Work Text:
George was serenely leafing through a book, reading the words on dog-eared pages yet again but just as encaptured as the first time. It was a well loved book of classic romance, Maurice. Normally, George bore easily from the overused tacky love tropes but he found himself rereading the same story and never tiring of it.
‘Hitherto he had supposed that they were what he pretended to be, flat pieces of cardboard stamped with a conventional design-‘
His eyes were torn away from the sentence as a loud crash emitted from his window, the sound of shattering glass hitting the floor in fragmented segments deafening, leaving a resounding silence hanging in the air.
He heard the intruder before he saw him. Heavy shoes stepping through and further crushing broken glass, leaving more shards in their wake. George raised his gaze from the worn leather boots, trailing across loose black pants with pockets containing outlines far too similar to various weapons to be mere coincidence. A dark jacket covered his shoulders, a few clips connecting it in the middle while dirty blond hair brushed the back of the collar. George’s eyes finally met viridian ones, the rest of the man's face obscured by a white mask containing nothing but a simplistic smiley face in the middle of it.
He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a curved knife, fingers curling into grooves and brandishing it while bracing his stance, clearly showing his intention. George felt his spine stiffen, anxiety rushing to his stomach. In an attempt to do something, George ever so elegantly throws the book at the man, missing brilliantly and wincing when he hears it hit the wall. Taking advantage of the slight distraction George bolts to the door, fingertips just barely brushing the handle before a strong set of hands clamp over his mouth and grab his shoulder, pulling him back roughly all the while muffling his scream and keeping him unable to call for help.
In a desperate rush of panicked thoughts, he bit down on the hand covering his mouth, hard.
“Fuck!”
The hand drops from his face, but his moment of relief is short lived when it wraps around underneath his arm and over his torso, fingers splaying out and covering a good portion of his chest, over his collarbone and nearly reaching his neck. The hand on his shoulder digs in harder momentarily, further driving the handle of the switchblade painfully lodged between the two, before the pressure is removed completely and the blade comes up to rest against his throat. There’s no force behind it, yet, but the threat is clear as day.
George attempts to even his breath, keeping any signs of fear hidden away. He feels the sharp edge press into his adam's apple as he swallows and tilts his chin up, deciding against moving himself away from the blade and further into the firm chest his back is pressed against.
“Before you kill me, which I’m assuming you’re here to do, unless I’ve made some grave misinterpretation of fucked-up foreplay, could I know your name? It’s only fair, seeing as you so clearly know mine.” George feels the rumbles of vibration against his back as the man huffs a laugh.
“You think there’s fairness involved here? I’m about to assassinate the king, I don’t think integrity is really of importance right now.”
“Humor me.”
“If you insist, your highness,” His words positively drip with sarcasm and George resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You can call me Dream.”
“Dream,” George tests the name out of his mouth, feeling it roll off his tongue easily. “It suits you, but surely that isn’t your real name.”
“Of course it’s not, what do you take me for? There’s a reason I was able to break into here undetected, and it’s not because I tell my name to royals.” Dream spits the last word with disdain in his voice. George chooses to ignore it.
“Names aside,” Dream drawls on, “You seem awfully unafraid for someone who’s about to have his throat slit. Mind if I ask why?”
“If you’ll notice, it’s you who continues stalling.”
“So eager!” Dream says amusedly, cockiness coating his tone before mocking George’s earlier words. “Humor me.”
“You cannot kill me in a way that matters. The kingdom will continue to thrive and rule with or without me, I am but a symbol that can be replaced. Besides, and forgive me for being so crude, but honestly? I don’t think you have the balls.”
Dream laughs, the sound loud and resounding, leaving George to feel Dreams breath ghost across the shell of his ear.
“I don’t have the balls, huh?” George barely has time to process the intent behind the words before Dream presses on the knife and flicks his wrist, quick and sharp, leaving a short trail of blood in its path. It’s a small wound, superficial and causing no severe harm but George gasps as though it were deeper, built up adrenaline and fear leaving him in one breath. Before George can realize that the arms holding him are gone, Dream is out of the window and climbing down the balcony, running without a second glance back.
