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Dream awoke, sweating profusely under the covers. He could hear the early morning bustle of the city through the window, mixed with a gentle rain steadily hitting the glass panes. An ambulance drove past blaring it's sirens into the night as if it wanted the world to know it's presence. Dream watched the silhouette of the car's against his wall and admired the graceful way they carried themselves through the night, like swan's in a pristines lake's waters.
He sighed in content and turned over to face away from the lights against his wall. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he focused them slowly on the outline of the man in bed beside him. His mind fogged over and his breathing quickened as panic took over his body. However much he was sweating before, it was in no comparison to the amount of sweat he was emitting right now.
He grabbed at the bed sheets trying to clear his mind as he blinked, trying to clear the man from his vision.
"It's a dream, you're dreaming," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and clinging to the bedsheets like a cat clinging to the arm of a sofa. However, when the man started to stir what Dream appeared to be experiencing felt all too real to be a dream.
The man was shifting in bed beside Dream, his smaller frame no longer predominantly taking up Dream's vision and as he turned to face him, he could feel his heartbeat practically in his throat.
Dream closed his eyes, willing for it to be a dream, hoping more than anything that he would wake up alone in bed, with Patches curled up by his feet and or near his head.
He opened his eyes.
His breath stuck in his throat and his pupils dilated in shock.
His hands clutched the bed sheets even harder and he struggled to breathe and comprehend the face of the man infront of him.
"George?"
"Hey Dream."
The light from the streetlamps outside illuminated the boy's face, casting dancing shadows across his face and highlighting his features, giving him a glow that to anyone would seem unearthly. His hair was ruffled and spread across his forehead imitating a bad case of bedhead with tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles. His skin was pale and beautiful like the surface of a car after it frosts over in the early morning in December. His beauty was so unmatched he seemed almost unreal.
"George, why are you here." Dream watched him with wide eyes, tracking every moment the beautiful boy made.
He ignored the question, looking down at Dream's sweaty hands still ravelled in the bed sheets. Slowly he reached out to touch his hand, George's eyes as wide and wondrous as Dream's.
"Are you real?" his voice was gentle and reminded Dream of being younger and his mum wrapping him in a fuzzy towel that had been warming on the radiator for several minutes. It was comforting and warmed Dream from the inside out.
"Yes." he replied, letting George run his finger over his hand, barely grazing his skin and sending a wave of goosebumps scatter up his arm.
George looked at him, a glowing Floridian boy with a halo of blonde curls, his disconcertingly gentle blue eyes and mouth upturned in his usual knowing smile.
Their eyes met and both held in a deep breath, allowing themselves to glance over each others faces, each looking the other up and down.
Dream never once considered how George had got into his house, and why he would get in his bed instead of just him waking up.
Dream subconsciously shifted closer to George, not realising George's finger was still gently stroking Dream's hands and they both fell to the side, entangling themselves in the bedsheets.
He inhaled deeply, his breath hitching as he realised the position they were now both in. Dream stradling George, both his hands on either side of his head and their face astoundingly close as they stared at each other, both awestruck by the other's ethereal beauty.
"Hey," Dream smirked down at George, his eyes hungrily boring down onto George's majestic features.
"H-hi." George stuttered, eyes vaguely perplexed at the position he was now in and in anticipation of what might happen.
Dream's hands moved closer to George's neck, his thumbs gently brushing the skin on the side of his neck, sending shivers rocketing up George's spine.
"You look so pretty right now," Dream whispered, his tongue licked his lips, bringing moisture to them.
George shivered again, subconsciously parting his lips as he looked up at Dream's angelic profile.
They were close enough now to feel each other's steady breathing against their face, but still neither of them making any move until Dream cupped the side of George's face with a large hand. Stroking him with his thumb as he stared down at him, nothing but love in his eyes.
"What would you do if I kissed you right now." he breathed, eyes never leaving George's face.
Slowly Dream felt George's hands sneak up the side of his face, cold fingertips tracing his cheekbones and gently entangling themselves in his mass of blonde curls.
Dream's own hands slid off of George, positioning themselves on either side of George's face as Dream felt George's hands press his head gently downwards and the gap between them was finally closed.
Time stopped as soon as their lips touched, Dream feeling the usual flutter of butterflies return to his stomach and only hearing the sound of both their heart's beating in unison. Right then, right there, the only thing that mattered to Dream was the feel of George's fingers wrapped in his hair and the feel of George's lips against his own.
Dream wrapped George closer, forcing him to get to his knees slightly, now the same height as the man he was kissing. His fingers curled and uncurled in Dream's hair causing him to moan into the kiss.
George gasped slightly as he felt Dream's fingers snake under his shirt, brushing against his chest as if teasing him slightly and then retreating out and into George's hair.
By now George was practically pinned against the wall, Dream wrapped around his neck, biting at his skin in lust, and sucking at spots that he knew would make George moan.
Dream felt George's fingers brush against his own chest and he looked down in surprise to see his shirt being unbuttoned slowly but steadily by the long, slender fingers belonging to the man he loved.
Pulling away from the kiss Dream looked at George, shirt half off, bruises scattered across his neck and chest, hair ruffled and obviously pulled at and his eyes, the pale innocent baby blue now less innocent than one could imagine.
He savoured it all, surveying everything that he owned. His property. His boy. No one else's.
He owned this man and no one would take that away from him.
Dream leaned in to kiss George again, his teeth ready to bite at George's bottom lip and his hands ready to deprive George of his trousers but suddenly a cold sweat washed over him.
He closed his eyes panicking, sweating as hard as he was earlier as his eyes blurred and he fell backwards away from George, mind swirling with colours and a cacophony of sounds.
He jolted awake, sweating profusely under the covers and gasping for the sweet relief of air.
Confused, he reached out for George, his fingers searching under the covers for the man he knew must be hiding beneath them.
"George?" he called out quietly, hoping above anything that he would hear the voice of the man he loved so dearly but all he was greeted with was the faint roaring of a police car as it sped down the road, blaring it's horns out for the world to see.
He closed his eyes slowly, not letting his brain return to the conclusion that he knew was the unfortunate truth.
It was a dream.
It was all dream.
Nothing more than a dream.
All Dream wanted was to wake up, with George by his side again, and his arms wrapped around George's waist, pulling him inwards and incasing him protectively.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to open his mouth and scream at whatever controlled this godforsaken world. He wanted to take them by the shoulders and shake them until they realised what they'd done to him. He wanted them to feel the pain that he felt right now. He wished things upon them that deserved to happen to no man.
That was the moment when he realised how lost he was and he began to weep.
That night he wept for everything, everything that could have been, everything that did be and everything that was to be. And if a man, hurrying to get to work in the early hours of that Saturday morning had passed by that house, then that man would have heard the wails of a creature in distress. And if that man was so alarmed that he had bothered to enter that house and find the poor creature screeching it's sadness to the world, sounding so lonely and pain filled, all he would have found was the shell of a man, lost and hopeless.
A man who had given up trying.