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Dream wakes up to a gentle shake of his shoulder and groans, turning away. The person doesn’t give up though. Really, they just sit on the edge of the bed and shake him again.
“Go ‘way,” Dream mumbles, almost unintelligibly into his pillow.
It’s George–Sapnap still won’t wake him up, even if the house were on fire, but still. Even feeling like shit in bed, Dream can tell it’s George by the pattern of his breaths from above him and the way he gets too close.
Sapnap would never get this close to Dream in such a vulnerable place and such an intimate way. He’d never pull off his shoes and climb into his bed, not even on a good day let alone when he’s feeling ill. Dream and George are a little careless with each other–if one gets sick, the other gets sick, and there’s no secret as to why. Sapnap on the other hand is extremely careful about keeping his distance from germs because he hates having a stuffy nose, even more than he hates when George chews loudly with his mouth open.
That’s besides the point, because Dream isn’t sick, really. He’s just… run down.
“Dream,” George says, breath fanning across the back of his neck and tickling his skin. He blames the shivers that run down his spine on the heat on his skin.
A hand lands on his shoulder and he feels George shuffle a bit closer to the center of the bed. “Hm?” Dream hums.
George leans in even closer, dark curls briefly catching on Dream’s, lips just barely touching Dream. “Happy birthday,” he whispers.
Dream looks over at the clock, noticing that it’s midnight and he blinks himself awake a little, taking the effort to roll over to face George. They’re close, too close, but George doesn’t move so Dream doesn’t bother apologizing or pulling away. Dream’s voice is hoarse, croaking with sleep. “Thank you, George.” He forces a smile and lets his eyes flutter shut sleepily again.
“I know you don’t feel well but I’m uh, I’m always first to wish you happy birthday so,” George says, shrugging against the mattress.
Maybe it’s exhaustion settled deep in his bones and the soreness in his muscles that has him leaning into George even more, chest brushing George’s. He lets his heavy arms lift and land on George’s side, thumb falling to the hot skin on his hip. George leans into the touch. “Thank you,” Dream whispers again.
They don’t say anything else for a bit, rather just relish in each other’s company and warmth here at the start of his twenty-fifth birthday. Dream rubs the spot where George’s shirt has ridden up and George’s hands sit between them, playing with the collar of Dream’s shirt he should have changed two days ago.
He can feel George’s hair against his forehead, long from not cutting it since Dream hasn’t made either of them an appointment. Dream can feel the tip of George’s nose against his own when he lifts his chin just a bit and they’re so close that he wants to press his lips to every inch of George’s skin.
Dream wants to feel every part of George, parts he already knows by heart and parts he’s never gotten to see, against his lips. He wants to let himself get lost in George in the way he’s never let himself, the way he and George have never talked about, but he knows is there. It’s there, it has to be.
But he doesn’t.
His wandering mind jolts him awake, sleepiness mixed with fatigue allowing his brain to wander too far into uncharted territory. He physically flinches, in the same way he would if he had been dreaming and fallen before he fully let himself go, and groans.
“You okay?” George asks him. Finally, he lets his eyes open again and sees how close they truly are. All it would take is the jut of his chin and their lips would meet. How easy. “Don’t be an idiot,” George says playfully, a grin playing on his lips.
Dream internally sighs. Not easy, he reminds himself.
To get himself out of his own thoughts, Dream groans and rolls away from George onto his back, stretching out his arms above him. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Dream tells him. “I have to edit.”
“Dream, it’s after midnight,” George says, reaching closer to Dream and resting a hand on his chest. His breath hitches at the touch and he lifts his hand to rest on top of George’s. “It’s your birthday. You need to rest.” George’s voice is gentle in its delivery but he enunciates every word, talking slowly. Not in the mocking way but in the way Dream knows means George is being serious.
So he takes George’s words and decides not to fight them, settling back into his pillows. He nods and pointedly does not look at George or roll back onto his side. “Okay, yeah, just a break. I can–I can work on it in the morning.”
While staring at the ceiling, Dream can practically hear George’s eyes roll along with his heavy sigh. “You can take a break,” George tells him sternly. “You have more important things to do.”
“More important than work, George?”
“Yeah,” George says, hand scrunching around his shirt. “I want to spend time with you and that’s more important.”
