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George hates tea.
If Dream asked him on a regular day, he’d tell you that he hates it. He calls it dirty leaf-water whenever someone brings it up, and always makes a point of saying he doesn't like it when someone jokes about him being British– usually accompanied with him saying he misses crumpets, though.
Despite this, Dream has become very good at making a decent cup of tea. He knows when the water is boiled enough, how much sugar to put in, when it’s steeped enough, how much milk it needs– even which mug George says is best to nurse between his hands and against his chest while he sits on the couch.
Dealing with George’s heartbreaks is something Dream’s used to– he’s been doing it for years. But god if it wasn't easier across an ocean and through a voice call.
Dream’s at the stove, a pan of hot water beginning to simmer– they don't have an electric kettle and George insists that heating the water in the microwave is a crime. George’s favourite mug is on the side ready, the teabag and two spoons of sugar already in the bottom of the cup. The carton of milk is out the fridge beside it, but not in the mug yet because George says that’s an abomination . The mug has Patches’ face on it, wide eyed and adorable as always. George took the photo when he first moved here, and someone put it on a mug and sent it to the P.O. Box. It’s one of the more normal gifts they’ve received, but nothing extraordinary– still, George loved it immediately. He said it was perfect.
The water begins to boil, big bubbles forming and bursting on the surface, steam rising up into Dream’s face and making him sweat. He turns off the stove, using the small spout on the saucepan to pour the boiling water into the mug. The water soaks through the teabag and wets the leaves, dark amber colour leaking out into the cup and transforming the drink. Dream watches the tea steep, watches the brown spiral and spin through the clear water like smoke.
He grabs a teaspoon and stirs it in the mug, making a tea tornado that almost swirls up and over the side of the cup. Setting the teaspoon down, he uncaps the carton of milk and pours it into the centre of the spiral, watching white wrap itself around the tea until the whole drink is a perfect shade of tan.
Dream puts the milk back in the fridge, and gets himself a bottle of water before grabbing the tea and heading into the living room.
George is curled on his side on the couch, a blanket smothering his whole body except for his face. He clutches the blanket tightly to his chest, like it's holding him together, like if someone took it off him he would fall apart. Dream thinks he might.
“I’ve got your tea,” he says, voice soft and soothing. He approaches slowly, like he would with Patches when she’s frightened.
He puts the mug on the coffee table, right in George’s eyeline, and sits on the other end of the couch, as far away from George as he can be.
“Thanks,” the pile of George mumbles, his voice broken and hoarse. Silent tears track down his face and onto the couch cushion below, his eyes are bloodshot and his nose is wet.
George pulls himself upright, groaning like it takes a great effort. He reaches for the tea with both hands as though he’s a baby and it’ll be too heavy for his little arms to hold. The blanket falls off his head and rests around his shoulders, giving Dream a good view of messy hair and a tear-flushed face.
“What happened, George?” Dream asks, because they hadn't gotten that far yet.
George barged through the front door about twenty minutes ago, sobbing and hysterical in a way Dream has only ever heard through VC– never seen. Dream and Sapnap were watching football while George was out seeing Oscar. Sapnap had asked, “What’s up, Gogy?” and George had screamed at him. Dream gave his brother a sympathetic smile as Sapnap left, getting the hint that George didn't want him right now– didn't need him.
“It’s Oscar,” George says now.
“What did Oscar do?” Dream can hear the vitriol in his own voice, he practically spits the name out his mouth like poison.
George shakes his head, his bottom lip trembling. He brings the mug up to his lip, breathing in the steam. He grimaces as he takes a sip, but goes back for a second all the same.
“He just-” George starts, only to stop to sniff.
Dream reaches over onto the coffee table, pushing the box of tissues closer to George.
“He- he’s just a bastard,” George says, like that should explain everything to Dream– like Dream didn’t already know that.
Dream doesn't like Oscar, obviously. And it’s not a hatred fuelled by pure jealousy, although Dream won't deny that's not a good part of it. But Oscar sucks. Sapnap called him an asshole, and while that’s a fitting description, Dream doesn't find it covers quite how intolerable the guy is.
He’s smarmy– that’s Dream’s word for it. Everything that comes from his lips is patronising or pretentious. He thinks he’s better than everyone, thinks he’s the man– even though George is hotter, cooler, richer, kinder.
In the six months George has been dating Oscar, he’s belittled every little thing about Dream’s best friend until George, who was once so confident in himself– arguably too confident, is a shadow of who he used to be. He’s mocked his hair, his clothes, his job, his friends, his house. Nothing George does is Oscar-approved, and Dream is definitely not Oscar-approved.
Which is why George comes to Dream at times like this, when for the thousandth time Oscar has hurt him. George knows Dream will be on his side. Dream knows he will be on George’s side too.
And Dream also knows that no matter what he says, the next day George will be back to being besotted with the boy. He also can’t really blame him, finding someone when you’re in the public eye is hard, and as much as Dream hates it, Oscar is hot.
“We were talking about getting a place together,” George says, and this makes Dream jolt upright.
