Chapter Text
Dream wishes the previous night could last forever. He takes in the sight of George while he's sleeping, admiring his complexion in this light. He seldom gets up this early, but he wouldn't miss this for the world.
The cramped space of the couch left Dream sore, among other things, and he curses himself for not moving to the bed. An easy enough fix, he thinks. Dream scoops George up and carries him to his room, careful not to wake him; he wants to let him sleep in.
Twisted up in rumpled sheets, this is how they spend their mornings. Throughout the day, Dream takes every opportunity to stay touching him- whether it's watching movies on the couch or working on his computer, some part of them is always connected.
Patches warms up to George quickly, realizing she has a new source of head scratches. Dream has begun to notice treats going missing from the pantry, which might have been a factor. Not that he's complaining, in fact, he's never had a better source of serotonin than watching Patches sleep on George's chest.
It's comfortable and safe, like they pressed pause last time they parted ways and picked up right where they left off, once again in their bubble. The days are somehow so lazy and entirely eventful.
The first morning, Dream wakes him up with breakfast in bed. It's not much- pancakes topped with strawberries- but George lights up with a sleepy grin anyway.
Dream could waste days laying here, listening to George ramble as he stuffs his face.
"I wish I'd gotten a little heads up, I should've told fans we'd be on break," Dream sighs.
"Break from what? Streaming?" George grins.
"You wound me," he collapses theatrically onto the mattress.
George whines about being too tired to move, so Dream sits on the edge of the bed and gestures for him to come over. Wrapping arms around Dream’s neck, legs held on either side, George gets carried by piggyback into the living room. They mostly laze around, learning the other’s body language, taking in the other’s unfiltered presence. Talking on voice calls was pleasant, but this is another level of intimacy, seeing each other wholly beyond what they choose to share. Not spending every waking moment working on three projects at the same time is foreign, and much less something he thought he’d ever enjoy.
The next day, Dream notices sodas disappearing from his minifridge.
“Why does American coke taste so shit?” George asks, sipping one anyway.
“Are they different? I didn’t drink any when I was over there,” Dream replies.
George squints at the can.
“Maybe Tommy’s right. American things are just inferior.”
“Hey,” Dream says, “I’m an American thing.”
“You’re my American thing.”
That earns George a peck on the cheek, Dream snatching the soda out of his hand while he’s distracted.
“And stop stealing from my mini-fridge you clown,” he says.
After, Dream looks up British Coca-Cola and learns that they use real cane sugar. Since it’s the closest thing he can get, Dream stocks his fridge with Mexican coke, which he had to drive a good two cities away for. As the number of sodas dwindles from his fridge, George seems to complain a lot less. Dream still takes every opportunity he can to chastise his thievery. At the end of the day, however, he appreciates how his kisses taste like Coca-Cola, and just the kind George likes.
The following day, George walks out fresh from a shower wearing one of Dream’s hoodies. It’s something Dream didn’t know he needed to see with his own eyes, because lord, is the sight better in person.
“I feel like I’ve read a fanfiction about this,” Dream teases, tugging George’s hoodie strings from where he sits on the couch arm. He perks up in response.
“You too?” he asks.
“What.”
“What?”
George sinks into the hoodie in embarrassment. Dream tackles him, wheezing as he weighs him back into the cushions. Having the glorious insight that George is, in fact, very ticklish, has come in handy.
The face staring back at him looks as if he’s waiting for something. Dream rolls his eyes, tilting his head to meet his lips, feeling butterflies at the smile against his own. He’s good at noticing things, especially when it comes to someone he loves. One thing he’s noticed- George never asks to kiss him, but Dream can recognize the look on his face, like he’s expecting something, but can’t bring himself to say. The man is a closed book, but Dream’s determined to scour every page until he can recite it by memory.
He realizes they’re supposed to fly out tomorrow, meet up with the crew, and they’ve filmed a sum total of zero videos together. He feels almost guilty for not taking advantage of this to record something, but looking at the man's dopey smile, he's feeling really unapologetic.
The world can wait- George is in his arms.
As the night comes to a close, so do their lazy morning escapades.
Neither of them are particularly thrilled about getting up at 8:00 am, but it's for a worthy cause. It was agreed that they would all meet up in Los Angeles, Sapnap already renting an airbnb with Karl and Quackity. George’s pouty face, clothed in only boxer briefs and sheets almost makes him want to cancel the flight to let him sleep in. Almost.
They compromise.
His mom drops them off at the airport, Dream’s pajama bottoms loose around George’s waist as he sits, snoring beside him.
“Did he forget to bring pajamas?” his mom asks, slyly.
“No.”
Dream glances up at the rearview mirror. She has a knowing smile on her face.
“You seem happy, Clay. Really happy.”
“I am,” Dream replies, watching George’s hair be swept by the AC.
“If I knew all it took was a cute boy to get you out of the house, I would’ve set you up ages ago,” she laughs.
