person that’s me.”
Dream rolls his eyes, but it seems like mostly at himself. “Okay, okay.”
“Besides.” George wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t mind most of it. It’s a good job. I like free things.”
“So is that…” Dream nods to the package. “Actually something for you?”
George shrugs. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Dream says, but his eyes are still on the box. The curiosity looks like it’s burning him alive.
“Open it,” George says impulsively. “Let’s see.”
Dream is up in a flash, grabbing a knife out of the drawer to slit the tape. Deft hands open the box easily, and then Dream’s holding up a fleshlight like it’s sweet baby Jesus himself, his mouth a perfect O.
“Fleshlight,” George says for lack of anything else to say. “Nice.”
“You like those?” Dream asks, looking from the fleshlight and then back over at George. He seems to realize how ridiculous he’s being and he gently sets the toy down on the coffee table beside the remnants of the box.
“They’re okay,” George tells him with a shrug and another bite of his sandwich. This is a strange conversation and it’s making his stomach rev like an engine in a way that the sandwich has little to do with.
Dream’s gaze is now strongly on the fleshlight, the light behind his eyes millions of miles away like he’s thinking deeply. George genuinely hopes he doesn’t hurt himself.
“I mean, like, for content purposes, you like – fleshlights?” Dream asks after too long of a pause. George lets him get away with it because the conversation topic is a little strange. He gets it.
“They’re nice for days when I’m –” He isn’t sure how much of all this Dream actually wants to know. There’s preparation that goes into his videos and liveshows. There’s things he has to do to get ready and, at heart, George is a lazy motherfucker. “Well, for days I don’t want things up my butt, they’re nice. Can keep people entertained. I dunno, they’re fine.”
“Huh,” Dream says, not a question but a word of acknowledgement.
George takes another bite of his sandwich, eating much faster than he normally does just to have something to do. Dream hasn’t even unwrapped his own sandwich and George is starting to feel a tension forming up between them, something syrupy sweet that he doesn’t know how to navigate.
“Good sandwich,” he says once he takes another bite, contents of said bite making his words muffled. That seems to drag Dream out of whatever strange mood he’s in because his eyes snap to George’s overly full mouth and then he makes an exaggeratedly disgusted face like it actually bothers him when George talks with his mouth full, even though it doesn’t.
George turns the television on and they eat.
Somehow the fleshlight gets left on the coffee table when he cleans up after the movie is done. He doesn’t really think about it much.
-
The next day is a Wednesday. Liveshow day. He hasn’t had a liveshow since the time Dream commented on it and he’s, naturally, not nervous. He’s not nervous. Being nervous is stupid when he’s been doing this for ages now.
He gets his equipment ready well in advance today, for lack of anything better to do. Dream’s embedded deep in another coding conundrum, something about making things explode where you look. Seems like that would make the game really hard to beat, but whatever, that’s not George’s problem. He likes hearing Dream talk about it though.
He likes hearing Dream talk about anything, not that he’d admit that to him.
When he emerges from his room thirty minutes before the show is set to start, Dream still hasn’t come out of his cave. He must really be deep into his work. While normally that would annoy George who has come to really enjoy his time spent with Dream hanging out and eating together in their cozy living room, today that means that maybe Dream is too caught up in work to catch the show tonight.
Which helps ease George’s anxiety. He’s not nervous about tonight’s show because, as he’s said, that would be dumb. But maybe the idea of Dream watching him was taking up too much of his grey matter and George really needs to be able to focus on the show. On pleasing his fans. On not embarrassing himself while performing. His job.
Maybe Dream’s distraction will be a good thing.
The show starts without a peep from Dream either in real life or via text. There’s no message about what to do for dinner–conveniently, it’s Dream’s turn to order. He scarfed down a granola bar an hour ago to keep himself from withering away.
The show starts like usual, him greeting his fans, slowly teasing them by taking off his clothes. There’s a set order to this kind of thing, but he likes to keep it fresh. It’s not until he turns to find the newly arrived fleshlight that he forgets he left it on the coffee table yesterday. He’s never done something as stupid as that, to forget the main toy he was going to play with. And now, his stupid mouth has already gone and talked about it, so he can’t just pull something else out of his chest and pretend that’s what he was going to use the whole time.
A miniscule bit of panic starts to set in his throat, that he’ll have to leave his room naked to go and retrieve it.
He makes a show of it to his chat. He tells them that he doesn’t think they deserve to see what special item he has for them today. He tells them they have to earn it first. They eat it up and it buys him some time to think about what to do.
He even picks up his phone, thinking about texting Dream to ask him to bring the box… but he already has a text. It’s a picture of the exact box in question.
Forget this? Dream has written, with a winking emoji.
bring it 2me? George texts back, trying to be covert.
It doesn’t work. His chat starts to call him out. “Mm, hold on. Why do you deserve my full attention? I told you – you have to work for it today.”
including me? Dream asks.
what?
do i have to work for it too?
George’s stomach does a somersault. Is Dream… flirting with him? Is that flirting?
idk, George answers, which actually sums up his whole state of mind right now. He just doesn’t fucking know anything.
ur chat is so mad you’re talking to me instead of them
“Chat,” George says, putting his phone down. “One of you in particular is being awfully naughty. I’m not sure you should get to see me play at all today.”
There’s a flood of protests. A few people seem to be genuinely angry, too, calling him a cocktease. They can fuck right off, he thinks.
But he does need to appease them with something so he starts to touch himself, letting his hand wander between his legs to stroke his hole – but just out of their sight. He keeps an eye on his phone, but when he sees a message pop up he doesn’t check until he’s pulled his hand back in view.
It’s a picture this time. In it, Dream is holding the toy. Not the box… but the toy itself. George is sure the audience doesn’t miss the way his face gets hot. He’s been told he blushes easily.
want me to warm it up for you? Dream asks.
“Fuck,” he gasps out like the word was punched out of him. His cock hardens fully at the idea of Dream, what, fucking it first? Lubing the toy up with his own precome? Leaving it hot to go and passing it into George’s hands after he’s quality checked it?
What the fuck. He can feel the chat getting more irritated, but he cares less and less.
only if you’re going to do it right, he answers. Does he know what that means? No. But that’s for Dream to decide and live up to the expectations George will set once seeing what he’s done.
He can buy a bit more time for Dream to figure out what he’s going to do about it. He’s a professional.
“Hmm, I still think you haven’t earned the toy, chat,” George says, letting his hand play over his bulge. He’s not usually this hard yet and his regulars know. They have chat emotes for when he’s fully hard and they usually come out after the clothes have come fully off and he’s stroked himself a few times. “But I guess I can be patient and see if you earn it.”
Half of his brain is listening for any sound from the living room, for clues as to what Dream’s doing, which is stupid and unproductive considering he knows how soundproofed these walls are. He won’t be able to hear anything short of an explosion.
He takes his shorts off slowly, leaving his underwear on. They’re cute blue boxer briefs today, cotton and comfortable and free from a deal with the company. He does love free stuff. A few watchers comment on the color and he indulges them. There are definitely some people here that have an underwear kink, and it’s easy enough to do this much for them. He’s not really into jerking off through his underwear, but he’s done it before for a high paying guy who asked nicely. Sometimes it’s nice to have ideas.
George touches himself, letting them see how he fills out the briefs from a few different angles.
And then, a knock sounds lightly on the door. It’s soft enough that chat probably won’t hear it.
Probably.
“Okay, maybe you guys have earned it,” he tells chat in a sarcasm-laden voice, “I guess I’ll get your special little surprise, since you want it soooo much.”
He scoots around the camera to the door and opens it a crack, like somehow Dream seeing this happen in person is different to online. And it feels a certain type of way – like the intimacy of knowing Dream was watching, that he was going to get off to this, that he has before – it makes George’s stomach erupt in butterflies like he’s some twelve year old girl with her first crush.
The Dream outside his door is bright, face flushed and eyes pleased. He’s dressed, unlike George, and when his hand comes up to exchange the toy over, George looks over at it expectantly.
“Well?” he asks, taking a look at it like he’s judging a dish on the Great British Bakeoff. “Is it warmed up properly, Dream?” God, what’s wrong with him? It’s like his stream persona hasn’t turned off, he’s unable to stop himself from doing whatever this is.
“I, uh.” Dream clears his throat. “Yeah, I did. I lubed it.”
“With…” George has to lick his lips. Only because they’re suddenly very dry.
