Chapter Text
If he’s been this angry with Dream before, George can’t remember it. The crux of the matter is that he shouldn’t be angry with Dream. Not about this. This is… this is a weird territory, and he knows he doesn’t have any real standing to be angry about Dream going out to hook up with some girl.
Except that, doesn’t he? Haven’t they been slowly edging toward something together, toeing a line that keeps shifting in the sand?
So maybe Dream announces he’s heading out to so-and-so’s house and not to expect him until the morning, and—and maybe George puts his foot down. In a George way.
“Oh, cool, bro’s going out,” he says, voice thick with sarcasm. He can’t pretend he doesn’t care. Not with Dream who will see through it, but he can misdirect him by covering it up with sarcasm.
“What does that mean?” Dream says, pausing with his cat beanie comically above his head. He doesn’t put it on.
“Nothing,” George says. He takes a step backwards. He has to get out of here.
“No, it meant something,” Dream says. He throws the cat beanie onto the couch. There’s an irritation in his voice that’s uncommon when he’s talking to George, even in a fight like this. “Speak, George. Tell me.”
“Sit, George. Stay, George. What am I, your dog?” George asks meanly. “Do I even get a treat?” Either way, he’ll be waiting by the door loyally for Dream to come home. God, he’s pathetic.
“What are you talking about?” Dream demands. He crosses his arms in annoyance.
“Nothing, just go out. Go fool around with whoever. See if I care.”
Dream’s head tilts dangerously. “So, you care?” The question is quiet, spoken like Dream’s saying it more to himself than to George. The way he’s looking at George now is chilling in that he’s seeing more than George intended for him to see.
He takes another step backwards, towards the stairs. He means to retreat to his room.
“Stop,” Dream says, commands really.
George hates that his feet freeze on their own.
He knows he’s not allowed to care. He knows he has no say in this. He knows, okay? He knows. Repeating that line in his head over and over has gotten him nowhere.
He keeps imagining Dream with someone else, in their bed, naked and aching and—
And three years ago he’d be cheering for Dream. Two years ago, he’d be demanding details. A year ago, he’d feel queasy in his stomach, but he wouldn’t say anything. Today? Today, he feels sick down to his bones, like the very foundations that hold his body up are corrupted and condemned to collapse at any moment.
Because, hasn’t Dream been George’s for the last few months? Haven’t they been dancing around this elephant in the room? George went through hell online, and Dream dropped the girl he’d been making plans with to come fix it, to the best of his ability. He’d blown off that girl so many times because George needed him that she’d eventually cut it off.
Dream steps forward, taking up more and more space in the room. He gets bigger and bigger, the way only he can do, until he’s standing right in front of George, looking down at him like he’s never seen him before.
This close, George realizes he’d shaved his beard, the way he does impulsively sometimes. It makes him look younger, more vulnerable. It makes the butterflies go off in his stomach, an occurrence that’s common these days.
And when Dream leans down and connects their mouths, George realizes how smooth his jaw is against George’s cheek.
-
The fight doesn't feel resolved right away, despite the kiss. It doesn't actually feel like they've made any progress in any direction until Dream pulls back and says, "Okay."
"Okay?" George repeats, not a mimicry but a genuine question.
"I won't go out," he says. "You win."
"Yay," George says, in the tiniest, most lackluster voice imaginable.
It makes Dream laugh. "Come on. You win. Aren't you going to celebrate?"
"No," George says. This doesn't feel like something he should celebrate. All the bad feelings still sit too heavy on his chest. "Not until you tell me why."
Then Dream smiles, and the smile soothes something deep inside of George. "Because I like you, idiot."
"How?" George demands.
"However you want me to," Dream says.
George steps in close and kisses him again, and again, and again, until he feels like Dream surely understands that tucked inside the kisses was his answer: I want you to want me in all of the ways.
So that's where they're at.
A kiss and a confession and then a roommate barging in shouting mad about something that he felt like both Dream and George needed to know about. George wants to scream at him to go the fuck away but one look from Dream stills those words in his mouth.