“ What- George you can’t be serious.” He feels like ice water has been dropped on his head.
“I know,” George whines, sounding so disappointed in himself. “It’s stupid.”
“You’re right, that is stupid.” Dream ignores the pit in his chest, the hurt he feels that George would want to leave him– leave Sapnap.
“I said I wasn't sure, that I thought it was too soon,” George says, defending himself. “But he arranged house viewings and stuff– like for us to buy a place.”
Alarm bells go off in Dream’s head. Oscar works in a mid-scale restaurant. There’s no way he has the money for half a house deposit lying around.
“I went along with it, ‘cause- ‘cause well I didn't want to upset him. But Dream-'' George breaks off to sniffle, fresh tears pooling in his eyes and flowing down his face. Dream follows a drop down George’s face, from tear duct and down his cheek, onto his chin and then dripping into the cup of tea below.
“Let me guess, he booked viewings at a bunch of mansions?” Dream doesn’t mean to sound so bitter, but anger boils in him like the water in their saucepan.
George nods wordlessly.
Dream wishes this wasn't the first time something like this has happened to the three of them. Dream’s ex-girlfriend did the very same thing, and Sapnap now makes up a fake job when he meets girls– luckily still under the radar enough that people with normal pop-culture knowledge don't know him.
“I thought he liked me, Dream. I thought he loved me.” George cries into his tea.
“Oh, George.” Dream moves towards him, pulling George into his chest and prying the hot cup from his grasp.
George’s palms are red from the heat of the mug, and he presses his hands into Dream’s chest. They burn, but not because of the warmth. He wets Dream’s t-shirt with tears and snot– maybe drool, too, from how he sobs against Dream’s shoulder.
“I’m so lonely, Dream,” George croaks, voice wrecked and muffled by Dream’s body. “Why can’t somebody just want me?”
It stings that George can't see it, that he can't see how much Dream wants him. Wanting George is sewed into the fabric of his being, his heart is stitched together with a thread only George can sew.
He’s loved George for longer than he can remember, certainly longer than he’s proud to admit. Every relationship he’s been in, he's been unfaithful to them for George. That’s not to say he’s cheated, but it sure feels like it when Dream’s always known his heart was elsewhere while his body was in someone else's bed.
He doesn't say this of course, Dream’s never said it. He thinks that even if he did, George would never listen. Instead he holds George tighter, like if he holds him tight enough he can keep him together– stop him from falling apart.
“I’m here, George,” he says as George cries. George doesn't realise what it means.
“I’m right here.”
Dream ushers George up the stairs with a gentle hand on his lower back, they move quietly through the house to George’s bedroom, and George crawls into the bed without need for instruction. Dream pulls the comforter over his curled-up frame, tucking George into bed like he can keep him safe with just the bedsheets. When he goes to leave with a mumbled goodnight , a hand shoots from beneath the blanket, clammy fingers wrapping around Dream’s wrist.
“Stay?” George asks. “Just until I fall asleep.”
Dream knows he shouldn't, but he’s a weak man for pleading eyes from the man he loves. He climbs into the bed slowly, drawing it out like George will change his mind when Dream’s knee hits the mattress. Instead, Dream gets fully seated, and George shuffles closer, tucking himself under Dream’s arm and wrapping himself around his waist.
Dream hopes the pain in his heart isn't audible when George lays his head on his chest. He hopes his breathing is even and his heartbeat steady– he hopes this is casual enough, platonic enough.
George is asleep before Dream can finish counting to a hundred, deep breaths and soft whimpers in his sleep. But Dream can’t move without waking him now, George has tangled himself around him in every way. He shuffles down the bed, holding George for the first time ever, and the only time he will ever allow it. He cradles George to his chest while George cradles Dream’s heart in his hand, ready to crush it.
-
When Dream wakes in the morning, George is still asleep. He’s resting heavy on Dream’s chest, his eyes are a little crusty and there's a pool of drool on Dream’s sternum.
Dream slides out from under him, receiving a disgruntled groan, but fortunately he doesn't rouse George. He wonders what caused him to wake up, but then he hears shouting downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs he can make out one of the voices. It’s Sapnap. The instinct to protect jumps out of Dream, and he’s charging to the front door without a second thought.
“Nick?” he calls. Sapnap’s stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that Dream knows means he’s holding himself back from punching something– or someone.
“Clay.” Sapnap’s voice is tight, his teeth gritted and jaw set. “Get this asshole away from me right now.”
When Dream comes to stand behind Sapnap, he’s met with the face of someone he’d quite like to never see again.
“Oscar,” he says, curtly. He straightens up towering further over Nick and puffing out his chest. “I think you should go.”
“I think I would like to speak to my boyfriend, if that's alright, guys.” The smarmy bastard takes a step forward, Dream and Sapnap react instantly, standing shoulder to shoulder and blocking Oscar’s path.
“Absolutely not,” says Sapnap.
“Leave,” says Dream.
“Listen,” Oscar says, beginning in his usual patronising tone, “you two have no idea what’s going on. Why don't you just let me and George sort this out, hmm? Since it isn't really any of your business anyway.” He’s looking at Dream when he says it. He’s directing it at Dream.
