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Florida is horribly humid, and George realizes this quickly.
His bedsheets stick to his skin irritably during each night resulting in a mess of his own limbs in the morning, and the breeze that seemed to always linger in London is no more, replaced by daily sunburn and a constant heatwave. Dream had promised him he’d get used to it when he brought it up during dinner one night— Sapnap had laughed at him.
This morning seems to be no different than the last few weeks, sweat coats the back of his neck and thighs, seeping into his skin. And even though it’s no longer summer, scorching sunlight pours through the open window and corrupts his eyes. He huffs at the realization that he never shut it last night. It’s dangerously tempting to walk out of his room naked, maybe lie on the hardwood floors and bask in their coolness. He’s not sure his roommates would appreciate that though, he thinks— shoving on a loose shirt on top of his boxers.
Patches swirls in and out of each step he takes down the hallway. He laughs gently at her, smiling warmly at her endearing behavior as she rushes off to lie beneath the Christmas tree, though his grin falters at the mental mention of warmth again. A fleeting smell of pancake batter shifts his attention from the cat to the kitchen up ahead, hushed voices picking up in their volume. He furrows his brows before catching sight of Dream’s messy morning curls standing in front of the stovetop, a frying pan mid-air as he attempts— and succeeds — to flip the pancake.
Sapnap is sat up on the kitchen island behind the taller man, leaning back on his palms. The usual purple hoodie that clings to him is stripped, presumably due to the heat even he still hasn’t managed to become used to, leaving George’s eyes to catch on bare skin. His feet kick out and thump against the counter underneath him, banging half-rhythmically to the music playing low from his phone, George rolls his eyes fondly at the bad coordination.
“Sap, can you try this for me?” Dream asks, turning to face the younger with a spoon in hand. George can’t make out what it is. He watches Sapnap purse his lips, before he replies: “What is it?”
“Homemade maple syrup, for the pancakes.” Dream grins.
“When the fuck did you make that?” Sapnap laughs.
“Just try, here.” Dream sighs, holding his chin and shoving the spoon into the younger’s mouth, silencing any protests attempted by him. George still goes unnoticed by both men as he observes them silently, leaning against the wall in the hallway. His view is almost obscured by the bright center lights hanging above the island, but the fast changing expressions on Sapnap’s face due to the homemade syrup are somehow brighter than the fluorescence, and he snorts quietly at him.
A glossy and prominent drop of syrup spills from the corner of Sapnap’s mouth, trickling down the side of his lips with taunting ease. George watches the liquid fall before being scooped up slowly by Dream’s thumb, which makes its way into the man’s mouth afterwards. His throat constricts watching his two friends, and he shifts himself behind the wall a little more as though he’s spying on something he shouldn’t— a ridiculous thought. He squints his eyes at the way Dream’s hand remains underneath Sapnap’s chin, lifting it ever so slightly as he hums approvingly at the stray drop of syrup he’s stolen from the younger’s lips.
“Yeah bro, s’ good,” Sapnap says, nodding and hopping off of the counter.
“Right?” Dream replies.
Sapnap grabs his phone as he hops down, pausing the music. The silence that reigns gets stuck in George’s throat almost immediately, and he blinks himself out of whatever trance he seemed to be embedded in, making an attempt to slip behind the wall and maybe when he comes back he’ll stammer out an excuse of waking up later than normal.
The attempt fails, of course.
“George?” Sapnap asks.
He grimaces at the call out, before turning back around. “Yeah?”
“Woah, you sound like shit man.” The younger laughs, making his way to the couch.
George scoffs and doesn’t reply, instead moving himself to lean flat against the coolness of the kitchen island. His voice is noticeably hoarse, but he’s not entirely sure it’s because of his sleepy state. Most likely: the not-so-platonic exchange of his best friends, he thinks.
“You eaten anything yet?” Dream questions him, always so caring, only turning his head slightly before resuming on his cooking.
He shakes his head no, before realizing the older can’t see him. “No, m’ too tired.” he mumbles into the countertop.
He watches Dream hum in approval, whilst pouring more pancake batter into the pan without question. The familiar sound of doom-scrolling pops through the sizzling of the pan and Dream’s on and off humming, George turns his head slightly and watches Sapnap snicker at the voices on his phone whilst using his thumb to scroll. One of his legs dangles off of the couch lazily whilst his head rests on the side, he’s flat on his stomach, and a slight curved arch in his back and hips presents itself— George’s breathing halts, before he turns the other way, hoping the coldness of the counter will mask any warmth present on his face, yet suddenly the counter feels scorching.
“—orge”
“George!”
He snaps his head up to Dream, who stands with two plates of pancakes in hand. Both topped with whipped cream and spoonfuls of his homemade syrup, George swallows at the sight of it.
“Did you get enough sleep last night?”
He coughs, clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“Okay…”
One of the plates is placed in front of him before Dream moves to give Sapnap his own. George sighs, snatching a knife and fork from the kitchen drawer, and hurriedly trying to leave the room, almost successfully this time. He barely reaches the hallway entrance again before his eyes and ears wander, stopping him in his tracks, a forkful of pancake and annoyingly well-made syrup half down his throat.
“Mmm, fuck. That is good,” Sapnap— he thinks , groans from the couch.
