Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Fucking—... you’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Dream scoffs in disbelief, staring at his own reflection in his tire rims and the dim parking lot light behind him. It’s murky, affected by the dark sky and the clouds that gather harsh over his head, threatening rain and storms and wind that tears at his clothing, and doesn’t really showcase the incredulity in his features.

Because his rim is pressed against the ground—the tire is fucking flat.

Usually it wouldn’t be that big of a deal; Dream could just swap it out for the spare and be on his merry way with a couple new calluses and a sweaty brow, but that just dishes another problem into his already full plate—

That is his spare.

Because a couple nights ago, he was in this exact same situation. Because some guys can’t get over their exes, and stupid Shirley didn’t tell Dream that her and Ricky broke up two days before she sucked him off in the college bathrooms.

All Dream was thinking about was a gloss slicked mouth and tantalizing perfume—he definitely wasn’t thinking that Ricky’s little gang of dipshits would slash his tires twice.

Dream swipes his hand over his mouth, crouching beside the lowered end of his car and glaring at the three-inch gash that lines the sidewall of the rubber. He can only imagine that whoever griefed his car had planned it for when he was in the college library, and he can only imagine that by the time next week rolls around, Shirley will be back with Ricky and Dream will be out thirty bucks for a new fucking rim.

Some guys really can’t get over their exes.

“Jesus Christ,” Dream groans, his breath turning white in the air as he spins on the balls of his feet, leaning his back against the panel of his car. Rocks grind under his sneakers, and he runs a hand through his hair as he tries to rack his brain of something—anything—that he can do. He doesn’t have access to a phone, the college lot is desolate, and the sweet smell of rain turns rancid to him with the impending situation. “Those doors are totally fucking locked, too.”

Dream drops his head into the palms of his hands.

He’s fucked.

There’s nobody that’s gonna come out here to check on him, and he lives thirty minutes out of the college district. Even if he did get his hands on a phone, he’s sure that George is fast asleep in his boyfriend’s bed at this point, his mom isn’t gonna be happy that he’s got a flat at what’s creeping on twelve at night, and—

And he can’t exactly call up Sapnap. Dream would rather walk home than do that shit.

He’s debating walking back towards the dimly lit college building, honestly. There may be nobody in there except one janitor, but if he waits by the library door long enough perhaps he could flag him down before he freezes in the early autumn night. He’s only wearing a light jacket and a hoodie, and the layers aren’t doing their best work. 

Dream sighs, ragged and loud in the empty lot, and pushes himself to his feet—

And the purr of an engine catches his attention.

He frowns, turning and looking over his shoulder for the source of the sound. It’s not unusual for people to drive down here, but it’s a Thursday night and everyone has gone home—

Headlights cut through the heavy air, and Dream doesn’t know if he would have rathered to freeze.

“You’re fucking with me,” he breathes, and some god must have it out for him because he can’t stop the way he gawks as a sleek car nearly skids into the parking lot. Dream can only stare as Punz-fucking-Masons tears into the lot, and he shakes his head to himself as his stupid baby blue Chrysler swings full circle over the pavement. “Someone’s fucking with me.”

Punz Masons is just as bad as Dream is at not asking the right questions, but nobody would come near his tires because Punz has a mean tongue and a meaner right hook.

He’s flirtatious and dangerous in the same breath, tall and loud enough to make your stare last a few seconds too long, and handsome enough to charm the pants off the college secretary if he so wanted to. Punz parks a couple spots down from Dream and every time they leave on Friday’s, Dream catches Punz’s eye and wonders how something so sharp doesn't cut him.

He drives a ‘69 Plymouth Road Runner because he got it cheap and fixed it up real nice. He smokes Newports because he likes the menthol, and Dream has never seen him without less than three rings adorning each hand. His eyes are blue and so is his car, and every weekend Dream sees a new pretty face sitting in the passenger seat.

Dream doesn’t hate him and he doesn’t want to be him, but Dream is all too curious to know what that icy gaze feels like from his passenger seat instead.

The hum of the engine idles as Punz pulls his car behind Dream’s, effectively blocking him in if he was even able to leave, and Dream can only wallow in his slight embarrassment as Punz’s window rolls down.

“Well, look who we have here,” Punz grins, elbow hanging over the lip of the window as he takes in the mess of a scene. “Someone dump sugar in your gas tank, pretty boy?”

“You fucking wish,” Dream scoffs, crossing his arms just for something to do and kicking his toe at his surely fucked up rim. He ignores the lilt of the pet name, choosing to push past the sentiment not letting Punz get the satisfaction of seeing how two words affect him. “Shirley’s ex got at my tires. Again.”

Punz’s eyes flicker down; Dream can see it in the yellow light of the parking lot, and he feels oddly impatient as the blond looks back up at him. The grin dancing over his face doesn’t leave as a low whistle fills Dream’s ears.

“Again? Shit, he really must hate you.” Punz must have been smoking—Dream can smell the tang of his cigarettes from here, and the scent only seems to increase as Punz balances his head on the heel of his hand. He looks smug, and Dream doesn’t know why he’s idling in the parking lot, staring at the peak of Dream’s problems. “You got a ride home?”

Dream scowls. “Why are you hanging around here? It’s a Thursday, so go home, man.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

And the frustration of having another one of his tires slashed and the sheer hopelessness of the situation festers in his chest, churning and turning ugly as his annoyance rises.

“No, I don’t have a ride and I’m not in the mood for your shit right now,” Dream snaps, “so could you fuck off and let me deal with this in peace?”

Punz’s smile only widens, and Dream could punch the smirk off his face if he wasn’t so exhausted with life. “You sure you want me to leave? You said it yourself, it’s a Thursday night, Dreamie. There ain’t nobody else around to help your sorry ass.”

And isn’t that the fucking truth.

Because it’s Thursday night and Ricky slashed Dream’s tires.

Because Dream can hear the radio crooning out from inside Punz’s car.

Because it looks like it’s about to rain, and there’s nobody who would bother wandering around this late near the college district.

Punz hums softly, almost enticingly, and Dream uncrosses his arms to shove his hands deep in his pockets—stubborn. He’s cold and he’s pretty sure that a raindrop just landed against his nose, and he knows that Punz’s passenger seat would be much warmer, but—

“You’re gonna drive all the way out past Squirrel Hill? For free?”

The blond shrugs at that, finally breaking his gaze away from Dream to glance at his watch and making the same face as his posture. “Don’t see why not. It wasn’t like I was doing anything particularly important before, why not just go for a little cruise and deliver you home at the same time?”

Dream clenches his jaw, eyes skipping from Punz’s face to his hands to the empty seat on the other side of the car.

He knows that Punz likes pretty people, and he knows that pretty people like to sit in the passenger side of his car.

But Dream also knows Punz Masons, the one that went to his old highschool and the one that always made sure people got home safe after parties. He knows Punz, the guy that would rather drive an hour sober than let someone sit behind a wheel three beers deep, and he knows that there’s no dishonesty floating in clear blue eyes when it comes to getting Dream home.

If he didn’t mean it, Punz wouldn’t have offered.

Dream hazards a glance at his car and then at the sky—he was right about the rain, and the longer he stares creates more opportunity for him to get soaked. He’s freezing, tired, and already damp, and he can hear the fucking radio in Punz’s car—

“You look a little cold there, baby,” Punz teases, and Dream’s gaze drops back to him in the form of a heavy glare. It’s met with an earnest stare, and Dream almost feels bad for his misplaced animosity. “Grab your shit from your car, Dream. Let me drive you home.”

And Dream doesn’t hate him, but he’s far too curious to know what it’s like to sit in Punz’s passenger seat.

“Fuck—yeah, okay—” Dream mumbles, snapping into action all at once as he spares one forlorn look at his poor tire— “Give me a second.”

“Take your time, I’m not the one standing in the rain,” Punz calls from behind him, and Dream bites down on whatever remark he wants to send back as he ducks inside the backseat of his car. He doesn’t have anything but a small backpack, but the rain seems to sense his rush and picks up itself.

Dream is just slamming Punz’s trunk closed and hopping into the passenger seat before he truly realizes the situation.

Well, he muses as Punz smiles disarmingly beside him, it isn’t the worst outcome of tonight.

“Where to, Dreamie?” Punz asks, cheerful as all get out, and Dream can’t stop the way a scoff bubbles from between his lips.

“You know where I live, asshole. Just drive, it’s fucking cold in here.”