Besides, maybe a few minutes to think is a good thing. Because George still doesn’t really know what’s going on, and he’s always been the kind of person that doesn’t feel good or bad or anything at all in the immediate aftermath of big life events. He ends up more numb than anything, while his brain and heart process whatever happened, and then he can decide how it actually feels.
“Let’s watch some more of The Boys,” Sapnap says. “I need to watch someone get the shit kicked out of them.”
George is only halfway interested in the show and he’s pretty sure Dream has barely seen any of it, but they both agree because sometimes the only way to diffuse Sapnap’s tenuous grasp on his temper is just to help distract him.
They sit in the theater room to watch it. Normally they all sprawl out in different spaces, but this time Dream and George sit in side by side chairs. It’s not close enough to touch, but it soothes the sudden desire in George to keep Dream near even as he’s thawing to the reality of what just happened between them.
Kissing. Talking about feelings for each other. George being brutally, vulnerably exposed in his dislike of sharing Dream. And Dream… accepting it. Not rejecting him. Not even seeming to consider rejection as a possibility.
Have they really just been waiting on each other this whole time? Or, no - there’s no whole time to it. Their friendship may have always been a few layers past normal but he doesn’t think Dream has really been pining for George, or if he has, then it has to be as recent a development as George’s own strange feelings.
He knows Dream. He knows Dream wears his heart on his sleeve and can’t keep big feelings contained in himself. If he’d been secretly in love with George or something, George would have known. And knowing he’d have known is a comfort to George.
He looks over at Dream and finds Dream already looking back at him. Their eyes meet, and when Dream smiles, George has to answer it.
-
Afterwards, Dream even follows along when they play ping pong, even though he usually just lets them get their competitive urges out without his input.
He’s staying because he wants to be in the same room as George. Knowing that makes George feel powerful. The fact that he absolutely demolishes Sapnap in ping pong while having Dream’s full attention basically makes him a god.
Sapnap ends up rage quitting again and going back to Valorant.
George doesn’t mind. He has a boyfriend to make out with now.
Wait, a boyfriend? It feels like an intrusive thought he’s letting win. He’s never had a boyfriend before.
A something. Something that they maybe haven’t defined exactly, but it’s there, because they kissed, and Dream isn’t fucking someone else tonight.
Instead he’s crossing the room to George and grabbing him, hauling him in. George has seen this version of Dream before, but never directed at himself; this is the rizzler Dream. The Drizzler. The one that has had years of women throwing themselves at him, even if he has spectacular luck in them also going slightly psychotic when they don’t get what they want, even if he hasn’t ever actually promised them anything.
George, unfortunately, understands that too well. His breath definitely catches in his throat as Dream cups his ass and kisses his mouth, looming in a way that feels powerful but not intimidating.
God. Kissing Dream. Weird. But good weird. The best weird. That’s Dream’s tongue in his mouth. Dream backing him against the pool table. Dream sliding a leg between George’s thighs.
Fuck. He’s hard. He surges forward, fists clenched in Dream’s shirt.
“Whoa, whoa,” Dream says, pulling back. When George opens his eyes, Dream’s still close to him. His eyes are almost crossing with how hard he’s trying to look at George.
“What?” George asks, trying to yank Dream back in. He wasn’t done with him yet. He hasn’t gotten to touch his back molars and find out their shape for himself. That’s an exaggeration, but only just. George wants to know every inch of Dream. He always has, in one way or another. This is just his first chance at achieving that goal.
“We should–” Dream doesn’t finish the thought, instead taking a deep, steadying breath.
“We should keep kissing,” George says, half seriously. He likes the way Dream feels pressed against him, the pressure on his dick, the way he’s squeezed between the table and Dream.
“We will, I just– we should probably, like, talk, right?” Dream asks. It’s the kind of question he asks when he’s unsure, the kind where he needs reassurance that what he’s suggesting they do is the correct path, and not him fucking it up. It’s not a tone of voice he uses a lot.
