Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dream isn’t quite sure how they got to this point: yet here they are. 

George’s legs are thrown over his own in the living room, a football match or some show that George enjoys is playing on the TV though it’s thoroughly forgotten. George’s hands are playing with each other, Dream’s are resting on George’s shins, aching to stroke along the long leg hair that is tantalizing on display for him.

“So, like…” Dream trails off. His fingers fidget again, catching on one of the knotted hairs, and George hisses in discomfort. “You’re like, actually into that?”

“Yeah. Don’t act so surprised about it. We all thought you were into it,” George huffs, lolling his head back in mock embarrassment. It's surprising; Dream would expect himself to be the one calm and collected about this situation, but he’s the one with a flaming face and eyes that can’t quite meet the other’s. “I don’t know why I am. I think I was a couple clicks too deep when I was too close.”

“Yeah, okay, blame your piss kink on that, George.” Dream rolls his eyes and forcibly takes his hands away from George’s shins. “I‘m not like, kink-shaming, or anything. I’m just surprised it’s a piss kink , like seriously, what the fuck?”

“Right. ‘Cause you’re so high and mighty and vanilla.” George laughs. “What is it that you're into anyway? I bet it’s something gross too.”

“What makes you think I’m into gross porn, George?” Dream averts his eyes, finding a furball on the far side of the room a bit more interesting. “I’m into handcuffs like every other BDSM newbie white boy is, but that’s about it.” His hands stutter against his legs.

“You’re lying.” Fuck.  

Dream sighs. “It’s not bad. It's just– embarrassing?”

“I just told you I like it when people piss, Dream. I’m sure it can’t get worse than that. What? Are you into vomit or something?”

“Uh–” Dream feels so disgustingly seen it makes him want to run away and hide. What else can George see right through?

“Oh. Oh, you’re fucking revolting, Dream,” George’s nose scrunches up and he sits a little straighter. He’s teasing, Dream knows that he is, but his insides churn with hot shame. 

“No, no, it's not like that.” Dream reasons, his hands clasping around George’s shins again and holding them just because he wants to. “I– I like the sound people's throats make when they give blowjobs, George.”

“What, like gagging?”

“ Yes , god it's so–” He cuts himself off, shivering (embarrassingly) at the thought of it. “When your partner takes you in their mouth and they just gag, like, choke? It's so hot.”

There’s a pause. Maybe a little bit of disbelief, but George's nose is back to its original state. 

“You like… the sound of someone choking on dick?” He doesn’t sound sure, almost as if he can’t believe Dream thinks it’s not a mundane thing to be into.

“Yeah, but like, ugh, you know? It feels great and it sounds even better, dude, it's so good.”

“If you say so,” George shrugs noncommittally and turns his attention back to the TV. Dream knows he isn’t really paying attention though, that ship had sailed hours ago.

There’s a weighted silence, broken only by the soft sound of Dream’s palms running along George’s shins. It’s peaceful, but Dream is painfully aware of the fact that their conversation is far from over. Tension fuses itself within his skin.

George coughs and shuffles in his seat, spares a glance at Dream, and then whips his head back to the TV. 

“What?” he mumbles, digging his thumbnail into a particularly sparse patch of hair just under George’s knee. “What are you thinking about?”

“It’s just… it’s been a while since we’ve done anything, hasn’t it?” George muses, refusing to make eye contact with Dream. “Like, sex, right? Do you ever think about it?”

Dream swallows, turns his head to look at the TV like it’s some sort of buffer. It’s some dumb cartoon that must have been on autoplay since the last time it was turned on. Were they ever paying attention to it?

“Yeah, I mean— who doesn’t think about sex?”

George hums, picking at a loose thread on their couch. It’s probably from Patches calwing at the seams whenever George chases her around with his phone. Another silence, then, “Do you think about… that , though?”

“All the time,” Dream is embarrassingly quick to answer. He feels his face color, but he bites his lip and pushes past the sakura-colored shame. “Like, I miss it. My ex-girlfriend didn’t like it so we never did it. So it’s been like—uh—four? Yeah, four years since I’ve, uh, engaged in that type of act.” Dream cringes at his terminology. 

George chuckles, turning his gaze back and locking eye contact. Something stirs inside Dream’s stomach. “You miss it?”

George talks about sex for half a second and now it’s the only thing playing through Dream’s mind. 

“Of course. Porn only gets you so far and jerking off is a whole other story—” Dream swallows, fiddles with George’s leg hair a bit more intently. “I’ve tried doing it before but it’s like, it’s not the same, it doesn't work.”

“Why don’t you just,” George rolls his eyes, leaning forward and putting his hands on top of Dream’s, forcibly stopping him from playing with his leg hair any longer. Dream mock pouts at him. “Why don't you just get a dildo online and make the noise yourself?”

“I don’t have a gag reflex, so I can't exactly do that,” Dream concedes, inching his fingers up and down regardless of the prison they’re trapped in. “And besides, it’s not the same.”

George swallows, a little too audibly for it to be an accident. “What?” It's small, then, “What?! You’re an idiot, Dream. How are you supposed to live without it if you can't do it?”

“That's the whole point , George. I can’t. I’m sick of watching the same three porn videos over and over again. It’s lost its effect.” Dream moves his hands and lays them on top of George’s knees. “I just want to get laid so I can hear it, just once, that's all I need.”

“Then why don't you?” 

Dream gives him a pointed look. “Uh— because I have 30 million subscribers? And it's like, a pretty fucked kink—”

“—I wouldn't say so.”

“—And I don’t think I’m ready to have that trending all over Twitter. You're the same though, right? Like, you can’t live your kink fantasies because everyone knows your face?”

George flushes, immediately averting his gaze elsewhere. Dream grins slyly. “You dirty dog.”

“Shut up! This isn't about me. It's about you and your dumb– dumb– dumb choking kink or whatever it is. Ugh,” George pushes his hands off his knees and goes to stand up, but Dream is quick to talk again to keep him there.

“Do you have a gag reflex?” Dream’s eyes widen as if he can’t believe he even asked that himself, but the words hang in the air, stagnant, and the only indication that George even heard him is the mimicked gaze he has staring right back at him. 

The silence is long, weighted. Tension seeps deeper into his skin.

“What are you getting at, Dream?” It’s low, calculated. It's a little hot how clear his words are, but Dream cannot get hung up over that. Not now. 

“It's a question: do you have a gag reflex?” He swallows and hopes George can’t see the way his Adam’s apple bobs in nervous anticipation.