Dream laughs at the unexpected words that leave George’s lips. Even knowing George can say the most unhinged shit, it’s still surprising. Especially when it’s something like this; vulnerable. George rarely says what he wants, especially when it includes anything that could be remotely viewed as his feelings.
It may not be the best way to go about it but Dream knows George, so instead of acknowledging the underlying vulnerability in his words, he makes a joke to ease the seriousness.
“Aw, Georgie loves me,” Dream says. He turns toward George again and pokes at his cheek with a serious smile that doesn’t match his words. Acknowledge the vulnerability silently, in their secret language that no one understands. Dream doesn’t understand it himself, to be fair. All he knows is that Dream understands George and George understands Dream. Words or none, they get each other.
It throws Dream for a loop when George doesn’t laugh or swat him away but grabs the finger on his cheek to lace their fingers together. “I do, yeah.”
“Oh,” Dream’s surprise is obvious. “I know, George, I–I love you, too.”
George keeps his eyes down, staring at their hands. “I um, I didn’t get you anything.”
Scoffing, Dream figures he should keep up the lighthearted mood. It’s not usually his job in the situation, rather George’s. He’s always the one to keep things fun and laid back, making serious things into something easier to swallow. “You never get me anything.” The joke doesn’t land, even with the laughter in his tone.
“But I should,” George tells him. “You’re my best friend, I should get you a birthday gift.”
It’s weird. George is never serious, especially about things like this. No, George doesn’t really do birthday gifts but he does give. He does meaningful things, like waking Dream up at midnight and making his mum’s chocolate cake, and that means more to Dream than any physical gift that money can buy.
“George,” he says the name carefully, so familiar on his tongue. “I don’t need a gift.”
“But–”
“If you’re really that worried about it,” Dream cuts off his train of thought, “you can still get me one. I don’t need one though, George, really. I–I have Sapnap and you and,” Dream shrugs. “I spent so many birthdays without you that it can’t possibly be better now that you’re here.”
He sees George’s shoulders fall with a sigh of relief, though he doesn’t seem convinced. George honestly looks nervous, oddly enough, considering Dream only sees him get nervous on rare occasions. “Okay but what if I can give you something now?”
“You’re not making any sense,” Dream says carefully. “You just said you didn’t get me a gift.”
“I didn’t but–” George stops short and groans, his free hand coming to slap his forehead in frustration as he sits up. “You’re not getting it.”
No, he’s definitely not. He has no idea what George is saying right now. “Are you drunk?”
“Oh my god, Dream, no. I’m just like, aren’t you tired of waiting?”
“Waiting?”
George jokingly smacks Dream’s shoulder. “Yeah, waiting. and—and since you won’t man up and kiss me, well, I’m going to kiss you.”
Dream feels his jaw drop and he starts to sputter, not sure what to say.
“Close your mouth,” George orders, laughing. Dream listens instantly and George carefully throws his leg over Dream to straddle his hips.
His hands fly to George’s hips, not really gentle at all and actually kind of rough, taking a tight breath in through his nose. God, he needs to be careful with where he’s sitting now, hips a little close to his own.
Dream can control himself. He’s twenty five for god’s sake, he can stop himself from getting a boner… but not like this. Not with George straddling his hips, cock almost against his own. “Like what are we waiting for? I don’t want to wait anymore,” George tells him.
“I—I don’t want to wait anymore either,” Dream breathes. “I–I didn’t know–how long have you–?” Dream stutters half questions, making George giggle. He bends over Dream’s chest so they are pressed together, noses touching and George’s lips hovering over his own.
“How long have I known you want me? Or that I want you?” Dream’s cheeks burn at the confidence in his words and cheeky smile. “We’ve always been like, more. Haven’t we?” Dream silently nods, believing that’s true, though Dream never thought George knew that. “You’re super obvious, idiot, but it’s cute, so,” George trails off and shrugs.
He looks into Dream’s eyes once, shining a silent question. Dream gives a curt nod and George leans in, even though Dream’s not even sure how George saw it with the way he’s staring at Dream’s lips.
George’s lips separate around Dream’s bottom lip, slotting into his with fervor. He presses in with a plan of attack, connecting their lips like they’ve kissed a million times in this lifetime. Their first kiss is nothing like what it should be and everything it would be in a seasoned relationship. Maybe they are seasoned in this relationship already, but novices just in this.