“What’s there to talk about?” George asks. This seems pretty straightforward to him. They’re kissing, and Dream promised not to go out. Sounds like a W in his column. Better luck next time. GGs all around.
“George, c’mon,” Dream says. “This is a big deal.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” George disagrees, because if they make it a big deal then he’s going to throw up, actually. He can’t afford to think about this right now.
Dream huffs a sigh and with kindness, pushes himself back away from George. “No more kissing until we talk about this, George.”
George, who would very much like to not do any talking and get back to the kissing part, says, “Fine. So, talk.”
“What does this…?” Dream hesitates, like he knows how dumb this is. God, the dichotomy alive in George right now – he’s thrilled with the way things are going. There’s a sense of triumph and victory in cajoling Dream into staying, in marking Dream as his – but underneath that is the layer of fear that he can’t excise.
He doesn’t have any answers to the questions Dream insists on asking. What does this mean? He doesn’t know. What does this make them? He doesn’t care. He just wants Dream, whatever label that is.
“What do you want it to mean?” George asks, bravely. He bites his lip in anticipation, tasting the remnants of Dream. He has proof. It happened. They kissed. And they both liked it. He didn’t wake up today thinking they would be where they are.
“I want –” Dream looks at him. His hands drift back to George’s hips, and he pulls him close, like now that he has permission to keep him close, he has to.
“I want us to be together.” Dream’s words are sure, unlike anything he’s said previously in this conversation. His conviction is strong, assured. “I want us to keep doing what we’ve been doing, but, like, I can kiss you whenever I want.”
“And you can’t kiss anyone else,” George says, finishing the thought. That’s the important part to him, that Dream doesn’t go to anyone else for this – whatever this is. This is theirs, his and Dream’s.
“And you can’t either,” Dream says, like he’s extracting a promise.
And perhaps he is, because George nods solemnly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
George nods again, letting a grin spread over his face unchecked. “Okay.”
“So we’re exclusively… something,” Dream says, like he’s testing out the words.
“Something.” George isn’t agreeing so much as just repeating. Not that he does disagree… It just feels easier to follow Dream’s lead. Dream never takes him anywhere he doesn’t end up being glad he went.
George thinks he knows where Dream wants this to go now, and he’s very eager, actually. Dream’s eyes are dropping down to George’s lips again, and George licks them.
He remembers that a few hours ago Dream had a plan for tonight that involved kissing - and more - with someone that wasn’t George. It motivates George to put his arms around Dream’s neck and draw him in closer.
“There’s a word for that, right?” Dream asks. His eyes are sparkling and pretty.
“For what?”
“For someone you care about… deeply… and want to spend all your time with… want to kiss and do other stuff with… and you don’t want them to have that specific type of physical or emotional connection with anyone else…”
George has never hyperventilated before, but he’s suddenly not sure he remembers how to breathe - except in a weird, good way. “Oh, is there?” he drawls out. “Is there a word for that, hmm?”
Dream leans in until his lips just barely brush George’s. “Can I say it? Or will you run away?”
George would be offended if he didn’t understand what Dream means. He’s not historically one that goes for relationships. He doesn’t like the idea of being beholden to another person, and there just haven’t been many people in his past that he felt like would be worth it.
But that’s why Dream is so different. Nothing about this feels like responsibility. It feels like something that’s just going to make his life better in basically every way. Dream is his best friend.
“I won’t run,” George promises quietly, as solemnly as he’s capable of.
“Boyfriend,” Dream breathes out, and George holds Dream’s face in his hands and crashes their lips together. They stop kissing when they’re both smiling too big. “Are you my boyfriend now, George?”
“Yes, idiot,” George says, like he’s not floating off the ground right now, like Dream is silly for making such a big deal out of this. “I’m your stupid boyfriend, I guess.”