George steps away from the pile of broken glass, sitting back onto his bed and breathing a sigh of relief that Dream is finally gone.
____________________
Dream climbs back through his window the next morning. The glass has been swept up by the maids, the ‘window’ consisting of haphazardly put up blinds. The clothing pins holding the curtains shut clatter noisily against the floor as they’re ripped open, waking George up only to be met with the sight of familiar wavy hair and a face concealed with the same smiley face mask.
George bites back a groan of annoyance and sits up, his hair lying in every direction but flat and his eyes tired and hooded. He yawns and leans back against the head of his bed, blinking and turning to acknowledge Dream.
“Couldn’t even go a day without me? I’m flattered,” George says, his voice low and gravelly, coated with the remains of sleep. Dream is surprised to hear a regal tone still residing in his voice, distantly wondering if George still puts on the mockery of elegance when he’s alone.
“Of course, I am but ever-so obsessed with you, your highness.” The aversion is as clear in his voice as it was the day before.
“You make your dislike of me blatantly obvious, you know, you could try to be more subtle.”
“I have nothing to hide.” Dream says with a shrug.
George laughs, loud and fake. “Hah! Nothing to hide? Surely, you’ve deceived more than I know. Don’t bullshit me.”
Dream is momentarily taken aback by the crass words, George’s monarchical character slipping and showing a bit behind the persona the public sees.
“I am open, I do not lie. Ask away, if you must.” Dream opens his arms to the sides with a raise of one brow, an invitation of sorts.
“Your name.” Dream opens his mouth and begins to respond, but George cuts him off. “Your real name.”
“Ah, anything but that unfortunately.” George rolls his eyes in discontent before asking something else.
“Do you have family? If you did, you wouldn’t have put them at risk by attempting the murder of a royal. At least, I would hope,” George’s voice trails off, the last few words just above a whisper.
“I do, actually.” Dream speaks as he steps forward, away from the window and taking a seat on the bed, across from George but close enough for him to feel the dip of the mattress. “A sister.”
“Why would you put her at hazard for this? Unless you’re living in some form of a delusion you must have known you couldn’t succeed.”
“I’ve never been caught before. You think you’re the first person I’ve tried to kill? You aren’t special.” Dream pauses before correcting himself. “Ah, I suppose you are special in the sense that you are the first who I haven’t killed the moment they got arrogant.”
George pointedly chooses to ignore the last of Dreams words. “You haven’t been caught yet!”
“Aw, are you worried for me? Gonna call your guards and play some melancholy act when they take me away?” Dream mocks him, bitter and angry. His words are crimson and hot, leaving behind burns with no remorse.
“Dream, I don’t-”
“Whatever. Goodbye, your majesty,” As Dream climbs down and out the window just like the day before, George thinks he’ll be gone for good this time. He’s torn between relief and disappointment, briefly wondering why he feels so upset but casts the thoughts aside, deciding not to acknowledge them.
____________________
Of course he’s not gone for good, George absentmindedly thinks, turning a page of his book after noticing Dream climbing into his room. It’s been 3 days since his last appearance, every one of which was spent wondering if he’d be back.
“Miss me too much to stay away?” Dream doesn’t answer, instead opting to sit on George’s bed, closer beside him then before and peering over his shoulder.
“What are you reading?” Dream inquires. George pulls his eyes away from the book to Dream, surprised by the unexpected question.
“It’s called Maurice.”
“What’s it about?” George smiles at the question, enjoying Dreams curiosity and wondering in the back of his mind if Dream would like the book as much as he did.
“It’s from the seventies, about a boy named Maurice who falls in love with a boy named Alec. It was insanely controversial, both the story and the publishing of the book, but it’s amazingly written. It’s easily my favourite book that I own.” George looks up as he speaks, reminiscent and contentedly remembering the story. He continues without any prompting from Dream. “Speaking of it, could you pass me the matches over there?” He points to the table on Dreams left. Dream hands him the matches and watches him strike one, yellow and orange dancing over his fingers from the flame as he lights the cobalt colored candle on his own bedside table. It has solidified wax drippings going all down the side of it, evident that it has been burnt many times prior.