Dream didn’t realize how chilled his hands were until he got out of the colder weather and the wind that accompanies rain storms. He rubs his hands, blowing on his frozen knuckles and hating the way that his jacket sticks wet to his arms. It wasn’t like he was in the rain for long, but tonight has been overwhelming in more than a few ways and it’s just the cherry on top.

“You can put the heat on if you’re cold,” Punz says suddenly, pulling out of the parking lot and away from Dream’s poor car. “My windows closed anyways.”

“You’re so chivalrous,” Dream murmurs, sarcasm lacing every vowel. Punz just laughs as he turns off the college road, headlights cutting through the rain and only showcasing that it’s picking up in weight and speed. Dream presses his palms against the dashboard, sighing at the heat that blasts through the vents and trying to ignore the uncomfortableness that slowly sets in. “You’re really sure that you don’t mind driving me? It’s pretty far, Punz.”

Punz’s hands slide over the steering wheel, comfortable as the blond palms it and leans his left arm against the window. His fingers tap against the bottom of the glass, and Dream’s gaze is drawn to the flash of metal in the streetlights. “It’s alright, Dream, really.” Punz looks over at him and Dream feels caught, but Punz just smiles to bare gleaming teeth and Dream is easily swept up in it. “I don’t mind. I’m glad I was just driving around, you were kinda fucked, dude.”

Dream snorts at that, a laugh torn from his chest because now that he thinks about it, he really was fucked: no phone and no spare tire, and no idea how to get home until Punz magically appeared.

He doesn’t know what he would have done, but he doesn’t have to think about that now.

Dream leans back against the seat, the silence between them filled by the croon of Punz’s radio and leaving him with enough courage to let his gaze travel around the interior of the car. It’s an automatic and the dashboard is clear of dust and grime—Dream rubs his slowly warming fingers as he takes in the lights that reflect onto Punz’s face, and the way soft lips form around words whispered—

And then the radio peters off.

Dream blinks at the dash as Punz sighs, and then the blond is reaching over to eject a cassette from the player. So it wasn’t the radio.

“Uh, look in the glovebox,” Punz says, distractedly as he comes to a rolling stop at the sign and leaning over his steering wheel to peer around the blind corner. Dream turns his own attention to the compartment, and his thumb is already on it by the time Punz finishes his sentence. “Dig around in there, I think I have another mixed tape.”

Dream can feel the way the car turns as he pops the latch on the glovebox. It falls open over his knees, not quite pouring out the details of Punz’s personality, but opportunity falls right into his palms as he rummages around in it.

“Dude, you have so much shit in here,” Dream mutters, carefully moving a copy of Punz’s registration to the side and grimacing as his fingers brush empty boxes of Newports. “How can you actually find anything?”

Punz shrugs, staying silent as Dream sighs once again. He flicks the cigarette boxes over, squinting in the foggy light of passing streetlamps, and with a small sound of triumph he uncovers a clean cassette tape.

He takes it out, going to close the glovebox when yellow light flashes over his lap—

And exposes the open box of condoms tucked in the corner of the compartment.

Dream blinks, shoulders rising up just the slightest as his breath catches. The glovebox clicks shut under his hands and he reaches over to slip the cassette in the waiting mouth of the dash—his fingers aren’t trembling, not really, but he thinks that if he lingers any longer on the thought of condoms and Punz’s passenger seat and Friday’s he’ll go fucking insane.

He swallows as he lowers his hand, letting the cassette orient itself and letting his fingers hover awkwardly in front of dials and buttons; he can hear it whirring, and it apparently takes long enough to catch Punz’s attention.

“Did you break my fucking stereo?” he jibes, one hand sliding off the steering wheel to bump Dream’s out of the way. The contact sears and Dream snatches his hand back, heart running faster than the glance Punz shoots his way, but he doesn’t comment on the behaviour. “You probably messed up my organization too, fuckin’ digging in there like that.”

“You’re the one who invited me into your car,” Dream says, retaliation sweet on his tongue when Punz simply shakes his head. He’s not gonna mention it, he’s not gonna mention it— “Please tell me you at least cleaned this seat before I sat down.”

And Punz is quiet for a second, but the laughter that takes over the filtering music from the dash and the pounding rain outside is enough to make Dream’s ears burn.

“What, never been in the hotseat before?”

And it’s dangerous. Because Punz’s smile is cunning when Dream turns his head, and the pattern of the windshield wipers isn’t enough to cover the sound of blood rushing in Dream’s ears. He’s nervous and he doesn’t know why he’s nervous, but it has him wanting everything that he knows he’s not really allowed to have.

Dream tips his chin up, eyes travelling over Punz’s face from the passenger seat of his car. It’s not Friday, but the dark sky gives him confidence and he doesn’t have much to hide.

“Not in your car, I haven’t.”

And it’s dangerous because Dream knows the pretty faces that sat where he is now, but Punz doesn’t know where Dream likes to spend his time.

“But someone’s car?” Punz asks, and Dream turns his face away when Punz looks in his direction. The rain is coming harder now, aching against the outside of the car in boughs thick enough that Punz has slowed his speed. It makes the seconds drag longer, tantalizing over Dream’s skin and making him a little too honest. “It can’t be your shitty little Honda, you’d be two minutes in and already snapping your shocks.”

Dream blows out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

The insinuation itself is dirty, dripping with the same cruel speech that you would find in the locker rooms after a hard basketball game and on dingy couches surrounded by a party raging too loud, sitting too close in the blatant fallacy of privacy. It’s the taunt that makes the radio croon something sticky, a blend of lust and love that smears itself over the back of your tongue.

It sticks there, hard to swallow and harder to let go of because Punz knows that Dream has fucked pretty people in the back of his car, but he didn’t know that Dream likes sitting in the passenger seat just as much.

Dream sniffs and tries to return to some semblance of normalcy, all casual as he rubs at his still-stinging knuckles and ignores the weight of Punz’s gaze and inquiry. “Don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I’m literally driving you home for another—” Punz squints at his watch and Dream already knows that they aren’t anywhere near leaving the realm of street lamps and painted roads yet, “—like, twenty minutes. It’s plenty of my business, especially when you’ve got your ass sitting in my passenger seat.”

And what happened to calling it the hotseat?

“Really?” Dream murmurs, gaze trained down at his own hands on his lap as Punz slows at a set of traffic lights. The lamp burns red over the hood of the car, blurred by the rain that slides off the metal, and the tension that fills the cab is enough to make him want to crack a window.

He doesn’t need to look to hear Punz’s smile. “Really.”

And Dream knows. He knows that Punz’s dangerous attitude extends past the realm of sharp flirtation and sharper teeth. Dream knows that there’s been plenty of people sitting where he is now, and while he might not know their names he knows that all of them were somewhat the same.

He knows Punz likes pretty people. Doesn’t matter to him if they’ve got a cock or not, and he knows that all of them stumble out of that clean blue door with red in their face and a story already crossing puffy lips.

All of them are the same and none of them mean anything, but Dream can feel some satisfaction slipping into his chest at the thought of Punz being interested in what Dream does in his spare time. He’s not a saint and he’s not exactly innocent, and he’s curious to know more.

“Well,” Dream drawls, reaching forward again to warm his hands by the vent, “If I had known I would have been interrogated, I would have sucked it up and called Sapnap.”

Specifics.

The light changes.

Dream can see the way Punz’s head tilts towards him from the corner of his eye.

“Sucked it up?” And the curiosity is piqued. “I thought you guys were friends.”

Friends.

Sure.

The dirty blond hums, leaning against the car door and watching raindrops fly over the glass, far too fast for him to trace and track. “We had a bit of a… disagreement. Didn’t exactly see eye to eye, y’know?”

But Dream doesn’t give Punz a chance to comment before a laugh jerks from his chest, rooted deep and coming from a place of flippancy—it’s harsh and sudden, and Punz actually looks at him fully. Dream tips his head to the side, sure that the lamplight obscures the pink of his cheeks and the disbelief in what he’s really confessing.

“Well, I guess we did for a little bit. Sapnap’s got that truck with the bench seat, and you already know the college lot is empty on Thursday nights.”

The radio quavers between them, decorating the lilt of Dream’s confession with a sparking taunt—Punz knows that Sapnap has a bench seat and Dream knows what it’s like to have his spine pressed against it.

Punz’s fingers tighten over the steering wheel, and Dream can’t fight back the upward tick of his lips. It feels good to get it out in the open, even if it’s to an audience that doesn’t scream for an encore, and even if it’s to the jealous eyes that shift towards him that makes Dream want to offer more.

“You get around a lot.”

It doesn’t sting because it’s true. “Says the one with condoms sitting in his glovebox.”