“Hey, don’t put yourself down,” Dream says, with a smirk. He’s too happy to really pull the look off, but George pretends for his sake. “I think you’re really smart.”
“Okay, fine,” George says. He pulls his hand up to Dream’s, interlacing their fingers together like he’s always wanted to. In for a penny, in for a pound. He likes the way Dream’s fingers are so much longer than his. “You can be the stupid boyfriend in the equation. I’ll be the handsome one.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dream says, wearing his heart on his sleeve.
-
They don’t fall into old married people right away. In the immediate aftermath of the conversation, George isn’t really sure how to act. He’s not sure what’s changed, on like a day to day basis. Besides, you know, the kissing and stuff.
He doesn’t sleep in Dream’s bed that night. Neither of them even act like he’s going to. There’s no expectation, despite what Dream was headed off to go do earlier this evening. There’s no wink, wink, nudge that has George sliding onto his knees or anything.
He’s– That feels like a lot. There’s a healthy amount of fear in… taking that step. He’s never–he’s never done that before. When he lies in bed that night, re-examining the entire conversation, he finds that he’s not against the idea. There’s a kernel of excitement buried deep deep down, but it’ll take a lot of sunlight and water to make it grow. And, okay, maybe some fertilizer.
He snorts.
George doesn’t know what Dream does that night in bed, or even if he went to bed. Before tonight, he’d been on a long coding run – going out to get laid was the only break he had factored in. Maybe he was frustrated and needed a way to release that frustration. George isn’t sure. It wasn’t his place to ask before. But it is now.
He jerks off. George thinks about how things are going to change, and while it’s scary, it’s more exciting than it is terrifying. It’s like when he moved to Florida. Sure, he was scared, but the promise of what would come from it was always going to outweigh the short term terror.
And just like then, he has Dream on his team. They’re doing it together.
Things are always good when he does them with Dream. This won’t be any different.
By the time morning comes and goes, George hasn’t left his bed. Around noon, he gives up the ghost and gets up to go piss and then find his stupid boyfriend.
There’s that word again.
So, what do boyfriends do? George has never had one before. He’s a fan of the kissing so far, that part is nice. He likes that Dream won’t run away to sow his oats somewhere else, although the phrase does make George laugh when it pops into his head.
“Oats,” he says aloud.
“What?” Dream absentmindedly asks. They’re in Dream’s office now, looking over code that doesn’t take both of them to figure out the error. Dream had grunted in welcome when George slinked inside, but hadn’t let it break up his groove. George wouldn’t expect any less.
“If sowing your wild oats is, like, a phrase that means going out and having a lot of sex, does that make oatmeal, like, your load?”
Dream freezes, and then his chair slowly turns around like he can’t believe George is real.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, shaking his head in amazement.
“Think about it,” George says, the idea exciting him and giving him momentum. He’s sick of looking at code anyway.
“I’d rather not,” Dream says out of the side of his mouth. “You know who had oatmeal this morning for breakfast? I saw his bowl in the sink.”
It takes half a second for George to understand. And then he pretends to vomit. He almost really vomits. “Ew, don’t talk about Sapnap’s oatmeal load, Dream. We’re exclusive. You’re not getting Sapnap’s oat–”
Big hands reach over and pull George onto Dream’s lap. It surprises him how natural this feels, to be here in Dream’s lap. His stupid boyfriend presses kisses all over his face – cheeks, forehead, nose, until George’s laughing and Dream is too.
“I don’t want Sapnap’s oatmeal,” Dream says as soon as they calm down. “I told you that.”
“Good,” George says. He doesn’t want to examine it further, but there’s something fundamentally wrong with Dream and Sapnap doing… that. He hates it vigorously.
“I’ve never wanted Sapnap’s… can we get a different metaphor?” Dream asks, twisting his hands up into George’s shirt and resting them on his waist.
“You’re the one who ran with it,” George points out. “I was only commenting on an interesting thought I had.”