Sapnap doesn't notice. “The fuck it isnt any of our business, asshole.”
“Oscar?” a voice sounds from behind them.
George stands at the foot of the stairs, still in yesterday's clothes, and with an impressive bedhead.
“George, babe. Let’s talk.” Oscar’s voice is sickly, like he’s talking to a baby and not his grown-ass boyfriend.
“No.” George’s voice shakes, but he stands strong, walking to stand beside his best friends.
Oscar moves forward again, and Dream’s hand shoots out to the bastard’s chest. His palm hits Oscar in the sternum and holds him back. Sapnap bristles, ready to back Dream up.
“Now, now,” Oscar says, “let’s stay civil, shall we, Clay?”
“Let’s stay the fuck out of my house, shall we Oscar?” he counters, pushing back lightly on Oscar’s chest until he’s forced to take a step back or fall over.
“Leave, Oscar.” George says. He sounds exhausted.
Oscar doesn't even acknowledge him, glaring at Dream instead. “I know what this is, Clay.”
The three boys all mirror confused expressions at the asshole on their front step.
“Oh, come on, surely I'm not the only one who sees this?” Oscar’s speaking directly to Dream again, it's like George and Sapnap aren't even here.
“What are you talking about?” George asks. Dream can feel his frustration at being ignored, can sense the pain radiating out of every pore while he has to stare at someone who's hurt him.
“Ouch,” Oscar laughs, bitterly. “That’s got to hurt, Clay.”
Dream’s heart sinks.
“What the fuck are you on about, asshole?” Sapnap’s ready to fight, his fists clenching and relaxing at his sides.
No. no no no no.
Oscar finally turns his attention to George, his eyes filled with spite. He points at Dream.
“He’s in love with you George,” Oscar spits. “Your precious Dream is in love with you.”
Dream recoils, like the words shock him, too.
“One little argument and your best friend is all but shoving me away and you’re cowering behind him.” Oscar continues, smirking at George in a way that has Dream’s blood boiling behind his ears.
“Stop it.” George’s voice wobbles, on the verge of tears.
Dream can’t speak. He can’t move. He wants to deny it— he could so easily scoff and play it off, call Oscar ridiculous and brush the accusation away.
Oscar looks at Dream again, like he’s expecting the denial– like he’s waiting for Dream to say he’s lying. When it doesn’t come Oscar’s face curls in surprise.
“Oh,” he says, voice now disappointed. “I’m right, aren't I?”
Dream can feel three sets of eyes burning him from every angle. He’s so exposed. He wants to run, hide, and never show his face again.
“Go on, Clay. Tell him– tell him you don’t love him,” Oscar eggs, one last desperate attempt to embarrass Dream. Sapnap takes a step forward and slightly in front of Dream, like he’s ready to protect him, fight for him like he always does. He doesn’t get the chance.
“Oscar, if you don’t leave now I'll call the cops. Get the fuck away from us– all of us.” George’s voice is harsh, biting and cold in a way Dream’s never heard before.
“We can talk another time, Georgie. Once you’ve calmed down.” Oscar smiles, condescending and smug, before walking off to his car.
The three boys hold their breath until he pulls out of the driveway. Then Sapnap and George sigh in relief.
“Gogy,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious for an interaction between the two of them. “Don’t you dare go back to that bastard. I don't care how good the dick is.”
Sapnap storms off back towards his bedroom, but not before giving Dream a pitying look and a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
“Dream,” George calls, trying to get his attention.
“No.” Dream forces his voice to be cold, detached. “Not right now, George. Please.”
He leaves George dumbstruck and broken in the hallway. He should feel bad about that, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when his whole world is about to collapse around him.
His bed is cold and uninviting, but he’s so thankful his bed isn’t tainted with the memory of holding George to his chest.
He falls face first into the comforter, inhaling the smell of him and only him. He screams into the pillow until his breath heats the fabric and his voice runs dry. It’s only ten in the morning but he’s already ready for this day to be done– this week to be done.
There’s a knock on Dream’s door, and then a body lying next to Dream. He stiffens until the smell of Sapnap seeps through Dream’s duvet-stuffed senses.
“Hey brother,” Sapnap says, his hand coming to rub between Dream’s shoulder blades in comfort.
Dream mumbles something akin to a hi into the sheets, sinking further down with the reassuring touch.
“You gonna stop smothering yourself to death and talk to me?” he asks. Dream shakes his head.
“I can’t believe I didn't realise. I’m so sorry, Dream.” Sapnap doesn't stop the soothing motion of his hand down Dream’s back– it’s so tender and caring that Dream thinks he might cry. “I mean, I thought maybe, but- like when he said it.. Your face man.”
Dream shrugs instead, ignoring the tightness in his throat as he holds it all in.
“Like how did that asshole realise before your two very best friends?” Sapnap continues. Dream shrugs again.
Silence falls between the pair, only their breathing and the rustle of Sapnap’s hand disrupting Dream’s t-shirt can be heard. Dream has so much he wants to say, so much going on inside his head, but there's no words that will cover how he feels right now, no words he can say that will make sense of this situation.