He’s surrounded by George, consumed head to toe. It’s new but old, life changing but so, so familiar. There’s the smell of George’s cologne from earlier that day, falling into the background of his musky scent that seeps through his pores after a long night. His stubble is longer than he usually lets it but has been letting it grow to try it out. His hair is too long but so is Dream’s, flopping in front of his forehead and into Dream’s face.
Dream’s hands slip to the small of George’s back, pulling him in closer even when there’s no space between them. He feels himself chub up at the contact but before he gets to feel embarrassed about it, he feels George’s hardened length pressed against him.
It feels like being a teenager again, turned on by a simple kiss without tongue even involved. It’s like he’s never been kissed before, like every kiss before this means absolutely nothing because this is it.
George’s lips start moving against his, taking full control of the movements and everything about the kiss. He tilts his head, wet lips slapping against Dream’s, tongue swiping and entering Dream’s mouth when given access.
And Dream has never loved kissing. He never deemed it very special but this kiss is something. His heart races in his chest and he moves with George, reaching at every inch of skin he can so he can feel every little bump and dip on his body.
“Okay, George,” Dream says breathlessly, tilting his head as George’s lips leave his own and trail down his chin. “If–if you want to stop here, well, um, you–we–fuck.”
His thoughts aren’t straight, not with George’s lips sucking tightly on the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. “I don’t want to stop,” George says. “Do you?” He pauses and looks at Dream for reassurance, who shakes his head tightly.
Dream’s hips thrust upward, jolting George’s body on top of his own. “Sorry, god, I’m sorry,” he apologizes but George rolls his hips too, cocks brushing against one another through their clothes.
“How about a birthday blowjob? Like, two gifts in one. Since I’ve never given you a gift before,” George says. It’s a joke, kind of. It’s serious but it’s still funny.
With a strained laugh, Dream stretches his neck back even further as George attacks him with his lips. “You owe me like, how long have we known each other? Eight years,” Dream tries to joke but it really just comes out breathless and needy.
George smiles against Dream’s check, tugging at the dirty shirt on his back. “I guess we have to do this eight times.”
Dream smiles. “I plan on doing this more than eight times, idiot.”
The smile George shines at him, tugging at his pants, shows that he does too.
Of course they plan on doing this a million times and more. Of course they’ll do this again. Honestly, Dream plans on doing this with George and only with George for the rest of his life. No, George didn't say that, but he’d bet George would. They are just on the same wavelength, even about this.
Dream’s cock springs out of his waistband, wet with precome at the angry tip, harder than he’s been in what feels like forever. He’s not sure if it’s because this is his first time with a man, or that it’s his first time with George, but he’s sure it’s mostly George.
George, stripped of his own clothes, drools spit onto his red tip, spreading it with his thumb and down the shaft. He leans down and Dream steadies himself, holding onto the sheets beside him as he waits for George’s tongue, but it doesn’t come. The first thing George does is press his lips to the base and—he inhales.
He sniffs in, taking in the sweet smell of Dream’s arousal and pure scent, before kissing the underside of his shaft until he makes it to the tip. George leaves a kiss on the slit and swipes the wet precome across his lips, wetting them before swirling his tongue and taking Dream’s cock down his throat.
“Ah, fuck,” Dream whines, unable to hold it in anymore. His hand makes its way into George’s curls, knotting into them and tightening them, but not enough to hurt. Not really, at least. “Your mouth, George.”
He can feel George’s lips tighten at the sides with a smile at the praise, pushing further down his length and letting his dick hit the back of his throat.
Dream moans loudly, too loudly for knowing his roommate is just down the hall, but he can’t really think about it. George’s throat is hot and wet and tight and—god, he swallows and Dream can feel it in his toes.
George readjusts with Dream in his mouth, kneeling in a more comfortable position with his bare ass in the air. His knees are spread on the bed, hole out and on display but not for Dream.
That just won’t do.
He adjusts his position too, sitting up with George bouncing on his cock, careful not to disturb him.
Dream reaches over George, hand landing on one of his cheeks before trailing gently to the center. He lets a finger land on George’s hole, feeling it flutter against his hand, and he can’t stop the way his hips thrust.
The sounds from George are obscene, wet and slurping and gagging when he takes it in too far.