“I want to hear all your thoughts,” Dream says. God, something about it sends shivers down George’s spine. This is the Drizzler again, out in full force. And, fuck, if it isn’t working on him.
“Yeah?” George shifts around on Dream’s lap, feeling his bulge beneath him. He’s not hard. “Did you jerk off last night?”
This question apparently surprises Dream. “What?”
“You didn’t go out. And we didn’t –” George makes a gesture between them to indicate their fornication or lack thereof. “So, did you, like, get the orgasm you needed? I can ask that now, right?”
“Yeah, I guess you can ask that now,” Dream says with the look of a stunned badger. “It’s taking a bit to get used to it, but yeah.”
“And the question…” George says, shifting again on Dream’s lap. He feels Dream’s dick twitch, and a corresponding thrill of both anxiety and achievement roll over him.
“Yeah,” Dream says, boldly. He won’t cower at George’s questions–he never has. “I did jerk off. It wasn’t the same, but I thought about you.” His hands drift lower and cradle George’s ass. “I thought about this, in particular. Is that what you wanted to know, George?”
George nods. “Yeah. Actually. Good job. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.”
Dream grins unexpectedly, and even more unexpectedly kisses George’s nose. “I love how sometimes you say things you really mean in a sarcastic voice because you’re too embarrassed to just say them.”
George tries to squirm away from being so seen, but Dream holds him tighter with both palms covering his backside. Dream makes a little huffing noise at George’s movement. George can immediately understand why.
Dream is definitely getting hard now. He’s not all the way there, probably not even half, but the shape of him under George is a little easier to feel than it was a couple of minutes ago.
“Wanna know a secret?” George asks.
“Yeah,” Dream says.
“Mm. I don’t know. Do you deserve it? Have you earned it?”
“George…” Dream groans slightly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about if you’ve earned it or not.” George doesn’t really mean anything he’s saying. It’s more just nonsensical, a way to draw things out, a way to keep the upper hand, not because he needs power over Dream, but because he’s nervous about Dream having power over him.
“I will literally dump you on your ass.”
“Well, that’s not how you earn it,” George responds.
“There isn’t even a secret is there?”
George shifts so that his ass rubs against Dream. “There is.”
“Tell me or I don’t believe you.”
“The secret is…” George leans in close and whispers in Dream’s ear. “I jerked off last night too.”
Dream’s laugh is loud and breathless. “Did you think about me?”
“Yeah,” George says.
Dream’s grip on him suddenly tightens and lifts. Dream starts to stand, and George yelps as his center of gravity shifts. He doesn’t entirely know what Dream is doing but he doesn’t want to end up on the floor so he scrambles away instead, stumbling on his feet.
“You idiot, what are you doing?” he asks Dream, who is giving him an equally bewildered look. “You were going to drop me!”
“No, idiot, I was going to pick you up,” Dream says.
“Why?”
“To be-” Dream flails a hand. “Sexy.”
“By dropping me?”
“No, by like, taking you to the bed.”
“I have legs, idiot. I can walk.”
“Yeah, but it’s…”
“Sexy?” George starts to smirk. Now that he’s not immediately afraid of being dropped - and he is standing on the legs that he does in fact own - he sees what Dream was going for. “Ooh, big strong Dream, sexy man, carrying someone to the bed.”
Dream groans and covers his face, slightly embarrassed. The Drizzler undrizzled. “Shut up.”
George glances over his shoulder, then hops backwards onto the bed. “Well, I’m here, right where you wanted me.”
“That’s not–now I’m all, like –” Dream stutters.
George reaches a hand out in invitation. “Dream,” he says, serious as anything. “Come here.”
With two big strides, Dream is beside the bed. George’s hand turns from invitation to connection, landing on Dream’s hip. From this angle, he looks even taller than usual. It does something in George’s stomach that he can’t explain. “You’re so tall.”
That makes Dream snort a laugh. “That’s because I am tall, idiot,” he says. Instead of continuing to tower over George, he sits at his hip. George pushes over just enough that he’s not in danger of falling off the bed.