As if hearing Dream’s thoughts, Sapnap asks, “So what’re we going to do?”
Before Dream even gets a chance, Sapnap keeps talking. “And don't even think of just shrugging again. You can’t keep your head buried in the sand either.”
At this Dream finally lifts his head. “Says who?”
“Me.”
Dream groans and rolls onto his back, tilting his head to look at his best friend.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “I never expected to have to do anything.”
“Fucking Oscar…” Sapnap murmurs, salt thick in his voice.
“Fucking Oscar,” Dream agrees.
Sapnap stays with Dream for as long as he can, even offering to cancel his sponsored stream with Karl. Dream declines, giving the most i’m okay smile he can muster and ushering his friend away. With great effort he drags himself under the comforter, resigning himself to a day in bed.
He’s not hiding— he’s not. But fuck—
The shock on George’s face at Oscar’s revelation earlier will be ingrained into Dream’s mind forever. Dream spirals further. Is George going to think that’s why he hates Oscar? Is that why Dream’s hated all of George’s exes? Does George think Dream’s that nice guy best friend who’s just sitting in the wing waiting for his chance?
That’s not what Dream was doing. Not even close. He was going to hold his love for George to his chest, bury it in his heart, and lose it in a ventricle where it can never escape. Instead, it’s made it to his blood stream and fucking Oscar has drawn it out with a needle and spilt it all over the floor and now Dream’s bleeding, and everything’s a fucking mess.
There's a knock at the door, and with Sapnap streaming it can only mean one thing.
George.
“Dream?” George sounds so gentle, like he’s approaching a baby deer or a spooked cat.
“George, plea-”
“I made you a cup of tea.” His voice is close, right by Dream’s head. Dream peers out from under the covers to see George’s favourite mug on the bedside table. Steam swirls out of the top.
“I don’t like tea,” Dream says around the lump in his throat.
“Neither do I,” George replies, “but just trust me. It helps.”
Reluctantly, Dream shuffles out of his bed to sit on the side and takes the mug from the bedside. George steps back as Dream moves, keeping his distance. Dream’s heart aches.
The cup is hot against his palms, and he nurses it to his chest the same way he’s seen George do a hundred times over. The radiating heat is nice, warming his heart and hands. It feels like his heart is getting a hug. He breathes in, smelling the earthy drink. Thinking about it, Dream’s never tried English tea. George said he hated it, and so Dream never thought to try, their tastes being so similar that he never saw the point. It doesn't smell bad per se– it just doesn't smell drinkable either.
George watches him expectantly as he brings the porcelain to his bottom lip. He sucks in the fragrant steam and lets it fog up his throat before tipping the mug and taking a sip.
It’s hot– probably too hot. It burns a little, but the burn is nice. He swills it around his mouth for a moment to really taste it, and then lets the boiling drink flow down his throat. The heat sits in his belly, like it’s glowing and warming him from the inside out.
It tastes like shit though.
He wrinkles his nose, grimacing just as George does every time he takes a sip. George can't help but huff out a small laugh at Dream’s reaction.
“Gross, isn't it?” he says. Dream gives a weak smile and nods.
“But you feel a little bit better, right?” George asks, and he’s right. Dream does feel a little better.
He holds the steaming cup closer to his chest, like it can shield him during this interaction.
“I’m so sorry, George.”
George looks at him confused. “What are you sorry for?”
“For- for what Oscar said…” He cringes at the thought.
George sighs, giving Dream a soft, fond smile. He comes to sit next to Dream on the bed, and pushes the mug towards Dream’s lips, encouraging him to take another sip of the tea.
“You’re a nimrod,” George says, shaking his head and grinning like Dream’s said the funniest thing in the world
“What?” Dream asks, watching George start to giggle.
“He only said that,” George starts, breaking to laugh again, “because it’s the other way around, he was jealous .”
Dream thinks he’s lost his mind, he doesn’t have the faintest idea what George is on about.
“I- I don’t understand,” he admits.
“He wanted you to deny it, to say you didn't love me in front of me… To hurt me,” George explains, clutching at his own hands like his life depends on it and pulling at his fingers until the skin turns red.
“Asshole,” Dream mumbles into the steam of his tea, before his head snaps up to look at George, realisation sinking into his body the same way the hot drink did. “Wait-”
George laughs again, sharing in Dream’s disbelief, “When you didn’t deny it, oh my god, Dream.”
Dream puts the mug back on his bedside table before he ends up dropping it to the floor.
“George-” Dream doesn't know what he’s going to say, he doesn't know what’s happening.
“I froze. I think I genuinely went into fucking shock,” George continues, his eyes fixed on his hands and not on Dream– like he can’t bare to look.
Dream just stares at him, dumbfounded. “George, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying-” George takes a deep breath, clearly psyching himself up for it. “I’m in love with you, and if i’m right, you’re…”
“In love with you too.” Dream finishes, astonished.
George exhales, his shoulders relaxing like the most giant weight has left them. Dream knows the feeling.