“With my fingers,” Dream says, cautiously, like he isn’t sure if that’s the right or wrong answer.
George isn’t sure which one it is, either.
“Fine,” he says, with a dispassionate hum. He’s definitely going in too hard on his show voice. But Dream’s face just gets redder, so maybe that’s a good thing. “Thank you. I have a show to get back to now.”
“Yeah, you do,” Dream says breathlessly.
He’s already turning back toward his own room before George even has the door shut.
The rest of the show goes off without a hitch. The fleshlight is a big hit. It’s clear at the top, so they can still see his dick as he fucks into it, but toward the bottom it does sort of a suction/vibration thing that resonates up the whole rest of it.
Normally he has a decent tolerance to stuff like this. But he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dream is watching this show - and more than likely with a hand on his own dick - and just like the last time he thought about Dream, it gets him there fast.
So fast that he actually has to edge himself a little. He’s pretended to do that in the past, but he’s not usually a fan of it. He likes his pleasure and satisfaction and the audience resonates with the fact that he’s usually pretty authentic in what he’s doing and how it feels.
He can’t have a ten minute show, though. So he stops and starts a few times, until he’s sweating and thrashing on the bed. He ends up on his hands and knees with the toy sandwiched between himself and the bed, thrusting into it. The audience can’t see his dick anymore but they can see his ass, and he’s not dumb – he knows that’s the moneymaker.
He keeps his thighs spread when he starts to come so they can see the flex and twitch of his taint and the base of his dick, and the way his hole squeezes then flares open with each load of come into the toy.
He’s breathless when he rolls over, even just taking a few minutes to catch his breath. He slides the toy off slowly, letting his wet dick slap against his stomach, then shows off to the camera as his own come drizzles back down on his dick.
“Okay,” he says, slapping the toy down on the mattress beside him. “That’s all for tonight. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Don’t forget to tip! Goodbyeeee.”
He slaps the end stream button and then resumes melting into the bed. Fuck. That was a good orgasm.
And he knows exactly why.
When his legs start working again properly ten minutes later, he throws on some clothes and goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He’s really thirsty.
Except when he walks out into the kitchen, Dream’s already there. There’s a flush still lingering on his face, but he moves with the grace of someone trying to get shit done.
“You’re probably thirsty, huh?” Dream asks, and while it’s a question, it’s apparently not one that needs an answer. He thrusts a bottle of water over to George and turns back to–
“Are you cooking?” George asks, taking the cap of the bottled water while he stares at Dream working something on the stove. It’s late. They haven’t had dinner. They never cook, so this is… strange, to say the least.
He takes a long drag of the water while Dream’s shoulders rise up to his ears.
“I forgot to order us dinner,” Dream says with his back still to George. “I felt bad about it, so. Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean I can’t. I just–I prefer not to. So, yeah, I’m making us mac and cheese.”
“We had mac and cheese?” George asks, the first of many questions he has. But his body is loose from the amazing orgasm and his eyes are heavy now with lethargy. That granola bar from earlier isn’t cutting it anymore and his stomach rumbles with the promise of food before him.
“I had a box, like, somewhere in here,” Dream says. “We didn’t have any milk, so I’m just using extra butter.”
George leans against the counter. They have a spot for a breakfast bar, but they never got around to buying stools to fit there since they only ever seem to eat a few steps away in the living room. There’s something in George that doesn’t want to walk away while Dream finishes with dinner. Just like when they order and wait around for the delivery, he feels like it’s a task that’s meant to be shared. Time meant to be spent together, despite the weirdness of the evening hanging over them.
“Good show?” Dream asks a minute later.
“I mean, you tell me,” George responds. Dream seems to freeze while stirring the butter into the noodles. He takes pity on him and says, “It was fine.”
“Big tippers?” Dream asks, resuming stirring.
“I haven’t checked yet,” George admits.
Dream turns the stove off and grabs two bowls they usually only use for cereal out of the cabinet above his head. He halves the mac and cheese into the bowls and then grabs spoons for each of them. He presents one bowl to George with a dramatic bow. “My good sir.”
George rolls his eyes. “You’re just a helpful little elf today.”
“I, uh, aim to please,” Dream says, then turns quickly and gets a couple of paper towels, too. He hands one to George and they both go to the living room.
George sits in his usual spot on the floor to eat, while Dream prefers the sofa. He puts on one of the streamers he likes, one of the ones George has taken a fancy to, and they eat in silence while someone else’s voice carries on with the highs and lows of the game he’s playing.
When they’re finished eating, Dream takes the bowls back into the kitchen. In the brief span of seconds that he’s walked away, George moves back to the sofa.
They sit on opposite corners, like they tend to, but this time George stretches his feet out. He’s almost sleeping, and he’d rather be mostly lying down than pretty much in any other position.
“Movie or tv show?” Dream asks.
“Mmm,” George says. “Show. The Office?”
He doesn’t think he’ll make it away for a movie, or even probably a long tv show, and he doesn’t want anything on that will leave him confused next time if he misses part of it.
And it’s a smart move; he drifts almost immediately, soothed by the familiar smell of their apartment even with the lingering scent of the powdered cheese mix and too-much butter, and by the quiet rumble of Dream’s laugh every few minutes.
He’s so comfortable that he stretches out without even really thinking about it. His toes press into Dream’s thigh. George is still fuzzy-headed but just awake enough for his heart to race when he feels Dream gently lift George’s feet and put them across his own lap.
His hand settles on George’s ankle, too, rubbing in little circles. George doesn’t mean to make a sound, but the little sigh that comes out of his throat must be loud enough for Dream to hear.
“Go back to sleep,” Dream whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles at the bottom of George’s calf.
So George does.
-
The next week seems to fly by. Dream is actually gone for a couple of days, flying out to briefly meet with one of the content creators he programs for. He’s so excited for it that his excitement is contagious, but once he’s actually gone George finds the apartment far too empty.
The only benefit is that without Dream around, he actually banks enough content that he could not do a photoshoot again for a month and still keep to his regular posting schedule. He even does a couple of high tiered videos where he’s jerking off with his door open pretending someone could walk in on him. It’s niche content, but stuff like that always sells pretty well.
And if there’s a specific someone he’s pretending can hear him through that open door… a specific someone in the other bedroom just a few feet away… and if that is actually what gets George off… well that’s his own little bonus.
He actually thinks Dream misses him, too. The previous times Dream has gone to Los Angeles or wherever else for his job, they’ve barely exchanged texts.
This time, Dream texts him not just a few times but… almost constantly, aside from when he’s in meetings with the other developers.
He even texts George from the airport on his way back home. George has the insane thought that maybe he could actually Uber to the airport and meet Dream there, then immediately dismisses it.
He is waiting at home with food he ordered when Dream walks in the door, though. They don’t hug, or even touch at all, but the look Dream gives him makes George’s stomach do absolute somersaults.
That’s when George realizes he’s actually fucked.
-
It’s show night.
“So what do you have planned?” Dream asks, sort of casually aside from the fact that his fingers are tapping against the countertop.
George is filling a water bottle with ice and then water with a squeeze of lemon.
He glances up at Dream. “Do you really want spoilers?”
Dream’s cheeks go ruddy. So that answers that question. He’s definitely planning on watching. “I guess not.”
“No spoilers, then,” George says and takes a sip of his water. It’s important to hydrate when your job is to pump out come. On a whim, he asks, “Any suggestions?”
He doesn’t mean it. Not really. It was just a thing to say, to try to make Dream feel as off kilter as he makes George feel without even trying.
“Well,” Dream says and then clears his throat. He shifts his body weight from one foot to another in a way that’s unlike him. This gets George’s attention entirely.
George turns to face Dream head on, dying to know what he wants to see George do. A large part of him wants to make Dream write down his top ten things George has done on camera just so he can do them again. He wants to know all the ways to drive Dream crazy so that he can do them on purpose. Somehow his entire job has become about making one man come.
He needs to get a grip on reality.
“You could –” Dream starts, face flushing even further. “You could, like, use that, um, the toy you got while I was away.”
It takes a full thirty seconds to click in George’s brain. He gets so many packages that it’s started to become a running joke. After that first time, Dream doesn’t always open the packages, but he likes to ask what’s in them. On those few days Dream was away and George was glued to his phone, he only got the one package and sent Dream a picture of it just to be funny.
Apparently it was more than just a meme.
