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Dream is just about to board the flight to San Diego when his personal phone rings from his back pocket. George is already past the final check-in, waiting for Dream to hand the air hostess his boarding pass. He’s looking at Dream confused, also not sure who would be phoning Dream’s personal number when he said they’d be unavailable because of their flights.
Dream apologetically smiles toward the air hostess and steps out of the line, holding his phone up to his ear to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Clay Davidson?” a woman asks. Even though he’s done it for months now, Dream’s heart always flutters when he hears his name combined with George’s. It feels right, and Dream would listen to it all day on repeat if he could.
Because he’s such a nice friend, he always pays for their hotels when George, Sapnap, and he travel for work or pleasure. He’s always a little worried about stalkers and people trying to doxx them, so he uses George’s surname when he books places. ‘Clay Davidson’ is a little on the nose, but it’s better than people finding out his whole government name and looking him up on Facebook or the White Pages or something.
It’s also a bonus that he can fuel his mind with the thought of George reciprocating his feelings, but that’s beside the point.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Dream says with a smile. He doesn’t mean for it to be so pronounced, but he can’t help it.
“Are you booked with the Four Seasons Hotel starting from tonight until three days from now?”
“Yes, I am. Is there a problem?”
“We’re unable to process your payment for the room, unfortunately.” Dream’s heart drops. Even though it’s been years since he’s had to worry about anything like that, his stomach churns over the fact that he might be all out of money, and he’s over-ambitiously booked a holiday when they can’t afford it. They’re only going to San Diego for a business dinner with a few CEOs from Twitch and YouTube, so if worse comes to worse he can claim the expense on tax. He’s well aware that he’s going in over his head with worry. George seems to notice as he’s starting to walk back up the tunnel, and he’s getting the attention of the air hostess.
“Well–uh–I should definitely have money on that card. I can give you another one to try?” Dream suggests, sitting on a cramped airport seat. There’s gum stuck to the armrest and Dream thinks it’ll be just his luck if it ends up on his jacket sleeve.
“Well, we haven’t actually run your card yet.” Dream makes a confused noise, which the woman on the phone picks up on. “The name you’ve given us is different to the one on your card, sir. Unfortunately, we can’t confirm bookings with us if the name on the booking and the payment method don’t match.”
“Isn’t that, like, a privacy infringement?” Dream asks, shooting George a look that tells him to stay there, but he ignores him as he leaves the check-in area, his hand luggage in tow.
“It’s a new safety measure. The hotel company, as well as many others, are cracking down on some of the safety regulations to ensure the safety and security of our guests,” the woman explains. “It’s quite common for criminals to change their name in a hotel booking as a means to hide from the police. What I’m asking, basically, is that you confirm your identity so I can run your card and you can commence your stay in our hotel.”
“Yeah, okay, right.” Dream runs a hand through his hair just as George comes up beside him, confusion written on his face.
“… Sir, are you Clay Davidson or are you Clay N—”
“Yes. Yes, sorry I am.” Dream takes a deep breath, looking at George to apologize for the hell that he knows is about to fall from his mouth. He’s not the best at thinking on the spot. “I’ve just gotten married. I took my husband’s name, and I haven’t had a chance to change everything over just yet. You know how hard it is traveling with a new name and such.”
The woman laughs. “Oh, I’ve heard. So is it you and your husband staying with us?”
“Yes. Sorry for the confusion. When I booked the hotel I must have been excited with all the wedding haze. Is that enough proof of who I am? We’re flying in from Orlando, so we can show our passports as alternative identification.”
“That would be great, thank you, Mr. Davidson. Sorry for the miscommunication and I will inform you that you will be reimbursed for the inconvenience this call may have caused.”
Dream braves a look at George, who is smirking at him with humor dancing in his eyes. Dream’s shoulders slump a little in relief. They can be fake married for a few days and George isn’t going to drastically change his opinions on him.
“That isn’t necessary, but thank you.”
“The hotel insists. Thank you, Mr. Davidson. My name is Rebecca, I will see you when you check in later today.” She hangs up before Dream has a chance to say goodbye.
He lowers the phone almost gingerly, looking at George sheepishly over the lie he just told. Why was being married to George the first thing that jumped to his mind? Why didn’t he just tell Rebecca that he’s a celebrity and he’s worried about being stalked?
“So we’re newlyweds?” George asks, barely able to get the words out around his mocking smile.
“I panicked,” Dream says with a groan. “Is that okay? Sorry, I should have checked with you before—”
“It’s fine, Dream, I think it’s funny.” Dream deflates slightly. “Come on, we need to get on the plane. I think the stewardess is pissed I left the tarmac to get you.”
“That’s not the tarmac, but yeah, let’s go.” Dream hikes his backpack up his shoulder a little more and follows George to the check-in gate, handing his boarding pass to the stewardess with an apologetic smile. She doesn’t say anything as she checks the details, just tears off the piece they need and sends them on their way inside.
They’re in first class, and even though the divider window is usually up between them, it is pushed down the second they’re in the air and able to.
“So…” George says, sipping on a glass of apple juice. “When did we meet?”
Dream groans. “Do we need to come up with a big backstory?”
“You guys were on the phone for a while. I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Dream?”
“She just wanted me to confirm that my name was Clay Davidson, because it’s different on my card,” Dream explains.
“Isn’t that a privacy violation?” Dream expresses his agreement through an intoned hum. “What was her name?”
“Rebecca. She’ll be checking us in this afternoon too.”
“Okay, so we just tell her we’re together.” George shrugs. “Give me one of your rings.”
“What? Why?”
“Because we’re married? Duh.” George reaches out and takes Dream’s hands in his. Dream ignores the sizzling in his heart as George traces the rings on his fingers, moving one from one hand to the other, to adorn his ring finger, and he takes both of Dream’s pinky rings for himself.
They barely fit on his own ring finger, a fact that Dream tries to ignore given they’re on a plane. He’s not joining the mile-high club with his right hand.