He swallows down the food in a harsh gulp, ready to pass off the voice as imaginative. He takes one step forward before,
“Might taste better if you weren’t so lazy and got your own fork, Sap.” Dream sighs, and George knows he didn’t imagine that.
He lightly steps backwards, leaning his head to poke through to the sitting room. Sapnap is still lying on his stomach, his posture tilted upwards only slightly to match Dream, who’s leant down and has one hand underneath the plate and the other occupied with cutting up small pieces of pancake, presumably for Sapnap.
“You can feed yourself,” Dream laughs. “This is so dumb.”
George watches Sapnap shake his head and smirk. “No, you’ve already cut it up for me jus’ give it to me.”
“ Give it to you? ” Dream mocks.
“Can you just give me the fucking pancakes—”
George tightens his lip between his teeth when Dream finally shoves the pancakes into the younger’s mouth, who makes a startled noise at him, but chews them down anyway, moaning at the taste and licking his lips. George exhales slowly, shakily .
“There you go,” Dream whispers. “No more. You’re grown, feed yourself.”
Sapnap laughs. “That’s rude.”
“You’re lazy. ”
“I’m tired, there's a difference.” Sapnap defends.
George’s legs ache from the stand-still position he’s stuck in. His pancakes are stale at this point, the steam that was burning off of them now dispersed into thin air, he frowns at the whipped cream which melts slowly and blinks himself out of the starstruckness he was buried in, walking quietly towards his room.
——
“This car is fucking tiny, Punz.” Sapnap slurs.
The blond huffs from the driver’s seat, turning to glare at Sapnap. “Yeah I know that, maybe if you got someone else to pick you guys up they’d have a bigger car wouldn’t they.”
George tumbles into the front seat, the drink in his hand sloshing about with his movement. He turns, giggling at Sapnap who’s squished between Dream and some piled up boxes in the backseat. He’s bathed in the fluorescent lights shining from the sign in front of the bar, and his eyes glimmer with every lazy flutter. George grins.
“Sapnap you’re so drunk.” He teases, licking his lips to remove the dryness.
The younger one scoffs after a futile attempt to move some of the boxes, glaring at George slowly. “Oh yeah? Well you’re drunkerer,” he snorts. “Way drunkerer.”
George eyes Dream as he pats Sapnap’s thigh. “Tha’s not a word, love.”
“Could be, you dunno.” Sapnap mumbles, whining small.
He peers his eyes at Dream’s hand that remains glued to the younger’s thigh, watching him tap along with the music playing low in the car. His brows furrow slightly at the affectionate nickname but he brushes it off, grunting at the throbbing headache he harbors.
“Nick I’m sorry but can you sit somewhere else man? The boxes aren’t exactly indestructible.” Punz sighs.
He stutters out an offended protest before Dream interrupts their soon to be bickering with a sigh, pulling Sapnap easily onto his lap with no argument. George stares through the rearview mirror at the action, focusing on Dream’s larger hands engulfing the younger’s waist. Sapnap grunts and mumbles an insult at Punz before going lax against Dream’s chest and sipping the can held in his hand. The heat on George’s face is no longer excusable because of the alcohol, but the grip Dream has on Sapnap.
His hands are big. Are they bigger than he remembers ?
Beside him, Punz seems unphased to them. His eyes stick to the road ahead, yet George can’t seem to match him, when he looks out of the window his vision blurs with a flurry of traffic lights and street lamps, only aiding in the pounding headache.
He doesn’t know how far they are from the house, each one they pass feels familiar in some aspect. The same bricks, same suburban windows. George groans in frustration, turning back around once more to join in on whatever conversation Dream and Sapnap are having. He stops half-turn, though, blinking his eyes at the sight that meets him.
Dream’s head is relaxed, and his chin is against the jut of Sapnap’s neck and shoulder. His lips are slicked from the constant wetting of them— an attempt to rid of the dryness due to the alcohol. They’re delicately pressed against Sapnap’s neck, and his eyes switch between being half open and being softly closed shut. George swallows at their close proximity.
Sapnap himself pays no attention to their position. One of his hands is wrapped around Dream’s neck, tugging at the messy strands absentmindedly whilst he places his can in the drink compartment with his other hand and begins to scroll on his phone, the light from it being the only thing to illuminate them other than the odd street lamp they drive by and the scattering of Christmas lights hung on houses.
George chews his lip, puzzled.
They’re just drunk, he decides.
“Okay,” Punz sighs, stopping the car. “Don’t ask me to pick you guys up again this late.”
George snickers at the blond, savoring the last sip of his drink before pushing open the car door. Sapnap and Dream get out after, Sapnap first, whilst Dream’s hands remain on his waist guiding him.
Sapnap giggles pointlessly and turns to Punz. “Thanks bro.”
“Yeah yeah, go.”
“C’mon,” Dream laughs, dragging the younger one back and walking towards the gate. “I’m so tired.”
George nods to Punz, swaying slightly on his feet whilst watching him drive off.
The warmth of the house is overwhelming in comparison to the breeze. The sharp change of temperature only messing with George’s head even more. He kicks his shoes off and sighs, sinking down against the wall before looking over at Dream and Sapnap.