“The squirting dildo?” he asks, more surprised than anything else. Of all the toys he has and all the things he could do, Dream wants – Dream wants that?
Dream shrugs like it’s no big deal, his smile innocuous. But when George studies him, he can see a hint of eagerness in his eyes. An eagerness he’s desperate to hide.
Well, that settles it. “Okay, sure. But it takes some prepping and I’m, like, also in need of prepping, so you’ll have to get it ready.”
Dream’s fist drops to the counter again and it falls almost like a punch. He brings his hand up, shaking it out like it hurt. “Oh, uh, yeah, I could – I mean, if you need the help.”
“You’re the one who suggested it,” George points out. He takes another sip of his water and then fills up the bottle to replace the displaced water. He leaves it in the fridge to stay cold for after the show. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Where’s the–”
“I’ll throw it out here,” George says. Suddenly, things are looking interesting. He wants to see where this is going. Inside his room, he finds the half opened box with the dildo and the fluid that’s supposed to mimic semen. There’s some kind of injector thing too that he can’t be bothered to read up on, not when he’s trying to race the clock. He quickly brings the box out to the kitchen to be Dream’s problem, and then heads back to finish prepping.
Taking a dildo up his ass means he needs to stretch himself a bit beforehand and do a quick douche. He can stretch himself entirely and thoroughly on camera, that’s always a good build up to the main event, but he wants to make sure he’s clean if he’s going to be doing a close up of his hole afterward.
Because that’s the point, right? The point of the toy is to see the come running out of his gaping hole.
The shower is hot when he jumps in, naked and hands full of prepping materials. He makes it as quick as he can without skimping on hygiene. There’s something to be said about showing hole on camera and how it forces you to make sure you’re clean.
Once he’s done, George throws on an oversized white t-shirt that his nipples show through–a favorite piece from his audience–and loose basketball shorts.The striptease is half the fun.
He debates over which briefs to wear because those are the most important clothing item, and finally he settles on a tight, green pair that he’s never worn before. He can’t really see green himself and so it’s never been one of his go to favorite colors, but Dream’s minecraft skin is green. His favorite color is green. George is definitely putting on this show for him today.
Why the fuck not? He decides to go all out.
He walks back into the living room with his hair still wet. Dream’s head is bent over the toy, his hands large on the over-average sized dildo. Fuck, the sight of those hands on a dick does something to George.
“Are you done?” he asks, and Dream jumps like he hadn’t noticed him creeping up.
“Shit, you scared me,” he says and throws his hand over his chest like an old man. Dream’s eyes look him up and down, his gaze weighted. George wants to squirm in place when Dream’s eyes rake over his nipples, landing there and staring hard.
“Dream,” he says, trying to get his roommate’s attention. He really doesn’t have much time before the show is set to start and he still needs to check his equipment.
“Right, it’s ready,” Dream says, shaking shaggy curls over his face as he snaps back to reality. “Here.” He presents the dildo over to George and when George reaches to take it out of his hand, their fingers brush.
Fuck off with these butterflies. He can’t handle this. His dick gives a little twitch in his shorts and he wants to tell it to calm down, it just needs to wait like ten minutes.
“Thank you,” George says, a rare comment from him these days. He’s not a guy who’s overly polite to his friends and Dream jumped into that category very fast.
“You’re welcome,” Dream says and then snorts, his nose wrinkling up like he’s cringing at either himself or the entire situation. “Have a good show.”
“Oh, I will,” George says, feeling that show persona starting to take over.
Chat is ecstatic today, with more names than George remembers being there than last week. He’ll have to check his stats later. He’s been on a slow crawl upwards for months.
“Hello, hello, everybody,” he says, waving over at the camera because that’s only the nice thing to do. He’s a performer. It’s the done thing to greet your patrons, after all. “How are you all doing? Feeling good? Feeling rich today?” He laughs and chat laughs with him, only a few curmudgeons finding a problem with that and chat is rolling so fast he can’t even read their comments anyway.
He’s not looking for Dream’s name, but maybe he has his eye out for it.
The show begins as usual, he talks quietly to the camera as he slowly slides out of his clothes–one at a time, sensually. He loves the feeling of his own hands on his body, on his soft skin made softer by an exfoliant soap that a company sent his way. They really earned their review. The sensitivity of his skin now is insane, in a good way. His touch lights up the nerves in his skin and he’s starting to feel really, really good.
Shirt and shorts off, he turns around to give a view of his ass in the tight briefs to the camera, knowing what these idiots like to see. “What do you think, chat? Do we like this color on me?”
Messages flood chat, emojis spammed with the thumbs up and heart eyes and a lot of different ones that he has no idea what they’re supposed to mean. He chooses to believe it’s a positive reaction.
“Do we like this color better,” George starts, thumbs dipping into the waistband of the underwear, “when it’s off of me?”
He pulls the briefs down to a show of celebration in the chat. His fingers find his hole, prodding at it softly, like he hadn’t already stretched a bit in the shower. He watches chat go crazy and wonders if they’ll like the surprise he has for them today. He’s doing this one for Dream, of course, but the money is coming from them.
“I have something fun for us today,” he tells them, and then shows off the toy. He doesn’t fully explain what will happen with it, figuring if they know they know, and if they don’t, then they’ll get the full effect of the surprise.
After a little more teasing, he sinks down slowly onto the dildo, not because he can’t take it, but because the audience likes it better when he takes his time. They like to pretend he’s lowering himself onto their dicks, about to take them for the ride of their lives. Or something like that.
Every inch slides in smoothly, filling him up and up and up. He hears himself hum in pleasure, and that’s – that wasn’t on purpose. He knows whose dick he’s thinking about taking. He knows that this dildo was last touched by Dream, handled by Dream, filled up with come by Dream – when he finally gets to his orgasm and pushes the mechanism to make the dildo ejaculate – he knows whose come he’ll think of.
“Fuck,” he says, biting his lip for a little fan service. He gets a good angle of the dildo going right into his hole and fuck is right. It feels so good. He remembers again why he loves his job.
Normally, he’s better at keeping track of time passing, of how long he’s been in each position, how much longer he needs to go on to maximize his profits. People like a longer show, but they don’t want him to edge himself so long that he never comes. The point of the show is to come, just in line with their expectations of it.
Before he knows it, with no sense of how long it’s been, just the mindless pleasure of this stand in dildo sliding mind numbingly in and out of his hole, George feels the beginnings of his orgasm. This is the point where he could stop, let himself calm down and then go again – but he wants to come. He wants to feel the dildo fill him up. It’s been so long since he’s been really filled. Maybe he never has, actually. He’s always had sex with condoms, the few times he’s tried it with another man.
He wants it. He wants Dream’s come, he –
He pushes the button and feels it filling him up, just as ropes of come start erupting out of his tip. Fuck, he should handle this better, he should – he should make sure the money shot is in clear view, but he’s shaking too hard from how hard he’s coming to focus.
“Fuck me,” George says, hips and thighs burning from how much use they’ve gotten. He takes a long moment to stop coming, the aftershocks more powerful than some orgasms he’s had on this very show before, and finally he slumps over.
He lies on his side on the bed, exhausted muscles screaming for a respite. There’s no time for that. Not when the show isn’t over. He twists onto his back and pulls his legs up as far as he can, showing the dildo still stuck in his hole straight to the camera. This is it, the moment of truth.
His hand trembles as he reaches down, pulling the dildo slowly out of him, trying not to wince as it does. It pops out and – oh.
A white substance gushes out in spurts. He finds he can control it, he can make more come out if he tries. It’s – it’s fascinating. He drops the wet dildo and brings his fingers to play with it, the viscous liquid feeling strange between his fingers. It’s pretty close to the texture and feel of come. He wonders idly if it would dry sticky or not.
“Big load,” George says before remembering he’s on camera. For a wild moment, he was alone and having a new experience. But he’s not alone and he needs to remember that. “Look, guys,” he says and pushes the come coated fingers towards the camera for a close up. “Look how much you came in me.”
The chat is losing their fucking minds. He’s pretty sure he’s never made as much money in a live as he’s making right now.
But he doesn’t even care. Okay, he cares a little. Just not as much as he cares about seeing the man he knows was watching that show he just put on, the man who has come as close to actually being here with George as George can imagine anyone ever would or could.
So he still ends it after only a couple more minutes.