“Why do you need two?”
“Wedding and engagement. You just love me so bad, don’t you Dream?” he teases, laughing when Dream groans. “We’ll go to the hotel before we go to the restaurant, right?”
“Yeah, we’ll have time to get ready there.” Dream pulls his hands back and tucks them into his lap, hoping George can’t see where he’s twirling his new ‘wedding ring’ around on his finger. “Drop the bags off then get an Uber to the place.”
“Our wedding was Christmas-themed, by the way,” George says, holding his hand out in front of him to look at the way silver adorns his skin. “Just because. I can have my fun too.”
Dream laughs and shakes his head. He leans back against the plush of the plane chairs and his eyes droop with exhaustion. This trip to San Diego is the last thing he wants right now, but they need to talk with the CEOs of the companies they work for even though he doesn’t want to.
“I’ll keep that in mind, dear,” Dream hums. “I’m gonna nap. Have to look well-rested and happy when we meet Rebecca. You know, convince her and everything.”
“There won’t be a doubt in her mind,” George says as Dream closes his eyes. The ring burns against his finger, and sleep comes easy with his husband beside him, whether it’s fake or not.
“I can’t fucking believe they lost my suitcase,” George grumbles as they get out of the Uber and Dream opens the trunk to reveal one lone suitcase. “Like, seriously. How do you lose a suitcase?”
“Well, it was black and the same size as about a hundred others, babe,” Dream replies. He’s already knee-deep in the pet names. They feel natural falling from his tongue. “It’ll probably turn up in a couple of days, and if not, we can get you new stuff.”
George pushes his hair back. It’s messed up from the frustration, and Dream fixes it tentatively. George smiles softly, like the touch means something to him too. “Let’s get this show on the road, baby. My husband, mon amour.”
“Idiot,” Dream says fondly, grabbing the handle of George’s small suitcase and following George into the hotel’s revolving doors.
The hotel is decked out in Christmas decorations, every surface that could hold some sort of decor sports it. There are wreaths on the doors to the bathrooms, tinsel lining the windows, and a large Christmas tree in the center of the room, every branch adorned with fake snow and gold and red ornaments. Large star decorations hang from the ceiling beside the chandelier, and the banisters of the grand staircase are lined with Christmas lights that twinkle blue and green.
George gushes, threading his arm through Dream’s, and points excitedly over at the elevator, which has twin tables on either side decorated with bowls of peppermints and ornaments. Dream feels like he’s stepped into a Hallmark movie.
“Look, babe, oh my God, it’s just like the centerpieces!” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The act has started.
Dream laughs and pulls George forward, taking them closer to the reception desk where a woman with blonde hair smiles at them expectedly. “I thought you’d like it here, honey.”
“Hello! Welcome in, you must be Mr. and Mr. Davidson. I’m Rebecca,” she says, teeth white and straight where she grins. She looks down at her monitor for a moment and types a few things in. “I’d like to extend my apologies for our call earlier, Mr Davidson.”
“Rebecca, please, it really is no trouble.” Dream waves a hand in front of him, dismissing the situation. Rebecca frowns. “We’re just happy we’re here in one piece.”
“Can you believe it, the airline lost my luggage. And on my honeymoon,” George says. He’s saying it just to complain about it, but Rebecca’s mouth drops in shock and pity, and Dream wants to commend George for his quick thinking. “And the turbulence was horrible. I really just want to get off my feet before we go to dinner tonight.”
“Oh that’s such a shame, I’m so sorry, Mr. Davidson, Rebecca says, and it sounds sincere. “Where are you off to for dinner?”
“We have a reservation for The Star,” Dream replies.
Rebecca’s eyes widen, and she shoots a look at George. “Wow, he must really love you. My partner has never taken me to The Star.”
“Yeah, he’s good to me,” George says, leaning into Dream’s chest. He gets the hint and wraps his arms around George’s middle, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I can’t believe I got to marry him.”
“Congratulations! You two look like a great couple.” Rebecca tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “When was your wedding? I know I’m nosey but I want to hear all about it.”
George smiles and leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “A couple of days ago. On the seventeenth, you know, not too cold yet but not regular Florida weather.” Rebecca nods attentively. “And, wow, it was just so magical. Seeing all our family together in one place like that, and everyone getting along. It turned out even better than I imagined.”
“We spent a long time planning and making everything perfect for the special day,” Dream adds, squeezing George’s shoulders.
“I love Christmas, like, really love Christmas, so the wedding was of course Christmas-themed! We had little wreaths as the centerpieces and– and! Our wedding cake was little Christmas tree-shaped brownies. You know no one ever eats the cake, so we wanted something on theme and something everyone would love. I think Clay’s brother ate most of it, but it was used so I don’t mind.”
Dream smiles at George as he continues to gush about their wedding. Their fake wedding, yet he seems to have everything under control, everything planned and little anecdotes that feel so real Dream wants to commit them to memory, so he can experience them too. He feels like there are Christmas lights in his stomach, lighting up and tickling him with every doting comment George says about how he looked in his suit, and how the officiant was George’s grandfather and he wore a red suit, and how they had mistletoe over the arch where they were officially wed. Dream finds himself yearning for it all to be true.
“It sounds wonderful, Mr. Davdison, really, I’m envious.”
“Please, call me George. And my husband, Clay. Oh my God, my husband! Can you believe it? It’s so surreal.” George giggles and leans back into Dream’s embrace.
“I can barely believe it’s real. It’s been a long time coming.” Dream tells Rebecca as he kisses the side of George’s head.
“Do you have any photos?” Rebecca asks with a smile.
Dream freezes. Photos? Why didn’t he think about people asking for photos? They were doing so well with this, and now it’s going to fail because he didn’t think of something as simple as photos.