“I’m worried about the implications behind that question, Dream.” George sits down again, but keeps his distance. Dream knows not to push his luck and run his hands along his calves like he’s desperate to do. He sits on his hands and bites at his lip: immediately letting it snap back into place when he realizes how provocative he must look. Biting his lip and his hands under his ass like a sub , like someone wanting to fall into submission under those sultry mocha eyes and calming voice. He would, but George doesn’t have to know that. 

“I’m just saying.” He’s trying to match George’s tone: calm, collected, articulating every sound to make sure there’s no miscommunication between the two of them. “We obviously can’t just go out and get laid. For regular sex or for a kink.”

A pause, aided by George’s lifted eyebrow: go on , is flowing through the air like a breeze. 

“We’re friends, right? We go to each other for everything.”

“Not this. We haven’t for this before.” George sits back a little further. Dream ignores the way his legs shift beneath the loose sweats he has on. 

“It hasn’t come up before.”

“There’s a reason for that,” George turns his head and focuses on one of their Youtube Play buttons. Dream had all their collective Play buttons collated and framed on the living room wall to commemorate how far they've come together. George sighs, and he shifts his legs a little like he wants Dream to touch him again, but also wants him to pull away. Dream’s right hand settles onto George’s knee, but he keeps his fingers still, regardless of how desperately he wants to play with George’s leg hair to force him to calm down. “I don't want to fuck anything up.”

“What would we fuck up?” Dream says, eyebrows pinching into a sympathetic frown. He wouldn’t say it, hating to look anything less than 100% sure of himself, but he’s terrified inside too. What if something happens? What if this makes them realize things they shouldn’t be realizing? What if this act, fuck–this proposition – is a knife that cuts their connection in half, with no way to repair it to what it was?

“We just got each other, I…” George meets his eyes and they're searching for something that can possibly tell him if this is a good idea or not. “We’ll… we’ll see each other when we’re most vulnerable. Won’t that fuck with like, I don’t know, our brain chemistry or something?”

“We don’t have to,” Dream says, locking their eyes and trying to speak directly to George’s soul. “I’m not going to force you, and your consent is everything, but, just think about it?”

George hums. 

“It’ll be good for the both of us. Not just some kink exploration slash engagement, but blowing off steam. Stop ourselves from being so— you know, pent up.”

“I know… but… I don’t know.”

“George, please,” Dream allows his hand to venture further, biting the bullet as he rests it on George’s thigh. “It’s us.”

That makes George turn his head and focus on the staircase, almost as if waiting for Sapnap to walk downstairs. To break this conversation up before it teeters over the edge of too far. It already has though, hasn’t it? All of their conversations do. 

“It won’t mean anything?” he confirms, questioning. Dream nods. “What if it changes something though? What if it causes a rift between us?”

“It won’t. I won't let that happen.”

George sighs. He drops his hands on top of Dream’s, kneads them into his thigh a little more. 

“Okay,” George looks at Dream and promptly looks away, his face red and Dream’s stomach does a little backflip at how the color looks against his cheekbones. He doesn’t know what he’d do to see it again. Would he look like that when he’s fucking his throat? When Dream is balls deep in George’s throat and he’s nothing but spit and precum and tears and—fuck. He really shouldn’t be thinking about this now. He subtly shifts George’s legs to the side and prays he can’t feel Dream’s forming half-chub under his calves. “Okay. We can do this, I’ll– I’ll engage in your dumb kink.”

“Thank you.” Dream smiles and digs his thumb a little harder into George’s muscle, grinning a little wider when he yelps and turns back to glare at him. This is them. They can do this and nothing bad or earth-shattering will come of it. “You’ll enjoy it.”

There’s a pause. Dream’s too busy looking at the way his hand looks clasped around George’s thighs to gauge whether it’s awkward or not.

“So I just suck your dick and be done with it? Sounds a bit one-sided. What’s in it for me?”

“I could piss on you. Or you could piss on me. You know, tit for tat?”

George's eyes darken. Dream hones in on his Adam’s apple wobbling with his audible swallow.

“Okay,” It's low and deep. Hot, frankly, but George flushes and clears his throat. He hides his emotions again with a sly smirk, but Dream can see right through to sheer lust and desire hidden behind his eyes. “When do you wanna do it? Now?”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. “Uh, maybe not— have you eaten today?” It sounds a bit strangled, almost as if George has his hand wrapped around his cock and is stroking it slowly. He basically is—with how this conversation has gone from naive and fun to seductive, and has made Dream a little desperate to run away and come into his fist. 

“What? No— I don’t— you know I don’t eat breakfast. Why?” George sits back a little bit, and pulls on the front of his shirt. It falls a little more over his crotch, something that makes Dream yearn to reach over and lift it back up, lock his eyes on the forming erection that he’d tried to cover up. It’s nice to know that all this talk hasn’t been arousing just for Dream. 

“Don't.” Dream says and shifts too. He needs to leave soon if he doesn’t want George to see how much this has affected him. He’s almost full mast and he’s cursing himself for wearing such tight pants today. He’s lucky his sweatshirt is large enough to cover him completely, but from the wrong angle it would be all too obvious, and as much as he’s aware George will be seeing his naked cock in a couple of hours. The shape of himself bulging because of a conversation is a little more mortifying. “Don’t eat anything today.”

“What? I’m– Dream, I’m not doing that, I'm hungry —” George tries to protest, but Dream tightens his grip on his thigh which effectively shuts him up.

“I don’t want you to actually throw up on my dick. If you don’t eat anything it’s less likely.”

A second. “Huh?” he breathes, and fuck, Dream almost rolls his eyes back at how gone George sounds. He knows he’s probably imagining things but, oh God, he’s loving his imagination right now. 

“Yeah,” he matches his tone, breathy and a little lost. He’s glad George isn’t really looking at him, eyes trained on the hand on his thigh— Dream knows his eyes would be blown wide with desire. “If you do, it’ll just be like, spit and pre—” he coughs, his voice going a little lower at the thought. “—precum and, like, maybe bile.”

“Oh,” George swallows and lifts his eyes to meet Dream’s— they’re just as blown as Dream’s. Dream wants to dive into the void. “You actually want me to…”

Dream nods, a little shy, but also so aware of how hot it makes George feel. He can see it on his face: cheeks flushed more than before, eyes lilted, and he’s breathing exclusively through his mouth. It’s mesmerizing and so damn attractive. Dream doesn’t have to worry about the blowjob changing anything between them, he’s more worried about this moment changing them. He’d never considered himself attracted to George before, not literally, but at this moment he looks so fucking hot and it’s all he can do without leaning over and capturing their lips, taking off his clothes, and railing him right into this couch. 