He cleans up as best he can using what he has in his room. Before he and Dream started this… whatever… he made sure he had everything he’d need in there in the event that he couldn’t get out of bed to the bathroom without getting some nasty fluid everywhere.
He gets most of the stuff out of him and off of his skin with the handiwipes and bath cloths. He’s still sweaty and could go for a shower but he puts a t-shirt on instead, and the same basketball shorts he’d been wearing before.
Now that he’s starting to regain his senses after that orgasm, he feels… weird. Lonely. A little antsy.
He actually stands there in his room for a few seconds, suddenly not sure if he should go out of the room. He wants to see Dream so badly it’s actually a little scary. Because what if Dream… doesn’t want that?
And then Dream knocks on his door. “George?”
George opens the door. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide the mess on his bed still or the cumsoaked towel and wipes on his dresser. “Dream.”
Dream has water for him, the bottle he doctored up earlier and left behind. George actually thinks for an astounding moment that he might cry. He takes the water and gulps it. He’s drained half of the bottle when he realizes Dream is watching him so hard he hasn’t even blinked.
“Hi,” George says, wiping his damp mouth with the back of his arm.
“Hi,” Dream says, and finally tears his eyes away to look behind George. His eyes definitely land on the emptied dildo. “Fuck, George, that was… insane.”
“Good insane?” George shamelessly fishes.
“The best,” Dream says passionately. He reaches a hand out and rests it on George’s arm.
The contact is electric. There’s really no other word for it.
“Did you order food?” George blurts out.
Dream laughs and squeezes lightly before he lets go. “Yeah, but it’s still outside,” he admits. “I ordered it before your show. I thought I’d go bring it in when it got here but I was… uh. Yeah.”
“Distracted?” George smirks.
“So distracted,” Dream says, nodding hard.
“Go get our food,” George says, reaching out and shoving his chest. “I need to clean up in here.”
“Fine, fine.” Dream stares at him again and George can imagine a world in which something else happens in that stretch of seconds. But in this world, Dream walks away.
-
They eat on the sofa and this time, George doesn’t feel like staying on his side.
He’s still itchy under his skin. He hasn’t had a lot of sex in his life, but one of the things he liked least about the few one night stands he had was the sense of getting off and then just being… alone.
What he did by himself with a plastic dildo wasn’t sex. But it feels more like sex than any show he’s done has been. That feeling is just increasing with every week he knows Dream is watching.
He doesn’t know if Dream actually feels the same or not, but he doesn’t seem to mind the way George leans into him. They have a movie playing, and the lights are off, and he can feel Dream’s thigh against his own.
“Are you cold?” Dream murmurs.
George doesn’t realize he is until the question is out there, but then he nods. Dream twists around behind them to pull down the throw they keep there. It’s a silly Minecraft one that is technically Dream’s, but George has felt no shame about co-opting it when he’s chilly.
Dream doesn’t just give it to George, though. He spreads it over both of their laps, and then in a move that steals George’s breath, he lifts his arm and drapes it over the back of the sofa.
George’s heart hammers in his chest as he shuffles himself over, closing the few inches between them. He stays upright until he feels Dream’s arm drop down, Dream’s hand cupping the ball of George’s shoulder and gripping gently but with intent.
He doesn’t think that he’s imagining the way neither of them are watching the movie. George holds his breath for a few more seconds, and then lowers his head to Dream’s shoulder, just barely resting it there.
-
Things like that continue happening. Something is changing within their little household of two (plus Patches). Their rituals get more intricate – eating dinner together every night turns into watching a movie or show after and cuddling on the couch. There’s no hesitation when George sits down next to Dream who is usually already lifting his arm so George can scoot under it.
George’s planned posts go off without a hitch, but now Dream will be sitting next to him, pull it up on his phone, and tell George to his face if he likes it or not.
And apparently Dream has opinions on things. He has opinions on, like, the composition of George’s lewds. It’s Dream’s suggestion to buy a new type of ring light that all his streamer friends are using – it does something dramatic with the lighting that George can’t argue with. The dynamics are there, shadows exaggerated and his skin softened.
Dream doesn’t hide his smirk when George admits it’s better.
It’s Dream’s idea for George to start posting more on his promotional Twitter account, to bring more traffic to his site without being a bot account like half the “people” on Twitter these days. Sorry, X. X’scuse him. Dream can think of seventeen funny tweets that make sense for George’s account to tweet in, like, half an hour.
So, suddenly, Dream is helping him market himself. That’s fine. That’s okay. The numbers are going up, up, up, and George won’t complain about the engagement coming his way.
His live show the next week is the busiest it’s ever been. He keeps the momentum moving, using just his right hand to jerk off for a long time – his dominant left hand stays at his side gripping the sheets. It’s torturous and takes forever for him to come. By the end, his dick is almost purple and he has tears in his eyes, but the audience eats it up.
And just like last week, when he’s done, Dream knocks on the door with a glass of ice water for him. His dick is barely covered back up by the sheets – although by now, what’s the point? It’s not like Dream hasn’t seen it, hasn’t gotten off to it.
“That was –” Dream says and then makes an explosion sound by his ear to show how much he liked it. George’s heart turns over in his chest. He really shouldn’t love how much Dream’s praise means to him. He shouldn’t care about what one man thinks of his performance, but – fuck.
“Yeah?” he asks, sipping at his water. He hasn’t even cleaned himself up yet.
“Amazing, George,” Dream says. He takes stock of the room, eyes catching on the mess, and then without asking, he marches himself into George’s ensuite and turns the water on. Moments later, he returns with a warm rag and hands it over to George who can’t take it because he has the water.
“You do it,” George tells him, holding the glass of water up as proof that his hands are busy.
Dream rolls his eyes, but still bends down to start wiping George up. His hands are so big on George’s skin, touching him with care and reverence. Like this, he doesn’t feel like a sexual object, although he knows that Dream gets off to this body. Instead, he feels like a sculpture under a master’s tool – studied and appreciated. Gently, ever so gently, Dream wipes him down – the sweat and come and lube all come off with the rag.
He works in silence, eyes laser focused on his mission, tension thick in George’s corner of this apartment. When he wipes at George’s dick, Dream lets out something of a sigh. He cleans it methodically, but without rushing. Professional, but not.
There’s something in the air here between them. There’s been something for a while, but now it’s feeding. It’s growing.
“There you are,” Dream says when he’s done. His eyes are molten honey, sticky enough that George might get lost in them. “Feel better?”
George takes the last sip of water from the cup and nods, using his now free hand to wipe off the excess moisture from his lips. “Yeah,” he says, too struck by the humility of Dream washing him to think of something funny to say. “Thank you.”
“Movie?” Dream asks, reaching a hand down to offer to help George up and off the bed.
“Of course.”
-
The morning of his next live show, George hasn’t really planned what he wants to do. The growing tension between himself and Dream has reached a fever pitch. He took last week to do what he wanted and not cater to Dream, despite thinking about him the entire time. This time, he wants to see how far he can push it.
He wants Dream to crack.
They eat an early dinner, sandwiches, and watch an episode of The Office that they’ve both seen a thousand times.
“What are you planning for tonight’s show?” Dream asks, not uncommon now.
“I don’t know,” George admits. He’s definitely spent more time in the past week thinking about Dream than he has the entire rest of his audience. “Any ideas?”
Dream looks like someone just handed him a Christmas present and told him he could open it, no having to wait for the jolly man to eat some sugar and carbs first. “I mean… a few.”
“Yeah?” George takes a huge bite of his sandwich, and waits.
“What about that thing you got in the mail a few days ago?” Dream asks.
George looks pointedly over at the pile of packages. As his popularity grows, so does the number of trips the delivery man has to make to their place.
“The prostate one,” Dream clarifies.
“Hmmm.” George muses. “The black one?”
“Yeah, that one,” Dream says. “It looks… intriguing.”
“It looks scary,” George says bluntly.
“You’re just saying that because it’s black. Some people go for the industrial look.”
“I like cute things,” George says.
“Makes sense,” Dream answers. “You are a cute thing, so of course you like them.”
Heat rises to George’s cheeks. “Shut up,” he mumbles, kicking out at Dream.
“So fucking violent,” Dream fusses. Most of his attention is on his phone now though, as he looks up the ‘warming and rotating prostate thruster’ George had been sent. Adam and Eve are really desperate to make some kind of brand deal with him.