“We had an unplugged ceremony. Clay and I use so much technology for work we just wanted to step away from everything for a while, you know? We hired a photographer and he’s editing and putting all those magical touches on everything before we even get to see them,” George supplies, looking at Dream for a split second of reassurance before kissing his shoulder. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket. “I took photos of all the table decor. And the arch before we walked down the aisle, let me show you those.”
Rebecca nods enthusiastically, leaning over the counter to look at George’s personal phone. He’s swiping through a surprising amount of images of the things he’s described, aisles with tinsel and Christmas lights, wreaths on tables, and white chairs with big Christmas ribbons looped into bows on the back.
Something catches the light beneath the counter, and Dream tilts his head until he can see the glittering diamond ring on Rebecca’s finger, adorning the same finger that holds two rings on George’s hand.
“Looking for ideas?” Dream asks with a nod.
Rebecca sheepishly smiles and lifts her hands above the counter, displaying the impressive engagement ring for both of them to see. “God, yes. He asked me like a week ago but I’m already so stressed.”
George expresses his congratulations and takes her hand, pulling it slightly closer to his face to watch the way the gem reflects the light.
Dream hums in agreement. “Tell me about it. We were engaged for almost two years before we finally decided on everything that we were going to have. Very, very stressful.”
“Right? Like, there’s so much to do and so much to double-check. I don’t even want to think about it. I get excited then stressed then excited again.”
George laughs and lets go of Rebecca’s hand. “It’s beautiful, really. Your fiance picked well. I wish Clay bought me a ring with a little more bling like yours.”
Rebecca blushes again and returns her hands under the desk. “It’s not just about the bling, Mr. Davidson.”
George hums. “I suppose not.”
“Oh shush, you, at least you got an engagement ring.” Dream places his left hand on the counter to show Rebecca the single wedding band on his finger. George’s hand comes to rest on top of his, showing off his two rings.
“Oh, you proposed, Clay?” Dream nods. “How romantic. Ah, I’m so happy for you two. Congratulations on the wedding and now the honeymoon. What else are you going to do while you’re here?”
“I’m not sure.” Dream looks over at George. “Whatever makes him happy. It’s nice to be away from work. I’m most looking forward to spending time with my baby on Christmas without having to leave him to go to the office.”
Rebecca tilts her head to the side and coos. “Well, I wish you a very merry Christmas, Mr. and Mr. Davidson.” She stands from her chair and grabs one of the keys hanging up behind her. All the keychains have a small Christmas bell linked to them. “Room 909. Because of the inconvenience and stress the name problem may have caused earlier, the hotel has upgraded you two to the honeymoon suite. Enjoy your stay with us.”
Before Dream can protest, George smiles widely and takes the key from her. “Thank you, Rebecca. Merry Christmas.”
Dream follows George to the elevator and laughs as he takes a handful of peppermint sweets out of the bowl, unwrapping and putting one in his mouth and pocketing some more. The elevator dings and some other hotel goers come out, laughing with red faces from alcohol or joy.
Rebecca calls out to them from across the hall, “Look up!”
Dream and George look up to see a small cluster of mistletoe above the threshold of the elevator, and then look back at each other with widened eyes. They didn’t talk about maybe having to kiss to seal their fake marriage ploy. The people who left the elevator laugh and kiss each other’s cheeks, but they look like they’re related, so Dream knows that he can’t cop out with a temple kiss like they were doing before.
“Oh, love,” Dream says, painting a smile that he hopes is loving.
George’s eyes twinkle, reflecting flashing Christmas lights and suddenly it’s just them in the room. There are no strangers next to them and Rebecca isn’t eagerly watching as their love is confirmed in a press of lips against lips. George’s lips seem to be calling him, and they’re slick with spit and peppermint and Dream can’t stop himself as he leans in and presses their lips flush together.
George kisses back. George kisses back and it’s soft and it tastes like peppermint and it’s everything Dream has ever dreamed of. And then it’s gone all too quickly. George pulls away with a laugh and a shy smile toward Rebecca, and he steps backward into the elevator, wiggling his finger semi-seductively for Dream to follow, and he does, like a lost puppy.
The doors start to close behind them as George leans around Dream to press the button for the ninth floor, and when the doors finally shut, he laughs.
“That was so fun,” he says, clutching his stomach.
It’s George, so he probably doesn’t mean anything bad by it, but something in his stomach churns unhappily. “Lying to that poor girl.”
“I can't believe how unprepared you were,” George replies. “You’re lucky I went through Pinterest while you were snoring your head off on the plane.”
Dream blushes. “I don’t snore that loudly.” There’s an odd silence as the elevator rises to their floor, neither of them wanting to start a conversation they don’t want to have. What was that kiss? Why did it feel so real? Why did George sound so excited when he was talking about his fake wedding?
The doors ding when they open, and the hallway to their floor is just as decorated as the lobby downstairs. Wreaths adorn every door, and looping green holly tinsel lines the roof. The hotel really spared no expense this season.
As George is unlocking the door to room 909, Dream asks, “Why did you accept the honeymoon suite upgrade?”
“Free shit. And I thought it would be fun.” George shrugs and pushes the door open, standing to the side and holding it open so Dream can walk through with the luggage in tow. He looks around as he walks further into their room, notes the bathroom with twin sinks and a large bathtub, a small kitchenette, a living room with a decorated coffee table and one bed.
One bed…
“Oh,” George says as he appears behind Dream. “I didn’t think that through.”
“Well, we can’t change now,” Dream laughs. He takes his suitcase to the rack on the side of the room and pulls the curtains open, revealing the balcony that overlooks San Diego.
“That’s okay. We can share the bed. If that’s okay with you.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Oh you don’t mind, do you? What else don’t you mind?” George asks, and it’s in this sultry tone that makes Dream look at him. There’s a glint in George’s eyes that dares Dream to combat, and something tells Dream this isn’t their usual banter. There’s something else here. Maybe this kiss woke something up in George, too.
Dream swallows, tilting his neck from side to side to crack it. “We should get ready. It’ll be best if we get to the restaurant early.”