“You like that candle? Looks pretty well-loved.”
“I burn it every time I reread this. It reminds me of one of the characters, how he’s so strong willed but still scared. The intensity of the color matches him.”
“It’s a fucking candle.”
“You’re insufferable.”
The rest of the conversation is silent, no words exchanged as Dream watches George placidly read, eyeing his hands every time he turns a page to continue. Perhaps minutes, maybe hours later George closes the book, startling Dream out of his daze.
“Finished it again?” Dream looks up at George, into deep chestnut eyes with the reflection of the flickering flame. George returns the look for a moment too long, hesitantly stepping over the line of something more before retreating and looking away.
“Yeah,” As Dream shifts his weight and turns to get up and leave again something screams at George, crying to not let him leave. His hand shoots out but misses Dream's shoulder, nearly at the window. “Dream, wait-”
Dream stops and turns to look at him, questioning in his eyes and wondering why George stopped him from leaving when he hadn’t before.
George inhales a shaky breath and continues. “Do you want to borrow it? To read it? You seemed interested, I don’t, I’m not sure, sorry I-”” Dream cuts off his anxious stumbling over words.
“I’d love to.” He takes the book from George’s outstretched hands, calloused fingers scarcely brushing delicate royal ones before withdrawing. Dream admires the cherished book as he leaves tracing over folded pages and the bent cover.
He doesn’t visit the next day.
____________________
The next time Dream climbs through George's window is exactly eight and a half days later. Not that George was counting. The echoing footsteps bouncing against the walls startled George, and he looked up to be met with the sight of none other than Dream.
“Dream, I…” He began, but trailed off when he caught sight of what Dream held. Loosely gripped between his fingers was the book, his book. The amount of folded pages had multiplied tenfold, pieces of paper with hastily scrawled notes shoved between pages that weren't there before. Dream looked down apologetically and handed George back the book as he sat on the bed. Their shoulders brushed, sending a shiver down George’s spine that he decidedly ignored. Dream remained silent, passively watching George riffle through his thoughts and feeling on the books, hurriedly thrown down onto paper as he read it. Every page that invoked excitement, remorse or vehemence, all physicalized and open. Dream watched with uneasiness and vulnerability plaguing his thoughts, incognizant of what he might say. George stood from his bed and turned to face Dream. Dream stood up to stand beside George but refused to make eye contact, staring at the floor.
“George, I, I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in it and I wasn’t thinking, I can buy you a new copy if you want-” His nervous rambling was abruptly cut off by two delicate hands pulling his mask down and off, upturning his face to George’s as a pair of warm lips were pressed against his own. At first he was shocked by the unexpected kiss but quickly returned it, matching the electrifying force as they moved together in sync, warm like the flickering orange flame cast over them by the candle to George’s side. After a moment far too short in Dreams opinion, George gingerly pulled away, one last flushed puff of breath hitting Dreams lips.
“You got a new candle.”
“Oh my god,” George laughs, shaking his head and pushing Dream back to sit on indigo sheets and straddling his hips. He took off his shirt, slim fingers undoing each button before pulling it off completely. He sat, nervous eyes looking at Dream with a deep blush covering his face, waiting for who would move first. Dream just stared, watching the flame cast over his chest dance over pale skin, fluttering in patterns he traced with his eyes. After a few moments, Dream ran his hands up George’s sides, feeling the dip into divots of his ribs before moving his hands to George’s back, pulling him forwards to encapture him in another kiss. Dreams hands trailed up to George’s shoulders, leaving white hot in their wake. Dream smiled against George’s mouth and pushed down against him. George raised an eyebrow but took the hint, knees hitting the floor as he rubbed his own pale hands against Dreams trouser-clad legs.
“George.” George looked up as Dream’s hand tilted his jaw up, his thumb catching on George’s reddened bottom lip. “Open.”