“I think—fuck, I’m gonna come,” he says and George sucks and sucks and sucks.
Dream moans and plays with George’s hole, feeling under his balls where he can reach, until he’s just about to come. He feels his abdomen tighten, toes curl, and his head throws back and—
George pulls off, letting go with a loud plop and heavy breaths.
“No! What the—George—“ Dream whines, thrusting into the air and chasing his release, but all George does is giggle.
He crawls back up toward Dream, straddling his hips again and lining their dicks up. George’s dick is red now too, burning with want, against Dream’s slick with spit cock. “Want to come together,” George says, wiping at the saliva and precome on his lips with a single finger.
George is too delicate about it so Dream takes over, not really thinking in his pent up haze. He swipes lazily at George’s mouth, making more of a mess than cleaning up, and sticks his middle and ring finger in his mouth.
Of course George takes them in with ease and sucks, hollowing his cheeks and closing his eyes. Dream bucks his hips upward, just barely grazing George’s cock.
Damn, how can he take this? How can George just sit there untouched, and seemingly unbothered with a purple cock?
He can’t, not for much longer, with the way George starts to roll his hips against Dream. The touch isn’t much, not with the way their dicks just pass one another, but the entire thing makes the arousal swim deep in his belly. With his fingers in George’s mouth and George humping his crotch, well, maybe he’ll die from lack of orgasm but at least he’ll die the happiest man alive.
George looks soft like this, eyelashes down and the little bit of light illuminating his cheekbone. He looks ethereal.
He rolls his hips, properly getting friction against Dream’s body. His speed picks up, breaths get heavier, and fuck, his whiney moans should be his ringtone, he wants to hear them everyday. Dream takes it in with everything he has and holds in his need, but George falls forward with his pleasure, hands falling on Dream’s chest.
Dream finally gives in and takes both of their cocks in his hand, wrapping around both of them and fucking into it. It’s tight between his fingers, cock smooth and slippery against George’s.
George whines and fingers pull out of his mouth, so he tucks his face into Dream’s neck. He hovers just enough that Dream can fuck into his hand while George gets jerked off from it too, and George sucks just below his ear with whines and moans going straight to his cock.
The only warning Dream gets about George’s orgasm is a loud moan before he’s spilling onto Dream’s knuckles and belly, Dream’s release falling in quickly after. He uses George’s come as lube to finish himself off, attaching their lips as he comes onto George’s release.
George doesn’t care about the mess so instead of getting off, he lets himself lazily drop onto Dream’s chest and into the mix of their come. All George does to acknowledge it is squirm, almost like he’s spreading it across their stomachs.
Dream groans and rolls his eyes but his hands tighten around George’s back again, pulling them tightly together. “Hm,” George says, pecking Dream’s lips. “Happy birthday.”
He laughs loudly, playfully smacking George’s ass and letting it giggle before looking back at George’s dark eyes. He’s smiling, lazily but happily, shining with something that’s always been there but is no longer hiding behind something. “Thank you,” Dream whispers.
“So,” George clears his throat. “We’re like—we’re doing this?”
Dream huffs. How George-like it is for him to avoid words with actual emotional meaning. “Yeah, we’re doing this,” Dream uses George’s lingo. “And we should always be doing this,” he jokes, shuffling his hips.
They giggle together, talking about the usual nonsense as George cleans them up. Dream tried to get a warm towel but George shoved him away, talking about how it’s another part of the birthday gift.
The two shower together in Dream’s shower, one that George consistently calls ugly but talks about how he’s moving into Dream’s room just for his awesome shower head.
“You’re an idiot, George. Just say you want to move into my room,” Dream calls him out.
George rolls his eyes but grins, not denying it.
He hates words and feeling, that much is clear.
But when they get back into bed again, George in one of Dream’s shirts and Dream with just clean boxers, George tucks himself into Dream’s chest.
“I love you,” George whispers, so quietly Dream isn’t sure it’s real. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
“I love you, too,” Dream says, a kiss to the crown of George’s head.
“Don’t get used to it,” George says louder than. “I always say it on your birthday.”
And that’s true, but Dream doesn’t lose his smile. He doesn’t need to be told he’s loved by George to know he is.
George’s love is shown, not spoken, and that’s okay.
That’s why Dream falls asleep with George in his arms and the last thing he remembers is a kiss to the center of his chest.