“Yeah, I want you to gag on my dick.”

Dream can hear George swallow. “ Oh ,” he shifts in his seat again, tugs his shirt a little further down. 

Because he’s a dick, he stirs, “Is that still okay?”

“Yes.” It's fast, without a stutter or an ounce of hesitation. Their eyes meet again and there’s this lusty determination on George’s face that’s making it almost impossible for Dream to continue thinking. “So… tonight then?” 

“Yeah,” Dream breathes through his mouth, a little shocked at how this conversation turned out. He’s not complaining, not even a little bit, but his expectations were so far from the truth he’s a little lost for what to do next. 

Luckily, George isn’t. “Okay, well, I’m going to drink some water so I feel full.” He wiggles himself out from under Dream’s hands and saunters off into the kitchen. Dream just smiles, unapologetically checking out his ass. 

What is he even going to do for the next couple of hours? There are ages until nightfall– and knowing them, there is no way they’ll do anything while Sapnap is still awake. Knowing his luck, he’d walk in without knocking and cause George to make a mess all over his chest, scarring Sapnap for life. 

Not happening. Although a small part of Dream’s brain begs for it, the perfect image shooting straight down to his dick, it is not happening. 

Dream leaves George in the kitchen and quickly scurries up the stairs, ignoring the way his pace makes his balls slap against his thighs at a dizzying percussion, and he locks himself in his bedroom. He acquaints himself with his right hand and his imagination for hopefully the last time in a while. 

—

The hours creep into the late night, and Dream has joined George in not eating. He’s considering it as some sort of apology for making him, but in reality, he’s just so nervous about the whole thing that maybe anything he ate would just come right back up. 

This won’t change anything between them. He knows this. But there’s something that bubbles beneath his skin when he thinks about it. This is the first time he’s getting laid in the better half of three years: it’s going to change something for him. 

About two hours ago, Dream scoured their kitchen cupboards and found some pineapple juice, and he’s been sipping on that and some water since, sitting at his desk chair with his foot furiously tapping against the legs. Nerves churn through his body: this is his best friend. What if his dick looks weird? What if it smells weird? What if George doesn’t like the taste and what if George doesn’t find it as hot as he thinks he would and leaves Dream all high and dry? What if George ends up thinking it’s gross and kink-shames Dream for the rest of his life? He knows he’s overthinking, but it’s hard to help it. He wastes another hour in the shower, promptly ignoring the imagined image of George looking up at him with blown-out eyes. 

Now, a measly 2 a.m., and George is knocking on Dream’s door. He takes a final look around his room, cringing at how… romantic it looks. He wanted—needed— to conceal how red his face was every time he even thinks about getting a blowjob, let alone actually receiving one, so he’d turned the lights off and just left his PC powered on and the old fairy lights that were wrapped around his bed frame. He was a second away from flicking on the red LEDs he had pasted around the skirting boards under his bed, but thank God he stopped himself. He’d also laid a towel out in the center of the room, a bottle of flavored lube (he’s so worried about his dick tasting bad), and another rag next to it. 

He breathes out and shakes his hands. Everything is fine, everything is okay, it’s just George and he’s coming to suck Dream’s dick. The usual. Just like bros do. 

George looks utterly small in Dream’s door frame. Dream has to swallow when he looks at him, his eyes already feeling a little heavy and his pants a little tighter. 

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual but his voice is rough. He clears his throat and his face heats up a little more. 

George smiles shyly up at him. “Hey,” he bounces on his feet, curls his hands up to hold each other in front of his stomach. If Dream didn’t know any better, he’d think it’d be to conceal his own tenting sweatpants. 

Dream steps back and swings the door open, allowing George to walk in and he shuts it behind him, leaning his back against it to steady himself. God, he had planned to stand while George choked on him, but he doesn’t know if his buckling knees will allow it now. 

At this point, he doesn’t even need George to follow through with his promise. Just the image, the thought of him gagging and spitting up all over his cock is enough to get him off. 

George sits at the edge of his bed, his hands staying close to his lap and Dream stands in front of him, rolling on his feet awkwardly. 

“So—”

“So— Oh, sorry, you go”

They speak at the same time and Dream’s face erupts in flames. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. Too bad it’s going straight to his dick. 

George chuckles, his fingers pressed hard against his cheek as if trying to cool himself down. “We need to talk about this, yeah?”

“Probably,” Dream agrees, focusing on the fairy lights for half a second before snapping his gaze back to George. He needs to know that he’s paying attention to him, that there’s no lost focus and it’s just him. He really can’t afford anything getting misconstrued. “We’ll need a safe word.”

“Really?” George hums, eyes widening slightly. 

“You’ll be gagging and choking, and you might even cry, George, so yeah, we need a safe word.”

A moment, and George's hand falls back to his lap and presses in a little. “Okay. Traffic light system, or something else?”

“Traffic light is fine.” Dream nods. “And maybe, tap my leg three times if your mouth is being used.”

George blushes and looks down. “And like—” he sighs, sounding frustrated with himself. “— I need to get this straight, like, what we’re doing— we’re just fucking?”

Dream nods. “Yeah, just fucking. At least twice, one for me and one for you. Friends with benefits.”

“Friends with benefits… Okay…” George fiddles with his fingers again and stands up. Dream feels fear shoot through him at the thought that he might have made him uncomfortable. “I just… don’t want to get my wires crossed. Not that they are! I just don't want my brain to make something of nothing, you know?”

“Makes sense.” Dream places his hands on George’s shoulders and smiles at them slumping as George sighs. “And you can pull out at any time. Like, if you’ve changed your mind you can leave, right now.”

“No, I— I want to do it. You have my full consent. I know what I’m doing and what’ll happen and I know to use my safeword if I need it.”

Dream smirks, digging his thumbs into George’s shoulders in a mock massage. He notes,  “You’ve been doing research.”

George scoffs. “All the sex I’ve had has been incredibly vanilla, Dream. Of course, I’ve done research.”

Dream laughs, thankful for the broken tension, and drops his hands. He looks down at the pile of items needed for the night and back up at George. “Did you want a pillow for your knees? I didn’t think about that.”

“No I—” Peach blossoms bloom amidst the top of his cheekbones and Dream idly wonders if they taste like it too. “—I kinda want to feel it. Like the carpet and… towel… digging into my knees. Why’s that there, anyway?”