The track changes on Punz’s mixed tape. Recognition slides over Dream’s skin just as smoothly as blue eyes, but the music doesn’t leave him breathless for a minute longer in its vicinity.

“You know,” Dream says, quiet between the beating of the windshield wipers and the rain that crushes against them. He doesn’t finish his sentence as he stares through the glass, trying to place really where they are before he teases with an acclimation.

“Hm?”

Punz’s fingers have relaxed against the steering wheel, but that dripping sense of tension never left.

It’s darker farther away from the apex of the city, busy streets melted into wet asphalt and the roads lined with trees instead of streetlights. Dream can see a mile marker gleaming in the distance, flashing a pretty number in Punz’s headlights and emblazoning a sign farther up ahead that only cements Dream’s tentative decision.

“We could finish listening to this track. The rain is pretty bad too, so maybe taking a break would be good…” Dream murmurs, not quite losing his confidence but offering a situation with an easy ending. You could call it bait, but there is no hook and there’s no fish; it’s simply an offer that he slips onto the table with a smile. “It’s not like there’s anyone waiting up for me at home.”

He can hear the way Punz’s throat bobs. The mile marker drifts by them, and Dream can finally read the sign in the ditch.

“And where do you suggest I pull over? Side of the road isn’t the nicest place to take a nap, pretty boy.”

Dream glances sideways. His breath catches in his throat because Punz is already looking at him, and ever so slightly he can feel the pace of the car slowing.

Hook, line and sinker, but everyone gets to eat.

“Squirrel Hill is just down the road. I’m sure you’re familiar.”

And Punz’s grin is sharper than any shank might be.

“You think it’s gonna be empty?” Punz flicks his blinker on, the orange light cutting through the rain and leading the way down a little dirt road into the trees. Dream knows that the trail leads up a hill and around a corner, and there’s a nice clearing that’s known for its privacy. The car turns, and Dream’s heartbeat picks up. “I can’t imagine anyone would want to be outside and fooling around in this kind of weather.”

Dream shrugs, casual tones playing over his shoulders and creeping in to make him wonder what he’s actually doing.

It’s quiet as Punz drives. The rain drips from the trees now, shadowed over the road and stranded in puddles that the tires roll through easily as they hit the bend. It makes him far too aware of the growing tension between the drivers seat and the passengers, and Dream releases a soft breath when the clearing is absent of any idling cars.

Punz makes a soft sound as well—a laugh, short and sweet under his breath as he pulls into an imaginary parking spot. It’s over on the side, tucked beside some trees and maybe a bush or two, and Dream traces the rings on his fingers when Punz turns off his headlights.

The radio croons between them, and Dream finds that the track is still playing.

Dream’s attention is drawn back as Punz’s window squeaks, and he finds the blond rolling it down half an inch; he waves a hand at Dream, and Dream raises a brow in question. “Can you pass me my cigarettes? They’re in the glove box.”

And Dream does. Their fingers brush, and he pretends that it’s the chill of his damp clothing that makes him shiver.

But Punz notices.

“You cold?” A lighter flicks, and a soft glow illuminates Punz’s face before the cab of the car is filled with that same saccharine smoke once again. “The window isn’t even open that much, you big baby.”

Dream scowls, shifting in his seat as he leans his spine against the door. He brushes his palms over his forearms, frown deepening as they come away wet. “I was in the fucking rain, you jerk, my shit is all wet. Of course I’m gonna be cold.”

Punz hums and Dream reaches across the middle console for the cigarette, to which Punz easily passes over to him. Smoke slides over Dream’s tongue as he inhales, the cherry end glowing under his nose and against his knuckles as he watches Punz; the blond seems to be trying words on his own tongue, sticky like they don’t want to come out right away.

Dream blows the smoke at the windshield, and Punz takes back his cig.

The end glows bright again, and—

“So take them off.”

Dream’s lips part—dry, tasting of menthol and bad ideas.

“What?”

“Your, uh—” Punz motions with the hand free of a burning stick, fingers clicking in the space between their bodies. His eyes are low and his voice is even lower. “Your clothes. You can just take them off. The rain probably won’t let up for a while, so they might dry.”

Dream knows that the rain won’t let up.

He also knows that they both know Punz could drive through it without a single problem.

The silence is filled by the track on the radio, tapering off as it reaches the second climax. Dream doesn’t look away from Punz’s side of the car, eyes catching on the smoke curling out of the window and the reflection of dash lights in a piercing gaze. It’s intoxicating to have it on him, a mess of nicotine and addiction and he hasn’t had a single hit of what he really wants yet.

Dream doesn’t give a verbal reply. He moves slowly, leaning forward to shrug his jacket off and inching the wet fabric down his arms.

Punz doesn’t look away, not as he takes another lungful of smoke and blows it out just the same. He leaned against his own door, one elbow up on the windowsill and hand holding the cigarette near the opening like it held something more potent. His torso is twisted and his legs are spread, and Dream slides the offending piece of fabric all the way off.

Dream licks his lips as he drops his jacket on the floor. It hits down between his feet with a wet sound, and he still feels sticky and he knows he doesn’t need to, but—

His fingers inch down towards the hem of his hoodie. Punz’s gaze follows, heavy and pinpointed like Dream’s interest in the blond’s rings, and he can’t stop a shaky breath from escaping his lips as he tucks his fingertips between it and his undershirt.

The air from the window is colder than he thought—it brushes over his lower stomach as his t-shirt comes up, but it falls just as quickly when the thick fabric of his school sweater joins his jacket.

Snapping fabric makes Punz’s eyes rake back up.

He swears it leaves burning trails of cobalt on his skin.

Dream can’t stop the smile that tugs at his lips, and he knows Punz knows.

The radio is still playing. The track switches over, blending seamlessly into something new and something just as sultry, aiding the thick air inside the cab and never letting up the relentless pressure of windshield wipers and words unspoken.

Punz’s throat bobs as he swallows. His jaw is tight, clenched, held hard, and the cigarette burns unwanted between his knuckles—there’s a tick to his entire body, Dream thinks, and he wants to poke at it until it snaps.

“What are we doing, Dream?” Punz murmurs, low and open, and the question drips with all the answers Dream could give.

What are we doing?

What are we doing?

“I…” Dream drags out the single syllable, turning his body to mirror Punz in the passenger seat. He pulls one leg up, though, the one closest to the back of the seat, and tucks it under him with a finesse that comes with practice. He likes passenger seats, and he’s finding he especially likes the attention that comes with sitting in Punz’s. “I don’t want you to take me home yet.”

Dream’s thighs spread as he gets comfortable. Punz’s eyes drop and trail back up again, too slow to be anything but purposeful. It’s got nothing and everything to do with the goosebumps on Dream’s arms, and smoke still curls away into the rain like sin.

“Yeah?” Punz brings the forgotten cigarette to his mouth. There’s a moment where he holds it there, licking his lips before wrapping them around the filter. “What else?” he asks, smoke pouring from his tongue like bait.

His eyes don’t leave Dream’s. They’ve wandered all over him already, taking in the soft skin of his stomach when it was exposed and the way Dream’s fingers can’t seem to sit still on his legs, jittery with icy nerves and something else insistent in his chest. Punz has already seen at it all, and Dream wants more.

“You look at me a lot,” he says in lieu of a real answer. Punz doesn’t look surprised by it, but the shift of his cigarette to the window again gives Dream room to speak. “I see it all the time, you just… stare.”

The rain patters outside. It doesn’t let up, but nothing is more relentless than the way Punz’s voice fills Dream’s ears.

“I like to stare at pretty things. Can you blame me?”

And Dream can’t. Because he knows that he stares as well, leaving his eyes lingering on the tire marks when Punz leaves the college lot and letting his gaze burn into a blond head and broad shoulders in the hallways. He can’t blame him because the idea of being Punz’s focus makes him warm—not quite happy, but it’s a headrush that he hopes never ends.

Punz’s radio plays low, and Dream can hear the way his own tongue clicks as he licks over his bottom lip. That itself is deafening, and he can’t seem to get enough air in his lungs.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Fucking breathtaking,” Punz admits, in a rush like the words were already on the tip of his tongue. Lyrics of lust could make his speech flimsy, but the way he delivers it is enough to make Dream hang onto every syllable. “You’re pretty, Dream, and you know it.”

Dream laughs softly, heat budding low in his stomach and crawling up to the tips of his ears. “Do you tell that to all the people you get in your car?”

Punz’s smile is secretive and softer now, something Dream would love to slide his lips over until they were hazey. If this is what they both want, then he might, and he’s going to drink in every fucking second of it.