They go back and forth, Dream still in awe of her ability to embarrass him. Even once they pull into the drop-off, he lets George linger in his seat, gently waking him with a shake. His mom showers them with tales of caution as much as goodbyes, and the pair shuffle to the terminal with their luggage dragging behind them.
“Over five hours, hm?” George murmurs. The flight attendants drone on with instructions in the background, their displays of oxygen mask protocols going mostly ignored.
“You can nap through it,” Dream says, resting his chin on his head- a gesture he’s come to love giving.
“Eh, I won’t be able to fall asleep. Keep me company, so I don’t die of boredom?” George asks, meeting his eyes.
The idiot bats his eyelashes. He has his waiting face on. Dream leans down like it’s second nature.
He hadn’t noticed just how quickly this became familiar. Dream peppers him with kisses idly throughout the day- kisses him hello, kisses him goodbye, when he smiles, when he laughs. Now, George whips out the puppy eyes and he’s already giving in.
"God, I've created a monster," Dream says, giving a soft peck anyway.
They describe it as “love language,” he believes. Knowing so inherently what and how to share, just how to tell someone every way they make you feel. He supposes he speaks in gestures. Dream's love language is showering him with gifts, surprising him with food, all the little things he communicates with his actions. Even now, something so mundane as knowing which soothing pattern to rub into the delicate skin of George’s hand- it’s valuable to him. Dream can say more this way than he ever could in words.
Initially, he feared they would run out of things to talk about while spending all their time together. It’s quite the opposite, in fact; Dream doesn’t know if they’ve scratched the surface. Even on this several-hour-long flight, George being drowsy, they hardly stop talking the entire way.
In the baggage claim, Dream is partway through an excited rant about an Oklahoma Sooners game when they see him. Standing there with a dumb grin on his face, Sapnap approaches with open arms.
Wasting no time, the pair walk up and hug him from both sides, and it's like three puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.
"I think I owe you a good twenty hugs over," Dream says.
"And a few pinky promises," Sapnap chuckles in response.
"God, the gang's all here, huh?" George asks.
"Not all here. Karl and Alex are waiting at the place," Sapnap says.
George squints for a moment, gears audibly turning in his head. He lights up and his mouth goes wide.
"What?" Dream laughs.
"No way. No way. You're- are you shorter than me?" he asks.
Sapnap immediately spins him around, standing back to back. He places a hand on both their heads and promptly pushes George away.
“No. No, that is complete bullshit, you are NOT taller than me,” he says.
“Really? Because it kind of looks like he is,” Dream teases.
“No, I’m wearing flip flops, he has sneakers-”
“You’re cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers, yeah, yeah. Life will be so much easier if you just accept this,” George says, placing a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder.
“We are the same height at the very least,” he grumbles.
“Hey, let’s save it til we get to the house. Then we can collectively laugh at Quackity’s height,” Dream offers.
When they pile into the uber, George is singled out to sit in the middle.
“Maybe you’re taller but at least I’m not built like a straw,” Sapnap says, looking pleased at his grumpy expression. He purposefully shoves George against Dream as the car passes over a bump, earning him a punch on the shoulder.
If the driver is fed up with their bullshit, no one blames him.
The drive through LA is paved with wide overpasses knit together, lined by skyscrapers and rows of swaying palms. Dream doesn’t think even Miami sees such little sky, but god, is it breathtaking. When they reach the house, carved into the side of the foothills overlooking downtown, he takes a few minutes to admire the view. Never did he think he’d be here, with his favorite dumbasses in the world, on the opposite end of the country.
Speaking of dumbasses, the moment the car pulls away, the front door swings open with a slam.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my front lawn?" an obnoxious, fake british accent calls out. As Quackity steps out, Karl runs at full speed to bear hug them.
“Wow, who invited them?” Karl says.
“Yeah, this neighborhood’s really going to shit,” Quackity replies, stepping down to join in. They all stand for a few seconds in the driveway, distant traffic a soundtrack over the scenery.
After taking in the sight, everyone files into the house, and it’s more impressive on the inside than it looks on the outside. Dream makes a mental note to consider marble countertops. A skylight or two back home wouldn't hurt either.
The image of George clothed only in stripes of amber light lying on the couch comes to mind. He puts away that thought to revisit later.
Settling into the living room, it’s just as it was with George- almost picking up where their last call left off, but now, seeing real-time, in-person reactions to every word.
“I think you have more freckles than Dream does,” Karl teases as he gives George a once over.
“I mean, he has more on his shoulders,” George replies, evidently without thinking.
“What, did he give you a tour or something?” Quackity jokes.
It was humid that night, skin almost sticking to the sheets in domestic silence. George asked, and Dream was delighted to show him. The way his fingers traced his arm is a memory that will never leave him, delicate and intimate without a word ever needing to be spoken.
George makes a blank face.
"So," Dream interjects, "LA."
Everyone seems content to move on.
"Yep. Best-worst city in the country," Quackity muses.
"Where are we headed first, boys? The beach? Museum? Movie theater?" Karl asks.
"Actually, I'm headed to sleep," George says.
"Neither of us got much sleep on the plane. It alright if we pass out for a while?”