“Yeah,” George breathes, “that.”
Dream cant help himself when he pulls George close, dragging him onto his lap and clutching him to his chest. He’s warmer than any cup of tea could ever be.
“Dream-” George shrieks, giggling as Dream burrows his face into his neck.
“Shut up,” he mumbles into George’s skin, breath hot against his skin. “You love me.”
Dream’s never going to get tired of saying that.
“I do,” George says, wrapping himself around Dream in return.
“I can’t believe you made me sit and hear about Oscar for six months when we could’ve just been together,” Dream says, faking anger. George laughs.
“Okay- yeah. But you’re the one who like- is emotionally mature, or whatever,” George defends. “Really this is your fault for just not telling me.”
“My-” Dream laughs in disbelief, hooking his arms under George to lift him off his lap and launch him onto the bed. “ My Fault!”
George is hysterical, breathless with his laughter, and it only gets worse when Dream crawls over to him, poking at his sides and tickling under his arms until he’s squealing and squirming.
“My fault!” he repeats, teasing George further until neither can speak for how hard they’re laughing.
When Dream looks back up at George’s face, he stops. George is flushed red and his hair is a mess across Dream’s pillow. He’s panting, desperately catching his breath and smiling so wide it must hurt. He’s beautiful, and he loves Dream.
“You love me,” Dream says once more, just enjoying that he can speak it into the universe– that it’s the truth. George loves him.
“I love you,” George agrees, reaching for Dream’s neck and pulling him closer, Dream slots between his thighs with George’s knees on either side of his hips.
With the purchase of his hand around the back of Dream’s neck, George pulls him down and crashes their mouths together.
Dream falls into it willingly, resting his arms on either side of George’s head and caging him in, pressing himself along the line of George’s body to kiss more– deeper– harder. George opens up for him beautifully, wrapping his legs around Dream’s hips and crossing his ankles on the small of Dream’s back, kissing him with complete fervour. He opens his mouth and lets Dream’s tongue explore, his own moving to take in Dream as well.
It’s embarrassing how quickly Dream hardens in his sweats, but when he subconsciously grinds down and meets George’s own growing interest, shame flies out the window. From the way George gasps, he can feel it too.
Lithe hands scramble their way under Dream’s shirt and he jolts at how cold they are, goosebumps ripple over his skin. George explores Dream’s torso with gentle fingers, smoothing over shallow rivets of muscle and little ridges of bone. The pad of George’s thumb brushes over Dream’s nipple and he gasps, surprised that it does something to him.
“That turns you on?” George asks when he breaks the kiss.
“Anything you do turns me on,” Dream says, pulling his shirt up and over his head when George’s hands get caught on the fabric.
“Even when I talk with food in my mouth?” George asks teasingly.
“Shut up.” Dream shuts him up with his mouth before George can even reply.
He kisses George senseless, kissing himself senseless too. All he knows is kiss George, love George . There's a damp spot in his boxers that’s rubbing uncomfortably over the head of his cock, and he wants to take them off, but he doesn't know how much he’s allowed to have.
George lifts his hips up into Dream, he’s fully hard now where his dick ruts against Dream’s abdomen. Dream grabs George’s hips, pulling him up when George rises and helpsGeorge grind himself against Dream.
“God- Dream.” George’s voice is already a mess, his lips shiny and swollen.
Dream kisses down his neck, sucking a mark into the junction where it meets his shoulder. George clutches to Dream’s back, nails digging in to hold onto him so tight, and he mindlessly rubs himself against Dream.
“I want you,” Dream confesses, grinding down again as George pushes up. “I want all of you, right now, this second.”
“Take me then,” George says, “I’ve gone long enough without you.”
Dream sits back on his heels and George comes with him, straddling his lap and clinging to him. Dream’s hands move to the hem of George’s shirt and he rushes to pull it off. George lets himself be detached from Dream for barely a second, and then his hands are on him again– clutching, touching, teasing.
Dream drags George closer, pulling his torso towards his mouth. He kisses and bites and licks every inch of reachable skin, eager and encouraged by how George pushes his chest further into Dream’s lips. He tries to lie George back against the bed to keep exploring, but George just won't let go of him, he holds Dream like if he lets go Dream would disappear.
“George, lie on the bed for me, please. Let me get to you.”
At that George throws his back against the mattress and Dream goes for his waistband. George lifts his hips into the air and Dream drags everything over and off George’s legs. His cock springs free and slaps against a pale stomach, flushed pink and drooling at the tip. Precum smears against George’s belly and Dream watches fascinated as it twitches at nothing.
“So beautiful- Fuck.” Dream takes George in hand, smoothing his thumb over the foreskin before wrapping his hand around and dragging it down to pull the skin back off the head.
Dream’s never seen a man with foreskin before– all the porn he’s watched they’ve been cut and so is he. Precum collects under the hood and pushes out as Dream moves his hand back up towards the head– It’s messier and Dream has to be careful not to drag too far down, but it's perfect and hot and George.