George doesn’t love brand deals though. He’ll take freebies. He just doesn’t want to be obligated to someone else’s rules for the content he puts out. He is a free agent. No one can clip his wings.
Unless he wants them to.
He lets Dream describe it to him as he finishes eating. Neither of them are paying any attention to Michael Scott and his antics whatsoever. George is actually just trying to keep from chubbing up already from the words Dream is saying to him.
It’s a losing battle. You’d think by now he’d be better at pacing himself. But he doesn’t feel quite as bad when he sees Dream shift on the couch, and the outline of what looks like a pretty impressive dick showing against his sweats.
It’s wild to George that this is the most he’s actually seen of Dream, in any kind of sexual – or even nonsexual – capacity. Dream usually wears multiple layers around the house, and even at his most casual he’s in sweats or long shorts and a t-shirt.
George really wants to see more of him. But tonight it’s his own body on his display.
“You going to shower?” Dream asks, because that’s the usual protocol when things are going up his butt for his live shows.
“Yeah,” George confirms, knowing that he really should get a move on, but he likes sitting here with Dream so much. He never wants their time together to end, but at the same time, Dream has become such a large part of these shows, is it really like he’s not there?
“I’ll get everything ready for you,” Dream offers, his ears slightly red. “Since, you know, the prostate massager was my idea.”
“Okay,” George agrees, because he’s always happy to have less work to do. He showers. He preps. He can go through the motions without thinking much at this point, whether that’s a bad thing or not.
When he walks into his room from the ensuite after his shower, wrapped up just in his towel, Dream’s sitting on his bed and fiddling with his phone.
“Hey,” George says in greeting.
“Oh, there you are,” Dream says, clearly distracted. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s something wrong with the site.”
A surge of panic flutters inside George. Something wrong with OnlyFans? His liveshow is the night he makes the most money. Is it down forever?
“Show me,” he says, sitting down on the bed beside Dream. His towel almost slips, but he grabs it at the last second while trying to look over Dream’s shoulder.
“Here,” Dream says, passing his phone over. “You’ll have to check from your end, like, as a creator, but I can’t get to your page.”
“What about, uh, anyone else’s page?” George asks, purposefully not looking at Dream’s face.
“Oh,” he hears. “I don’t actually subscribe to anyone else, so I have no idea?” Dream says, and it comes out mostly like a question. George’s heart stutters in his chest, soaring on cloud nine.
“So you’re only interested in the best,” George says. “Good taste, Dreamie.”
“Shut up,” Dream says.
“Let me text Sylvee real quick,” George says, trying to think of what else to do. While he shoots Sylvee a text to see if she knows anything about this or has heard any rumours since she’s more connected with other creators than he is, Dream looks on reddit to see if there’s any news.
They poke at their phones simultaneously for a few minutes until the chill in the air starts to get to George. He’s still only in a towel on this bed. Usually, he’s put clothes on again by now to keep him warm, but not today.
“It’s a fucking DDOS attack,” Dream says and locks his phone. “Some fucking dipshit Russian group or something. It’ll be back, but they don’t know when yet.”
“So, okay,” George says, trying to wrap his mind around what’s happening. His dick is sad because he’s trained it very well that on Wednesday nights he’ll get to have a very lucrative orgasm and now there’s no point.
“You should tweet out what’s happening to your audience,” Dream says, going into crisis mode. George has found that Dream is very good in surprising or upsetting situations. He keeps his head and can figure shit out.
George does what he says because, hey, he isn’t exactly wrong, and sometimes it’s easier to let someone else tell him what to do. It’s hard having to be in charge all the time, especially in a career like his own that’s bred off of just him.
“There,” he says and sets his phone down. He’s not really sure what to do now. No show. No point in a show. “I guess I’ll have to, like, reschedule it when it’s back up.”
“Your fans will appreciate that,” Dream says. He leans back on the bed, holding himself up by his forearms.
“Kinda sucks for tonight, though,” George says without thinking. “I was looking forward to –”
“You could –” Dream starts and then shuts his mouth.
“What?” George asks. When Dream says nothing he prods again. “Dream. Dream. What were you going to say?”
“Just…” Dream trails off. His eyes sink down a few inches, and George is reminded again that he’s only wearing a towel. “You were excited about that show.”
“Yeah?”
“So was I,” Dream says.
“... okay?” George is confused. “I’ll reschedule –”
“Or you could just put your show on. For… me.”
The room goes so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Or a dick get hard. Which is exactly what his does, immediately.
“I could do that,” George says slowly. “Yeah.”
“Really?” Dream’s hand is fidgeting with his phone now, tapping the screen even though it’s just his lock screen picture of Patches.
“Really,” George says, and drops his towel.
-
He’s stretched out on the bed with a hand on his dick, which is not at all an unfamiliar position for George to find himself in. The camera is even pointed at him, with his recording laptop set up on its familiar stand.
But there’s only one set of eyes on him. Dream is at the end of the bed still fully dressed, a stark counterpoint to George bare assed with just a towel under him. It doesn’t seem to matter that George knows Dream has seen him naked in HD on the stream before, or even that Dream saw him naked in the aftermath last time.
This feels different.
This is different.
This time he can hear the rasp of Dream’s breath and see the way his pupils dilate as George starts to stroke himself. His erection flagged during the setup a little but it doesn’t take much to coax it back.
He has lube on his fingers and he trails a slick path down from his cock to his balls and behind them, rubbing in little circles around his hole. He’s waxed clean and he knows from editing his own photos that the skin there looks soft and inviting.
Dream looks done for already.
George pushes two fingers in. He doesn’t need to stretch that much for the toy; it’s thinner than a person’s dick would be. It’s kind of disappointing because George likes a good stretch… but it also rotates and thrusts, which a dick definitely would not do, so swings and roundabouts.
Dream makes a sound under his breath when George reaches for the toy with little preamble. He feels more on display for this audience of one than he does when it’s thousands of people. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten off in the same room as another person in so long, or maybe it’s just Dream.
George pushes the toy in. He goes a little slowly for show, his legs splaying open so Dream doesn’t miss a thing. Once it’s seated snugly, he fumbles for the remote.
Then he has an idea. He presses his lips together and wonders if this is a mistake, but before he can think twice he’s pushing the little fob across the bed. It skitters on the smooth sheet and bumps Dream’s knee.
“What?” Dream asks.
“This is your show,” George reminds him. “You get to have the control.”
Dream picks it up and looks at it like it’s a live grenade, then looks back at George. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” George says. “Just – do something. Please.”
Dream thumbs the button that turns it on. There’s just a low hum of vibration first, enough to radiate pleasant warmth but not really spark any stronger sort of sensation. George squirms a little to see if it’s the positioning but it’s not; there’s just not much to it.
At least until Dream hits another button. Then it starts to… pulse, almost, like it’s rocking itself back and forth inside of him. No, not rocking; it’s rotating. It’s rotating with the blunt, curved tip of it grazing just below his prostate with every rotation.
He squeezes his dick. It feels good, and prostate stuff always makes him leak like crazy. The pre is already oozing out of the tip.
“Fuck,” he cries out. There’s no need to exaggerate anything for show, not with Dream. Not like this.
“Good?” Dream asks, tone low and scratchy like it is in the early morning – George’s favorite version of it.
He rocks his hips to give more of a show for Dream while his insides rearrange themselves. He’s – it feels so good. Dream’s eyes are more potent than the thousands of online viewers he usually has. There’s something about being watched – about Dream’s presence in the room, his breaths, his gasps, the way he bites at his lip when George looks over, dick hard in his pants.
Fuck. George feels when Dream changes the setting again, back to the buzzing from before. He’s a little let down, his orgasm drifting further out of sight but not gone entirely. “No, I was – Dream. More. Do it again, Dream.”
“Be patient,” Dream says. “We haven’t even seen all the settings this thing can do. Don’t you want to see them all?”
He sort of does, but he mostly just wants to come.
The rotating starts up again, intense off the bat. The toy heats up, a warming sensation adding to the stimulation of it all. In another time, George would enjoy this toy so much on its own merit. For right now, though, he’s distracted. Distracted by a man with a burning look of desire in his eyes.
“You going to come?” Dream asks.
“Yeah, I’m– I’m so close. I’m almost there,” George says. Suddenly the toy isn’t enough. Dream’s standing there with his dick hard in his pants and it seems unimaginably stupid that they aren’t just doing this together, that he doesn’t have Dream’s dick inside him making him come instead of this dumb toy.