"Sure thang. Follow me," Sapnap says. The pair are led down the hall to two bedrooms.
Two bedrooms.
Dream frowns, and Sapnap gestures apologetically.
"You guys aren't really out to anyone, so I wanted to… y'know. Give you the option. In hindsight, I probably put you in a more awkward situation."
“No, thank you, seriously. We’re still on the down-low for now. And don’t worry about it, we can sleep apart when we need to,” Dream says.
“You sure about that?” Sapnap chuckles, eying where their hands are brushing against each other instinctively.
“I’d rather keep this between us. It’s still… new,” George admits.
“Of course, of course. I’ve got your backs. But just know, every last one of us is here no matter what, especially the two idiots that flew several hours to come see you. Alright?” Sapnap says.
“Yeah. We know. When we’re ready we’ll let you all bully us to high hell about it. Promise,” Dream says.
They share a nod of understanding. George wastes no time throwing himself into bed to bundle under the covers. He glances up expectantly, and though Dream is happy to haul his luggage in from the car, he rolls his eyes at how spoiled the man is.
“Hey, do you guys mind if we head out for a while? We need to load up on snacks and stuff,” Quackity asks as Dream passes through the living room.
“Oh, sure.”
“Aight, see you later. Get your beauty rest,” Sapnap teases.
Dream waits patiently for the front door to close, contentedly flopping into bed with George. The luggage is left mostly in a pile on the floor.
"Don't think I didn't see what you put in the bedside drawer," George remarks slyly.
"As if you're complaining. Better safe than unprepared," Dream says. They draw close together, pulling the covers up over themselves.
“Did they leave,” George mumbles into Dream’s shoulder.
“Yeah. I’ll set an alarm so we aren’t… like this when they come back,” Dream replies. He reaches over George and fumbles to unlock his phone. One hour should be a long enough nap, better safe than sorry. He’ll indulge in this while he can.
George pulls against his chest like a magnet, and Dream’s arms fall around his waist on autopilot, the weight of his body on his hand feeling like home.
“This is insane,” George says after a while, barely awake. He breathes against Dream’s collar, nosing into him. “I never thought I would be here. With you.”
Dream runs fingers through his hair lovingly.
“I think, at the beginning, I imagined it a lot. There were a lot of days, when I felt lost, that I thought we might even stop being friends." It comes out more despondent than he intended. George presses a thumb to his mouth.
"Shh. Stop thinking so hard. We're here, and I'm sleepy," he says.
Sleep. That sounds like a wonderful idea.
When Dream was alone, he would've been glad to start falling within hours of closing his eyes. It always felt as if there was something else he could be doing, something more important. With George snuggling under his chin, he's able to drift so easily.
He was so used to nightmares or grand adventures, plagued by either extreme. Now, Dream has found himself a pleasant in between. His brain fogs over and meanders down a lazy river of comforting memories. Everything is moving, alive, and he's impossibly at ease. There's nothing tangible, only more colors than he could name or imagine in waking. Dream sees a pool of something otherworldly and lets himself sink, overtaken by a profound sense of wonder. And, in every corner, is some piece of George, embedded in the very fibers of what makes him himself.
A loud creak pierces the rippling dreamland and pulls him back up. Dream's eyes tear open, squinting against the harsh light, and the silhouette in front of it.
Karl is practically a deer caught in the headlights.
"Hi?" Dream asks, still rendered mostly unconscious.
"Oh. Uh. Ruh roh raggy," Karl manages to say before closing the door.
It takes the hastily descending footsteps for it to register what happened. He pulls away from George to check his phone. The inactive alarm glares back at him condescendingly. That would explain it. He groans and makes a mental note to just use a timer next time.
"Hey, wake up," Dream gently rocks George.
"Already?" George yawns once his eyes flutter open.
"Actually, more than already. Set my alarm wrong. I'm only awake because Karl came in," Dream replies.
"Karl… what?" George asks.
"His first response was 'ruh roh raggy,'” Dream says.
George is seemingly unbothered, ignoring him and turning over to close his eyes again.
"Oh no, you're getting up, blanket hog."
George is tickled until he falls off the bed, Dream yelling a soft "geronimo" as he follows suit. The tangle of blankets and laughter on the bedroom floor feels childlike in the best possible way.
Eventually, the pair make themselves presentable and head out to the living room. Karl and Quackity both look to the floor, trying to make it apparent they weren't watching the hallway.
"So what's on the agenda for tonight?" Dream asks.
"Stay-at-home party. Keepin' it low-key so we can tackle stuff tomorrow," Sapnap replies.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dream says, making towards the bag of snacks they brought home.
He and Karl fight over a bag of rainbow sour belts, Quackity claiming ownership of the tamarind candies because “it’s my birthright, assholes.” No one competes with George for the chocolate-covered raisins, which he’s not complaining about, and Sapnap keeps his party-sized bags of chips tucked under his arm. He thankfully had the foresight to bring an HDMI cable, so a bag of popcorn is set to microwave and a pirated movie is queued up.