George hums in agreement, but his eyes tell Dream that they’re not done with this conversation. “I’ll get dressed out here, you can use the bathroom.”
Dream hastily unzips his suitcase and removes the two dress bags that are inside; one Dream’s suit and one George’s. He’s glad that his bag wasn’t the one to go missing on the flight, because they would be fucked if they didn’t look presentable tonight. It’s the only time everyone in attendance is available at the same time, and the fact that it’s only a handful of days before Christmas has made everyone a little antsy.
Dream doesn’t think they really need to meet up with the CEOs of Twitch and YouTube, they’re fine doing what they’re doing now, and what could they even want to talk about? But George convinced him it would be a good idea, and they’d be able to get away from life for a few days while they were in San Diego.
The soaps in the bathroom are all Christmas-themed. There’s a plastic reindeer in the corner of the tub and Dream has to snort at it and the overall corniness of everything. It really is a Hallmark movie.
There’s peppermint shampoo, mistletoe-scented room spray, which Dream makes the mistake of spraying in the direction of his neck instead of away from him, and cinnamon cookie-scented hand wash. Dream wouldn’t be surprised if there was an Elf on the Shelf hiding somewhere in the room too. He dresses quickly, as George’s debacle with losing his bag earlier has caused them to lose most of their leeway time in getting prepared for the dinner.
He leaves the bathroom as he’s tucking his shirt into his dress pants, and Geogre’s back is facing him as he adjusts his tie. When he turns around, Dream’s jaw drops and he has to physically restrain himself before he starts drooling. George looks good. Like, really good.
He blushes under the attention. “You look good.”
“Thanks,” Dream replies, and his voice is embarrassingly raspy. He clears his throat. “We should get going. I don’t know how long the Uber wait will be or how much traffic is in this part of the city.”
George nods and slides his phone and wallet into his pocket. He hands the key to Dream and stops in front of him, hands gingerly reaching out to unbutton the top button of his shirt. “Just be yourself. They’re not going to fire you or anything, they already love you.”
Dream nods and it eases his anxiety a little bit, but not entirely.
As they leave their hotel room, Dream notes the mistletoe hanging directly above the entryway. He also notes how George looks up at it, then back at Dream, then walks out into the hallway, quickly like he’s hiding something.
George slams the door behind them as they enter the hotel room after their dinner. Dream knows why he’s a little upset, Dream is for the same reason.
He completely froze. He’s great at talking to people usually, he’s amazing at conversing with higher-ups and convincing them that he’s a good person and should get a raise, or different benefits or whatever.
The night didn’t go bad. It actually went amazing, super smooth, and now both Dream and George have the all-clear to stream on YouTube and Twitch until their contracts finish. But that is all thanks to George. George and his amazing mouth, his amazing speaking skills, and his ability to advocate for their content in a way Dream never could.
George didn’t do all the talking, but he did do a lot of it. But how could Dream not be distracted by George’s mouth closing over the top of his straw, of his hands gripping his cutlery tightly, of his fingers, which were still adorned in Dream’s rings, declaring him as his? Dream doesn’t know if he noticed, but he definitely said ‘my partner’ a lot more than he usually does when he talks about George when they’re talking about their career.
George grabs Dream’s wrist and pulls him back into his chest, pulling his face down and pressing their lips together. Dream is shocked, but damn, as if he’s going to deny an opportunity to kiss George. The moment he starts to kiss back, George pulls away and glares at Dream.
“What was all that about?” He starts pushing Dream back from the entryway and further into the room. “I’m your partner and you’re so obsessed with my hands?”
“I blanked, I’m sorry,” Dream replies, hands coming to rest on either side of George’s neck, holding him delicately like he’s made of porcelain. “I couldn’t think properly when you’re, like, burning next to me flaunting that we’re ‘married’.”
“So that’s why you told Rebecca we were married. You wanted this for a while.” George grins and stands on his tiptoes to kiss Dream again. And again and again. He moves his lips against Dream’s like he’s trying to tell him everything he’s ever felt. Dream just melts into it.
“I blanked then too.” Dream licks along George’s bottom lip but he pulls away before he can gain access. “I might blank more often if you’re going to do this.”
George lets out a soft moan when Dream bites on his bottom lip, and his hands drop from Dream’s shoulders to his ass, and he squeezes, hard.
“Let me do all the talking, and now you think you can just have this.” George squeezes Dream’s ass again, and closes his eyes at the sound Dream lets out. “God. You’re lucky I have feelings for you.”
“You do?” Dream asks, voice intoned with hope and pleasure. His cock is beginning to grow interested in their actions, and he shyly grinds his hips into George’s.
“So bad. You think you were the only one struggling at dinner? You look so fucking good in your suit, it’s killing me, Dream,” George groans, shoving Dream a little closer to the bed. “I even called you Clay Davidson at one point, like fuck. Fuck, Clay Davidson.”
Dream moans and his head tilts back, George immediately makes a home there and presses his lips all along the exposed side, leaving no inch untouched.
“Yours,” he whispers. And he doesn’t mean to, but George’s moan of desperation makes it all worth it.
George lies a hand in the center of Dream’s chest delicately for a moment, then roughly pushes him down. He bounces on the king-sized bed and props himself up with his elbows. He’s staring intently at George, the man who sports darkened eyes highlighted with arousal.
“Let me take care of you,” he says, crawling on top of him and sitting himself directly on top of Dream’s crotch. He pushes at Dream’s shoulders until he’s lying flat, then caresses his arms and neck, leaning down to drag his lips over the side of Dream’s face. “Let me take care of you. I’ve waited for so long.”
Dream can do nothing but nod, throat dry and mind blank. He clears his throat, but has to do it again and he decides not to say anything. He knows his voice would be wavered and he doesn’t want to give George the satisfaction of it.
George bites in the center of Dream’s neck, and he moans, arching his back up into George. His hands rush to the back of George’s neck to pull him off and to stop him from marking in a place so obvious, but George laps over the forming bruise with his tongue, sucking softly and pulling whimpers of pleasure out of Dream.