He doesn’t ask for permission, and maybe that’s against the spirit of this game they’re playing, but he doesn’t care. He takes a deep breath and pulls the toy out, watching Dream scramble to turn it off when he realizes George’s intention.
“What are you doing?” Dream asks. “Are you crazy? That could have hurt if you –”
“Need it to be you,” George says, wincing as the toy slips out of him. He leans over for more lube and slathers it against his hole. Does he have condoms in here? He thinks he does, though they’re unopened. “C’mon,” he says when Dream isn’t moving. “Put a stupid condom on and get inside me.”
He has to have him right the fuck now. He’s never felt like this. He never knew someone could want another human this badly.
“George,” Dream says, confusion and awe.
“Unless you don’t want to,” George says hesitantly, because that hadn’t even occurred to him until right now. He almost slinks back in horror now that the thought is there. Maybe Dream doesn’t want more than just watching. Maybe that’s Dream’s thing, and he never meant for more than that and now George is demanding things that he doesn’t want to give.
“You’ll really let me?” Dream asks.
“Yeah, please, you’re –” George says, desperate and annoyed. His boner is flagging the tiniest amount. “I want your stupid dick. Can you please just fuck me already?”
Dream lurches into action. “Yeah, fuck. Yes. We – yeah. George. Fuck.”
He almost trips on his own pants in his haste to get undressed. George ends up rolling half onto his side giggling at him. “Oh my god, idiot doesn't even know how to take clothes off.”
“Idiot doesn’t even know his own name,” Dream agrees, yanking his shirt over his head. “Not when you’re laying there just like – George. You’re so hot, George.”
“Come do something about it then,” George says, and reaches for Dream. He wants to take his time later to look over Dream’s naked body. It looks fascinating, so far from picture perfect like ones he sees of other creators on his OnlyFans feed, and all the hotter to George for it.
He’s never been the type of guy to be attracted to six pack abs and a spray tan. Dream with his scars and freckles and moles and the hair on his stomach and between his soft pecs - that’s what George wants.
It’s just drowned out right now by the urgency of needing to be fucked. His orgasm is still sizzling under the surface, just waiting to be stoked again.
Dream’s weight makes the bed sink a little, and George’s heart feels like it’s compressing right along with the springs. “Can I do something first?” Dream asks, settling his body beside George’s. Two fingers stroke over George’s cheek, and he’s not stupid - he knows what Dream wants to do. He’s staring right at George’s mouth.
George nods.
“Been wanting to do this for so long,” Dream whispers, and then he kisses George.
George hasn’t been kissed in a while. It’s been almost as long as it has since he’s actually had sex. A lot of that is just his own laziness and contentment with staying home. He doesn’t like to dress up, clubs and bars get too loud and drinks are too expensive. Home has the food he likes and the drinks he likes and someone else’s cat he can pet and not have to clean up after. Home has his favorite place in the world, his bed, and if he wants something that isn’t home it can be delivered to him.
Like yeah, he enjoys going to hang out with his other friends sometimes, but he’s never that sad to leave at the end of the day. The same way he’s missed sex and kissing but not enough to seek it out from someone he knew would only be a temporary fling.
And now home has Dream, a Dream who kisses George like he wants to eat him alive, and if George was a homebody before then he may really never step foot out of the door now.
George kisses back so urgently and sloppily that Dream laughs and pulls away. “Slower,” he instructs, and presses a kiss to just George’s bottom lip. George whines in response.
“No,” he says sulkily. “I’m horny, Dream. Fix it.”
Dream props himself up on his elbows, putting a little space between them. “Yeah, baby. I’ll fix that for you.”
He drops kisses along George’s neck and collarbones as he pulls back until he’s on his knees between George’s legs. He looks down at George with absolute reverence and then draws two fingers down George’s body. He starts at the stop of his sternum and makes a single, unbroken line of the thin patch of hair at the center of George’s chest, down to the softness of his stomach, dipping in his belly button, then against the thicker trail of hair below it.
He doesn’t stop until his touch taps against the head of George’s cock, which answers with a fresh well of precome to gloss Dream’s fingertips. Dream draws that down the length to Goerge’s tightly drawn balls then over them and down, behind. He doesn’t need more lube because George used plenty of it, just sinks two fingers in as deep as they can go.
“Fuck!” George thrashes and grabs at Dream’s shoulders. “Stop teasing me.”
“Okay, okay,” Dream says, and grabs the condom.
George watches him put it on. Dream is smooth at this, too; he has more rizz in bed than George would have imagined.
Nice cock, too. It’s thick and long and pretty. He’d have done well in porn or on OnlyFans with that cock. But George doesn’t want to suggest that. He doesn’t want to share Dream with the internet or with anyone.
Which is a bit of a surprising revelation to George himself, and probably a hypocritical one, but he'll figure that out later. Right now there’s no room for anything in his brain except for how Dream is about to split him in two with that dick.
The first thrust in gets them both. Dream looks so deep in pleasure that it could be mistaken for pain, but he still tries to give George a few seconds to adjust. George doesn’t want that, though, so he rocks his hips until Dream gets the idea.
He’s good. He’s so good. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve had weeks of foreplay, or maybe Dream is just really cracked when it comes to hitting the spot, but George feels his orgasm climbing sharp and fast.
Toys are fun, and masturbation is great - he’s a big fan, would recommend. But there’s something about giving over some of the control to someone else. Another body’s unpredictability means that he can’t bring himself off with perfect precision and it’s doing something brilliant to his dick.
Dream drops his weight down until his forearms are caging George’s head. “I’m close,” he grunts, and the realization that Dream is fighting an early orgasm just spurs George on even more.
And why are they waiting, exactly? He doesn’t have a time slot to fill.
He turns his head and lips drag against Dream’s stubble. “Kiss me,” he says, flattening his palms over the smooth, sweaty plane of Dream’s back. “Kiss me and come.”
“Are you gonna-” Dream looks conflicted.
“Yeah,” George says, and it’s true. It can’t have been more than ten minutes, but he is definitely gonna come, and soon. It’s mostly the way Dream is playing his prostate like it’s a parkour course and partly the way his dick is rubbing against the hair on Dream’s stomach in this position but the combination of both is… yeah. It’s goated.
Dream bows his head and moans, the vibration of sound traveling through George in a way that feels almost more intimate than the cock inside of him. Everything fades into the pounding of blood in his ears and the sounds their bodies are making and then Dream is slamming in and rocking hard and fast with thrusts that barely move, making noises like a dying man trying to find salvation.
George isn’t much better. He arches his hips and whines until Dream collapses against him, a solid perfect surface for George to hump against. He comes like that with his dick digging into Dream’s kidney and his arms locked around Dream’s neck like he’s afraid Dream’s going to disappear before he’s finished emptying his balls into the space between them.
They both pant loudly into the room while they come down, George trying to control his racing heart. It’s doing a lot of things that it doesn’t usually do. He’s never felt it fill up with so much affection for someone else before, not like this. Not a romantic partner.
And he hopes this will be romantic. Not just sex. He’s hopeful. The signs are there.
Dream places a series of kisses up from George’s shoulder to his jaw, not driven by lust any longer, just sweet touches that remind George that he’s there, that they did this together, that he’s not leaving.
“So, we’re really cracked at that, right?” George asks when he recovers his breath enough to talk.
“Oh, yeah,” Dream agrees cockily. “Probably in the top one percent of all time.”
“Just one percent?” George asks, pretending to be offended.
Dream starts the process of pulling out of him, slowly and careful not to hurt him. Which, you know, George finds funny because his job is to stick shit up his asshole on camera and he literally pulled something out too fast before they even got to this part of the evening, but it’s sweet. It’s a very Dream thing to do.
“With practice, I think we can be the all time goats,” Dream says.
“So you want to hit it again, huh?” George asks, giddy and fond and realizing he’s a little more than slightly in love with Dream. “You could have just said.”
Dream ties the condom off and throws it towards the bin. “Okay, I want to hit it again. May I?”
George pretends to think for a moment, really hamming it up and bringing his hand to his chin to stroke his nonexistent beard. He twists his hand to put one finger up in a mockery of the Eureka moment, and says, “You may.”
“Great!” Dream says, and while he’s being funny and going with the bit, he can’t hide the way he’s actually really happy about it.
George doesn’t move. He just stares at Dream with what has to be the world’s dopiest grin on his face. “You’re into me,” he says.