“You’re going to drool. Like, a lot. And it’ll save cleanup.” Dream mumbles. He can feel his pupils going wide and it’s dizzying. He didn’t know how much he wanted this. 

George makes a noise and it sounds like a half-concealed whine. Fuck, that’ll be addicting. “Okay.”

“Okay?” George nods. “Is there anything else you want to talk about? Or do you want to get started?”

“We can start,” George says, already going down to sit on his knees. He squirms around a little, trying to find a comfortable spot. He picks up the lube and scrunches his nose at it, throwing it to the other side of the room. 

Dream swallows, his cock hardening a little further. He’s almost fully hard and they’ve done nothing but talk— but he isn’t as embarrassed about it as he’d normally be (all the embarrassment he does have goes straight to his dick anyway; a delicious double-edged sword). 

“Did you want music? Or like, are you sure you don't want a pillow?” Dream laces his hand through George’s hair, right near the temple, and tries not to melt at the way he leans into his touch. 

“Dream,” George groans, exasperated. “Stop overthinking and get your pants off.”

Dream nods and removes his hand to clasp the waistband of his pants. He’s wearing this pair of black cargo pants that got sent to his PO Box; when he dressed this morning he thought they looked cool and maybe even hot. The seam running down the middle of his crotch was also a wonderful addition today. He unfastens the button and pulls down the zipper, trying not to pay attention to how George’s breath hitches at the sound. He pulls his pants off and kicks them off his legs, leaving his boxers on for the moment. He steps back toward George and stops right in front of him, hand back to tangling in his hair. 

George audibly swallows and it makes Dream’s dick twitch. He looks up at him with wide eyes, but they’re blown out and he already looks gone. He shifts his gaze down and shuffles forward, breathes out against Dream’s cock just to watch it jump beneath his maroon boxers. 

He reaches a hand up and places it at the hem of Dream’s boxers, his hand warm and kind of clammy against his skin: it still sends shivers down Dream’s spine. 

“You’re already hard,” George mumbles, tracing the hemline with his thumb, moving towards his inner thigh. Dream looks down and George is only looking at his dick, at the shape of him pressing hard and wanting against the fabric. There’s the beginnings of a wet patch forming at the front, too much teasing to blame at that, and George thumbs at it with his other hand.

Dream breathes through his teeth. “I’ve been hard all day.” His head tips back, and he wishes he could lean it against the door, or even the cushiony pillows of the bed: anything that’ll be grounding. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about this?” George teases, looking up, and trying to look like he's unaffected but Dream knows otherwise. His lips are red from being bitten and he looks a little lost behind his eyes. He’s so excited to ruin him. 

“No,” honest, and a hiss at George’s thumbnail pressing through the fabric and into his slit that causes more precum to ooze out. Then, because he knows it’ll get a reaction, “I even came, when I went upstairs. It didn’t even do anything.”

George moans softly and moves his hands away from Dream’s cock. He keeps his eyes on it as it bobs for attention and any sort of friction. 

“Yeah?” he mumbles, cupping the bulge and pressing the heel of his hand against it. Dream whines, a little too loud for this time of night, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “D’you think about me?”

“George,” Dream says, opening his eyes and looking down at him. George’s cheeks are flushed, a dizzying shade of pink that Dream wants to paint on his fingernails. They’re just friends, just helping each other out, so why is George saying things like that? Things that sound a bit too… confessional. 

George mumbles an apology and before Dream can say anything else he traces his fingers around the elastic waistband of his boxers, featherlight as they bump along the skin of his lower abdomen: asking for permission. 

Dream breathes shakily and gasps, his mind saying, ‘Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.’ He nods and groans at how heavenly the fabric feels as it’s dragged against his cock. 

“Oh,” George says before Dream’s underwear is the whole way down. He keeps pulling at it with his eyes transfixed on Dream’s cock where it hangs between his legs, heavy and hard and wanting. Dream flexes his muscles in an attempted joke to break the tension, causing his dick to bounce obscenely in front of George’s eyes, but it just causes him to groan. Groan at the sight of Dream and his cock. That fact churns in Dream’s stomach— God , this man will be the death of him. “You’re uh– you’re big.”

“Fuck,” Dream mutters before he can stop himself, his hand tightens in George’s hair a tad, causing him to gasp. How are they going to get any farther? Foreplay is enough to bring Dream to the edge, and every reaction he has makes George react, and then it’s just a circle— will he even get his dick sucked? Or will he come before George’s lips close over him? He’s a masochist, so, “Is that too much for you?”

“God, no,” George scoffs, tentatively wrapping a hand around Dream’s cock and giving it an experimental tug. His breath hitches when skin touches skin, warm and completely encompassing. He ignores how Dream stiffens, knowing it’s not a complaint at the change in pace. “Just an observation.”

He drags his hand up and down Dream’s cock, the dryness a little rough, but oh-so-addicting. He polishes the head with his palm, collecting enough precum to slick up the sides of his cock when he strokes down it again. His head is so sensitive, Dream whines when George does it again, whines a little louder when they make eye contact. He tries to ignore the way he thinks he can feel George’s blush all the way in his fingers where they trace against the vein he has on the underside of his cock. 

“Get a move on,” he mumbles, not daring to raise his voice in case the wobbly cracks of his subconscious become audible. “Don’t want you to tire out on me.”

George hums, re-wrapping his hand around the base of Dream’s cock, and squeezes. “I won’t tire out.”

He shuffles until his knees touch Dream’s bare toes, and in any other situation he’d be quick to make a joke about it, but then George’s tongue is kitten-licking the tip of his dick and every word in his brain is replaced with mush and a high, whiny moan. His head falls back, and again he wishes they were against the wall or the bed or something, so the thump of his pleasure was more audible than the tiny crack his neck offers. George laps at the head, tongue flat and focused on his slit that releases precum every time the wet muscle is pressed against it. 

George presses a kiss to his dick, waits a second for Dream to respond before pressing another one to his shaft, and another further down. He traces around Dream’s cock with his lips, pressing kisses and short licks to the veins he’d been tracing earlier. Just teasing– but it feels amazing. Dream wants to moan out praises and grab at George’s jaw and show him his appreciation, seal their fate with the touch of their lips, but this is only the beginning. He can barely call this a blowjob, so what will the real thing feel like? And what will George sound like when he’s gagging on Dream? Stuffed to the brim, with tears and his throat constricting around him? 

George sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, his bottom lip catching where it protrudes from his shaft, and Dream’s breath catches in his throat. He groans, obsessed with how George’s lip snaps back to his mouth and how stupidly sexy he looks with that smile on his face. It’s shy but confident, like he knows that he’s the source of all of Dream’s pleasure.  It looks so fucking good on him. Dream is addicted; staring at his cheeks where they’re flushed and his lips where he bites on them, sucking them into his mouth like he can’t get enough of how Dream tastes. 

“Yeah?” George says, all cocky and raised eyebrows in a taunting manner. Dream wants to give a witty comeback, something that’ll give him the upper hand, but George’s palm is against him again and he’s giving slow and calculated strokes with harsh flicks of his wrist. He pushes his hand all the way down and jerks it back upward, slow but quick at the same time: Dream feels like he’s short-circuiting. 

George’s thumb runs over his slit, and all words die on his tongue, except, “ Shit .”

“Oh?” Dream can hear the smirk in his tone. When did he close his eyes? “This is how I can shut you up? You get your dick wet and all of a sudden it’s only whimpers.”

“George,” Dream complains, but it sounds a bit too much like a whine. “This is the first time in years that someone has touched me. I bet you’d be the same.”

“I can actually control myself, Dream,” George taunts, collecting a bubble of precum with his index finger and rubbing it on his lips like chapstick.

That’s fucking hot. 

“You taste good,” he mumbles, rubbing his lips together and popping them apart. Dream is mesmerized by the small strings of his precum sticking on George’s lips. 

“You’re such a– you’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Dream says, moving his hand a bit further back on George's head, and rakes his fingers through the hair, pulls . A glorious shot of power tingles through his spine when George whines in response. “Saying all these things like you’re going to get away free.”

“Yeah?” George pants, looking up at Dream through his eyelashes. When Dream pulled his hair, he had tugged him closer, so now Dream really is towering over him and George has no choice but to bare his throat to make eye contact with him. “What are you going to do? Put me in my place?”

Dream’s stare hardens and he hums darkly, pulling a little harder. “You’d want me to, wouldn’t you?”

George’s breathing stutters and Dream wants to bite down on his Adam’s apple. “Do it.”

Dream smirks, pushing George away from his thigh and maneuvering him to be right in front of his dick. He flexes his muscles again, high on how it makes George’s gaze fall right to his cock and doesn’t move. “Suck.” Dream uses his other hand to grab his dick, makes the tip trace against George’s lips and the side of his mouth, dotting precum along his cheeks. 

George’s eyes are wide and he swallows– Dream stares at his throat, unmarked, and he wishes to change that. He takes his hands from his lap and wraps them around Dream’s knees, steadying himself. 

Dream’s demeanor fades for a second, remembering that this is George he’s talking to. “I won’t fuck your throat if you don’t want me to. And you can go slow, sorry– I don’t know why I was like that before.”

“Dream,” George groans, rolling his eyes. “I know you go on about me not pushing this– but that was hot, okay? You being all… Dominating, like that. Keep doing it.”

“Yeah?” Dream feels his cheeks warm, and his grip on George’s hair loosens so he can cup at his jaw instead.

“Yeah.” George smiles and rubs his cheek against Dream’s cock. “Fuck my throat later, okay? Let me do the work now.”

Dream nods and George takes a final breath before opening his mouth and sinking down around his cock.  It feels so fucking good– warm, wet heat that completely envelops him. George moves his tongue against the underside of his cock, idly tracing his veins as he tries to take all of him in his mouth. He’s looking up at Dream through his lashes, and honestly, he looks a little dumb with how his lips are almost changing color from the stretch, but it’s so hot . His mouth is open wide around the girth of his cock, nose now bumping against his pelvic bone. George swallows around him and Dream moans loudly, pressing his thumb into George’s cheek as if to feel himself there. George tightens his lips around his cock, slowly pulls back, and swirls his tongue around the tip. He pulls off him with a small pop, and he breathes with his mouth wide open. 

“ Fuck ,” he whimpers, and it’s quiet enough Dream doesn’t think he was supposed to hear it. He clears his throat, spits into his hand, and rubs it against Dream’s cock. “You’re so– fuck.”

“Yeah?” Dream chuckles, skimming George’s cheekbone with his thumb again. “You doing okay?”

George nods. “Mm, just— big.” He teases the tip just to use the precum as more lube. Doesn’t he know how messy he’s going to get? If he keeps adding more lube his entire face will be fucked with a mix of their own liquids. Dream wants to spit on him, see if he lubes up his mouth or Dream’s dick with it, or even if he’ll swallow it. 

“Do you want to take your pants off?” Dream mumbles, eyeing the tent in George’s sweats. “Or do you want to like— I don’t know— sixty-nine? So you can get attention too?”

George’s hand stops moving and he looks at Dream for half a second before he bursts out laughing. He covers his mouth with the hand that isn’t on Dream and tries to calm himself but he can’t stop giggling. 

“Dream— oh my god, Dream,” George laughs and attempts to stroke Dream’s cock again, but he has to stop before he’s even really moved. “Sixty-nine? What are we, twelvies? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that term used during sex.”

Dream smiles bashfully and looks away, forcefully ignoring how George is laughing but his boner isn’t going down. “You’re an idiot, George,”

“I’m an idiot? I’m not the one who asked to sixty-nine like a literal—” he’s cut off with a moan when Dream grabs a fistful of George’s hair and pulls with so much force his back straightens. 

“I’m an idiot, yeah? An idiot for trying to be considerate?” Dream seethes, his mouth moving a lot faster than his brain can. George whimpers in response. “I want you to enjoy this too, and now I’m the idiot? I’m trying to be nice, George, is that so bad?”

“N-no, but,” George tries again but Dream’s grip tightens, and his mouth is open but no sound continues to come out. 

“I didn’t say you could speak,” Dream says, his cock growing a little harder at the harshness of his own voice and how quick George is to listen, to obey, to submit . “For that, you’re not taking off your pants. You have to keep them on until I say you can take them off, is that clear?”

“Yes,” George positively moans, closing his eyes and subtly squeezing his thighs together. “Yes. Please.”

Dream hums in approval, dizzy at the submission, and guides George’s head to his cock again, and he doesn’t mind that he laps at the tip with his tongue flattened. As much as he hates it, teasing is alright when it’s George tainted. He loosens his grip on George’s hair and smooths out where it had gotten messed up, heart filling with fond butterflies when George whines in protest. 