George, who’s a mess beneath Dream’s touch, already gasping and moaning, fucking into Dream’s fist when he doesnt move fast enough. He’s taking as much as Dream is.
“Can I fuck you?” Dream asks, twisting his fist on the upstroke to watch George’s thighs quiver.
“God- fuck. Please.” George seems only capable of single syllables, he’s so gone.
Dream leans over to the bedside, smiling at the now cooling cup of tea that got them here, retrieving his lube from the drawer, as well as a condom. He takes his sweats and underwear off before climbing between George’s thighs, unable to contain the smug grin when he sees George gulp as he eyes Dream’s cock.
He pours some lube onto his fingers, warming it in his hand before reaching down below George’s cock. George gasps and clenches when the tip of Dream’s index finger reaches his hole. Dream kisses him until he’s relaxed again, and then pushes in.
It’s everything Dream imagined and more, George is tight and hot around his finger. He’s so eager, already pushing back against Dream to take it further inside, and his face– god, his face. He’s flush from hairline to chest, jaw slack and eyebrows drawn together. There’s a hint that the stretch stings, but it's completely overpowered by pleasure. Once his finger is fully seated, he bends down to kiss and suck at George’s thigh while George breathes through the stretch.
“How’re you doing?” he asks, his free hand gliding up and down George’s side comfortingly.
“So good,” George breathes. He’s circling his hips slightly, grinding down on Dream’s finger with desperation and greed.
Dream draws the finger out slowly, wanting to take his time with George now that he has him– he never wants this to end. He works at George with one finger until there's little resistance, and then the second lubed digit slides in alongside the first. A precious little whimper falls from George’s lips, and Dream kisses it away.
While Dream works him open, George can’t keep his hands off him. They’re in Dream’s hair, stoking along his cheekbone, scratching at his neck, or smoothing along his chest– anywhere he can reach he’s touching, and it’s turning Dream on so much. When he realises from the angle they’re at he can reach Dream’s cock, it’s over for them both.
“ Shit- ” Dream’s cut off by his own moan, George dips his thumb into the slit to gather his precum, and then he smears it all over the head of Dream’s dick. He can only reach the tip, but he’s making it work and Dream’s falling apart, desperately trying to focus on prepping George so he can get inside.
He slides a third finger in and George takes it wonderfully, still grinding back onto Dream’s hand as he fumbles with his cock.
“I’m ready, Dream. Please.” George wraps his hand around Dream as best he can, trying to urge him forward to his hole.
“George-” Dream rests a hand on George’s hip, halting the movement. “Wait- I need to put a condom on. Fuck-” he gasps as George squeezes the head lightly, the pressure is dizzying.
George pouts, but he lets go. “I hate when you’re right about stuff. I’m going and getting tested first thing in the morning so we never have to use one again,” he huffs.
“Deal,” Dream says, smiling as he opens the foil of the condom with his teeth.
“Or not, actually,” George says, watching Dream’s face contort with confusion. He shrugs. “You opening that with your teeth was hot.”
Dream rolls his eyes, and then rolls the condom over his cock, slicking himself up before leaning down again between George’s legs.
They kiss, and it’s still one of the best things Dream has ever felt. He searches blindly, guiding his cock to George and pushing in, wanting to taste the air that leaves George’s lungs as he’s fucked into.
He tastes of tea and sugar, lust and love.
They’re both too overwhelmed to keep the kissing up, instead just panting into each other's mouths– hot breath fanning over their faces.
“God- Fuck George, I love you.”
George throws his head back and whines, he sounds inhuman– crazed and hungry.
Dream rolls his hips lightly, just rubbing himself inside George and they’re both already insane with it.
“Dream,” George’s voice pleads, reaching to Dream’s hips as if he can pull him deeper. There’s wetness brewing at the corner of George’s eye and Dream kisses it away.
“I wanna ride you,” George says, and Dream’s world stops. “Can I?”
Dream pulls back. “Can y-” he breathes, calming himself. “Yes- please. Fuck”
He rolls onto his back, bringing George with him so they don't have to separate for even a second. George moans when he lands on top of Dream’s hips, his cock pushed impossibly further into him.
“Your dick is insane,” he pants. Pride blooms in Dream’s chest.
“The best?” Dream asks, a voice in the back of his head ruining the moment thinking about what was said earlier.
“Let me use it and find out,” George says and Dream groans at how hot he is.
George holds Dream’s shoulder with one hand and the headboard with the other, then he pulls himself off Dream’s cock, tantalisingly slow. Dream can feel every second as the rim moves up his shaft and catches on the head. George has been prepped thoroughly, Dream made sure of it, yet still as he clenches around Dream before slamming back down on his cock, George is still mind-blowingly tight it makes his head spin.
Dream feels incoherent as George rides him– he’s never been in this position before where someone else is putting in most of the work, and honestly it’s not something he expected with George either. George likes to make Dream do the work in every aspect of their life, so for the bedroom to be different is… a pleasant surprise. But George looks so right doing it. Dream watches him from heavy-lidded eyes as he bounces on his cock and takes what he wants from Dream, dictating both of their pleasure. He looks like a god, ethereal and magnificent with perfect skin that's so delicately flushed, glistening with sweat. He grabs George’s hips, wanting to feel him underhand– wanting to make sure he’s real. He’s solid and hot beneath Dream’s palms, shivering as Dream trails his hands up his body.