George complied, Dream's hand guiding his mouth open. He looked up, lolling his tongue out slightly and waiting. Dream smirked, and spat into his mouth. The saliva sat hot on his tongue as he closed his mouth, adam's apple bobbing thickly while he swallowed.
“Please,” George whispered, his pleading tone sending Dreams hand away from his face and towards the button on his pants, undoing it while George watched hungrily. He watched as Dream pulled his pants down under his hips, leaving his dark boxers and nothing left to the imagination. George reached forward but stopped himself, looking back up at Dream questioningly.
“Can I?”
“Fuck, George, go ahead baby,” George moaned at the petname, grabbing Dream and palming him lightly. He pulled Dream’s boxers down, freeing his cock and wrapping long fingers around the shaft. He dragged up and circled the tip slowly, thumbing a vein and biting down on his lip when he heard Dream muffle a groan with his hand. George leaned forward and licked the tip, the salty taste of precum covering his tongue and lingering behind as he took Dream into his mouth. Dream breathed out a strangled moan, threading his hand through George’s hair and tugging lightly. George moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure down Dream's spine and causing him to pull harder. George sucked, hollowing his cheeks and looking up at Dream before closing them again, thick eyelashes barely brushing under his eyes. He continued his motions, taking Dream deeper in his mouth with each bob, sitting satisfied in the noises he pulled out of Dream.
“Fuck, George, slow down for a second,” Dream breathed out, his voice strained as he looked down at George. “Could I…. fuck your throat? Are you okay with that?” George pulled off him fully, wiping his spit coated swollen lips with the back of his hand.
“Please,” He begged and Dream relished in the pleading. He gave George a moment to catch his breath while he idly stroked himself.
George leaned back forward but paused and brought his hand up and spat, saliva hitting his royal hand in an obscenely un-royal way. Dream’s head was overrun with thoughts of how fucking hot that was while he pulled George back onto his cock. George let his jaw go slack, tonguing lightly at the weight in his mouth while he waited for Dream to start moving. Dream tightened his grip, pulling painfully at George’s hair and thrusted up into the warm heat of his mouth, reveling in the way his throat constricted around the tip and how he let out such a flat out lewd sound. Dream slowed down, giving George a moment to ready himself as he braced one of his hands on the other's thigh. George looked up and nodded as best he could through tear-filled eyes and Dream continued fucking into George’s throat relentlessly.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty like this, on your knees like a fucking whore,” Dream spat the last word harshly and George sped up his own hand, Dream absent-mindedly noticed how George had started stroking himself with his unoccupied hand, his cock painfully hard and leaking from the tip. Dream continued, feeling familiar heat pool in his stomach and he thrusted deeper as he chased his release. George gagged again, only serving to further Dream towards the edge, and through the roughness of it and Dream muttering another “gorgeous” littered amongst calling him “slut” George moaned loud, spilling hot cum into his hand. Dream gave him no time to recover, continuing to fuck his mouth, the thrusts growing sloppy and slower.
“Fuck, you’re so good, so, so good baby, god,” He rambled aimless praise and George thought about how if he weren’t nearly boneless from coming he would have gotten hard again. Dream pulled out and stroked his cock roughly, mouth falling open as he panted.
“Open- open your mouth,” He groaned again, cock twitching in his hand. George complied, opening his lewd swollen lips, stuck his tongue out and Dream came with a final low groan, cum coating Georges tongue and some landing over his cheeks and lips. Dream casted his eyes down to see George drawing his tongue into his mouth and swallowing, wiping any extra cum off with his thumb and sucking it off with a loud pop.
“That was…” George trailed off, surprised with how rough and fucked his voice sounded “Fucking amazing.”
“You sure? I didn't hurt you or anything?” Dream pulled George up onto the bed and rubbed his back gently in circles.
“No, Dream, it was all good, I promise.”
“Good, that’s… great.” Dream smiled against George’s hair, letting himself relax and just hold George, watching the same orange flame flicker over them both.