He looks up at Dream, and fuck, his eyes are nothing but blown-out desire, and he’s aching for more. 

“Don’t apologize for that,” he says, almost reading Dream’s mind. “Now or later. I need you to keep doing that.”

Dream nods, a little taken aback by this side of George, but he doesn’t have a chance to respond before George’s mouth is on him again, taking him down to the hilt in one single motion. It takes everything in him not to scream: he can barely hold back the hearty groan strained between his teeth. His hand is immediately tightening around George’s hair again, his other tangled in his own. He has half a mind to lace his fingers together at the back of George’s head and just fuck into his throat with no remorse, but he needs time to adjust. He’s not exactly the smallest and George is all but about to vomit on his dick– he needs to be eased into it.

He pulls on George’s hair, crooks his neck, and keeps the tip of his dick in George’s mouth. “Go. Slow,” he says through gritted teeth, and Dream watches as his eyes glaze over and he nods in submission. He hollows his cheeks and bobs around the head slowly, mouth obscenely popping every time his lips close over the skin between his head and the rest of his shaft. He smiles with Dream’s cock still in his mouth when Dream whines at the constant stimulation, and he looks so stupid but so gorgeous all at the same time. Dream pushes at his head to signal that George can take more of him again. 

George takes him further into his mouth, continuing to rub his tongue on the underside of his cock. He tongues a particular protruding vein and Dream’s hips buck involuntarily. He knows he doesn’t have to apologize, this is what George came here to do— but he can’t control the budding fear that shoots through him. 

He goes about as far as opening his mouth, first consonant on the tip of his tongue, but when he looks down at George he swears loudly instead of apologizing. George’s eyes are scrunched up, eyebrows pinched and angled in that tell-tale sign of pain mixed with pleasure. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a mix of a gag and a cough— it’s only small, but fucking hell, it sets the blood running through Dream’s veins on fire. 

And George doesn’t pull off. He stays there, his nose bumping against Dream’s pelvic bone as he bobs around the last quarter of his cock again and again. Dream can feel his dick nestled inside George’s throat, see it even: George’s throat bulges obscenely, and Jesus Christ if Dream wasn’t close before, he is now. 

George whimpers loudly, fingers moving further up to grip red crescents into the fat of Dream’s thighs.

Dream has to keep closing his eyes when he moans; too embarrassed about how they’re either completely black or completely white from rolling them back at how good George’s mouth feels. Which is why he has to gasp when he finally looks down at George again. 

He’s breathtaking. His entire face is flushed this gorgeous shade of mulberry lemonade, and there’s the beginnings of spit spilling from his mouth and smearing against his chin and over his lips. His eyes are foggy with arousal and streaming tears out from the corners. Dream wants to eat him alive.

He tightens his hand in his hair— not knowing when it loosened— and tugs at him to pull away. George keens and jolts forward, his liked eyes going wide, and then: he gags. 

Loud and wet, short but unmistakable. Dream can feel George’s throat spasm around him and he almost comes when George coughs after— it’s everything all at once and God, he’s so overwhelmed. He grabs George’s hair and, before he can do anything stupid (re: hot as fuck), he pulls him completely off his cock.

George doesn’t purse his lips when he’s pulled off, so a mixture of precum and excess saliva keeps them connected, only breaking from George’s animalistic pants. The spit drips from George’s face and Dream’s cock onto the towel beneath them, some dropping to George’s lap and coating his erection through his sweats.

Using his other hand, Dream collects the precum and saliva from George’s chin and smears it all around his face. 

“So messy, baby. Oh, dear,” Dream mumbles, groaning when George’s mouth automatically opens when his fingers get close. 

He makes a sound that’s a mix of a whine and a whimper, and slides further down to the floor, thighs spreading out, and his cock stands out where it still strains through the fabric of his pants. Dream isn’t sure how much of the wetness coating it is George’s own precum. He’s being good though— he doesn’t ask for them to come off, even though they both know that one ‘please’ will have Dream caving.

George is still breathing heavily when he moves to try and take Dream’s cock again, eyes wide and greedy, but Dream pulls him back, leaving him to moan around nothing.

“Take a second, baby,” Dream mumbles, thumbing at the tears under George’s eyes just to smear them down his cheeks. They’re far too gone to care about pet names now; they flow off Dream’s tongue just about as freely as George’s vowels of pleasure. “You’re gonna be sick.”

George moans, obviously enjoying this just as much as Dream. He slumps back down on the ground and tilts his head back, mouth wide open and lidded eyes staring, begging, for his mouth to be used again. Dream curses as George lolls his tongue out of his mouth, pushing out bubbly spit, letting it collect against his lips and drip down his chin.  His cock twitches at the sight; he’s trying to kill him.

“Color?” Dream asks, voice shaky as he tries not to focus on how messy and fucking hot George looks. He’s looking up at him all submissive, covered in his own spit and Dream’s precum, leaking his own because of him, all while still fully clothed . It’s dizzying and once more Dream wishes he was sitting down.

“So fucking green,” George replies, and fuck , his voice is ruined. George gasps like he hasn’t breathed in years, now looking up at Dream in desperation. “Let me do it again. Why won’t you let me do it again?”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you, sweetheart,” George’s cheeks flush a little harder at the name: Dream stores that information away for later. “You’ll be sick if you don’t take rests.”

“Please, Dream,” George whimpers and tightens his grip on the back of Dream’s thighs. Dream lurches forward a bit and George licks at the head of his cock when it bounces close to him. “Let me feel like that again, please. I’ll stay just like this so you can fuck my throat— just, please.”

Dream groans and tilts George’s head back further, grip harsh on his jaw, thumb and index finger wet with George’s spit. He clicks his tongue in his mouth, pretending like he’s thinking about it. “Are you comfortable like that?”

“I don’t care about my comfort, just—“

“Shut the fuck up, George. I am asking you if you're comfortable like this.” Dream tightens his hand and his thumb slides up, pushes into his cheek, and causes George’s mouth to open. “I’ll still fuck your throat like the cock whore you are, but if you aren’t comfortable we can find another position.”

George keens, hangs his head, and rolls his hips into the carpet beneath him. Dream’s breath stutters a bit when he realizes that George is rutting against the floor because he’s so turned on by how Dream is treating him. The power rushes to his head and he has to steady himself on George’s shoulders to keep his knees from buckling. 