“Shoes off, Sapnap.” Dream whispers, looking tired and attempting to press his forehead against the coolness of the wall, he slips, and forcefully hits his nose instead. George snorts and giggles at him.
“Shut up.” Dream sneers, picking up one of Sapnap’s discarded shoes and throwing it at George.
“Gross. Leave my shoes alone, Dream.” Sapnap pouts, staggering a little towards the couch. George picks himself up off of the floor and follows along, heading towards the kitchen instead to clench his thirst. He ends up placing the water bottle against his forehead to calm his headache before swallowing down the majority of it quickly, and breathing relief at the coldness.
“M’ tired.” Dream mumbles pitifully, walking towards the center room. George turns and catches sight of Sapnap relaxed on the couch for only a second before Dream flops down onto him, his head face planted against Sapnap’s chest. The man grumbles with annoyance, but his eyes remain shut, one arm thrown over his face to block the light. His other hand makes no hesitation to worm its way onto Dream’s back, George watches him rub soothingly, scratching and tracing random lines.
“Tha’s nice pandas.” Dream hums, acknowledging the soft touch and nuzzling into Sapnap’s chest even more— if possible.
George gulps down the last sip of water, suddenly feeling as though he’s interrupting something he shouldn’t, again . His headache has definitely eased up by now, enough to know their affection isn’t some ethanol infused desire.
“I’m going to bed,” he huffs, throwing away his water bottle and walking towards the hallway. “Night guys.”
“Wait, George.” Sapnap calls.
He pauses. “What?”
“Well,” Sapnap mumbles. “You don’t wanna’ cuddle?”
George raises his eyebrows, confused. Sapnap doesn’t look hesitant at all, he isn’t even looking at George. He’s staring down at Dream’s freckled face, at his slightly parted mouth and at the way the Christmas tree lights dance across his cheeks, and automatically George finds himself staring too.
He coughs. “No. Uh— no I’m good. Goodnight, Sap.”
“Yeah, okay…night bro.”
——
George is no stranger to waking up alone. He’s never complained about it either. If anything, being alone is an environment he thrives in. Years and years of being isolated in a cramped flat in the middle of London is a special type of hell, but a hell he had gotten used to.
Naturally moving to Florida had changed a lot about his routine.
Instead of relying on his body clock to wake him up when it feels he needs, or an alarm, he usually wakes up to Sapnap’s whiny shouting over a late night Valorant game or Dream cooking eggs at a ridiculously early time because the man just has so much energy.
But this morning; silence.
Which George’s eyebrows furrow at. Not that he likes Sapnap’s stupidly loud voice but it had started to feel more natural, less annoying— if possible. Not even a faint sizzling pan wafts through the silence, and George groans, flopping himself back into the softness of his pillow before eventually sitting up and surveying his room.
His bland fucking room, not yet decorated enough to really feel like his. He scoffs at the sparseness of it, staring at the single decoration he added on his first day. The plushie sits on his desk, his own cotton stuffed fabric face almost staring back at him. George wants to wipe the permanent smile off of its face.
“Shut up. What do you know?” He mumbles, yawning and grimacing at his tense muscles. Even the thought of Dream’s breakfast makes his stomach churn with hunger, he slips his socks that he kicked off during the night back on, and rubs the sleep from his eyes before stepping out into the hallway. The silent hallway.
Sapnap’s room is closest to him, and he knows that if the youngest is home he’ll shout at George not to enter before he’s even touched the door handle— for a house so expensive, the walls and floors are shockingly brittle— but the door opens with inviting ease. He stares at the stark contrast of their rooms, Sapnap has decorations everywhere, small trinkets and fan-made items litter around, their positions resembling constellations, each one linking and depicting some dumb joke he’s made or an important milestone he’s completed in this home. He huffs with unwilling envy.
When he makes his way to the nightstand there’s tissues piled up, a half-empty packet of what he thinks is paracetamol or ibuprofen is there along with an almost empty bag of throat sweets. He remembers Sapnap had said he was coming down with something a few days ago but he brushed it off, clearly it had gotten worse.
The room is cold from an open window though, and Sapnap isn’t even here, so he quickly goes back out into the hallway.
Dream’s room is further away, and he decides to not bother checking it. Instead he wanders to the kitchen, cringing slightly at the bright light above the island. He scarfs down a sugary cereal bar and a glass of water far too quickly, lying down onto the couch and swirling air around in his cheeks.
He’s bored .
Finally a noise catches his attention, he still makes no move to get up but his eyes search hopefully in the darkness of the hallway leading to Dream’s room, waiting. Instead, he notices Patches pawing at an ornament hung at the bottom of the Christmas tree. He sighs, but walks over to her and scoops her up anyway, cooing at her snuggling into his arms.
“Hey patchy, where’s your dad huh?,” George pauses. “Or dads plural, I guess.” He corrects.
The cat softly closes her eyes, shifting about until she’s content in his arms. He rocks her for a minute or so, ignoring the dull ache in his arms until it’s too much and reluctantly puts her down, watching her scurry off right back to the ornament he stole her from.
“Silly girl.” George mumbles, before stretching his still tired body and walking towards Dream’s room, assuming it to be empty.