“You don’t want me to bite here? Are you worried about people seeing?” George asks, pouting softly and Dream nods before he realizes George is mocking. He presses his thumb into the newly formed hickey and laughs darkly when Dream hisses. “Let them. They need to know that you’re mine. My husband.”
That has no business being as hot as it is. Dream’s eyes roll back a little at the name, and he can feel his cock filling with arousal at a rate that should be embarrassing, but he finds that he doesn’t care. He’s wanted this for a long time, maybe even longer than George has.
George’s fingers delicately trace along the buttons of Dream’s dress shirt, feeling like live wires against every concealed rib. Dream’s body twitches and arches at the soft touches. His face feels like it’s on fire, filled with bashfulness and the need to flip them over and fuck George until he’s finished. But he doesn’t; he lets George take his time. Something in his head tells him it’ll be worthwhile.
George presses open-mouthed kisses around Dream’s neck, ignoring the almost pained whines when his tongue prods into the love bite from before, ignoring the high-pitched one when George roughly undoes a button to gain access beneath his collar, and sinks his teeth around flesh that seems to be calling his name.
“Fuck,” he groans lowly, and the rasp of his voice goes straight to Dream’s dick. “You taste like mistletoe.”
Dream laughs, and effectively melts when George pulls away from his neck just to watch him. He feels like there’s Christmas bells in his stomach, dinging to the perfect tune of George.
“And you taste like peppermint,” he says.
“Look at us.”
“Only the best for my Christmas-obsessed husband,” Dream replies, rolling his hips to punctuate the name.
George’s head falls forward as he grinds down onto Dream with force, intention. They moan in unison, like a carol. “That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.” He busies his fingers with unbuttoning Dream’s shirt, going slowly, agonizing. Every brush of skin on skin makes Dream’s heart beat a little faster, and he’s panting by the time his shirt is off. “I never thought I’d get to call you my husband, even as a joke.”
“I never thought we’d be here,” Dream says, sitting up on his tailbone just enough to take the shirt off from his arms. “You on my lap making me feel so good.”
George smiles, pulling Dream’s face to his own to kiss him lightly. “Thought you’d be pining forever?” He bites on Dream’s lip when he hums in response. “Did you bring lube and condoms with you?”
Dream groans, and it’s not in satisfaction. “No, I didn’t.” And before George gets a chance to butt in, “I didn’t expect to be fucking you, or anyone on this trip. So I didn’t bring anything. Did you?”
“No.” George sighs and leans back off Dream. His own dress pants are tented obscenely and Dream’s mouth waters just looking at the bulge.
“I can just suck you off? We can get some from Walmart tomorrow,” Dream offers, rubbing his hands up and down George’s thighs just to touch. “I don’t think any place will be open this late.”
George groans and his face fills with color. “Do you think they’ll have some here?”
Dream raises an eyebrow. “Uh… no? I didn’t see any in the bathroom—” He ignores George’s pointed look that asks him why he was looking. “—and I doubt there’d be any out here. Maybe there’s a vending machine in one of the lobby bathrooms. Do you want me to look?”
“No wait,” George says, and crawls off Dream and reaches for the telephone on the bedside table. He looks at it for a second before dialing a number and holding it to his ear. He fiddles with the cord of the line, and Dream doesn’t know if he’s doing it to be provocative or just because he can. “Hi, Rebecca, it’s George from room 909.”
Dream’s eyes go wide and he swats at George’s leg, who just glares back at him with a small smile on his face.
“Super embarrassing, but remember how I told you the airline lost one of our bags? It had… uh… things that we need in it, if you know what I mean.” He pauses, waiting for Rebecca to reply. “Like sex stuff. I was wondering if the hotel had any? Or if I need to send my husband to a 7/Eleven or something.”
Dream covers his face with his hands, mortification coating his entire body in a sheen of shame. It bubbles in his stomach, but he can’t tear himself away from it. He loves how it feels when George tells someone about him, like his own version of an exhibitionist kink.
“That would be great. Thank you, Rebecca. If you could leave them at the door and knock that would also be superb, I don’t want to expose myself to you by accident.” George bids his goodbyes and hangs up the phone, looking at Dream with hopeful yet mischievous eyes. “We’re about to fuck and it’s going to be great.”
Dream laughs as George crawls back over him and kisses him, pushing him back against the bed and straddling him once again. Their tongues move together in a push and pull, uncoordinated as they focus more on unbuckling Dream’s belt and shucking off his pants.
George’s hand comes down to cup Dream’s bulge, and he moans unapologetically into his partner's mouth. The hand squeezes, and Dream may as well be dead.
It’s a race to undress George, then, his tie half-loosened before it’s ripped from his throat and joins the pile of clothes on the floor. George makes this delicious choking sound when Dream pulls too hard, and it fills him with so much desire he bites on George’s Adam’s apple to remind himself to revisit that later. George’s shirt is unbuttoned quickly, Dream’s hands shaking at the speed and because George’s are covering them, trying to help but really just touching too much and screwing with Dream’s focus.
George’s pants are easier to undo than Dream’s were, and they’re slid off his body so it’s just him in his boxers, opened shirt, and a look in his eyes that can only be described as hungry. Dream is close already.
A knock sounds at the door, and they both freeze, seemingly forgetting that they had essentially ordered room service.
“I’m walking away now! Enjoy your stay with us, Mr. and Mr. Davidson,” Rebecca calls as she walks down the hall, her heels clacking against the wooden floors. How hadn’t they heard her coming? Were they that caught up and obsessed with each other?
George scrambles off Dream and jogs up to the door, opening it enough to grab the small nondescript bag that sits to the side of the door. He calls out his thanks to the receptionist, but she doesn’t look back.
Dream shuffles himself further into the center of the bed, spreading his legs so there’s adequate space for George to crawl into, and he leans against the headboard with his arms folded behind his head. His chest is broad and on display, and he fills with warmth when George stutters when coming back to him.