“Only the ones I really like.”

Dream pushes himself up and off the door. He moves slow, coiled and steady, and with a familiarity he has in a new passenger seat he leans his hand across the console. Punz lets him, staying quiet as Dream gets closer.

“Sounds like you do a lot of staring then,” he muses, aiming for nothing but a whisper as he balances his palm on the edge of Punz’s seat. It’s dangerous because Punz’s thigh is right there, the material of his jeans brushing Dream’s wrist and sending sparks up his arm. “You got a crush on me, Punz?”

He can see the pressure of Punz’s tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It fades when Dream reaches out again, aiming not quite for the cigarette but instead for the arm that holds it.

Dream wraps his fingers around Punz’s wrist, careful as he pulls it away from the window and towards his own mouth. Their faces are close and if he was to lean just a touch father, perhaps he could indulge in the heat of Punz’s breath on his lips—as it is, Dream doesn't know where his confidence comes from to direct Punz’s hand to his mouth, but he loves it.

The blond’s knuckles brush his lips as Dream inhales, burning down close to the filter and getting a mouthful of something raw and heady.

“What are we doing, Dream?” Punz murmurs—it’s that same fucking question again, and Dream is tired of skirting around chorus’ to care.

He tilts his head away from the cigarette, and sin drifts from his lips. “You wanna watch?” It’s darker now, in voice and in the scent of the rain and the petrichor that seeps through the window, and Punz’s mouth curves up.

“Watch what?”

And Punz’s voice is gravel, rougher than the burn of a dying cig and much more addicting than shitty menthol will ever be. It’s tougher than the force of the rain outside, on the hood of Punz’s car, and makes Dream want the back window to fog up with more than lazy words.

Punz’s free hand comes up, and Dream leans his face into the warmth of his palm as the blond cups his face. A thumb brushes over his cheek, under the groove of his bottom lip, and Dream fights the urge to cut the tip of his tongue on Punz’s nail.

Dangerous. Sharp.

All the things he was curious about, sitting right here in front of him and staring back.

Dream thrives under Punz’s attention.

“You gonna give me a show, baby?” Punz whispers, like it was a secret, like it was something sacred, and Dream lets him flick the butt of the dead cig out into the rain.

“Only if you want one,” he responds, lowering his hand to press on Punz’s upper thigh and digging his thumb in because he can. Punz’s eyebrows scrunch for a second, but Dream is distracted with the way Punz tilts his face so their noses don’t bump. When he speaks, his words bounce off Punz’s lips: “Say please, why don’t you.”

It’s not a question.

Dream can feel his heartbeat in his throat, matching the staccato beat that filters through the radio and revealing only to himself how many nerves he actually has. Punz smells like faded cologne and petrichor, like menthol and bad ideas and Thursday nights in someone’s passenger seat. Dream wonders if Punz can hear his pulse, and he wonders if Punz’s could match it if he leaned close enough.

He can feel the way Punz’s breath hitches when Dream’s eyes flick down and up again, and his thumb presses under Dream’s lip.

Dream thinks that it might.

“Please, pretty boy,” Punz murmurs, and Dream can tell he isn’t just begging for a single performance. “I wanna watch.”

Punz’s thumb slips off Dream’s lip, and—

And he lets his eyes flutter shut as he brushes his mouth to Punz’s, a glimpse of what could happen and a breathless tease of nicotine and tongues. Dream can feel the way Punz pushes himself up to deepen the kiss but Dream pulls back, licking his lips as he presses down on Punz’s thigh. He could pull Dream back with the soft hand on his face—now dipping to the back of his neck to tangle with his hair—but Punz lets him go with fire burning in his eyes and sex lacing both the radio and Dream’s lips.

“Just watch for now,” Dream lilts, leaning back into his seat once more and settling with his spine against the door. His legs are long and fit awkwardly across the console, but it’s pushed from his mind as he toes his shoes off without much care. Dream’s hands sit across his own abdomen, flirting with the hem of the shirt that had come up earlier, and he watches as Punz blindly reaches down to the window crank—misses the handle twice—and rolls the window up in jerky movements. “Keep your eyes on me…”

Dream’s fingers are cold against his own abdomen. He lets them trail down and up again, dragging the fabric with him so it exposes his belly and just the bottom of his sternum. His eyes flick up to find Punz’s fixed firmly on his show, and Dream hums with satisfaction as his hands drift lower, lower, lower…

He flicks his nail against the button on his jeans, arousal pooling deep in his stomach.

Punz’s throat clicks as he swallows.

Lips parting on an inhale, Dream slips the button out of the material and shifts his hips up, letting the press of his desire show against the zipper and prove to the blond that he isn’t the only one so affected by this. If it was any different and Dream was the only one already half-hard, perhaps he would have felt more embarrassment than he does at this moment.

As it is, he can see the way Punz’s cock presses under his jeans just the same.

Their breathing steams the windows—if Dream had only wanted the back one cloudy, then he’s ecstatic with the fog creeping over the dripping windshield.

Dream’s own teeth catch on his lip as he slides the zipper down metal ones, overpowering in the space between bated silence and radio lust. His chest heaves as he palms himself, a tease over his boxers and one that makes him squirm in his seat for more. He can’t help the way his fingers flex, showcasing the difference in size compared to a few minutes ago, and knows that it’s well appreciated by the hitch in Punz’s breathing.

After all, this is a performance.

He can stand to show off a bit.

The sound of movement alerts him, and Dream glances up to see one of Punz’s hands creeping over his own thigh—reminiscent of where Dream’s had been—and almost perfectly mirroring his grasp over his clothed dick.

“Having fun?” Dream says, words falling from his lips before he has a chance to catch them. It makes Punz’s eyes flick up to his face, and Dream can see the way his cheeks have flushed in the reflection of dash lights. “You look a little warm there, baby.”

And Punz laughs, a short sound that grates on Dream’s ears and makes him greedy. “I’m enjoying my show. Don’t let me distract you, Dreamie, you’re doing so well.”

The praise floats across the cab, making Dream’s face hot with nearly the same power as his laugh. His fingers clench and his hips shift upwards, a hot press of his cock into his palm that drags Punz’s attention down and Dream’s back to his own task.

He doesn’t really watch where Punz’s hands go after that.

Instead, he focuses on his own.

Shifting hips and a tongue dragged across his palm; denim shuffles down over his thighs and joins wet clothing on the floor. The drag of skin-on-skin makes him shudder, and he swipes a thumb over the head of his cock without a second thought. His fingers are still cold, and the skin under his boxers is anything but; he can’t count his breaths or the pace of his heart, but he wonders if it would match the sound of Punz’s radio.

Dream strokes himself under his boxers, elbow bumping the window crank and making it clear to his one-man audience just how he gets off.

Legs slide open wider; Dream sinks down against the door and his hand tightens around the head of his own cock—wet and sticky, leaking like the condensation that drips down the glass in contest against the rain outside. The windows are useless now, meant to shadow their privacy and let Dream bask in Punz’s eyes only.

Punz’s jeans zipper is louder than his own when he drags it down.

Dream squirms at the sudden strike of arousal, pooling gooey between his hip bones at the thought of Punz getting off to him.

Because this is a show. And Dream lets himself watch as Punz matches the pace of his own hand.

The pattern of their breathing seems to match on accident; Dream can’t concentrate on anything but Punz’s body sitting two fucking feet away, the shake of his own legs when his fingers catch that sensitive part under the head of his cock, and the way that Dream wants to drag the waistband of Punz’s underwear down just so he can see.

It’s got to be a shared thought, and the words are halfway to Dream’s mouth before Punz beats him to it.

“Dream,” Punz says, begs, and there’s precum staining the inside of Dream’s boxers and his thighs are already trembling in the heat, “lemme see more.”

Dream licks his lips. “Say please.”

“Please,” Punz spits, like the word was already on his tongue, and Dream is sure his teeth glow sharp in the darkness of the car.

Taking his hand away from his dick is borderline painful; he doesn’t know how many minutes he spent just teasing himself, breathing harder and slouching against the door as he lost his mind in a bit of personal pleasure, but he knows that there’s more to come.

Dream wipes his hand off on his abdomen—kinda gross, but whatever—and grasps the hem of his shirt without any real intention of drawing it out. He tugs it over his shoulders, now sitting in just his underwear in Punz’s fucking car, but somehow he doesn’t feel exposed.

If anything, Dream feels more comfortable than he has in ages.