The door is cracked open just a little, a dim light George thinks is from the bedside lamp illuminating the slither of bedroom exposed. Unsure, he steps forwards, careful to quiet his footsteps. The duvet covering the small corner of Dream’s bed he can see shifts about as though someone is moving beneath it; that solves the missing Dream issue, he supposes. Socked feet poke through the bottom of the cover, a pair of mismatched socks showing themself— definitely Dream .
But then, another pair of feet link with the one’s he’s identified as Dream’s, rubbing their feet up against Dream’s calves.
He swallows harshly, stepping backwards. The wall solidifies his thoughts when he presses his back against it, hiding away from the door. Nobody can see him, he knows that, and he could leave now. He could leave and he could joke about Dream being careless with his hookups later, and he should , but a muffled voice stops his turn.
“You ‘wake?”
George shuts his eyes and curses under his breath, tilting his head up against the wall and sighing. The second voice that replies forces his eyes open.
“Mm, yeah, m’ awake.”
He should’ve assumed Sapnap would be in there, but the raspiness of his voice catches him by surprise regardless. He can hear the shuffling of covers and bodies, he pictures them sitting, then lying, then cuddling, moving about to contort into their perfect position and compliment each other. Their hair’s probably messy, the strands sticking up randomly due to the friction from Dream’s pillows. Are they layered in blankets? Are they stripped of their hoodies, thin shirts sticking to their arms and thighs? Are they naked ?
He chews his lip hard enough to become sore, distracting his brain before it continues.
The sweat underneath his armpits is becoming irritable, and his throat is dry, no matter the amount of nerves he attempts and fails to swallow down. He turns, ignoring the way his brain is pulsing and forces himself to walk back down the hallway, he manages about halfway before his foot slips, catching on one of the many toys Dream bought for Patches. The toy squeaks obnoxiously loud, and he grimaces.
“What the fuck. What did I ever do to you?” He hisses at the toy, before footsteps shuffle from behind him.
He hears Dream yawn before he whispers, “George?”
When he turns he catches Dream’s hair first, George was right, his hair sticks up in all different directions. He can see the distinct messiness of it even in the dim hallway, and he’s in an oversized shirt fallen down to his thighs, concealing a small amount of his bare legs.
“Yeah?” His voice cracks.
“What’re you doing?”
He coughs uneasily. “I thought the house was empty so I came to check on you?”
“Oh. Well, Nick is real sick so I’ve been staying with him through the night, he’s been like, throwin’ up and stuff.” Dream yawns.
“Idiot, he’s a grown man.”
“Yeah,” Dream shrugs. “But he wanted to cuddle, he gets all whiny when he’s sick.”
“He doesn’t need cuddles, Dream.” George laughs, rolling the squeaky toy back and forth under the sole of his foot.
“You should be lucky I’m here,” he scoffs. “If I wasn’t then he’d be clinging to you all day.”
He scrunches his nose up at Dream, ignoring the statement.
“Are you coming in?,” Dream asks, gesturing to his room. “He probably won’t annoy you as much since he’s sick.”
George smiles small, faltering slightly at the way his brain pulls and tugs between two contradictory answers to Dream’s question.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess,” he decides. “Why not.”
The first thing he notices is the heat. The warmth .
It’s everywhere, encompassing the room in a bubble of radiation. Dream must notice his reaction, as he mumbles something about turning the heat up for Sapnap. Sapnap, whose muscles move laggardly as he sits up, looking directly at George. His forehead glistens, shimmering with sweat, and his shirt is practically stuck to him, tight and borderline see through with the state it’s in. He stares shamelessly at the exposed skin of the brunet’s thighs, clammy and sweaty. There’s mounds of tissues on the nightstand, just like George had seen in the younger’s own room. He looks alluring gross, really. And George loves it.
Sapnap coughs, wincing at the pressure it causes. “G’rge?”
He laughs, walking over to where Sapnap’s hand has reached out for him. “You’re gross, Sap,” George snorts. “Real gross.”
Dream glares at him, lying back down in the small space of bed Sapnap has left for him. “He’s sick , George.” he mumbles, pulling Sapnap back to cuddle with him when George fails to take his hand.
The older one stands awkwardly beside them, fiddling with the tassels on the blanket laid at the end of the bed. Sapnap sniffs a little, rubbing his nose with the hand Dream hasn’t claimed yet, though he’s bound to. They look cozy, sweetly connected by a mess of sweaty limbs George wants to bury himself in. Their hair sprawls out against the pillows, Dream’s hair specifically, a usually tidy nest of auburn and brunet now sporadic.
Their hands are linked too, and one of Dream’s thumbs is rubbing softly against Sapnap’s wrist. And yet again, George is suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of intrusion.
Sapnap shifts, speaking but his eyes remain closed. “Stay.”
“What?”
“Stay, you were about t’ leave.” He mumbles.
“Well yeah,” George shrugs. “Feel like I’m interrupting.”
Sapnap attempts to talk, but sneezes instead.
“Come cuddle, stop being stubborn George.” Dream replies for him.
“How am I being stubborn—”
“ Please ?” Sapnap whines out, interrupting him.
He thinks about it, chewing the inside of his cheek as he looks at them. The way they blend together in a mix of skin and brunet, how compliant Sapnap is whilst curled against Dream. It doesn't look bad, he supposes.