He empties the bag onto the bed and the items fall out of it. The bag joins the pile of clothes as Dream looks at the items, confusion flooding his face. There are three condoms, all different colors which makes George giggle softly, a travel-sized bottle of lube, and a thick wheel of Christmas-themed ribbon. There’s no note, so Dream picks it up to analyze, to figure out why Rebecca would have sent this with them.
It’s sturdy, thick, and of good quality. Red with gold embellishments that could depict snowflakes or just be placed around the space to look pretty. Dream tries to go back and think about what George had said to Rebecca when they were checking in– did he mention Christmas decorating other than the wedding? Did he tell her that they hadn’t wrapped anything and that he needed ribbon for Dream’s gift?
“Wha…” George trails off, seeming just as confused as Dream. Then, his eyes catch the light and glimmer, and Dream knows he’s in trouble. “Did you see any scissors in the room?”
“I have nail scissors in my suitcase. Why?” George gets off Dream and disappears into the bathroom, reappearing with the scissors in tow and his shirt removed. He climbs back over Dream, picks up the ribbon, and unravels it. “What are you doing with it?”
“Hold your hand here,” George says, pulling Dream’s right hand to the right side of the bed. He lets him, and George unravels the ribbon a lengthy amount and cuts it, then measures it against the roll, and cuts an identical-sized piece. Holding one of the ribbons up to Dream’s wrist, he loops it behind the headboard and fixes Dream’s wrist to it. With a look, Dream tugs at it and his hand doesn’t move. George hums happily as he finishes the tie with a neat bow. He copies the tie to his other hand, fixing it to the left side of the bed.
“My little Christmas present,” George says, and it goes straight to Dream’s dick. George doesn’t ignore it. “Oh, you liked that? You like being all wrapped up for me?”
Dream hangs his head forward and groans, hips bucking up into George’s. He didn’t expect George to be so forward, so near-dominating in sex, but God, it’s the best thing ever. He can feel his cock weeping in his underwear as George runs his hands down the sides of Dream’s torso.
He mewls when George digs his fingers into each gap between Dream’s ribs. He goes to run his hands through George’s hair, but the ribbon stops him, and the pressure against his wrists just makes him whine more.
“No, no touching, Dream, sorry,” George whispers, tracing Dream’s happy trail with his index finger, again and again and again just to watch him squirm. “You can watch me finger myself before you fuck me.”
“Why are you punishing me?” Dream asks, throwing his head back and letting George take advantage of his exposed skin.
“Punishing? Oh, you’re cute, babe.” George bites at Dream's chest and leans back, staring at blown-out green eyes. “Maybe I’m punishing you for making us fake married in the first place? Or maybe for the stunt you pulled at dinner, or maybe for not initiating this any sooner? The list can go on, really.”
“We had to be fake married, George she—”
“She would have understood if you explained to her who you were, Dream,” George says gently, letting their lips fall together. Dream makes a huff of frustration when he can’t wrap his arms around George’s body and pull him in closer. He rolls his hips up instead. “I’m glad you did though. I don’t know how much longer I could have waited.”
“Waited?” Dream asks, confused.
George just smiles. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I thought it was obvious.” Dream shakes his head, and sits up a little like he wants to talk everything through. How long is ‘a long time’? How long has George been hurting through the pining stage like Dream has, while neither of them have done anything about it? Why is it that they’ve only done anything about it now? George calms Dream’s thoughts with a hand to his face. “Don’t think about it now, okay? We’re doing something about it now.”
Dream puckers his lips and George meets them with his own. Their lips move without haste, and there’s more meaning in this kiss than there has been all night. It tastes like peppermints and reassurance, and Dream is already addicted.
“Do I have to sit and watch you?” Dream pouts. George laughs and kisses him. “Please, I’ll be good.”
“I think you’ll enjoy it more like this,” George replies, shifting back so he can slide his underwear off. It joins the pile of clothes and Dream’s eyes are immediately drawn to the shiny red cock in front of him. It makes him feel better that he’s not the only one affected by their touching, and it fills him with a hungry power that George is that worked up because of him. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll get a chance to touch eventually.”
“Please. Please, George.” Dream bucks his hips up again and George tuts, lightly hitting Dream’s inner thigh. “I’ll be good for you.”
“Be good by sitting still and looking pretty for me. You’ll have your turn when I ride you.” Dream groans, head falling back to the pillows where it stays. “Aw, you like that? You like that I’m gonna take care of you and ride you?”
“George, baby please, get on with it,” Dream whimpers. “I do not want to come untouched.”
George’s mouth falls open with a soft moan, and he angles himself to rest his weight on one forearm, his legs bent out in front of him and a dry finger circling his rim.
Dream wants to close his eyes. He wants to turn his head and cover his ears, because if he’s not allowed to touch George he’s worried he’ll come by just the sight and sound of him. When he closes his eyes though, George is quick to snap his fingers, forcing Dream’s eyes back open and looking at him.
“You look at me. Focus on me, nothing else.” George reaches for the lube and rips the plastic cover off. He squirts a considerable amount onto his fingers and they go back to his hole, circling only once before George inserts his middle finger, slowly, until the rest of his hand is flush against his ass. George sighs at the intrusion, subtly moving his hips in tiny circles, so slowly Dream could have been hallucinating. “You looked so good in your suit, Dream. If we didn’t end up doing this tonight, I probably would have fucked myself in the bathroom.”
Dream whimpers and he feels his cock leak, dirtying the fabric of his underwear beyond repair. He ruts his hips in the air considerably, whining when George tries to pin them down. “Let me go, George, please.”
“Do you actually want me to, or are you just saying that?” George asks, removing his finger and sitting up straight again. “We should have talked about safe words before, sorry.”
“You’re perfect,” Dream says between pants. He feels like a live wire, only one step away from burning up. “I’ll say like, uh, peppermint if I want you to stop or anything.”