Punz is disarming, in that pleasant kind of way. There’s no fear when it comes to his behaviour or reactions, and even if this is the first time Dream has sat in his passenger seat, he doesn’t feel scared when Punz’s gaze drags down, painting him in tones of blue desire. It’s just Punz, and Dream can say that he only feels excited when it comes to doing anything with the blond.

Punz is dangerous, but he’s also a fucking save haven.

“Fuck,” Punz breathes, “you look so good without your clothes.”

“You telling me I’m only pretty when I’m naked?” Dream shoots back, but Punz is already shaking his head with eyes tracking and searching out every inch of Dream’s body. He can feel the way blue eyes take in the slope of his shoulders to his chest, the peak of nipples in the foggy atmosphere and the way his thighs have spread wide in the passenger seat. “Punz.”

“What?”

And Dream smiles this time, laughs because it’s almost endearing in the way Punz… just looks at him. “You’re staring.”

Cobalt takes its time coming back to his face, and Punz doesn’t look an ounce ashamed about it. “I like to stare at pretty things, ‘member?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dream says, breathless because it’s true and breathless because the recent memory of breathtaking makes his belly warm. His belly, his chest, his face—all of it feels tingly and he pushes it away from the front of his mind. “Are you just gonna sit there, though?”

“What?” Punz repeats, genuine confusion leading the pace of his arm to slow.

Dream could laugh at him again, but a gentle scoff crosses his lips.

Endearing.

“I never said you couldn’t touch me, y’know.”

Dream can see the way Punz blinks, hand stopping completely in his pants. He can see the way Punz’s eyes drop and flick up again, and he can see the way they scour the distance between Dream’s seat and the dashboard.

He can see the way Punz grins. Slides his hand from his underwear.

Wiggles his way inside Dream’s heart like a willing invasion.

“Dreamie,” the blond croons, so medial to the tune of the radio, and Dream can see the way familiarity slides over Punz like Friday nights. The tables turn right under Dream’s feet, and he isn’t upset about it. “Slide your seat back. I wanna get my mouth on you.”

“Yeah?” And Dream is already reaching down for the lever under the seat, letting it jerk him back as Punz strips off his jacket and shirt. There’s a tinge of excitement now, cutting through the thick tension that Dream created and kept stagnant, and Dream inches his body back as far as he can in the cab. “How are you—”

“Give me a sec,” Punz pants, leaning across the console and dropping the glovebox open with a practised hand. The open box of condoms is tossed onto the dashboard—Dream flushes when he sees them—and right after that is a small bottle of lube that he didn’t see when digging around there earlier.

Punz slams the glove box shut again, glancing over at Dream as he continues to wrangle his way out of his shirt.

“Just in case, y’know?”

“Aren’t you prepared,” Dream says drily, and Punz’s laughter bounces around the inside of his shirt as he tugs it off his head. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he reaches back down to his cock and pumps it in the transition. “Did your daddy enrol you in Boy Scouts or something?”

Punz hums, kicking his clothes towards the pedals. His jeans are still on but unbuttoned and unzipped, and Dream can see the press of his own arousal in the triangle it leaves. Punz’s underwear is dark gray, Dream realizes, and the darker spot where the head of his cock presses makes him dizzy just to think about.

Dream slips his own off without a second thought. Punz’s eyes skate over him, over the flushed head of his cock against his lower abdomen, and the way that Dream is already so hard over some masterbation and pretty words.

“Something like that. Pull your legs up, baby.”

“What are you—Punz!” Dream laughs, startled as Punz pulls himself across the console with a strong grip on the overhead handle. His shoulder presses to Dream’s chest and he nearly gets an elbow to the nose, giggling in shock as Punz quite literally fits himself down in the leg area. “You fucking fit down there?”

“Oh, baby,” Punz almost purrs, “I can fit anywhere with enough love. Now—” he slides lower against the seat, and Dream draws his knees up to nearly his chest, wide and exposed as he stares down at the blond between his legs. Punz’s gaze is greedy; Dream likes the way it feels over every part of him, shoulders pressing to the insides of his thighs and letting the sensation ache. “I don’t have a bench seat, but I’m a lot fucking better than Sapnap ever will be.”

Something hot stabs Dream’s stomach. “Jealous?”

“Of what?” Punz’s grin is sharp as his hands slide up Dream’s calves, leaving goosebumps in their wake and tugging until Dream lowers them over his shoulders. “You’re listening to my radio. Your panties are on my floor. Your legs are open in my fucking car. And—” Punz lips press gently against Dream’s thigh, just above his knee, and then his teeth scrape with vengeance, “—I’m about to make Thursday’s your favourite for a whole ‘nother reason.”

Punz’s fingers dig into his skin. Dream hopes that he’ll leave marks.

Sapnap sure as shit didn’t.

“So you’re not jealous,” Dream sighs, tipping his head back against the seat and lavishing in his nakedness, the illusion of privacy in a secluded area and a dark car, “just possessive?”

Punz hums again, and Dream can feel it through the kisses crawling up his thighs. He doesn’t pull his hand away from his cock and Punz doesn't ask him to—Dream continues his show right in front of his face, and Punz drinks it in like he was way past parched.

“Something like that.” Punz smooths his hands higher, hooking his thumbs under Dream’s ass and pressing cold metal into sensitive skin. It doesn’t hurt but it burns, and Dream lifts his hips like it would change anything. It just pushes his cock closer to Punz’s face—his lips—and they spread with a daunting smile. “Desperate looks good on you, pretty boy. You want me to suck you off?”

The blond blows cool air at Dream’s fingers, earning him a shiver and a muttered curse all in one; Punz laughs at the reaction, and Dream gasps lightly when Punz’s tongue dips out to lick between his knuckles, a lingering touch so close to where Dream really wants it. Dream is just about to dig his heel into Punz’s spine when his gaze shifts upwards, staring at the background of a fogged up windshield and the dash.

And, the items that still sit proudly on top.

Punz’s lips brush his fingers then, and there’s just the slight pressure of teeth on his knuckles, breath ghosting over his cock, when—

“Wait, Punz—”

And Punz immediately brings his head back.

“What’s up? You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Dream says, reaching his clean hand down briefly to cup Punz’s face like the blond had to him so long ago. The action is automatic and he doesn’t know why he did it, but it feels more right when Punz holds the back of his hand and keeps it against his cheek. Dream’s body is tingling for more than one reason when he tries to lean forward, “I just wanted to grab the other stuff. Y’know. In case.”

Punz’s lips form around the word stuff, slightly confused until Dream settles back in his seat—and when did he start thinking of it as his—and his gaze lands on the bottle of lube in Dream’s palm.

“Aw, Dreamie,” Punz grins, taking the bottle seamlessly, “if you wanted me to finger you, you just had to say please.”

Dream scoffs, gently nudging him in the back with his heel. “Please. Now finger me, asshole.”

The bottle cap pops.

“As you wish, princess.”

Dream’s hand is nudged away from his cock. He stares down at Punz, at his hands and the rings that he slips off of one that end up in the cupholder, and the way that he wraps the other around Dream’s dick with care and practice. Dream watches as Punz licks his lips before closing them around the head of his cock, and then there’s pressure at his rim that makes him sigh.

It’s slightly uncomfortable.

It stings and makes him overly aware that he hasn’t gotten laid in a few weeks.

Dream fucking loves it.

He grips the side of the seat as Punz works his finger deeper, a collection of sighs leaving his mouth as the blond soothes the process with pressure from his tongue. His head dips lower when he presses deeper, and Dream swallows a breathy moan as his stomach clenches.

Punz’s rings are smooth against his cock and Dream shifts his hips in time with Punz’s wrist, pushing back on his finger and earning soft sounds and vibrations from the mouth around his dick. Dream exhales sharply as Punz’s finger crooks upwards hard, and Punz looks up from between his legs with a self-satisfied simper.

“A-another,” Dream mumbles, and Punz pulls off his cock with a wet sound.

“You’re filthy,” he whispers, lips brushing his skin with molten intent, and Dream can’t do anything but toss his head to the side as Punz listens. “Taking my fingers so nicely, huh? I guess you are pretty practised at sitting in someone’s passenger seat.”

Punz’s is rougher with this one, harder now that he knows Dream can take it, and Dream can’t stop the groan that slides down his chest when Punz scissors his fingers. Knuckles skim against his skin and Dream is overly aware of the eyes that travel up and down the length of his abdomen.

“Pretty boy,” Punz coos, and Dream is helpless to answer, “was this your plan all along? Wait until someone picks you up, and then spread your legs wide open in the front seat?”

Dream scoffs, hips jerking as Punz teases a third finger at his rim—he doesn’t press it in, though, leaving it as a potential and leaving it to drive Dream fucking insane. “Are you calling me a slut?”