George tentatively kneels onto the bed, rolling his eyes at Sapnap’s smile of accomplishment. He lies down on his stomach, turning his head to look at the two men. Dream’s arms are wrapped securely around the younger’s torso, with his head nestled in the crease of Sapnap’s shoulder and neck. He looks on the brink of sleep, but his mouth curves into a delicate smile when he notices George’s presence.
“Thank you.” Sapnap whispers, pursing his lips at George before throwing his spare arm over the elder.
He scoffs, slowly moving himself closer to Sapnap.
“You’re welcome. I guess,” he yawns. “Idiot.”
“Your idiot.” Is the last thing George hears before his eyes flutter shut and he allows his muscles to submit to the softness of their situation, basking in the way Sapnap’s arm possesses his waist, and how his fingertips caress against the small exposure of George’s skin.
——
“George! Did you want peppermint or just normal?”
His brain whirs with thoughts as he chews on his fingernail. Sapnap is next to him, an obnoxiously bright christmas blanket thrown across his lap as he uses one hand to scroll on his phone and the other to sip absentmindedly on his peppermint hot chocolate. His hair isn’t concealed beneath a hat, unlike usual, and George wants to tangle the strands between his fingers. But he can’t, because he’s supposed to be mad at him right now.
He’s supposed to be mad at them both, actually.
Their behavior was never odd to him, not online, at least.
Their flirting, the constant back and forth of pretend arguments, the way Sapnap would describe Dream. He’d call him pretty, talk about how his hair had such interesting shades and how he was freckled all over. George used to scoff, and say he was being stupid. But now, the realness of it has settled in, and it fills his stomach with a whirlpool of unease.
If they were dating, they should’ve told him.
And he would understand if it was platonic, if their flirting was just a big joke exactly like he had thought it was, but they aren’t subtle.
They’re always touching, Dream’s hands grip against Sapnap wherever they are. Against his hips, maneuvering past him in their kitchen despite the fact the room itself is spacious enough. When they hug, his hands rub soothingly up and down the small of the younger’s back or his fingertips dig into his hips possessively. Sapnap thrives beneath him, always. He nestles his head into Dream’s chest, and whines when their hands separate.
So again, they should’ve said something.
“Normal.” He answers back, quickly resuming to teeth his fingernail.
“What?,” Dream calls. “I didn’t hear you.”
He rolls his eyes, huffing at tilting his head back against the couch to look behind him at Dream, who’s pottering about the kitchen, a bag of marshmallows in his hand and a pair of Christmas oven mitts thrown over his shoulder.
“He said normal, love.” Sapnap says a little louder, not looking away from his phone.
“Ah. Thanks, Sap.”
George side-eyes Sapnap at the affectionate nickname, mumbling a thanks under his breath.
“You’re welcome, love.” He smirks, kicking George with the foot that pokes out from underneath his blanket.
“Dream’s your love ,” he mocks. “Not me.”
“You both are.”
“No, idiot.” George giggles, kicking Sapnap back.
“What are you two kicking each other over?” Dream laughs. George turns around, watching Dream step carefully towards them with two mugs in hand, both topped with generous whipped cream and sprinkled cocoa powder, George’s eyes glaze over with want at the mere sight of them.
“George is being a dick.”
“He’s lying,” he grabs towards one of the mugs, frowning when Dream moves his hand away. “Give it to me.”
“I spent time on these, George. Say please .”
Sapnap laughs into his already claimed mug from behind him, and George bites his cheek at how giddy the younger one sounds. Dream’s mouth is curved into a cocky smirk, his eyes glisten in the dimness of the Christmas tree lights and scattered candles, and their usual height difference has dwindled due to George’s relaxed position on the couch, ensuring Dream’s request has that extra demanding lure.
George swallows, exhaling.
“Okay,” he whispers sweetly. “ Please may I have my drink, Dream?”
Dream’s head tilts, before his smirk contorts into his usual smile, and George’s mug is handed to him. “Here.”
The first sip makes waiting for the drink worth it, softly blended cocoa and warm milk hits his tongue instantly, and for a second he almost forgets about his previous thoughts, though Dream’s next movements remind him. He places his own mug on the table, mumbling to himself about wanting it to cool down before drinking it, and grabbing the corner of Sapnap’s blanket, taking some for himself. Sapnap hums at him, wrapping his arm around the taller man when he cuddles into Sapnap’s chest underneath the blanket.
George quirks his mouth into an awkward pull, sighing and ignoring them. He reaches forward to grab the remote.
“Grinch?” He questions.
“I dunno, kind of boring.”
Dream slaps his chest leniently. “You can’t say that about such an iconic movie.”
“Fine,” Sapnap groans. “Yeah. Put it on.”
Dream scrunches his nose up, smiling into the fabric of Sapnap’s hoodie and yawning. He’s sweet, George thinks. Almost cute, annoyingly so. His size makes their cuddling position awkward but manageable— Sapnap seems like the type to deny being a little spoon anyway, with their hue of gold and familiarity with one another, he feels slightly envious.
Flush against the couch he stares shamelessly at the two, with the movie playing almost distantly and the Christmas tree lights flickering sporadically. The coziness of it all envelops him, dragging him in tide-like and reluctantly.
“Sap,” George whispers, as to not disrupt Dream. “Sapnap?” He repeats when the younger fails to notice his first attempt.