Dream’s right arm comes over George to steady himself as he leans down to kiss George’s lips. Isn’t it funny how normal this feels already? How quickly George has gotten used to Dream’s kisses? How funny it feels that they haven’t been doing this already?
This kiss quickly escalates. George wants more of Dream. His fingers curl into Dream’s hair and then down to his shoulders to try to bring him closer. “Move, idiot,” he tells him, trying to pull hard enough to show Dream what he means. It’s too cringe to ask Dream to flatten him, but that’s what he wants.
Dream doesn’t respond in words, capturing George’s mouth again as soon as the last of his words escape. And then he crawls on top of George. Like this, he feels incredible. Dream’s body dwarfs him. He’s never – they’re not really friends who hug all the time. They’re not the kind of friends who would cuddle or touch each other outside of playful punches or taps to get the other’s attention. And now George has an idea as to why – because if they were doing this all the time, he would have demanded more. His body knew on an instinctual level that he’d want –
“More,” George says, slipping his mouth from Dream’s long enough to pant into his ear. Dream doesn’t stop, he kisses down George’s jaw to his neck, sucking along the column of his throat and finding hidden spots that have George’s dick hardening further. He can’t help it when he pushes his hips up, needing something, anything.
He only realizes when he connects with Dream’s hips that he’d been holding himself off of George. When their pelvises rub together, hard dick to hard dick, George lets out an involuntary gasp.
“Fuck,” Dream says right into the join of George’s shoulder and neck. It sends goosebumps across his skin.
George has never had his dick up against someone else’s like this, but it’s pretty epic. This part isn’t too new, he tells himself. Dream’s hips move in time with George’s – they find a rhythm that makes George feel dizzy. He grinds upwards, letting the friction drive him closer to the brink.
“Do you want –” Dream says. He grabs George’s hand and places it on the front of his sweatpants. Dream’s dick is huge under his palm. It’s definitely bigger than George’s. He gives it a few rubs and watches Dream’s eyes roll backwards in pleasure. “George, that’s– fuck, that feels good.”
In answer, George rubs it again. He likes watching Dream shudder in pleasure. It’s heady knowing all that is because of George, just his hand alone. Dream’s kind of on a short fuse, apparently.
“Inside?” Dream asks, face scrunched up in pleasure.
That makes George freeze. Not just his hand, but the OS of his brain stops completely. Here’s another example of something he can’t process in the moment. It’s progress for him to recognize that while it’s happening.
He’s frozen long enough that Dream opens his eyes again, looking down at him in concern. “George? Did I push too far? Are you–”
“Is it okay if I’m not, like –” George pulls his hand back entirely, clinging to the blanket on the outside edge of the bed until his knuckles whiten.
“Of course it’s okay, idiot.” Dream leans down and kisses him on the nose. He seems to like doing that. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I know that, and I– like, I want to.” He does, that’s not a lie. It feels like it’s too big of a step, and while he’s ready to climb the mountain and meet Dream at the summit, he knows he needs to take realistic steps. Just like with Sapnap at the gym, he can’t start at the maximum weights. He has to work up to it. “I’m just not sure if I can. Right now.”
“That’s fine,” Dream tells him. “We can stop right here.”
“No, I –” George doesn’t know how to explain it to Dream, to ask for what he wants. He wants to come. At this point, he has to come. He either comes here with Dream, or he comes later in his room approximately three seconds after he leaves this room. He wants to come with Dream, he does. He doesn't want to come without him. “Can we just go back to –”
It feels so juvenile to ask if they can go back to dry humping, so he just pushes his hips back into Dream’s so he’ll get the idea. Like always, Dream gets it. His eyes bore into George’s with love and affection and all the things that usually would make George roil with disgust and distrust, but with Dream, it’s nice. He keeps looking for it, but there’s no disappointment in Dream’s gaze. There’s no sacrifice or compromise where Dream is getting the worse deal. There’s only love and arousal.