Punz’s brow raises, and a startled moan is rocked from Dream as those fingers piston harder. “Are you saying you’re not one?”

“Punz—” Dream bites out, a whine of the blond’s name that makes Punz lick his lips. His hand slows on his cock, just enough of a pace to keep him hard and enough to make Dream’s head spin as his rings glide up and down. Just the sensation pricks tears at his eyes, and Dream’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Fuck…”

“You sure sound a lot like a slut, Dream,” Punz grins, and Dream decides that he has a new favourite sight.

It’s not sunsets or the sunrise, and it’s not the moon that reflects opacity through the windshield. It isn’t puppies or kittens and it isn’t the blinding lights at some concert surrounded by sweaty arms and heady masses of people.

He decides that his new favourite sight is Punz down between his legs, tongue poked out in mild concentration as he teases a third finger at Dream’s rim; it’s Punz leaning over to suck marks into his thighs just because he can, and it’s Punz staring up with clear blue eyes reflecting the dash lights like Dream was the only one he ever wanted.

Dream decides that it’s his favourite, even if some of it is lies put together to soothe an audience.

“Want another one?” Punz’s pointer finger presses with intent, but doesn’t push in. Dream tilts his hips with the pressure, and Punz takes his slight silence as hesitation. “I can get you off just like this too, if that’s what you want—”

“Another,” Dream interrupts, “another, but don’t get me off. You can—” he swallows, throat bobbing as Punz waits patiently for the rest of his sentence, “you’ve got condoms, so–so we could use them.”

And whatever confidence he obtained before is slowly running out, leaving room for shyness and something softer in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for. Punz’s wrist works carefully still, pleasure rolling under Dream’s skin as his fingertips slide just past his prostate, and then that third finger is more insistent than it ever was before.

“Pretty boy,” and it’s said like a prayer this time, “if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”

Dream opens his mouth to answer but Punz’s fingers drive harder and a moan is punched out in its place, his shoulders curling over as his knuckles press deeper and better. Punz fucks him open on three fingers, spreading them intermittently as he presses his palm to Dream’s lower stomach—he leans up, balancing on his hand, and Dream stares teary-eyed into a gaze that coddles him.

“C’mon,” Punz rasps, lips brushing Dream’s as the blond tilts his head, “ask me nicely. Say please, baby.”

“Punz,” Dream pants, one hand coming up from the seat to wrap around Punz’s shoulders. Denim scrapes the insides of his thighs as Punz readjusts, fingers still working Dream open and lips barely touching his own. “Punz, c’mon—just—”

“Say please, Dream.”

“Please,” Dream begs, nearly sobs as those fingers spread and curl and send his mind running in circles around his heart. “Please, Punz, please just—fuck me, okay? Fuck me, I want it—”

And Punz’s mouth slams into his own, smearing the words across his tongue and covering them with the leftover taste of nicotine and bad ideas. Punz kisses him hard, shutting him up and pulling his attention away from the fingers in his ass and the rain still pounding the roof of the car. He gasps against his mouth when Punz’s fingers flex on his hip, and moans something sweet when his tongue slides over his lip.

Punz tastes like the midnight walk home from a concert and Thursday nights. His lips are soft where his gaze used to be sharp, and Dream squeezes his eyes shut as he tangles his fingers in silky hair to hold him closer.

He loses his grip on his seat completely, an arm coming up to wrap around Punz’s bare shoulders and find some of his balance as Punz kisses him within an inch of his life.

Dream’s fingernails scrape Punz’s shoulder blades like the denim between his legs.

Their mouths separate on a wet sound, and Dream can feel the way his lips tingle. He licks them without thinking, and Punz groans lightly as he presses their foreheads together—Dream swears there’s more than just lust in Punz’s gaze, but he doesn’t get a chance to decipher it before the other is speaking.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers, and Dream just shakes his head softly in amazement before pulling him back for more.

Punz kisses him as he pushes his fingers deeper and then pulls them out again, reaching across for the lube and Dream assumes he means to add more, but—

“I’m ready,” Dream blurts, and Punz freezes with his fingers around the bottle. “C’mon, I want you to fuck me. I haven’t done anything for you at all yet, so—”

“Don’t worry about me, baby, really—”

“But—”

“Dream!” Punz laughs, the hand on his hip squeezing and relaxing briefly. “Really, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m enjoying this just as much as you are, promise.”

Dream’s chin tips down, closer to his chest as he looks at Punz through his lashes. He doesn’t look like he’s being dishonest; even stuck down in the legroom and his spine pressed against the glovebox, Punz’s cheeks are red and his lips are swollen. He doesn’t look put out, and if anything the bulge in his underwear has only grown.

Still. “You’re sure?”

The bottle of lube is set down in the cupholder, and Punz rocks up over Dream to press a sweet kiss to his lips. It’s soft, lingering and static, and Dream lets his eyes close as Punz doesn’t deepen it.

He hums slightly, and Punz pulls back with a secretive grin.

“I’m sure. You’d probably get a hand on me and I’d blow my load right now.”

Dream can’t stop the snort that leaves his throat, and Punz kisses him quickly once again. “You’re so stupid. I wasn’t even doing that much, like—”

“Believe me Dream, you were doing a lot. And you were so good at it,” Punz murmurs, and even with the valence of their bodies offering warmth and heat, Dream shivers. “I can tell from just watching that you’re gonna feel so good around my cock. You’re tight, Dream, am I even gonna fit?”

Punz’s fingernails dig into his hip and Dream squirms under the touch, feeling excess lube drip down the backs of his thighs onto his passenger seat and probably into the front of Punz’s jeans. He unhooks his hand from Punz’s shoulders and snakes it down between their bodies, slipping it under the waistband of Punz’s underwear and finally getting a hand on him.

The blond exhales sharply and Dream can feel it on his cheek; he doesn’t stop, though, letting his fingers curve to the shape of Punz’s cock and the way the head drips wet into his palm. He’s big, Dream realizes with a thrum in his stomach, and when he curls his hand around his length so he can jerk him properly, Punz’s head drops to his shoulder with a breathy moan.

It’s right in Dream’s ear—it makes his breath catch.

“Dream,” Punz groans, and Dream nods as he slowly but surely works Punz in his hand, “baby, I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“I do, but—” Dream twists his hand around the head of Punz’s cock, earning himself a stifled moan as Punz’s hips jerk. Satisfaction tingles up his own spine at the sight, and Dream can’t help but do it again to see the same results. “Don’t you feel good?”

Punz’s answer is teeth in Dream’s neck. The dirty blond tips his head to the side with a light hum, blinking at the foggy window and sighing as those teeth pull away to leave room for harsher kisses and bruising skin. Punz licks over the mark he creates, and then he leaves another.

And another.

And then one more.

“Punz,” Dream breathes, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling of the car. His hand trembles around Punz’s cock now, useless except to be something for Punz to grind against and fuck does he do that. Dream’s own hips shift upwards with the realization, and he can feel those edged teeth against his collarbone in a stupid fucking smile. “Okay, okay, yeah—I want you to fuck me now.”

It’s Punz’s turn to laugh into the crook of his neck, and Dream pulls his hand out of his pants in time to see Punz’s smile emblazoned bright over his face.

“Yeah?” Punz grins, and Dream can’t stop the way his own grows. “Give me a second, just make yourself at home.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dream replies, all snark and familiarity, and lets his hand stay on Punz’s shoulder as the other snatches the box of condoms off the dashboard. He traces the slight shadow of freckles he can see, wonders how they would look with impressions of his own teeth scattered among them, and loses himself in the sight that is Punz fucking Masons.

Because he didn’t mean for it to end up this way.

There’s that one saying about curiosity and the cat, and as Punz shuffles his jeans lower without a care, Dream can definitely say that his satisfaction is over the top.

He didn’t mean for it to end up this way, but he also knows it was only a matter of time: the staring in the halls, the thinly veiled jokes, and everything that lingered like smoke in the air when it came to him and Punz. it was a conglomeration of words they hadn’t yet said and touches they didn’t get to have, and Dream wanted to let it boil over.

They weren’t friends in highschool and they aren’t exactly friends now, but as Punz hisses under his breath as he slides the condom over his dick, Dream doesn’t think that he could feel safer with anyone else. It isn’t just the illusion of petrichor desire and radio lust, but it’s something else that makes Dream want to curl up against Punz’s chest and trace the freckles and plot out places for hickies to show that he’s taken.

It seems Punz isn’t the only one that’s a bit possessive.