“Mm?” Sapnap mumbles.
He hesitates, looking from Sapnap down to Dream, whose eyes are droopy and weighted with sleep. He wants that, he wants the security, the safety, the comfort . The way Sapnap’s hand is deep in Dream’s messy hair, the way he soothes the taller with a simple touch.
“Can I,” he clears his throat. “Can I come lay with you guys? If that’s fine. Or, whatever.”
Sapnap’s eyebrows furrow. “Why’re you acting weird, man. C’mere.” He laughs, opening up the blanket on his right side to make room for George.
“Not acting weird, just didn’t want to interrupt your guys’s thing .”
“There’s no thing, George. Stop being awkward.”
“I’m not being awkward!”
“George!” He sighs, scratching Dream’s head when he startles. “Just come here.”
He sips the last of his drink, slowly, savoring the taste of it. Their side of the couch is somehow more comfortable than his has ever been. He sinks into it easily, leaning his body weight into Sapnap’s open arms without complaint. The movie is a sufficient distraction for his brain, focusing more on the storyline and less on the way he presses against Sapnap, how their hands could be linked if he made the small connection.
The blurry voices from the movie fill the suffocating silence, which coats them with a thick layer of uncertainty, and George wants to curl into a ball right then and there, but Sapnap’s foot stops him. It kicks him beneath the blanket slightly, toeing at the bony part of his ankle and rubbing up and down against his leg.
He’s not looking at him, instead he stares straight ahead at the screen, hand still embedded in Dream’s hair whilst he hooks his leg underneath George’s
“What are you doing?” He whispers.
“You’re cramped against the side of the couch,” Sapnap says, and he’s right, George’s arm is awkwardly pushed against the side, and his legs are tight together. “C’mere.”
His hand leaves Dream’s hair, not without a small mumble of annoyance from the man, and instead grips the squished side of George’s thighs, dragging them on top of his own legs and leaving his ankles to lie beside Dream.
“There. And then just like, lie down more. Good. That’ll be comfier.”
His hand then settles on George’s upper thigh, and he definitely felt the way his muscles tensed beneath him. Probably sensed the hitch in George’s breath too, though he stays focused on the screen still . This isn’t his territory, George thinks. His thumb shouldn’t be digging into his thigh, it should be on Dream’s thigh, and it’s Dream’s head that should be leant on his shoulder. There shouldn’t be this air of tension for a group of supposed friends.
But Dream smiles. He smiles up at George, sickly and sweet and almost innocent. He grips George’s ankle, rubbing unknowingly asymmetrically to Sapnap, causing a constant rush of touch from them both to flow through him. And Dream curls back up, content in Sapnap’s lap, closing his eyes.
The movie is boring, Sapnap was right. The same plot gets thrown around each year, but it's useful, an easy distraction from where his mind inevitably keeps ending up. They’re so close, each shift in their movements causes his breath to hitch in anticipation. He doesn’t notice Sapnap’s hand move at first, the thumbing had become routine-like, but his hand inches upwards. And he assumes it’s subconscious, he really does, because Dream is there . Not just there, he’s asleep in Sapnap’s lap.
He bites his lip when his hand squeezes tighter, suppressing any noise.
“Sap. Sap, what’re you doing?”
“M’ not doing nothing,” he whispers, secretive. But his hand remains bold, squeezing the small chub of George’s thigh as he drags his hand up. He misses the place George wants him most, instead slowly dipping his fingers beneath his sweatpants, waiting for any reaction from George, and when none comes he swirls his fingers in the coarse hair nestled below George’s stomach.
George shivers, not looking away from Dream’s sleeping form.
“Sapnap—” He warns. “Sap…”
“Mm?”
He pulls the hair just a little, whilst his pinky finger rubs George’s now exposed tip.
“ Sap… ”
“Fucking knew you went commando, could tell. S’ filthy.”
He whines at the tone of Sapnap’s voice, tilting his head back against the arm of the couch and closing his eyes. Sapnap’s fingers rub roughly against the wetness of George’s cock, smearing it against his length and navel.
“Gettin’ all messy when we’re right here? That’s definitely filthy.”
“You were teasing me,” He sneers. “For some reason.”
“Was I?” Sapnap smirks. “Or do you just want it that badly?”
His hips buck up frantically at the accusation. It’s brutally antagonizing, the push and pull of shame and need. Dream is right there, his head remains curled up on Sapnap’s lap and jostles with every movement the younger one makes. And yet, a part of George wants him to wake up, to catch his flushed cheeks and small moans and to react– in any way.
“He’s g’na wake up.”
“Nah”
“Mm,” George whines, gripping the couch at Sapnap’s hand, which finally wraps around him but starts slowly. His hand is still beneath his sweats and yet just as intense, causing a constant ripple effect with their shared blanket. “What’re we doing?”
“Bored,” Sapnap supplies, stopping his movements. “You’re good though, right?”
George catches his breath for a few seconds, looking at Dream. He’s still there— not like he’ll disappear, he supposes. A messy mix of curls.
“But you— I mean, you and Dream?”
“Yeah? What about us?” Sapnap questions, settling his hand to stay on George’s stomach.
“You’re like, a thing. Right?”
“What,” Sapnap laughs at him. “What do you mean?”