George laughs softly, lifting Dream’s left leg to his mouth to press a tender kiss to his kneecap. Somehow, it’s the softest thing he’s done all night.
“Can you take my underwear off, please? If I thrust into it one more time I think this’ll be ending a lot earlier than you want it to.”
“I’d be happy with anything, Dream,” George replies, but he assists Dream in sliding his boxers off, throwing them to the side, and caressing along his thighs until his hands rest on either side of his groin. His cock stands proud between lithe fingers, almost purple, the tip sticky with precum. “So pretty,” George whispers, as if mesmerized.
Dream flushes and he lays his head against the pillows. He flexes his muscles just to listen to George gasp as his cock jumps, then George is leaning back with bent knees again and shoving two fingers inside his hole.
He moans lowly, twisting his hand around as he pets along his walls. His head is thrown back, and Dream watches the expanse of his neck, pale and stretched, unmarked. Dream yearns to sink his teeth around the side as if he were a vampire, and suck until there is a pretty pink bruise there, but these stupid Christmas ribbons stop him.
Two turns to three, and George has started less subtly rolling his hips in to meet his thrusts. He’s mewling too, like his fingers are the best thing he’s ever had in him. Dream knows it’s to rile him up, but the carnal urge inside of him pushes to be heard.
“George, please, please, you’re ready for me now, please let me fuck you.”
George hums a laugh, trying to sound domineering, but failing when he brushes upon a particular spot that causes his eyes to roll back. “But I already feel so good, Dream.”
“I’ll feel better than your dumb fingers.”
“Really?” George asks, arching an eyebrow. His eyes close again and he whimpers around Dream’s name. It’s intoxicating, addicting. Dream copies George’s moan and his hips buck into nothing. He whines until George’s eyes open, and the eye contact is burning. Pure desire is all Dream can see in George’s eyes, pupils dilated completely and small tears forming from the pleasure.
“Let me fuck you, George.”
George groans, nodding. He pulls his fingers out from him and crawls over to Dream. Dream tries to touch George’s back, pull him onto his cock and fuck him into next Thursday, but the dumb fucking ribbons are holding him back. Realistically, they’re ribbons, Dream is sure he could pull himself out of them if he really wants to, and if he couldn’t, he would just lean over to either side and pull them apart with his teeth. But he finds it hotter in his struggle. Being so desperate for George to touch him because he can’t do it himself. He finds that he loves submitting to George.
George squirts more lube directly onto Dream’s cock, laughing almost mockingly when Dream hisses at the temperature. He ensures that his entire dick is coated with only the tips of his fingers.
“George,” Dream groans, patronizing.
George only laughs as he places two shaking hands on Dream’s shoulders, lifting himself up and over Dream’s cock. George takes a deep breath, then leans forward to press their lips together. Dream reciprocates like it’s the only thing he was born to do.
“You good?” he asks, hand coming to rest on Dream’s jaw so his thumb can swipe over his cheekbones.
Dream nods. George reaches behind him and takes hold of Dream’s cock, lining up with himself and slowly, agonizingly slowly, sinking down onto Dream’s cock. Dream sits with bated breath, eyes clenched shut in pleasure as George swallows him up inch by inch. George lets out little ‘ah-ah-ah’s with every inch that’s inserted, head falling forward to hang between them. Dream wants to lean forward so they can touch, so he can have some sort of affectionate contact with George, but he leans back before he has a chance.
“Give me one second, please,” he pants, eyes rolled back and hips flush with Dream’s.
“Take all the time you need, George,” Dream reassures, tugging at his restraints because he wants to caress George’s thigh. He adds, for humor, “I’m not going anywhere.”
George chuckles and steadies himself with his hands on Dream’s chest. He delicately traces the faint appearances of chest hair, toys with Dream’s nipples until he’s asked to stop because he’ll start squirming into George.
George leans forward so Dream can lie back comfortably. He kisses at Dream’s neck, trailing up until he’s kissing Dream’s lips, licking between them and pushing inside, making homes between Dream’s molars. While their mouths are still connected, George slowly lifts his hips up, all until it’s just Dream’s tip left inside, then, at the same horribly slow pace as before, he sinks down.
They’re not really kissing anymore; their mouths hang open, breathing silent moans into against each other’s lips.
George does it again, and again, still the same slow pace, before Dream realizes that his legs aren’t restrained, and George isn’t pinning down his hips. He meets Georges’s abysmal pace in the middle with a harsh rut of his own hips, falling in love with the near inhumane sound that George makes.
George stutters, dropping his hands from Dream’s chest to either side of his head, and Dream does it again, this time, pulling his own hips out and slamming back into George.
“I’m supposed to— I’m supposed to be—”
“Dick that good, huh?” Dream asks smirking, but it falls quickly when he fucks into George again, the angle only slightly different but it feels leagues better. George seems to think so too, with how his arms collapse beneath him and he moans Dream’s name loudly. “Yeah let me fuck you, baby. Good boy, George, you’re taking me so well.”
George closes his teeth around Dream’s shoulder and clamps down, hard. The pain only turns Dream on more and makes him fuck George faster.
“Let me ride you,” George whines, not moving from Dream’s shoulder. He licks at the skin he bit like an apology, but he moves his head an inch to the left and latches onto the junction between his shoulder and neck. He moans when Dream hits his prostate again, and Dream feels all his nerves become alight with how that sound feels against his pulse point.
“You’re riding me, baby, you are.” George raises his hips to meet Dream’s thrusts, but he’s too fast and George isn’t really trying to make an effort. Dream scrunches his face when he slides into George slowly, matching George’s original pace but it feels so different when he’s the one controlling it. “Look so pretty on top of me too, so fucking hot, George.”
George rises and leans back, supporting his weight on Dream’s legs as he lifts himself up and slides back down on Dream’s cock. He doesn’t look away from Dream as he does it, and the eye contact is intense but mind-bogglingly addictive. Dream tugs on his restraints again.