“Okay, lean your seat back a bit—there we go,” Punz murmurs, and Dream inches down the lower incline of the seat with his heart in his throat. He isn’t nervous but he’s excited, and when Punz’s cock brushes against the underside of his balls he can’t hold back a shudder; of course, Punz catches it. “You’re so fucking eager, Christ.”

“Oh, come on,” Dream complains lightly, lifting his knees back towards his chest and letting them tap against Punz’s ribcage. His skin is hot, damp with sweat and exertion and probably already smelling of sex in the cab. “You literally said you were gonna bust a few minutes ago. Don’t be cocky.”

The head of his cock presses against Dream, and he almost wants to smack the grin off Punz’s face. “Cocky, you say?”

“Fucking—shut up,” Dream sighs, hooking his arm around Punz’s neck and pulling him lower. Punz’s eyes flick between his own and then down to his lips, and Dream lets himself relax against a thick intrusion. “Just kiss me and shut up.”

“Okay,” Punz whispers against his lips, and Dream lets his eyes fall closed as he leans into it.

He was right about Punz being big; there’s a stretch that makes him tense and relax, aided by the circles that Punz’s thumbs rub into his hips and the way the blond kisses him deeper like it would pull his attention away completely. Punz moves slowly for Dream’s comfort, and he can’t help the way that his legs tighten around his sides with every aching inch.

“Fuck—” Dream slurs against Punz’s mouth, and his answer is a deep hum that vibrates into his own chest. It feels better than the bass playing rough and ragged at concerts, better than the crooning lyrics of sex and rapture somewhere in the background, and better than Dream had imagined. Punz rocks his hips, and Dream exhales sharply at the pleasure that strikes deep in his stomach. “Fuck, Punz—”

It settles like an endless pit. Dream is greedy, and he wants it all.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” Punz croons, and Dream drops his forehead to Punz’s shoulder as his hips settle flush against his ass. Dream stares down between them, taking in Punz’s heaving chest and his own cock laid red on his stomach, and then lower where Punz’s cock is buried deep inside. “Shit, Dream, you’re tight.”

“Gimme—” Dream moans as Punz’s hips shift, a small movement that he probably didn’t do on purpose but still knocks the breath from his chest, “gimme a minute. You’re—fuck, just a minute.”

“Course, pretty boy,” Punz mumbles into his hair, and Dream can feel the soft kiss that’s pressed into his skull. “Take your time. We’ve got time to take it slow.”

Dream nods, grateful for the chance to soothe the tingle under his skin, and his lips brush Punz’s skin—it tastes like sweat and sex, and he can’t stop himself from sucking his own mark and showing that he was here.

It’s not a claim, not like a title of boyfriends would be, but it’s as close as he’ll get to one.

“You alright?” Punz asks, breath ghosting over Dream’s ear, and Dream laves his tongue over the mark in lieu of an answer. The rings on his one hand are warm against Dream’s skin; Dream almost wishes that they were that burning cold once more. “You’re not hurting or anything, right?”

“Just in the ways that feel good,” Dream murmurs, and he watches in delight as Punz’s abdomen flexes between them. “You can move, just go slowly.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Punz dips his shoulders down to look Dream in the eye, and Dream gets a glimpse of a smile before it’s pressed to his mouth. “Okay,” Punz whispers, and it’s all over from there.

Dream kisses Punz as he pulls his hips back, pulling away just long enough to make Dream groan when he pushes back in. The stretch is incredible and he feels deep, and Dream can’t stop the way one of his hands flies down to his lower belly like he could actually feel something there.

As it is, Punz groans at the sight and his thighs slap against Dream’s ass as he fucks him.

He fucks him hard.

He fucks him good.

Punz fucks him until Dream’s nails dig into his back, and until the car starts rocking with the same rhythm. No more is the radio the only one soothing over rough love, but now there’s a background chorus of Dream’s moans and Punz’s sharp exhales.

Dream’s cock slides between their stomachs, the slightest bit of pressure and tease punching small sounds from his mouth in conjunction with Punz’s pace. He’s overwhelmed with the way Punz fucks him, holding him against the seat and kissing him when their mouths slide close enough to touch.

And his hands—

His hands are everywhere—Dream gasps when Punz’s fingers tease the head of his cock only to move away a split second later, flicking at his nipples and leaving pinkening scratches over the untouched parts of his body. Dream does the same; he knows that his nails are scraping red down Punz’s back and sides, and he’s unapologetic as Punz takes him apart completely.

“Fuck,” Dream gasps, angling his pelvis with Punz’s help and— “there, right there—”

“Yeah?” Punz is just as breathless, sweat beading at his temples and palms slick with it. He kisses Dream sloppily, less focused on that and more on hitting that same spot over and over again. Dream squeezes his eyes shut and he can’t stop the sharp moan, muffled by Punz’s lips and only serving to deepen his thrusts. “Fuck, pretty boy, that’s it—you sound so fucking good, God—”

And Punz’s hand comes back down to his dick without any preamble, and Dream’s spine arches up as Punz jerks him off in time with his thrusts.

He’s close.

Already, he’s fucking close.

“Punz—wait, I’m gonna come—” Dream manages, but Punz just grins at him with bright eyes and mischief in his face.

“Isn’t that the point?” Punz shoots back, never slowing his hand nor his hips, and Dream whimpers at a particularly hard thrust that rocks the car. “Don’t you want me to make you come, baby?”

And it is the point, but—

“Just—” Dream swallows hard and moves his hand so that he can tangle his fingers in Punz’s hair, nearly dragging him down so that he can slot his lips over Punz’s in a deep slide. It pulls a soft sound from Punz’s throat, and the blond slows the stride of his thrusts so that they don’t clash teeth. Dream pulls back on a wet sound, and doesn’t let Punz get any farther away with the grip behind his neck. “I don’t want it to end so soon. I just—yeah. I don’t.”

And the confession is heavier than any he might have made before, because this one involves Punz directly and isn’t a taunt that slips under the guise of desire. This one means more because Dream wants this to last, and he’s still too afraid to put a name on the emotion welling in his chest.

“Dream.” Punz makes him look in his eyes, and Dream chews on his lower lip. The timidness is a little out of place with Punz’s cock in his ass and his thighs and neck littered with marks from the other, but Dream doesn’t see anything in Punz’s face that tells him he should feel bad about it. “Let me get you off this time. It’s not like this is the only chance for me to do that.”

It’s not?

“It’s not?” And Dream finds his own thighs tensing and rocking with the belated movement of Punz’s hips, slow and easy and underlying to the—important—conversation at hand. “But…”

“You don’t have to say anything now,” Punz says, suddenly in a rush as his hand smooths down Dream’s side comfortingly, “just—just think about it later. Let me get you off now and think about it later.”

Think about what?

Punz’s grip is distracting.

His cock even more so.

Think about… doing this again?

Dream doesn’t have a name for the feeling in his chest, but Punz makes it worse in all the best ways when he returns his hand to Dream’s dick. He tentatively strokes, and when Dream urges him on with a roll of his hips, Punz’s smile returns tenfold.

Think about it later.

Think about this now.

Punz fucks him with purpose now—it’s not to tease and it’s not to drag it out farther than they already have, heady with clouded windows and glass that soaks in all their secrets, and Dream braces one foot against the edge of the seat so he can push up and meet the end of Punz’s thrusts.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” Punz praises, sickly sweet as it falls from his lips to Dream’s throat and decorated with the teeth that come right after. Punz nips at his collarbone and Dream’s ears are filled with the sound of slapping skin and a creak under the seat that doesn’t go away.

The hand around his cock speeds up—Dream whines, high and breathy, and Punz’s body shudders under the sound. It makes Dream want more, and he tugs on Punz’s hair in a bid to catch his attention.

“Punz,” Dream pleads, “kiss me.”

And Punz doesn’t hesitate.

And he tastes like bad ideas and think about it later all rolled into one.

And Dream moans into his mouth when Punz’s hips slam against his ass, driving his cock deep and keeping it there with an aching grind. Dream scrambles with hands over his shoulders, choking off his own sound at the pleasure that threads molten up his stomach and chest.

“You close?” Punz slurs against his mouth, and Dream nods frantically because it’s true. He can feel it under his skin, burning deep in his stomach with every grind of Punz’s cock by his prostate, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll last after this. “You gonna come on my cock, Dream? Show me how much of a slut you are?”

“‘M not,” Dream protests, but it’s weak with his growing orgasm and Punz’s sharp smile. “P-Punz, I’m gonna come—!”