He nods to himself once, twice, and then his hand is back in George’s hair and he’s guiding his mouth down his cock, and George swallows him up like it’s what he was meant to do. His mouth is so warm and so gloriously wet it makes this sick squelching sound as it envelops him more, until George’s nose is pressed once more against wiry pubic hair and he’s breathing in deeply, almost smelling Dream where he’s most intimate. George squeezes his eyes shut, fat blobs of tears leaking out the side as he lurches forward on a silent gag— it’s not enough for Dream. 

“I’m going to start, is that okay?” Dream whispers, character broken for only a moment to wipe the tears away rather than on his face, to keep his hand flush against George’s cheek to comfort rather than feel himself pressing against the inside. At the end of the day, this is George he is fucking, not some random person who doesn’t mean anything. Check-ins are obligatory and Dream doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he missed one and fucked them up. 

George hums around the obstruction in his mouth, his eyes, albeit lidded and blurred with tears and desire, screaming green. Dream takes another breath and pulls his cock halfway out of George’s mouth and pushes back in slowly. 

His dick slides against the wetness of George’s tongue and mouth, and slicks and squelches as he fucks into him, and George sits there and takes it: his mouth wide open and uncaring as copious amounts of saliva pour out the sides. Dream doesn’t fuck him too fast, not wanting to hurt George and he also doesn’t want to come down his throat way too early, so he keeps to a steady pace, thrusting in and ignoring how the heat that sears beneath his asscheek from George’s hand feels a little affectionate, a little grounding. 

Seeming annoyed with the pace, George starts meeting his thrusts in the middle, bobbing his head enthusiastically trying to take as much of Dream in as he can. He gags again, and it’s that amazing full-throated sound around his dick that feels just as great as it sounds. His whole body lurches forward as he keeps his head down, eyes squeezed so tightly Dream is worried he’ll burst a blood vessel. George is fighting pleasure and endurance, fingers forming red half-crescents in Dream’s thigh and Dream can’t stop moaning, growing louder the longer George stays on and keeps gagging. He begins to pull away, and all Dream wants to do is grab a fistful of George’s hair and yank him back on.

George hollows his cheeks as he leans away, keeping all the spit in his mouth as he releases the head with a pop, Dream’s cock immediately bouncing back up, searching for friction. He grabs Dream’s dick in his hand and gives it a small stroke before holding it upright. Dream is confused, his entire bodily system trying to recalibrate to form a sentence, before George leans down and takes his balls into his mouth, sucking on them and paying them just as much attention as he was to the rest of his dick. It feels heavenly, and Dream thrusts forward at the sensation. George laughs with his mouth full, humming around Dream’s balls as he fondles the dip between them with his tongue. Dream can barely form a coherent thought, everything some construction of ‘George’ or ‘fuck’ or ‘ohmygod’ . He is not going to last much longer. 

George releases Dream’s balls and pulls his cock back down to his mouth, opens it, and lets all the saliva he’d kept inside before trail out onto the head, and he swirls it around with his tongue and his open mouth, breathing heavily as he looks up at Dream. 

Dream holds his dick at the base and wipes the majority of George’s spit back onto his face, using his cock to messily spread it around his cheeks and chin. George just dopily smiles, softly thrusts his hips into the floor, and moans with his mouth open, so unashamed in the pleasure he’s feeling. 

Dream lays a hand against George’s jaw and he leans into it, even as Dream collects the saliva from his face and pushes it back into George’s mouth this time, his fingers going far enough back to make him moan and then gag again, lusty eyes immediately squeezing shut. 

“You’re so fucking hot, George, you know that?” Dream mumbles, desperate to voice the thoughts that are beginning to eat him alive. “You make me feel so good, dear God. You sound fucking amazing, and you look so fucking good and messy while doing it, baby.”

Dream takes his fingers out only a smidge, enough so George isn’t gagging anymore but not really enough for him to talk. He responds by whining around Dream’s fingers, and licking at his knuckles like his tongue can’t be idle for even a second. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Dream groans, fucking his fingers into George’s mouth, high on how he takes him with no hesitation. “You’re so good, baby. So good to me.”

George’s hips stutter and he nods his head furiously in agreement, whimpering at Dream’s fingers. He pulls them out and George pants like he’s never had a breath before. 

He answers before Dream even has a second to ask the question. “Green— I need to, I need to come, babe—Dream. Please.”

Dream just looks at him, gobsmacked. Did he really just say that? He groans, and it’s a bit too guttural to be platonic, but he takes George’s chin in his hand again, thumb all but caressing his jawline. 

“ You haven’t done anything, how could you need to come?” His jaw is soft in his hand. He must have shaved that morning, either that or the slick of saliva and precum does wonders on moisturizing. 

“‘S too hot. You’re– too hot. I can’t.” He sounds so fucking ruined its a miracle Dream understood him at all. His voice goes straight to his cock, where it twitches in front of George’s face and his focus is back on it again. 

“Come after me, okay? I’ll let you come after me,” Dream agrees, because if he doesn’t get George’s mouth back on him and he doesn’t come soon he thinks he might die. George has opened up the threshold now; Dream can come and he won’t feel like he hasn’t lived out enough of his fantasy. By George saying that just getting Dream off is enough, by his own sounds and the way his own throat feels when he’s focusing on someone else's pleasure is enough, is enough jerk-off material for Dream for months , if not years . 

He feeds his cock into George’s mouth again, letting George take the lead once more, completely endeared by how his eyes light up when his hand remains on his jaw. 

George adjusts his hands on Dream, taking tenderness by the throat as he carefully grasps at Dream’s ass, fingers curling around the curve of it, his other hand resting just above the dimples in Dream’s back. There’s something so affectionate about their stance; it brings such a fast rush of serotonin Dream feels dizzy. His fingers press into Dream’s ass and make soft divots that are the same color as his cheeks, this gorgeous flush that runs down under the collar of his shirt. Dream regrets not letting George get undressed, just for his own selfish want to stare at the man as he takes him. Would his chest be the same shade of pink as his eyelids? Would his nipples be hard, perking up against the otherwise smooth alabaster of his stomach? Would he have chest hair, or does he shave? Does he have a tummy that aches to be used as a pillow, or is it toned from the rumored sit-ups he does while he reviews Banter? Dream is so overcome by the concept of George, the desire to do this again just so he can see him again, that he almost forgets that the man in his desires is currently taking him down his throat.

George seems to realize that Dream isn’t paying attention, so he tightens his grip on the other and digs his fingernails into the plush of his ass, relaxes his throat a little more so he can take him a bit further. 