When they talk through the movie, loud enough for the entire city to hear, no one minds. As they lay in a pile of tangled limbs, occasionally leaning on or roughhousing with each other, there isn’t a single complaint. He enjoys learning the small details, how their friendship is a living, breathing thing. Karl handles scary movies better than Quackity, who throws a mess of popcorn on the floor at every jumpscare. Sapnap has no qualms about eating said popcorn off the floor, and Quackity’s over-the-top expressions as he does so are priceless. And there's George- despite spending the past few days attached at the hip, he still finds new facets of him to treasure.
When the energy trails off, Sapnap pulls out a chessboard and invites him to a match. Dream accepts, eager for every opportunity to show off. George translates the game to Karl and Quackity, all the while in quiet admiration. The weight of wooden pieces is something he hasn’t felt under his fingers in years.
Before the sun has sunk beneath the horizon, he’s already punctuating his sentences with yawns which spread through the group like wildfire. Once their words become few and far between, the boys retire to their rooms. Dream decides it best to sleep separately from George, as dismal it is being alone in a bed. He assures himself it’s just for this vacation until it settles in that after this, George is going back. And then, Dream decides he’ll be damned if he spends their last few days together sleeping alone.
Turning the doorknob slowly so as not to make a sound, he climbs into bed with George, who doesn’t offer any questions. He simply shifts to make room and presses into him, as if to ask “what took you so long?”
That night, Dream is greeted to visions of abstract colors and geometric shapes.
The next morning, Sapnap tries and fails to get them out of bed before noon.
"C’mon, we're losing daylight," he complains. Dream is still in his pajamas, taking his sweet time to pour himself a glass of water.
“Says the guy who wakes up at ass o’clock every day,” Dream teases. Sapnap flips him off. “So, are we filming the manhunt skit?”
“Yep.”
“And after?”
Quackity throws himself onto the couch.
“LA nightlife, baby!” he calls out.
“Karaoke. Obviously karaoke,” Karl adds.
“Yeah. All that,” Sapnap chuckles.
“If we can get George out of bed, that is,” Dream says.
Their bedroom door swings open and a very unenthused-looking George pads out into the living room in an oversized T-shirt. He complains, looking more cute than intimidating, and the urge to kiss the sleepy look off his face right then and there is unbearable.
“Well, get your asses dressed so we can roll out,” Sapnap says. He gathers toy weapons they got the night before into a backpack, most likely to avoid the shame of their driver seeing grown men holding Minecraft swords.
Wearing a cloth mask, sunglasses, and a hoodie isn’t ideal while they’re on their way to the park- if you can reduce it to just a park. The roving botanical garden has intricate paths, ponds, and arches of trees paving the way. He’s glad the owners were as polite as they were, because everything here looks far too destructible for a group of young adults to be running and screaming.
The boys set up in a patch of grass, as far from the delicate flowers as they can be. While they set up cameras, Dream dons his smile mask.
“Yeah, run in from the right, maybe?” Karl says, observing the shot.
“We can do the intro in front of the orchard, and have the camera circle Dream like a cheesy action movie sequence,” Quackity adds.
“Ooh, he can like, unsheathe his sword like an anime character,” Sapnap says.
They brainstorm, Dream watching George lay back in the grass and toy with the frame of his goggles. After enough lazing and creative chatter, they ready themselves and Karl films the short introduction, as cheesy as they can make it. They watch it back, and Sapnap pauses on a frame of him posing dramatically.
“Why do you always stand like the emoji,” he laughs.
“Naw, but why he kinda…” Karl jokes.
“Shut up, man,” Quackity says.
George hums.
“He’s got a point.”
It would be easy to brush off as a joke, but Dream knows that look. They all choose to brush it off anyway.
He couldn’t have anticipated how filming something so light-hearted and silly would be in person, but now, panting from running and wheezing, he’s infinitely glad to be here. They’re giving themselves more editing work to do, pausing every few moments to break character and crack jokes, but no one minds.
Stealing moments to lay in the grass with George is worth the disapproving looks from the others while they pack up. Dream rides the high of genuine, unfiltered, good-old-fashioned dicking around from the moment they leave and through the rest of the evening at the house. After plenty of stupid photoshoots and episodes of The Office, they change into attire more fitting for a night out.
“I’m way more nervous doing this in person than over call,” Karl swallows. The dark of the karaoke room is bathed in neon, and he’s gripping the microphone with uncertainty.
“It’s just like how it always is. C’mon, High School Musical, you and me,” Sapnap says. He takes Karl’s hand and coaxes him up to the stage.
Sapnap brings out the enthusiasm in him, and by the end of the song, both of the men are belting at the top of their lungs without shame. Afterwards, Quackity insists on taking the mic and singing a rendition of “Where are the Askers” that has them all on the brink of pissing themselves. Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity rotate between songs, and Dream enjoys the show while laying back in his seat.
“So, are you doing a duet, or what?”
Dream glances up to Quackity, who’s holding out the mic.
“Sure.”
“What song are we doing, Dream?” George bats his eyelashes.