“I’m very into you,” Dream agrees. “But I think you’re into me too, so it’s not as embarrassing as it was when we started living together.”
“You were into me since we moved in?” George asks, a little taken aback.
“Not to this degree,” Dream says.
He’s about to ask follow up questions, about to needle answers out of Dream about exactly when he wanted him, when he followed him on OnlyFans, what his favorite show was to date, and then Dream keeps talking.
“C’mon,” he says, throwing a wipe onto George’s stomach to start the clean up process. “Let’s clean up a bit and then– fuck, your bed is kinda trash right now.”
“My bed isn’t trash,” George protests, but there’s lube and sweat just fucking everywhere. And while Dream came into the condom, George’s glizzy has somehow gotten farther than he intended it to. Probably Dream’s fault.
“We can sleep in mine tonight,” Dream says like George hadn’t even spoken. He’s up and gathering his clothes, but not putting on more than his underwear. “Maybe if you’re good I’ll change your sheets for you tomorrow.”
Oh?
George sits up. “Define good,” he says, because it’s important to know the terms before negotiating.
“That’s for you to find out,” Dream says with a smirk. “Just come lie down with me. Sleep. Worry about all this tomorrow.” He waves a hand at the equipment around the bed, and yeah, okay, maybe George can see that if you aren’t used to it, the equipment can be kind of intimidating to sleep in front of. He usually puts it away before he passes out, but not tonight. He has no energy for it tonight. He’s all spent from Dream’s huge dick.
And he’ll probably be tired tomorrow too, since he has plans to jump on it again.
Eh. He’ll have the room cleaned up by next week’s liveshow, presuming the site is back up by then. Something tells him that he won’t be sleeping in this room very much anymore.
-
George wakes up first the next morning. Well, George wakes up first after the sun is up. Dream woke him up in the middle of the night to suck him off for an excruciatingly long amount of time before letting him come down his throat.
Then he naturally had to return the favor - not with his mouth, because he was too fucked out for that, but with a handjob that had Dream whispering all sorts of filthy things in his ear as George brought him off.
But when he wakes up again, he blinks against the brightness and realizes exactly where he is.
This is Dream’s bedroom. He’s been in it before - once or twice to grab things for Dream, and when he helped Dream with the coding - but he’s never really lingered. It’s not like it was forbidden, he just… hadn’t really needed to. When they wanted to hang out together, they had a nice cozy lounge or a kitchen to do it in.
Dream’s bedroom is nice, though. He has a few family pictures cluttered onto one side of his dresser and cologne bottles littering the other side. His desk is in his bedroom, since they both work from home and it’s only a two bedroom apartment. It’s messy too, with multiple water bottles holding various amounts of liquid, and scattered pieces of paper.
For some reason, he has a tall whiteboard in his room, too. Right now there's nothing on it but George can see where there are black marks from words that weren’t completely erased.
He wants to know what Dream uses it for. He wants to know what’s written on those scraps of paper or the notebook he can see peeking out from behind the keyboard. He wants to study every inch of Dream that he can, and soak in all the details.
Or maybe he just wants to stare at Dream himself. That’s nice too, he thinks, and casts his eyes six inches to the left of him. Dream’s lips are slightly parted and damp. He’s breathing evenly, not snoring, and his cheek is smushed against the pillow.
He looks boyfriend shaped to George. George isn’t sure if it’s really too early for that or not, but no one can stop him from thinking it.
Dream stirs then as if he can somehow hear George’s thoughts. He scrunches his face up and then breaks into a huge smile. “Good morning, you,” he says, voice scratchy from sleep and also probably the dick sucking. “Are you watching me sleep?”
“Yes,” George says, because honesty is the best policy.
Dream buries his face in the pillow. George laughs and reaches out, poking him in the shoulder. “Stop, no. I wasn’t done staring.”
“You’re being a fucking creep,” Dream says.
“Creeper,” George answers, and mimes an explosion so well that a little spit flies from his lips. If it lands on Dream, Dream doesn’t seem to care. “Whoops. You’re dead. L.”
“Oh look, I respawned in my bed,” Dream says, and then rolls over to grab for George. “And look who I found.”
George lets himself be grabbed. “Hi. Idiot.”
“You’re saying I’m an idiot, but you’re not looking at me like I’m one,” Dream points out.
George splays his hand over Dream’s face and pushes him a little. “Shut up,” he says, then yelps when Dream just licks his palm. “What does that even taste like? Your dick?”
“Just sweat,” Dream says, unphased. “Should we talk?”
“No,” George says, just to be obstinate. “About what?”
“About last night. About us.”
“I thought we already talked about that.”
Dream shrugs. “We did. A little. But you know me. I like to talk.”
“I know you,” George repeats, and it’s more than just echolalia. He thinks he does know Dream. “And I’m into you.”
It’s tantamount to a love confession coming from George. And Dream - yeah, he seems to know George, too, because his face turns red and his smile grows even bigger. “Can I take you on a date?”
“I guess,” George says. “Now and then. But I already like the dates we have. Just like, at home, watching tv.”
“George.” Dream sounds impossibly fond. “You think those are dates?”
“Yes,” George says defensively. “And I like them, so shut up.”
“We’ll definitely keep doing that.” Dream finds George’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing George’s knuckles. “But I want to take you out and show you off, too.”
“Okay,” George says. “But you’re paying.”
“And can we tell people? Like our friends?”
“Of course,” George says. “Why wouldn’t we tell people?”
“I’m just asking,” Dream says with an easy shrug. “Just checking in because you’re the one who, like, has a job that might be impacted by having a boyfriend.”
George definitely doesn’t shiver at the word boyfriend coming out of Dream’s mouth. He doesn’t. He’s too cool for that.
“I don’t care about that,” George says. “It’s not my audience’s business if I have a boyfriend or not. As long as you’re – I mean, I’m not planning on stopping, so…”
“I mean…” Dream pushes the blanket off of George and slides one knee over George’s thigh. “Assuming I let you out of bed again.
George would argue but Dream’s hand is drifting lower and suddenly there isn’t a single thought in his head.
-
“Do we have to go?” George asks Dream for the tenth time. They’re standing on the side of the road, waiting for the Uber that was five minutes away seven minutes ago.
“Yes, George,” Dream says, also for the tenth time. He’s in a nice sweater and jeans and it’s worth going out to this stupid party just to see Dream dressed up. He won’t say that part out loud, though. “I promised Nick. I haven’t spent enough time with him in the last – honestly, since we moved in together.” He pulls George into his side and wraps a strong arm around him to protect him from the mild breeze in the air.
“What’s wrong with that?” George asks. “Sapnap’s an idiot. And he’s not even good at CS2.”
“He’s my friend,” Dream says patiently.
“I’m your boyfriend,” George says. “Remember?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Dream looks down at his phone with the Uber app open and gets distracted from the conversation.
The truth is, George doesn’t mind going to the party, but he’s not lying when he says he’d rather stay in and just exist at home. The last few days with Dream have been perfect. They’ve been on their own in a cocoon of domestic bliss, and he’s not eager to crack the cocoon wide open.
He hasn’t even done much work. He keeps meaning to, but… it’s so much nicer to curl up in Dream’s bed keeping him company while he does his little doot-doot-doot Minecraft coding stuff.
Their Uber finally arrives, the driver all apologetic about getting lost, and George holds Dream’s hand in the backseat for the ten minutes it takes to get to Sapnap and Sylvee’s apartment. That part is kind of nice.
Inside, George greets Sylvee and her friends, letting Sapnap bear hug Dream and try to lift him in the background. Once he has a few White Claws with Sylvee, he remembers why he does sort of like parties. Even if every time she gets drunk she starts talking about how they should do a collab where she’s on Team Rocket and he’s a naked, leashed Meowth.
He keeps track of Dream throughout the apartment, watching him out of the corner of his eye while Dream catches up with older friends he doesn’t care about as much as Sapnap, and while George listens to Sylvee’s friends complain about their own OnlyFans.
He loses track of the conversation while he eyes Dream across the way. He’s playing beer pong and when he puts his arm up to shoot, the shift in his muscles is fascinating. What a stupid thought. He’s so stupidly in love with this man.
“--doesn’t get it.” George snaps back into the conversation going on with Sylvee’s friends. Jess, the blonde, was talking and the brunette girl who’s name he can never remember has a sympathetic arm around her.