He stares at him, dumbfounded. “Like, the way you guys are, how you act, I mean— what do you mean, what do I mean ?”
“That’s just how me and Dream work, like you and Karl, I guess.”
“No,” he scoffs. “Me and Karl know we’re kidding, we play it up. It’s fun to kiss him but it’s fun to kiss anyone, Sap. You and Dream act like a couple .”
“I wouldn't say it’s fun to kiss anyone—”
“That’s not the point, idiot.”
Sapnap huffs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Can we go back to when I had your dick in my hands, please?”
“Hand.” George corrects.
Sapnap snatches the pillow closest to him, smacking George with it, accidentally jostling Dream, too. They both freeze up, and George panics only for a second, but Sapnap’s hand rubs against his stomach reassuringly. When Dream moves, his head lifts first and he yawns, grunting.
“Nick?”
“Hey, Dream. Nice sleep?”
George snickers when his voice cracks, and Sapnap glares.
“Yeah. M’ just tired and—”
Dream pauses when he looks at them, staring directly at the hand Sapnap has on his stomach, beneath the blanket. George stills, wide-eyed and goes to stammer out an excuse, but Dream stops him.
“What’s going on there?”
“Nothing,” Sapnap interrupts, calm as ever. “Literally nothing. He freaked cause’ he thinks we’re dating or something.”
George rolls his eyes. “You practically are.”
“We’re not,” Dream sighs, yawning again and finally sitting up. “We just— we’re close.”
“Clearly.”
“Go on then,” Dream smiles, sleepily. “Go back to what you were doing.”
“You think he’ll let me?” Sapnap smirks, his hand remains on George’s stomach but he’s looking at Dream, in his sleepy state. The air thickens George’s throat. They’re speaking as though he isn’t even there, like this is normal. Maybe it is.
“Ask him, Sap. Use your manners.”
“Shut up,” he giggles, finally turning back to George. “George, can I put my hand back now?”
He bites his cheek, as his eyes dance between Sapnap and Dream. He could go to bed, he could say no, leave them with their not-so-platonic realization and let them figure it out. But the chance, the opportunity, it’s sat in front of him nestled between their shared space and he wants it. He wants it, he wants to have what they have.
So he pushes.
“Like Dream said,” he swallows. “Use your manners.”
“Oh.” Dream breathes.
“Please,” Sapnap mumbles. “Please?”
He stops clenching his hand on the couch, using it to instead lift the blanket off of his and Sapnap’s laps. Dream moves, no longer sitting but kneeling instead, right behind Sapnap— who now sits in front of George— with his hands on Sapnap’s shoulders.
“Yeah. Yeah, you can, Sap.”
He does, he dips the hand still on his stomach a little lower, below his sweats again and plays with the now familiar patch of hair, before moving downwards. When he receives no complaint from George, and no interruption from Dream, he secures his hand back around George’s cock.
“He’s leaking,” Dream whispers, almost in awe. “Fuck.”
Sapnap mumbles in approval. “Mm, so wet, right?”
George hisses at the sharp movements from Sapnap. He’s so calloused, determined with the way he tugs George. He thumbs the slit of his tip and spreads his wetness around him, rubbing it beneath his fingers and up and down George’s cock.
“Sap, I— fuck, I wanna’ get you guys off too.” He complains.
“Love, move down.” Dream whispers, gripping Sapnap’s familiar hips and positioning him to kneel down in front of George comfortably, facing his cock. He arches perfectly, driving George’s eyes into a widened pool of lust. Dream pulls his shorts and boxers down at the same time, but meticulously, teasing the younger one.
“Dream, hurry up,” he hisses. “M’ so hard, please.”
“Always so needy.”
“You’ve done this before?” George manages. “Fuck, Sap that’s good.”
Sapnap ignores the question, focusing on his task. His hand curves awkwardly but the way it affects George must spur him on. He keeps looking, focusing on the small movements that trigger his moans and make his eyes roll with each pull.
“We’re close. Remember, George?” Dream answers for him.
George nods. “Mm.”
“Dream, please.” Sapnap mutters.
“Okay, calm down. You want my mouth?”
The thought makes George groan, bucking his hips up into Sapnap’s fist.
“Yeah. George can have mine,” Sapnap laughs. “He’s so needy.”
George whines a little, struggling to stay still beneath Sapnap’s constant movements. Dream yawns, still endearingly sleepy and grips the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and above his head, throwing it to the floor.
He’s gorgeous, better than George had ever imagined. Freckles are scattered all over him, forming little clusters and imaginary constellations he wants to trace. His nipples are pink and contrast in comparison to the paleness of his chest.
Definitely gorgeous.
He tilts his head up after placing his hands on Sapnap’s hips, smirking slightly at George’s gaze before slowly lowering himself down and spreading Sapnap apart.
“Dream, love. Please just hurry up.” Sapnap whines.
“And you called George needy,” Dream quips, licking against Sapnap’s rim teasingly. “Pathetic.”
They have such a connection, it makes George’s brain spin. He thrusts into Sapnap’s hand, his cheeks flush at how messy he’s made Sapnap’s fingers. But the tightness reels him in, rendering him helpless to Sapnap.
Helpless to them both, really. He basks in the way they have him, completely under their command.