“Preferably something a little... mellow?” he chuckles awkwardly.
“Got it,” George smiles.
He leads him by the hand and queues up a song. The track comes on screen, and warmth floods Dream’s expression.
“Really?” he asks.
“I like the way you sound when you sing it,” George says.
Dream rolls his eyes, tapping his foot as the steady guitar chords invite them to the front. He starts at a whisper, but the tension eases from his shoulders when George squeezes his hand.
“Hey there Delilah, what’s it like in New York city?” he chants, their eyes meeting as he murmurs the words, “tonight you look so pretty, yes you do.”
As the temperate words grow louder, more ardent, George joins in. Dream is used to him sabotaging his own singing, purposefully making a spectacle, but now his voice carries the tender melody straight into his core and dissolves his insides until his knees wobble.
“We’ll have the life we know we would,” they sing in tandem, rising and falling as one.
Dream sheds his fear and raises to match his volume and pour out his heart onto the glossy black tile. There has to be helium in his lungs, that can be the only explanation for feeling so light he could float.
The last few lines they repeat together, inching closer with every utterance of the lyrics growing rawer, more transparent.
Oh, it’s what you do to me.
Oh, it’s what you do to me.
Oh, it’s what you do to me.
When the song tapers off, they pull back apart.
“Wow,” Sapnap says. “I guess everyone thinks they sound good in the shower.”
Dream socks him on the shoulder and hands the microphone back. He takes his seat again, still charged with aftershocks. The others do a few more songs before they’re all out of breath, but they don’t go home, and Dream is assured that the night is just beginning.
“A club? Aren’t you, like, eight,” George asks. Sapnap ignores that.
“It’s 18 . They only card you at the bar,” he replies.
“I mean, if you really want to go drinking we can just vacation in Mexico,” Quackity laughs.
“I’m not opposed to a Cancún trip down the line,” Sapnap says.
Dream goes fuzzy at the thought that this could be their new normal- plane rides and group vacations. The moment the door swings open, they’re met with the heady scent of sweat of dancing and glare of strobe lights.
“God, this is… a lot,” Sapnap says.
“Yep. Wanna go dance?” Quackity offers.
“It’s not like we can drink, and there’s not much else to do,” Sapnap shrugs.
“I’ll join you guys. Solidarity,” Karl says. The trio drag each other out and disappear into the sea of bodies. George and Dream choose sitting at the bar over going anywhere near the roving crowd.
George asks for a drink like it’s something natural, and the bartender squints at him even after he’s shown him his ID. Dream bites back a wheeze.
“Pretty privilege comes with a cost, baby-face.”
“Shut up, Dream. You ordering anything?”
“Erm,” Dream chews his lip. “I… Actually, fuck it, why not.”
He finds the most diluted, fruity drink on the menu and unabashedly sips beside the flower-print mini umbrella. George seems to have no issue downing his glass with little resistance. Dream hates to admit how intriguing he finds that.
They engage in easy conversation as the other boys’ laughter is drowned out in the background. As Dream rambles about new interests- Geoguesser, sustainability of clothing production, music production- he notices George begins to gradually shift in demeanor. He speaks more loosely, his eyelids hooded a little lower as he goes from silently nodding to commenting on everything he says.
After a while, he cuts Dream off in the middle of an excited rant about a song he’s been looping to ask-
"Are we dating?" George asks, nonchalant. With that, realization strikes Dream.
"Shit, did I never ask you out?" Dream chuckles, feeling a little more loose himself.
"You were planning to?" George asks again.
"Yeah, it just kinda, slipped away.”
"You can finger me, but not ask me out? Great job, Dream." he chuckles.
The following silence is deafening. Having been a joke, they should have laughed, they should have done anything other than stare intently at each other’s lips.
“So… boyfriends, hm?” George drawls.
Dream leans in, ensnared by his gaze and pushed forward by a phantom pull in his chest.
“I like ‘boyfriends.’”
He grabs George’s shirt by the handful and crashes into him like a breaking tide. With a swipe of his tongue, he catches the warm burn of alcohol and revels in the taste. The club music is swirling in his head and spilling out onto the floor, the pair drifting closer to cloud nine until the hundreds of overlapping voices are nothing but whitenoise.
It’s sloppy, sapping the breath from his lungs and killing the voice in his throat. The feverish, needy give-and-take has him both pliant under George and fighting to pull him apart. The ecstasy of the hungry lapping into his mouth forces Dream to slow them both down before it gets out of hand.
“Woah, woah, easy. We probably shouldn’t do this here,” Dream whispers. Even in the dark, every face obscured by the ambient lighting and eyes far too focused on themselves, he feels exposed. Judging by the hand inching its way up his shirt, George wants to take this as far as he does.
“Go tell them we’re leaving. I’ll call an Uber,” he says.
Solid plan. Dream makes his way to where the trio are dancing like no one’s watching and tugs on Sapnap’s shirt to catch his attention. None of them bat an eye when he yells over the noise that they’re leaving, but Sapnap gives him a cheeky grin.