It’s with that look on Dream’s face and the friction of Dream rubbing against him sensually that make him come only a few minutes later. He doesn’t announce it, because he barely even knows it’s happening, just huffs a breath against Dream’s lips and makes a soft, needy sound. His cock pulses in his shorts and he loses the rhythm they built in favor of short, desperate rubs that smear the come right back around the tip and shaft. As he starts to come down he wraps his arms more tightly around Dream and buries his face in Dream’s neck, like he’s hiding from the reality that just happened.
He isn’t hiding, though. He just feels… overwhelmed.
Dream’s hand rubs up and down his back. “George?” he asks softly, like he’s concerned.
He doesn’t need to be. George is doing just fine. He lifts his head and breathes out again, heavily. “I just came my actual brains out, Dream. My literal brains. I came them. Right out.”
Dream snorts. “Okay, well, that must be nice. I wouldn’t know.”
“You should try it some time,” George says, and wiggles a little. The mess in his shorts doesn’t feel great but it’s worth it for the way Dream’s little bunny teeth sink into his bottom lip.
“Shit,” he says, and squeezes George’s hips. “Yeah. I uh - I really want to try that. Sounds… mm.. sounds good. Sounds… fun.”
“You’re stupid when you’re horny,” George informs them, then shifts his body so that his thigh is between Dream’s legs. “Like a stupid, horny dog. Guess you better just hump my leg, you mangy mutt.”
“We are not roleplaying,” Dream says, giving him a warning look, though he does start to hump. “This isn’t roleplay. I’m not - we’re not - we aren’t setting that precedent.”
“Precedent,” George mocks. “Ooh, big words, puppy.”
“George,” Dream whines. “Shut up. Stop. I said we’re not - I’m not a fucking - dog.”
“Dogs hump things,” George informs him.
“You humped me,” Dream says. His words sound slightly slurred and his cheeks have that tinge to them that just means warmth to George. “You’re a fucking - bitch.”
“Verbal abuse,” George says. “Canceled.”
“Why are you still talking when I’m trying to come?”
“You’re gonna come anyway,” George says. “I’m just helping you not be fast. That’d be such an L, if you came too fast.”
“You came fast,” Dream points out, trying to glare. But he’s also grabbing George’s ass now and rutting against his thigh like there’s no tomorrow. His cock feels big and hard through their shorts.
George can’t think about that too much or he’ll just get hard again. He’s old enough now that it’s more annoying than fun when that happens on the rare occasion.
“Yeah, but you liked it,” George answers, matter of factly.
Dream doesn’t bother arguing. He’s panting - like a dog, George thinks - and his face is scrunched up like he’s concentrating hard. The bed is rocking with how fast he’s moving.
George wants to come with him next time they do this. He wants to try and hold out. He wants to know what it feels like to have Dream fake-fucking him through their clothes when Dream is so close to nutting that George can taste it in the sweat he kisses off of Dream’s cheek.
“Come,” George says, and pushes his hands up under Dream’s shirt. He can feel the bumps of scars and then, above it, smooth slick skin. Salt, George thinks, if he could lick right there. His own personal salt lick, like the rim of a margarita.
Dream doesn’t do it on command, but he does come, and not very long after. He shoves in hard a couple of times and George’s mind whites out imagining him doing that in someone. He can’t quite slot himself into the mental image yet, but it’s still hot.
He comes for a long time, too, or maybe he just knows how to milk it out of himself even like this. Maybe Dream is secretly the goat of dry humping. Maybe he’s a champion dry humper.
Maybe George loves the way Dream does kind of flatten him after, dropping down on top of him like he just can’t hold his weight up anymore. George’s hands slide out of Dream’s shirt and up his arms, pushing past the sleeves of his t-shirt. He likes the way Dream’s upper arms feel when he grips them.
Man. Dream fucks. And Dream wants to fuck him.
George feels woozy, and it’s not just a post-nut thing.