“Dream, more. Please, please please— more.” Sapnap begs.
He’s wild, tonguing behind Sapnap against his rim relentlessly, his hair flies back and forth with his movements. Up and down, left and right, anything that Dream can think of he seems to execute perfectly, ruining Sapnap’s composure.
The drool from Sapnap’s mouth falls delicately onto him, mixing with his already slicked up cock. The younger whimpers at one of Dream’s movements, and his head falls into George’s lap, lying on his thigh. His movements are laggard, messy and uncoordinated.
“Grab him,” Dream heaves, catching his breath. “Pull him on you, he can take it. Promise.”
He grips the roots of Sapnap’s hair, but hesitates. When Sapnap lifts his head his eyes are glistening, glazed over with pleasure, and he nods up at George, licking the spit on his lips right back up.
“Fuck, Sap. You sure?”
“Mm,” he affirms. “So sure.”
And George should double check, but Sapnap is completely wrecked, with tainted eyes staring straight up at him. Daring him, daring him to test his tolerance, daring him to push his limits. He uses his other hand to drag his thumb around Sapnap’s face, tracing his eyelids when they scrunch up at Dream’s constant licking, and he presses his thumb into the wetness of Sapnap’s mouth, biting his lip when the younger bites the tip of his thumb.
He retreats, moving to his chin instead and tilting him up. “Stay.”
Sapnap’s hand leaves George’s cock, and he gapes his mouth a little wider. Whether it’s for him or because of Dream’s tongue, George doesn’t know. He slips himself into the opening of Sapnap’s mouth, sighing contently at the way he instantly suckles his tip, closing his eyes.
“Yeah, Sap. Fuck, there you go. Good boy,” George groans. “So good.”
Dream lifts his head, staring open mouthed at Sapnap’s head bobbing up and down on George’s cock.
“Does he feel good?” Dream asks.
George lets his leg dangle off of the couch, gripping Sapnap’s hair and guiding him. “Yeah. Fuck, Dream. He’s so good.”
“I know,” Dream smiles. “Tastes good, too.” He adds, dipping back down to lick over Sapnap again. The latter whines against George’s cock, attempting to swallow the saliva coating his mouth and George’s cock. The vibration furrows his eyebrows in pleasure, tilting him closer to the edge.
“Keep going— yeah, Sap. Fuck, I’m close. M’ getting close.”
He speeds up, bracing himself with a hand on the couch and moving up and down faster on George’s cock. His hips lower slightly, dragging Dream with him as he quickly meets the rough cushion beneath him on the couch.
“He’s tryna’ hump the couch.” Dream huffs, laughing at him.
George snickers, attempting to laugh as best as he can. “You gonna let him do that?”
“Is he doing good?” Dream asks, gesturing to the sloppy blowjob George is receiving.
“Yeah, so good. Best— fuck, best I’ve had.” He confirms.
Dream smiles, lifting himself properly on his knees again. “Hear that, Sap? I think you deserve to cum.”
Sapnap swallows, lifting himself off of George but replacing the warmth of his mouth with his spare hand. “Please, pl’se. Need it.”
Dream’s mouth curls into a little smile, ignoring his beg but fulfilling it physically by placing his hand on the small of Sapnap’s back, pushing his hips to grind against the couch. The younger keens at the friction, frantically grinding his hips against the couch and mouthing tiny pleas into George’s thigh, biting him on the occasion.
“Mm, I’m gonna cum,” he whines. “Please, please I need it.” He moans, looking at George for permission, but before George can even allow him, before he can even utter a word, he’s spilling over the couch cushion, coating the fabric and his stomach with himself and flopping himself down between George’s open legs.
“Well done Sap. Did so good, love,” Dream reassures. “Good job.”
“Dream,” George mumbles, rubbing his slicked tip. “Dream, please.”
“You’re close?”
George scoffs. “You’re not?”
“Uh— I don’t need to,” he pauses. “I already…”
“Fuck,” George whines, looking at the dark spot on Dream’s sweatpants. “just— help me, then. Please?”
“Yeah, okay,” he laughs, letting Sapnap lie down on a clean pillow, watching their movements from across from George.
“You want my mouth?” Dream asks.
“No, no, just use your hand. Hurry up, please.”
And as much as he wants it to last, Dream’s hand is so different in comparison. He’s soft, particular with what he’s doing and he rubs so delicately against George’s tip that somehow it affects him more. But he’s fast, too, causing George’s head to throw back with the overwhelming rush.
He groans, bringing his fist to his mouth and biting. “M’ cumming. Dream,” he warns. “Fuck, Dream. Dream oh, fuck.”
Dream gasps as he finally cums, keeping his hand secure around George and watching it drip down his hand, sticking between his fingers. George sighs, breathing heavily and tilting his head up against the arm of the couch, staring at the ceiling.
“You’re messy, George.” Dream laughs.
“And you’re a fucking idiot.”
Sapnap grunts sleepily from behind them. “Your idiot.”
And George hears it this time, he acknowledges it, and he smiles.
“Yeah yeah, you’re my idiots.”
“Hey,” Dream interrupts, holding his phone up to show the time splayed on the screen. “Merry Christmas.”
“Dream,” Sapnap mumbles, with his face half asleep on the couch. “What the fuck, man.”