The car ride is an excruciating one. Dream is bouncing his leg impatiently, pulling at his seatbelt and letting it go over again. With every glance to the side, his gaze goes hazy and deep. All George does is watch, raking his nails lightly across the seat. His eyes are showering him with paragraphs of just what he wants to do to him, where, and how long. When the car stops outside the house, Dream swallows.
***
The moment the door shuts, George jumps him, hooking a leg around Dream's waist and haphazardly rolling his hips into him. Pushed against the wall, George grabs handfuls of Dream’s hair like he’s holding on for dear life, welcoming the onslaught of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. They stumble to Dream’s room and giggle like teenagers, nearly tripping twice until they land on the bed.
Their hazy, lusting eyes agree on an unspoken pact, and hands fly to undo zippers in a frenzy. Dream wastes no time unbuttoning George's pants while the latter aimlessly paws at the bedside table. He hands Dream the bottle from the drawer, evoking a pleased smile- George wants to watch him.
As intoxicating as the rasping of denim is, they both shudder at the feeling of skin against exposed skin. After the first night, they'd fooled around plenty, from the couch, to the bed, to the hard edge of the kitchen counter, but they only went so far. Dream is feeling bold. He wants to push farther.
"I want you," George mumbles, hands trembling.
"Use me," Dream replies, hot against his breath. George just about cries out.
Dream points to the drawer and receives a nod of understanding, grinning at the shaky hand that passes over a small wrapper. Opening the thing with his teeth in a big show, George arches up as he rolls down the latex.
After their clothes are left in a heap, Dream situates himself lower, sitting on George's calves and drinking in his look of devotion. Leaning down, inch by inch, Dream takes George in his mouth. Only a few laps under the head and he's breathing sharply, steadily building from half-mast. The alcohol is making the blood take longer to flow, but that only pushes him to do more.
Dream eases his way down, teasing at the slit, tracing veins and flattening his tongue across the top, taking in every movement George reacts to the most. He’s desperate to challenge himself, take George down to the hilt and watch him beg, but he doesn't want this to end quickly. Dream wants to try something.
Pulling off, leaving a saliva trail and a pleading whine, he continues moving his hand in lazy strokes. Dream flips them over, holding up George’s weight by the chest as he looks about ready to collapse. From beneath, Dream starts situating himself, anticipating George’s reaction with bated breath.
He presses his knees together and leans his legs against George’s shoulder. Guiding a hand to his mouth, Dream sucks on the other’s fingers before leading them between his thighs. A knowing look washes over George.
"God," he says, still teasing at his skin.
"Go ahead. Use me," Dream replies.
George nods, sucking in his bottom lip as he squeezes his hip in anticipation. He looks at Dream with pupils blown so wide they’re dark, glass mirrors. Holding his leg by the ankle, George makes no hesitation as he thrusts in between Dream’s thighs, head falling back, slack-jawed.
"Fuck, it feels just like- fuck," George slurs.
The sound is almost obscene, Dream wrapping a hand around himself and drinking in George’s desperate moans.
"Fuck, you know what always gets me?" Dream gets out between heavy breaths. "Noises. Those fucking sounds you make are enough to have me on my knees, you know that?"
George's toes curl at his sultry tone, and he speeds up in pace.
"Your voice, raw and broken, makes me come apart. Your little breathy whines almost have me begging," Dream continues, egged on by how fiercely George is chewing his lip.
At this point, George is grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets, clinging for dear life while the friction leaves heat pooling in Dream's gut strong enough to melt the skin. George’s name is coiled around his tongue, leaving his throat in a husky growl.
The lines between them grow blurry, George straining to keep his eyes open and rake his gaze over Dream’s body. His sharp breaths hitch in time with his movements, looking to be on the brink of falling apart.
In his state, George is chasing release, desperate to push himself over the edge. Dream, however, is determined to savour this.
He places a hand against George’s chest.
"Slow down. Let me," he says.
The whine he gets in response is melting. It takes every ounce of his willpower to pull away.
Dream grabs George by the shoulders, flipping them over so he’s seated on top, legs weighting George’s own. He coats his fingers in more saliva and slips them between his inner thighs. George lays back, mesmerized as Dream sinks down, knees pushed together as much as the position allows.
“Please get on with it,” he begs.
Teasingly slow, he lifts and rolls his hips until George audibly groans in frustration.
“Faster, please,” George almost screams.
“Want it? Then do something about it,” Dream drones in his ear, sucking a bruise against his collar.
George takes that as a challenge. He squeezes the sharp ridge of his hip and rams upward as Dream’s head falls back gracefully. His parted lips are enough of a sight to make the ancient Greeks fall to their knees in prayer. Adonis incarnate, George loses all sense of restraint, his inhibitions left with his clothes discarded on the floor.
Eventually, he slows his pace. George sits up and flips them in one motion, until Dream is propped up on his hands and knees.
“Wait,” Dream says gently.
He hands him the bottle and reaches back to guide George's hand to the small of his back. The man's eyes widen.