“Feel so fucking good inside me, Dream,” George moans, grinding down harshly. Dream lets out a high-pitched moan that paints his whole body crimson. “You gonna come like that? All tied up like my Christmas present without touching me?”
Dream’s eyebrows pinch together. “Yes, yes, God, George. You feel so good right now. I’m close, I’m so close.”
“Just a little longer,” George says, throwing his head back as he raises his hips. His cock is bouncing obscenely with every bounce on Dream’s dick, and Dream is tugging on his restraints, bucking up to meet George in the middle. “You’re doing so good for me, babe.”
“George,” Dream all but growls. He thrashes in the bed and fucks into George fastly, almost punishingly. George almost loses his balance, but he adjusts himself so he falls forward, head slotting into the crook of Dream’s neck and arms wrapping around his shoulders. Dream takes advantage of their position and sits up as much as his restraints will let him, and pistons his hips in and out of George the fastest he can without blowing his load before George can.
George is stuck in a perpetual moan, and he rubs his hands up and down Dream’s back to collect his sweat, then wraps his hand around his cock, jerking to the same tune of Dream’s thrusts. George wiggles where he’s seated on Dream’s cock, and when he thrusts next he whines highly and bites Dream’s neck. Dream focuses on that spot, hitting it again and again until George lets out a garbled version of Dream’s name, and spills over his and Dream’s stomachs.
Dream slows his hips as George comes, working him through it with slow yet hard thrusts. His stomach is warm and wet, and he feels high on life as George and he slows to a stop, breathing in the air of sex and sweat and mistletoe room spray.
“So good,” George mumbles, lifting himself off Dream’s cock and sitting on his thighs. Dream’s cock is deep red, so hard it looks like it’s aching. There’s a little leftover lube on it, which is why George swipes his hand over his abdomen to collect his cum and he brings it to Dream’s dick, gripping it firmly as he works it up and down.
Dream knows he won’t last long, and he knows he’s sensitive and worked up, but when George’s thumb swipes over the tip he pulls his legs up and clenches his whole body. He’s lost in the pleasure, and he pulls the ribbons taut until they’re digging into his skin. He’s going to have red glittery marks well into the next day, he thinks.
“George,” Dream moans, long and low. He thrusts into George’s hand, hips stuttering with every new stroke and swipe against the head like his body can’t contain the pleasure. George looks so beautiful with how he’s looking at Dream, smiling lovingly. George tightens his grip, and his hand squelches as it slides over the wet muscle. Dream’s mouth falls open, mimicking George’s ‘oh-oh-oh-oh’s from earlier.
“George,” Dream warns, sitting up as much as his restraints allow. “I’m going to come.”
“Do it,” George replies. “Come for me.”
Dream doesn’t need to be told twice. His head hangs forward as his orgasm washes over him, and his whole body shakes as he works through it. George keeps a steady hand stroking him as more and more cum spurts out the tip, dribbling down the sides and landing on Dream’s stomach. It feels so good, it feels too good, as George uses his other hand to rub his palm over Dream’s slit in circular motions.
Dream moans, and it’s broken and high. He doesn’t know whether to move into or away from the touch; it’s overwhelming but addicting and so much but so good. His hips alternate between twitching into George’s hand and shying away, but George’s grip on his cock strokes him enough that there isn’t any reprieve even when he inches away from the hand polishing his head.
“George,” Dream whines, his eyes opening and begging. For what, he isn’t even sure. “Baby, stop, please, I’m sensitive.”
“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” George replies, pushing his hand against the tip of Dream’s dick harder. The slide of George’s and Dream’s cum against it makes it glide perfectly, slippery and slick with proof of their time together. Dream’s eyes roll back into his head when he’s being covered with their mess, and it feels so dirty but so fucking good. “Do you want me to stop, baby?”
Dream feels small when he says, “No.”
George smiles widely and fixes the hand stroking him to hold him steady, and his thumb rubs against the bottom of Dream’s head. Dream pulls so tight on his restraints at the sheer pleasure coursing through his body, that he pulls the ribbons loose from their bow. George frowns and tuts, dipping his thumb into the slit of his dick as it bubbles out more cum. “Don’t come loose.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry, I won’t.”
George’s eyes darken. “You gonna come again?”
Dream whimpers and wraps his hands around the bedposts so he doesn’t move further than he’s allowed. He feels alight, like every inch of his body is burning and tuned into George. Dream looks at George, looks into his eyes that are deep with affection and arousal, blown wide with desire for him, and Dream is already coming again before he can confirm it with George.
His body goes lax, falling into the bed with his head thrown back, whining and whimpering as his hips twitch into George’s hands as they work him through his orgasm. He’s leaking all over his abdomen and thighs, and he can do nothing but take it as his mind struggles to find words that aren’t ‘George’ and ‘fuck’.
Luckily (or is it?) George understands that Dream can’t come for a third time as he guides his cock to sit against his thigh, and he crawls up to Dream’s side to fully undo the Christmas ribbons holding him to the bedposts. He gingerly lays Dream’s hands on the mattress beneath them, and grabs one wrist with both hands, softly massaging it to ease the pain. Dream sighs, smiling happily and probably stupidly as George switches to the other wrist.
He puckers his lips and George is quick to close the gap, kissing him soundly and smiling at the soft noise Dream makes. He feels boneless, blissed out. He could feel like this for the rest of his life.
“How are you?” George asks, caressing the side of his face. It’s so intimate, Dream wants to cry.
“I’m good,” Dream says, lifting his arms weakly to rub at George’s waist. “Just thinking about what a sex god my husband is.”
George blushes and averts their gaze, but his thumb skims over Dream’s cheekbone and it feels like love.
“Stop it,” he says in a silly voice. “Do you want water or anything?”
“I want you to lay with me.” Dream squeezes George’s waist. “I wanna talk all about the wedding. Tell me everything you have planned.”