“He’s stupid,” Sylvee says. “There are good men out there who won’t care.”
“I really liked him, though,” Jess says. “And when he said all those things about my money, it was like – ugh. It’s not fair.”
“You’re so lucky, George,” Brunette says.
“Why?” He reaches for another White Claw and catches Dream and Sapnap celebrating over a win behind her.
“You don’t have to deal with misogynistic assholes,” she says, still rubbing Jess’s back. “And, like, they’re all so hypocritical. It’s fine if I’m sending pictures of my tits to them, but as soon as I send them to other men, and heaven forbid, charge for them, I’m the lowest of the low.”
“I mean, yeah,” George says, because even the occasional pervy asshole in his liveshows isn’t a constant bombardment like these women get. “My boyfriend doesn’t care about it.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Jess exclaims, tears drying up in the wake of good gossip.
George doesn’t even care. He loves that he gets to talk about Dream, to brag to them about how good his boyfriend is. “Dream’s great,” he says, feeling the dopey smile on his face. “He helps me with my job. Like, it was his idea to have a bigger social media presence.”
“Wait,” Jess says, “why is that, like, so romantic?”
“Wait, you and Dream?” Sylvee gapes at him, then punches his arm. “Oh my god, you stupid man, why didn’t you tell me?”
The brunette takes her arm away and crosses them over her chest. “You locked down Dream?”
“Yeah,” George says, letting his chest puff out a bit.
“He’s so hot,” she says, “I thought he might have gotten up with Casey after the last party, but that never happened.”
“Casey?” George asks, the name striking a bell in his foggy memory.
It’s Sylvee who answers. “Yeah, I saw Casey flirting his ass off at Dream last time everyone was over. I was sure they would, like, but then they never did. Sap told me Dream thought he was still with his ex.”
George definitely remembers Casey now. His breath hitches in a silent laugh at himself. Well, he already solved that mystery, at least.
“God,” Jess says, pushing her hair behind her ear. “And he’s respectful. You’re so fucking lucky, George. You have to tell us everything.”
“He was subscribed,” George starts.
“Holy cow!” Sylvee laughs. “So he saw your content, saw hundreds of guys drooling over you, and still doesn’t have a problem with it?”
“No,” George says.
Jess’s eyes get watery again. “Well, watch out. They’ll act fine and then a few weeks later suddenly they’re PMSing every time you sit down to answer some DMs.”
“Girl,” Sylvee says. “Get yourself a bot.”
The conversation wanders onto another subject after that, but George doesn’t like the little seed of doubt planted in the back of his mind. Maybe Dream doesn’t want his boyfriend making sexual content on the internet. He might not want to encourage George to keep working. He might try to, like, get George to do the same kind of job he does. Coding, or whatever.
George wonders what Casey does for a living. Probably not get naked online. Maybe he’s like, an accountant or something. One of those fully clothed jobs.
But George really doesn’t want to do that. He likes his job. He’s good at his job. Even Dream has said that he’s good at his job. He’s hacked the system and he makes a shit ton of money for it.
He’s starting to get worked up about this, that Dream would ask him not to do his live shows or post his pictures, when just yesterday he was one of the many fans enjoying them!
He goes to find Dream just to distract himself from the gnawing concern.
-
Later, much later, when they’re in their own bed in what was formerly Dream’s room and now already feels like theirs equally, he tells Dream what they said. He recounts the entire conversation in different girl voices, pitched up to amuse a drunken Dream.
Except then he gets to the part that’s not quite so funny. “Jess’s last boyfriend was a dick about her job, apparently.”
He stares at Dream’s face as he speaks to see Dream’s reaction.
Dream just frowns. “Well, he sounds like… a dick.”
“It’s just,” Geoerge says. “A lot of guys pretend they’re okay with it. Or maybe they are until suddenly they realize ten thousand people know what their partner looks like naked.”
“George,” Dream says, brow furrowing. “What?”
“It’s my job, though,” George insists, voice rising. “Like, it’s my job, and it’s how I pay my bills.”
“Calm down, George,” Dream says, reaching over and placing a kiss on his lips. It’s stupid that it actually does serve to calm him down. “Whatever you’re thinking, I promise it’s not that serious.”
“I’m not going to stop working,” George says, some defiance in his voice despite the kiss. He purses his lips to ask for another one, and Dream grants that desire. “Or be an accountant.”
“Of course you’re not,” Dream says when he pulls back. His eyes have a dancing spark in them, but they’re serious. “That’s your job.”
And then all the wind blows out of George’s sails and the anger leaves, all at once. He shouldn’t have underestimated Dream.
“So, you’re okay with it?” he asks. “You’re not going to ask me to stop in a few months?”
“No, George,” Dream says. “I think what you do is cool, anyway. You put so much work into it and you have this, like, amazing commodity, and you figured out how to not only make a living at it but you’re one the- you’re like- you’re almost in the top twenty percent of creators. That’s huge, George. You built that from the ground up. It’s so fucking impressive. When I think about you and your job, I’m not jealous. I’m impressed. Plus, I get to touch you, and they don’t. I guess like - if you want a line, that’s my line. I don’t want anyone touching you. But looking? Jerking off to you? Sending you free shit? Yeah, go for it. And I’ll be right there helping you set up your camera or whatever you need.”
“Not even when – when I meet your family?” he asks, needing Dream to know without really saying it, that this is serious. To him. He’s really serious about Dream and the relationship he wants to build with him. Their little apartment. Their dinner rituals. Their television. He wants their life together, but he can’t do that if Dream is going to change his mind later.
“Not even then,” Dream reassures him. “It’s not my family’s business what you do. Whatever you tell your family is what we can tell my family.”
“I told them I make online content,” George says.
“You can answer when my dad inevitably asks,” Dream says, “and I’ll back you up. You can say you do OnlyFans and I’ll just go, that’s my man and I lo–” He snaps his jaw shut.
George leans forward, eager to hear the rest of the sentence. “You what, Dream? You love me?”
“Okay, I was going to wait and, like,” Dream sits up, blankets scrunching at his hips, “say it better when it’s more, like, appropriate, and–”
“You love me,” George says again, wrapping his mouth around the words before his heart can have its chance to do the same. “You do.”
“Yeah, George,” Dream says. His cheeks are flushing. He looks so stupidly handsome like this. Handsome and–and cute. Shut up, he’s actually so cute. “I know it’s really fast and we just, like, expressed our interest…”
“Expressed our interest,” George repeats mockingly. But it’s a mocking of love. Mutual love. “You can just say we’ve only recently been fucking, Dream.”
Dream rolls his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. “Fine. Yes. We only just started sleeping together, but it’s been building, you know?”
George thinks of the way they take turns ordering dinner, about the nonstop conversations they have, how Dream kept in touch when he was out of town, how things feel wrong in the apartment without him. He thinks of the way Dream’s arm comes around him now automatically on their couch, how he took it upon himself to get water for George after his shows.
“Yeah, it’s been, like, lurking,” he finally agrees.
“Lurking?”
“Lurking in the dark like a zombie,” George says. Clearly the way to talk to Dream is through niche Minecraft concepts. “Sneaking up on, like, both of us.”
“Both of us?” Dream asks, because apparently all he can do now is pick out phrases of what George has said and repeat them with a different emphasis.
“Yeah?” George says. “That we’re, like, you know.”
“In love?” Something swoops low in George’s stomach. When he looks up at Dream, it’s to see his hair haloed in the warm glow of Dream’s bedside lamp. He looks so hopeful, like he might choke on it. And George doesn’t have it in him to lie to him, or to make Dream feel worse so George can save face on his emotions.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“You love me too?” Dream asks softly, hands already reaching out for George to pull him in close, like he can’t not touch him.
“Yes, idiot. Isn’t that what I just said?” His knees don’t like how haphazardly he’s propped up against Dream’s chest, body askew, but he doesn’t try to move. He lets himself be held. He searches out Dream’s hair to run his fingers through it, like he’s always wanted to do.
“Sorta,” Dream says, but even without seeing his face, George can tell he’s smiling.
Dream pulls back enough to capture George’s face in his hands, eyes looking deep into his own. He stares for a long minute, letting his happiness be seen, sharing it with George. And then he leans in and kisses him. It turns dirty quickly, eroticism in the way their hands scramble at each other’s bodies.
George pushes him back down into the bed where he tells him in other ways how much he loves him.