“Can I?” George mutters, still as considerate as ever in his deliriousness. The gentle pause before going forward has Dream’s heart doing somersaults.
“Please,” he utters out.
George places a pillow under their knees and Dream hears the click of uncapping. He listens, with his cheek against the bed, as he warms the liquid in his hands before tracing his thumb down, wreaking shivers up his spine.
It’s foreign at first, but slow, and Dream is impatient. He presses back against George’s fingers and urges him to continue. George happily obliges.
Dream takes deep inhales, willing away the discomfort of the stretch. With each finger he adds, he chews his lip a little harder.
"That's enough, please," he says, muffled against the mattress.
"If you're sure," George replies.
Dream doesn't know what he was expecting. The feeling defies the very idea of expectation.
"Fuck, holy- shit. Fuck."
Curses spill out faster than he can think of them, and he's only just slowly drawing inside. Once their hips are flush, George pauses to let him relax.
"Ready?" George asks after a while. He speaks with patience, but his hands are fidgeting and his legs are shaking.
"Ready."
He starts out in a slow, easy motion. Dream braces himself against the headboard, focusing on his labored breathing and the gorgeous sounds pouring from George like music.
"God, this feels, you feel-"
He gets increasingly eager, and Dream knows he's desperately trying to hold back.
Right as he moves at the right angle, in the right place, Dream doesn't want him to keep trying.
"Holy shit, was that-"
"Yeah," George says. Dream doesn't have to look to know he's smiling. "Good?"
"You could say that," he replies, breathless.
George, going off the volume and pitch of his steadily rising moans, is able to reach there over and over again. He builds a fast tempo, and Dream delights in the vulgarity of the bed frame slamming against the wall, neither having any regard for how loudly they're singing the other's praises.
Dream becomes fluent in the rhythms of his rocking hips and trembling thighs, acutely aware of how close they are, harmonious by every definition of the word. The harsh pace and friction have the pillows stained dark beneath him and his cheeks tear-streaked. In any other situation, he would've been embarrassed, but George runs slender fingers down his cheek and presses against his back so soothingly.
When George reaches under to wrap around him, Dream is pushed over the edge. He nearly screams George's name as his spine curls up and tenses. Everything that's wound up in him ebbs out, and he feels George follow suit. The snap of his hips grows frenzied before slowing to a stop.
"Shit," "Fuck," and "God," are spoken in concert, both following each other down as they ease off their high.
George collapses against him, and they lay there, still connected, catching their breath. Dream winces as he pulls out and crashes into the bed. His own knees give out completely, so he turns on his side to watch the blissed-out expression on George's face.
"Hi," Dream whispers.
"Hello," George replies.
***
Their hands, appearing enchanted, draw together so their fingers intertwine in perfect synchronicity.
Dream is content to bathe in the golden afterglow, feeling the warmth of George's flushed cheek against his chest when they pull together.
“Dream?” he asks.
“Yes?”
“I want to tell the world I love you.”
His voice wavers with uncertainty, still faintly slurred. Dream rubs in between his shoulder blades, pressing kisses to the damp hair plastered to his forehead.
“Then we’ll tell the world.”
"Is everyone here?" George asks.
"Just about. I think if any more people logged in, our wedding would be in five FPS," Dream replies.
George taps his finger repetitively, gripping his mouse a little harder than he needs to.
"I’m nervous too, don’t worry,” Dream says, knowing all his tells. “Oh, got a DM, they need like five minutes. Just relax, alright?”
“Alright,” George replies.
They picked a spot far away from the greater Dream SMP, by the sunflower field where they spent the summer. Most everything has been demolished and stripped for resources, but the Ferris wheel still stands, proud, just as they left it.
They fell in love here, once.
“They just never took that down, hm?” Dream says, punching in the direction of the Ferris wheel as if he read his mind.
“Yeah. Kind of glad they didn’t. Reminds me of sometime simpler,” George hums.
“Simpler? I always saw it as so... complicated,” Dream says.
“In a way, yes. But… I don’t know. It felt all giddy and new. Like we could do anything, even though we hadn’t spoken a word about how we felt,” George replies.
“I feel like I always spoke about how I felt pretty shamelessly. Even if I didn’t know it at the time. It was kind of embarrassing, honestly.”
“Not more embarrassing than the awkward, gay panic we sent each other into.”
Dream pauses. He seems to be stifling a laugh.
“You had a gay panic?” he asks. George goes red.
“You- you didn’t?!”
“Nope. I don’t know, I guess I always knew there was something there, you just happened to be the person that made me fully realize it. At the end of the day, liking men is just another thing I can win at. I’d say I won with you,” Dream chuckles.
“God, that’s- I’m not going to live this down. This is- God,” George groans.
“It’s nothing to ‘live down.’ Wear it with a badge of honor. Sexuality is wild, and pinning that shit down? That’s something to take pride in,” Dream assures him.
“Yeah, at least I know now . What about you? If- if you’re okay- if you’d be willing to,” George stammers.