His touch is featherlight, roaming across George’s skin in worship. He traces over moles and freckles he’s never been worthy of seeing before, he drags his fingernails through coarse hair below his belly button, across his chest. George’s nipples are perked in the chill of the air-conditioned room, and Dream wants to warm them until they’re puffy and soft in his mouth. He sits, grabbing George and shuffling them so his back sits against the headboard, the new angle pulls a beautiful mewl from George, clearly hitting his prostate as his thighs quiver.
Dream guides his hips, helping George ride him as his strength depletes, and leans forward to capture a nipple between his lips. George whimpers a beautiful, shocked sound when Dream swirls his tongue around the bud. Each movement of his mouth against George’s nipple creates a new sound for Dream to memorise, and he has to work hard to keep George riding his cock from how distracted by pleasure he’s become– at this point Dream’s fucking up into George more than George diving down onto him, but it doesnt matter because nothing has ever felt like this.
“Dream, I’m so close,” George breathes the words into Dream’s ears, whining and wrecked on Dream’s cock, fucking Dream, touching Dream– Loving Dream.
He holds George bruisingly, pulling him down onto his dick and aiming for his prostate every time. He fucks up in synchronisation, slamming himself so deep to chase both their ends. All George can do is hold desperately to Dream’s shoulders for balance, using all his strength to keep bouncing. Little moon-shaped crescents are crafted by George into the constellations of Dream’s freckles on his shoulders.
Dream tries to reach between them, to fist at George’s cock and bring him over the edge, but George quickly swats the hand away.
“No, wanna cum like this,” he pants, “wanna cum untouched for you.”
Dream looks at him like he is the moon, the stars, the sun– everything in between. He is the universe.
“You are my everything,” Dream feels tears spring to his eyes as his climax approaches.
George lets out a beautiful cry in return, and then he’s cumming. He spills untouched, spurting from his cock and across Dream’s chest like shooting stars. His hole pulses around Dream, still riding himself through orgasm, and pushing himself into overstimulation. He whines and whimpers, little broken high-pitched noises and jolts of overwhelming pleasure until Dream gives one final, hard thrust and cums into the condom with an earth-shattering moan.
George collapses against him, sweat and cum smearing between their chests and Dream’s cock still pressing inside him. “Jesus,” he whispers, still rolling his hips slightly to enjoy the hum of pleasure from Dream’s softening cock hitting his prostate.
Dream huffs out an exhausted laugh. “No,” he says, “It’s Dream, actually.”
George groans, clearly unimpressed but Dream can feel the smile against his skin. “You’re an idiot, actually.”
“An idiot who just made you cum,” Dream says.
“Hell yeah you did. Good job,” George replies, and then snorts a laugh when he feels Dream’s dick twitch weakly inside him at the praise.
“Should we clean up?” Dream asks, stroking his hands up and down the cooling skin on George’s back. George shakes his head, nuzzling further into the crook of Dream’s neck.
“Not yet,” he says, “I wanna feel you for a little bit longer.”
Dream holds him tighter, settling in his bones as they press close. His cum cooling inside the condom feels awful, and their chests are sticking with George’s release, but the warmth feels like home and Dream doesn’t want to let go– he doesn't want to pull out, either. He could live the rest of his life seated in George, clutching to George.
Eventually though, regular breathing and sense comes back to them, and George shivers against Dream in a way not derived from his pleasure.
Dream slips his soft cock from George, careful to bring the condom with him. He ties it and discards it in the waste basket beside his bed. He keeps George close, pulling him from the bed and holding him close as they traipse into the bathroom.
Dream turns on his shower, it’s an impressive and over-extravagant thing with a large rainfall shower head fitted to the ceiling, and it’s far too big for one person. There's a tiled bench along the back of the shower, so you can sit in there. He stands with his hand under the water until its a comfortable temperature, letting steam fog up the room as he guides George to the bench and sits him down. He winces as his ass hits the tile.
“I’m sore,” he whines. “Your dick made me sore.”
George says it as though it’s a problem Dream can fix for him, as though it's a hundred percent his fault and his responsibility.
“You’re the one who wanted to ride my ‘insane’ dick,” he huffs, fond and proud, “what did you expect?”
George rolls his eyes, realising his mistake as Dream will never let that comment go. “Worth it.”
Dream stands under the spray while George leans back against the shower wall, eyes closed and basking in the steam.
Hot water washes away the sweat and sin from Dream’s body, he makes quick work of washing himself down and shampooing his hair. Once the conditioner is smoothed through the ends of his curls he turns to George and extends his hand. George groans but lets himself be dragged under the water. Dream holds George’s back to his chest, washing him with tenderness and peppering little kisses into his skin. He mouths lazily at George’s neck, rinsing him with his own body wash, his own shampoo. George smells like him.