Dream can feel his flesh jut over George’s fingers from how tight his grip is, and he feels his knees buckle. He’s going to die if he doesn’t come soon, from pent-up arousal or getting sucked too good he’s not sure yet. 

George rolls his tongue against the tip of Dream’s dick as much as he can with it so far inside. Dream can feel George’s throat constricting, protesting against the movement, but George just moans in response to it, leaning in further and flattening his tongue along the underside of Dream’s dick. He swipes it side to side as he leans back, circles the tip with his tongue digging into the slit before taking him again, all the way in one motion that has Dream’s eyes widening. 

His hand aches to rest in the small divet of George’s waist. Is that bad? All he wants to do is touch , is that bad?

“George, I’m gonna come soon, I’m gonna—” he cuts himself off with a moan when he feels George’s fingernail gently drag against the vein trailing the side when he’s licking at the other side. How is he so good at sucking dick? “— I’m gonna come, baby. You’re too good for me. You think you can do it one more time? For me?”

George whines and looks up at Dream through his eyelashes and dear fucking God, it takes everything in Dream’s body not to come then and there. George looks fucking ruined , with snot smudged under his nose and tears constantly streaming out of his eyes. He has drying spit and precum all over his face and his lips are bright red, smeared in bubbly drool. Dream’s glad he’d placed the towel down earlier, but they barely needed it when half of the saliva George produced is running down his neck, pooling against the insistent bulge in his sweats, or smeared over Dream’s dick because George keeps spitting it out and making them messier and messier. Dream certainly isn’t complaining: George looks so fucking hot when he’s pushing his tongue between his teeth to let drool drip onto his cock. 

George nods as best as he can with his mouth occupied and shuffles on his knees for a moment before closing his eyes and leaning further into the musk that is Dream. He pushes his nose further in, almost nuzzling so that Dream’s cock is completely sheathed inside his mouth, and hums lowly, the vibrations causing static in Dream’s bloodstream. He can feel against his abdomen when George begins to choke; he can feel his eyes screw shut tighter, and he is jolted forward when his grip on his ass tightens. 

“Shit,” Dream mumbles, throwing his head back in pleasure. He can’t bear to look at George, not when he’s beginning to gurgle on the excess spit in his mouth, and his throat and entire body is lurching forward with the strength of his gags. He pulls off completely, heaving breaths and Dream rubs his hand against George’s lips, smearing the spit all over his chin. 

His cock is so wet and so purple it’s hard to tell what’s precum and what’s spit. He wraps a hand around himself and hisses at the contact, stepping forward so he’s more in line with George’s nose than his mouth. He strokes himself, once, twice, and then.

“Wait, Dream,” George coughs and places a hand on his crotch, the first time he’s touched himself all night. He groans and hangs his head, but he keeps Dream’s attention with his other hand leaving its place on Dream’s ass to carefully caress against his thigh. “Want it in my mouth. Please.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dream is quick to answer, his thumb betraying himself as it swipes in a way too delicate gesture against George’s cheekbone, pulling his head back so they can make eye contact again. 

When he looks at him, he has this obsessive urge to lean down and kiss him. Is that bad? His best friend is sucking his dick and he looks like a fucking angel covered in his own spit submitting to Dream. There’s power and there’s a high and there’s something else that runs torrent in his bloodstream. It feels a bit too much to be just fondness. 

“I’m not lasting long,” Dream says, almost promises. He guides his cock to sit on George’s outstretched tongue and he watches in awe as he takes him, sliding his tongue from side to side, hollowing his cheeks the further he goes in. He’s taking him slowly, and Dream is all too aware of every molecule of saliva sliding against him, of every inch of his hand caressing his thigh. George bobs his head, slurping obscenely. He pulls back, tongues against the underside of the head of Dream’s cock while jerking off the rest of him, and Dream can barely shout a moan in warning before he’s coming all over George’s tongue and down his throat. 

Dream’s vision essentially whites out; he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly. George keeps his hand moving as he takes his cum with no hesitation, moaning loudly himself. Dream isn’t sure if he screams or yells George’s name, but when he finally starts to get his bearings again he’s on his knees in front of George, panting heavily and gazing intently at George’s mouth.

He lolls his tongue out, showing how there is barely a residue of Dream’s cum coating it, but there’s some that had overshot out of his mouth, coating his lips in webby strings of cum that only break when George breathes too heavily, and they fall onto his lap. He looks disheveled and hot , if Dream hadn’t just come his brains out he’d be horny again. 

There’s a certain still in the air, only disrupted by their own heavy breathing. Dream is still basking in the afterglow, the glorious feeling, and he shudders periodically when flashbacks are a little too much and border on another boner popping up. They’re both kneeling, leaning toward each other as their chests heave. Dream wants to lean against the other, cuddle him and thank him , but he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to take. They’re friends, not lovers. As much as he wants to kiss him and whisper praises and caress his skin as he feeds him ice cubes to soothe his throat, he can’t take too much. 

“Do you uh—” he coughs, his voice ragged from leftover arousal. “— do you need me to help you?” 

“No, I, uh—” George coughs himself, turning his burning face away from Dream. “I’m fine. I came when you did.”

Dream’s blood immediately heats up again, and he whips his head up to stare at the large begonias and cherry blossoms that bloom on George’s face. That’s so fucking hot, ohmygodohmygodohmygod —

“Don’t let it get to your head,” George scoffs, gently pushing against Dream’s shoulder. 

Contact. It’s not even particularly soft and gentle but it feels like whiplash from how Dream was treating George earlier. But at the same time, it feels like a revelation. They’re okay. Everything is fine. 

Dream leans forward, his head making a thumping contact with George’s shoulder. “You’re fucking amazing,” he mumbles into the skin. He presses his lips against the bone. “So good for me. You did so well.”

“Shu’up,” George says back in the same tone, albeit more bashful and almost affectionate. He bumps his head against Dream’s. “You were good too. It was good. I didn’t expect to like it so much.”

Dream’s skin sizzles as he hides his grin and pushes his face further into George’s shoulder. “Yeah? You know what I mean now?” 

“Yeah,” George agrees, sighing. 

Dream hums, lifting a hand from the floor to knead against the protruding muscles in George’s lower thighs, just above where his knees push into the carpet. He hisses in complaint. “Let’s get some ice for your legs and your throat and lay down, yeah?”

George nods minutely. “Can we cuddle and watch that new Netflix show?”

Dream smiles. They’re okay. Nothing is going to change between them.