“I… don’t know. I don’t know if I’ve seen a single word that sums up how I feel, but that might just be lack of research. If I had to sum it up, I’d say I’m attracted to energy? If that makes sense? Greatness, attitude, aura- those things all catch my eye before anything like gender.”
“So you love me for my vibes?” George says, cheekily.
“You’re such an idiot,” Dream replies, and George feels more love in his voice than he’s ever heard.
“You know what is embarrassing, though? When I was on call, with Sapnap one day, all stressed over our relationship I recorded a little voice clip, something to listen to when everything worked out in the end. I’ve been too afraid to play it. I’m kind of afraid to get comfortable and embrace a happy ending, I guess,” George admits.
“I think I’ve got you beat. When we were fighting, I wrote you a letter. I assume I was supposed to give it to you at some point, but it's… real bad," Dream says.
“I show you mine and you show me yours?”
“Only if you go first.”
It doesn’t take much scrolling for George to find the file. He sends it as best he can with his thumb so unsteady. The moment it sends, he hits play, and they both listen quietly.
"There's streetlights with moths around them. There's a petrol station down over that way. I hear my neighbor's TV and my dog snoring. It's… it's peaceful."
He sounds so foreign, even being only months ago.
“Stuck. Confused. But… hopeful.”
He wishes he could tell himself it worked out in the end. He wishes he could let himself know just how worth it it’ll be.
“God, I want to give past you the biggest hug,” Dream says. “I hope you know you weren’t alone then. I was down just as bad.”
A screenshot of a document pops up below the voice recording.
George’s eyes skim the words, widening as he reads more and more of Dream opening himself raw in his writing. It tugs at his chest, feeling like he’s been shown a piece of him that no one else knows or understands.
“Wow,” George whispers. “Do you mean all of that?”
“More than ever,” Dream replies.
“I thought I was the only one who was scared for so long. This is… thank you.”
Before he can finish that thought, they both get pinged in the SMP discord. It’s go-time.
“Well, I guess we’re going to toss ourselves into the ‘vast unknown of what we could be’ right now,” George chuckles. “Well. You ready?”
“You know it, baby.”
They both enter the voice call to a dozen voices cheering, greeting them with excitement. One by one they share their congratulations and lead the pair to a decorated stage. Sapnap comes out dressed in a tux behind a lectern, and Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo toss flowers along the aisle- Tommy more reluctantly than the others. The seats are packed with friendly faces, and the sun is inching its way towards the ocean.
“Do you guys have your vows?” Sapnap asks.
“Uh… I don’t have anything prepared,” Dream says.
“Me neither,” George adds.
“Who cares. Speak from the heart, I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Sapnap says.
The couple look to each other and nod. There’s probably a million things George should be nervous about- how anyone could check Name MC and see the suspicious amount of SMP members in formalwear, or how they’re displaying their affections for almost twenty of their friends, or the fact that this silly joke ceremony is all occurring over Minecraft, but that all seems distant now.
They decided not to record the event and value the memory over anything else. It feels strange, after having so much of their relationship’s journey captured on camera, but George prefers it this way. It’s something that only lasts in this moment, with the people they love.
“God, okay, I’ll go first,” he stammers. “You all know me, I’m not exactly the figurehead for being affectionate and emotional. So, you know I’m being honest when I say I am without words for how Dream makes me feel. I always felt so lucky to be friends with him, to know someone so beyond what I deserve.”
George lets it flow, and all the pent-up adoration he’s built up over the past half a year is finally let out where everyone can hear him.
“Before the millions of subscribers, before the success and everything, I knew Dream would achieve something amazing, just through the ability of his mind and his heart. I’m honored he brought me with him. I’m honored he sees something in me, being as brilliant, funny, and talented as he is. I’ve never known myself like I know myself with him.”
Dream audibly sniffles. He wipes his nose and chuckles so damn fondly .
“God this, it’s really been a strange, strange journey. If you told me at the beginning of the year, fresh off hitting one million, that I would be here? Fuck, I might call you crazy or something. But I wouldn’t give it up for the world,” Dream says. He takes a deep breath. “When you’re young you dream about having an amazing, fairytale life, but as you grow up, you believe it less and less. Once you get hurt enough times, fail enough times, you give up altogether. George, you loved me into believing love is possible. For that, I owe you the world. And I’d offer you the world in my palm, if all you did was asked.”
Oh. Well. George can understand the whole crying thing now. He reminds himself they’re playing a silly block game, but the tears come flooding anyway. He looks to his better half and thinks about everything it took to get to this moment. If he’s honest- he would do it over and over again.
“Do you, Clay Dream Block-Wastaken take this man to be your virtually wedded husband?” Sapnap laughs.
“I do.”
“Mr. Georgeee HD Gogmeister, do you take this man to be your virtually wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“Damn straight. You guys can kiss or whatever,” Sapnap says.
The pair crouch and approach each other, the crowd yelling from their seats as they meet. It’s stupid, and cheesy, and everything he wants it to be. Dream looks up at him, the lopsided smile seeming to ask- asking if he knows.
George knows how much he loves him. God, does he know.