“I know—” Punz breathes, and then his palm is tightening around the head of his cock and Dream is whining, pressing up into it— “I know, baby, come for me. C’mon, come for me, Dream.”

And Dream nearly chokes on his next inhale when Punz grinds his palm into the head of his cock, making his hips jerk into and away from the pressure and down onto Punz’s dick, and—

And Dream gasps out some strung version of Punz’s name as he comes, ivory splattering lower over his belly and making a mess out of Punz’s hand. He shudders through it, unable to catch his breath as Punz fucks him through and past it, never stopping and never showing any hint that he’s going to stop.

“Shit—” Dream moans, tossing his head back as Punz strokes him clean of anything. His legs tremble around Punz’s sides and his knees press tight to his ribcage, and Punz exhales sharply as his thrusts falter. “Are y’close?”

Punz nods and Dream can hear him gulp, and the stiffness in his shoulders is all he needs to pull Punz down and press their foreheads together.

There’s a moment filled with just the sound of Dream’s ragged breathing and the radio behind them. Punz’s nails leave mulberry scratches over his hip bone.

Then—

“Fuck me,” Dream pants, lips wet with saliva and spine tingling from his orgasm, creeping into overstimulation that makes him tremble. “Just want you to come, so fuck me.”

Punz doesn’t wait for a second affirmative this time, and Dream’s sure his groan is loud in his ear when Punz’s thrusts pick up again, but the blond doesn’t seem to care. He pistons his hips hard, fucking Dream like he’s nothing but a toy and Dream is simply there to hang on for the ride.

And fuck, does he do that. Dream thinks his nails might draw blood with how tightly he grips around Punz’s shoulders, but it’s worth it when Punz’s face tucks into the crook of his neck and Dream can feel his heavy breathing on sensitive skin.

“C’mon,” Dream whispers, tears that gathered in his eyes falling as he swiftly reaches his own limits, “come for me, Punz.”

Sharp teeth nip at his shoulder—

And Punz’s frame shudders as he drives his cock in deep. His hips kick forward a few times, just enough to send shivers over Dream’s nerves and make his eyes roll back in jaded pleasure, and then Punz is groaning right in Dream’s ear as he slumps over him.

Dream can feel Punz’s chest heaving against his own. His fingers tangle gently with the blond hair at the back of his neck, swirling patterns in sweat-slick locks and comforting himself along with Punz at the motions. It’s so similar to the way Punz strokes his clean hand over Dream’s ribs, squeezing ever so softly at his hip bone like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“Fuck,” Punz laughs into his ear, all rasp and glow, and Dream’s chest swells a million sizes bigger. “You’re definitely something, aren’t you?”

“Says you,” Dream grins back, his own voice torn apart. “I didn’t do much but sit here.”

Punz’s fingers squeeze again, and then the blond is pulling back enough for Dream to see his face.

It pushes something soft at the back of his mind, and Dream can’t help the way he brings his hand around to cup Punz’s cheek. The blond lets him—leans into it even—and Dream strokes his thumb over his flushed cheekbone. There’s sweat on their foreheads and come cooling over their stomachs—fuck, Dream is pretty sure it’s all over Punz’s hand, too—and he can still hear the rain on the hood, but—

“You’re so pretty,” Dream mumbles, and it must catch Punz off guard with the way he blinks. Dream falters, and he moves to take his hand away— “Sorry, was that weird? I’m sorry, I—”

“Dream,” Punz says, more gentle than he has any right to be as he brings Dream’s hand back to his face. His grip is firm, and Dream’s palm fits perfectly against the curve of his cheek. “We literally just had sex. It’s not weird, idiot, you can call me pretty as much as you want.”

Think about it later.

“We’re all sticky,” Dream says suddenly, and Punz kind of looks down at the mess between their stomachs and back up again. There’s a smile playing on his lips, not quite there yet but on the way, and Dream can feel his own creeping onto his face. “Shut up. Please tell me you keep wipes in here or something.”

“Uh—” Punz leans away and Dream’s front is left cold, proving to him more and more that being closer is better, and he knows that his brain is still mushy from his orgasm and he knows that he shouldn’t feel this way, but as Punz awkwardly digs around under Dream’s passenger seat all he can think about is tugging him back. “I think I have napkins…?”

The radio fills the silence as Dream stares at Punz.

And then—

And Dream can’t help but laugh, because Punz looks so earnest with unused napkins in his hand and there’s condensation racing the rain on the windshield and an ache to Dream’s lower back that makes him feel buzzed. He can’t help but laugh because they fit two fully grown men in the passenger seat somehow, and now Punz is giggling with him because the rain hasn’t really let up and it feels good.

“We could just shower at my place,” Dream suggests, wiping away a tear and feeling the evidence of dried ones on his cheek. “If you want, of course.”

And Dream was too curious to know what Punz’s passenger seat was like, but now he’s addicted. He wants the headrush to last, leaving him strungout and always craving more. He wants more: he wants to know if what he’s seeing in Punz’s gaze is infatuation, and he wants to know how perfectly it matches with the feeling in his chest.

“You’re cool with me coming over?” Punz asks this carefully, still crouched awkwardly between Dream’s thighs and holding none of the previous ease that he had before. “It’s pretty late. I don’t—”

“So stay the night,” Dream interrupts, and this time it’s full of good ideas and Friday mornings. “Drive me home and stay the night.”

Punz’s lips are red and swollen; they drop open like he’s going to respond, but the sound of the radio clicking behind him makes them stop and stare.

The cassette finished.

Punz turns his face back to Dream’s, and there’s a different kind of emotion in his piercing eyes now: less abrasive, and something that Dream wants to drink in like menthol and lust covered lyrics.

“Okay. But only because you have a shower.”

Dream can’t stop the way his smile grows.

“Only because I have a shower.”

The rain still pours down outside. Punz takes his sweet time cleaning Dream off, pausing between intermittent breaks of laughter and teasing when he scrambles to find a place to put the soiled napkins and the nasty condom. Dream shoves him in the shoulder when Punz leans in for a kiss right after he disposes of them, and their giggles keep them together long enough for Dream to taste it on his lips.

Dream makes fun of the awkward way Punz climbs back into his own seat. Punz throws his shirt at Dream—hits him square in the nose with it—and tells him that it wasn’t so funny when he was about to suck his dick.

Punz pops in a different cassette as Dream gets dressed. This one seems softer, Dream realizes, less of the preaching desire and more of a soothing sound that makes him settle back into his passenger seat.

Speaking of—Dream is gonna have to wash his jacket after this. It makes a super shitty towel between him and the mess of the cushion.

They talk in gentle silence. Dream says that he doesn’t have classes until the afternoon tomorrow and neither does Punz, and Dream can hear the way Punz’s rings clatter in the cupholder when he turns off Squirrel Road. He mentions it, but Punz just shrugs and asks Dream to put them in his pocket.

Dream does. And then Punz reaches for his hand to tangle their fingers together.

Secretive smiles mean more to him now; Dream can see the flush high on Punz’s cheekbones even in the dark, and the bruising on his throat that proves Dream was here. It’s a gooey emotion, he finds, and with his free hand he reaches up to press over the marks on his own collarbones just because he can.

The song switches over, and repeats the process until Punz pulls into Dream’s driveway, and Dream’s palm feels cold when Punz pulls his grip away to park.

He finds that it doesn’t matter that much as they get inside, running through rain to the door—Punz crowds him against it until Dream pushes it open, unlaced shoes are kicked off and shirts are stripped, and Dream tells Punz to go start the water because they’re both soaked from the rain and cold.

The blond kisses him sweetly in the doorway of his own home, and Dream watches him go with a different kind of curiosity welling deep under his heart.

They shower.

Dream gives Punz boxers to sleep in.

He discovers that Punz is an awful blanket hog, and tells him this when Punz kisses him in the early hours of the morning—his breath smells of petrichor and something stale, but it hardly matters when Punz slinks down under the covers and covers him with kisses that even the rain couldn’t ruin.

They drive back to the school for class.

Dream gets his car towed to be fixed.

And when classes end on that Friday afternoon—

Dream is already leaning against the passenger side of Punz’s car, knuckles held around a cigarette that smells of good ideas and menthol, and a single gleaming ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

Punz’s approaching grin is sharper than the sun, and spreads more emotion through Dream’s chest than any fucking raincloud could.

“Hey, pretty boy. Need a ride home?”

Dream can already hear the sound of the radio as he smiles back behind the cigarette. He’s got Punz’s ring on his finger, Punz’s cigarettes invading every inch of his body, and a certain preference for a sharp gaze and breathtaking grin.

“Maybe. It is my passenger seat after all.”