When he reaches down to wash George’s cock, he gasps, and Dream is surprised to find him fully hard. “You’re…”
George turns in Dream’s grasp, pressing his erection against Dream’s stomach.
“You’re insatiable.” Dream grins teasingly.
“We’re naked, and you’re kissing me, and playing with my hair” George defends, “and you’re hot and I’m in love with you. It’s just biology.”
Dream can't ignore the way he grinds not so subtly against Dream’s hip, or the fact he freely admits his love for Dream. He won't make a big deal out of it though, he won't.
“Do you wanna go again?” he asks.
George nods. “Do you?”
“I don’t- i dont think I can come twice,” he says,” but I wanna get you off.”
“Simp,” George giggles.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dream says with a roll of his eyes. “Where do you want me?”
George looks around the shower, thoughtful, before moving to sit back on the tiled bench. He spreads his knees to accommodate something– something wide. Like Dream’s shoulders maybe. Dream drops to his knees wordlessly, a dull thud and aching pain as bone hits the tile. George’s dick rests proud against his stomach, beautiful and desperate. Dream doesn't make him wait, he reaches and wraps his hand around the head, pulling the foreskin back and jerking him off.
“I love this,” he says, smoothing his thumb over where George is uncut.
“My foreskin?” George asks, his voice is already fading to an aroused whisper.
“Yeah, it’s- I don’t know. I just love it.” He shrugs, ending the conversation by wrapping his mouth around the tip.
George’s cock is salty and bitter, there's a tang from his earlier release and then a sweeter mix from new precum forming. It’s addictive, it’s George.
Dream sinks down, laving his tongue on the underside to touch as much of George as he can. He hears a faint sound when George’s head hits the shower wall, and George moans softly when Dream hollows his cheeks.
“So good,” he says, “so, so good, Dream.”
Dream chokes on a whine from the praise, the vibrations heading straight to George who moans again in response. He threads his fingers through Dream’s hair, even though it’s still slippery from the conditioner, and he tugs, causing another whine from Dream.
“ Ha- I knew you’d like that,” George laughs breathlessly, already panting as Dream bobs up and down on his cock.
He pulls up to the head of George’s cock, dipping a pointed tongue into the slit and around where the skin is rolled back just to taste before popping off. “I do, alot, but I don't want to get hard again, so don’t.” He warns, lighthearted. George grasps his hair more lightly, rolling his eyes at Dream but complying.
He takes George back to the hilt, barely gagging when George hits the back of his throat. Pride swells in his chest when he realises that George’s cock fits perfectly in his mouth, like it’s fucking made to measure. He sets a fast pace, hollowed cheeks and tight lips, this isn't about drawing it out and ruining George, this is about his pleasure, his need, his want. George twitches frantically against his tongue, and Dream knows he must be close when his moans pitch higher. His hand dips below George’s balls, circling George’s still-stretched rim. He only means to tease outside to make it feel better, to push George closer faster. But when George sobs, begs Dream for his fingers, he complies.
Two slide in easily, and he makes light work of finding George’s already sensitive prostate, revelling in the moan he gets when he finds it so easily.
“God, Dream- fuck I’m cumming.” And then he does, hot release fills Dream’s throat and he chokes it down, only a small dribble escaping him and sliding out the corner of his mouth.
George sags back against the tile in his afterglow, satisfied smile on his face. He reaches to thumb the spill away from Dream’s lips and rinses his hand under the shower before coming back to cradle Dream’s cheek where it rests against his inner thigh.
He sighs, moving his hand to card through Dream’s hair again– gently like he’d asked before. “That was awesome,” he says. Dream simply hums in reply, sleepy from the sex and the sucking and the steam.
“C’mon idiot, rinse out your conditioner so we can go to bed,” George says, trying to shove Dream from his thigh. He doesn't budge, instead he whines and nuzzles closer, his nose tickled by George’s pubes. A fond chuckle falls from George, and another muttered idiot .
He stands, gently guiding Dream’s head under the shower and begins to rinse out the conditioner. “This has been in so long, your hair’s gonna be like- super soft.”
Dream hums again, content with how George scratches at his scalp, he covers George’s thighs, hips and stomach in beautiful little kisses. He basks in how he can do this– how they can do this, him and George .
Once the conditioner is rinsed down the drain, George pulls Dream up on shaky knees. They hold each other under the hot water, kissing again and again like they’re starving for one another, before Dream turns the faucet off and pulls them out the shower and into fluffy white towels.
They ignore the mess they’ve made of Dream’s sheets– pretend they aren’t there as they walk through his room and towards George’s in silent agreement. Dream tries not to think about when George washed his sheets last as they climb under the covers bare. At least there isn’t cum and sweat on his comforter, he grimaces at the thought of the laundry tomorrow.
George climbs into the bed beside him, their skin still slightly damp and their hair leaving drip marks on the pillows.
“Hi,” Dream greets him as George scoots into his arms.
“Hi,” George replies, kissing tenderly at Dream’s shoulder and neck.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” George says in return.
Dream hopes he never has to make another cup of tea again.