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There’s something so disappointed in George’s frame, despite the light phone calls. And he is disappointed, having wanted the private jet so intensely. His shoulders sag and Sapnap is in North Carolina with Karl and Dream blinks at him with intense eyes. Wide eyes tracing over his expression, having known he lost, gently taking his suitcase from him.
But he had prepared, asked questions, made plans just to win. Just to come up unsuccessful. He lets Dream drag his suitcase upstairs for him, legs feeling sore still from standing for practically sixteen hours straight. But he unzips his suitcase, looking through it, wanting to start uploading the files to his pc.
He considers for a hot second, walking down a dark hall with the taller trailing after him, not uploading the video at all. But he decides that maybe that’d be worse, to not be able to lose. Dream sits on the bed in his office, crossing his legs, and George can’t find any reason to ask him why he’s still lingering.
He starts the process, the bar showing that it’s uploading going up slowly. Then he goes and joins Dream, laying next to him tiredly. The blonde looks back at him, smiling smally, “Tired?”
“‘m sore,” He blinks, “My legs hurt.”
“Poor George, having to do a Mr Beast challenge,” And Dream sticks out his bottom lip mockingly.
“Dream,” He rubs his hands over his face, “Can you not do that?”
His friend softens accordingly, “I’m sure you did good, I wanna see the video you took.”
“I feel dumb even making a video about it,” He admits.
“It’s not dumb, why is that dumb?”
“Because I lost.”
“But you put effort into trying at least,” He hums back, “I think it’s still an interesting video.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Two taps on his knee, light, “Everyone will want to see your pretty face either way.”
It’s an attempt at banter, trying to lighten his mood. He kind of wants to hug Dream and crush his stupid broad shoulders with the strength of it. Or bite him. Or something equally unhinged. Instead he sits up, offering a little smile, getting a tender look in response. He forgets sometimes that Dream sacrificed so much for him, that there’s so much love in him all the time.
Sometimes, secretly, he’s scared that Dream is just going to explode with it. That George is within reach and able to meet eyes with him and so easily accessible. Dream has a problem sometimes of being overly excitable and he’s a bit shocked that there’s been nothing particularly monumental. Instead they’ve barely made much contact at all, minus the nervous contact during TwitchCon.
He rises, going to check to make sure everything’s going smoothly, watching numbers change. He sits in his chair, rocking it back and forth for a moment before spinning around, asking, “Dream, will you buy me a private jet?”
“Why? We don’t need one,” A scrunched expression.
“But it’d be cool, I want one,” He stretches his legs out.
A click of a tongue, “I don’t think so.”
“But I’m a loser, Dream,” He does a full spin, giving an exasperated face once he stops, “You’re ruining my reputation.”
“I know how to fix that,” A little smile, eyes meeting his intensely.
“Quit queerbaiting,” He deadpans, hating the heat that warms his ears.
“You can’t queerbait in real life,” Dream counters easily, standing and stretching his arms above his head. George wants to grip him by his stupid little man waist at the skin revealed as a result, pull him onto his chair, or something stupid like that. Instead he just blinks at him, watches him yawn lazily.
He seems cozy, even as he settles on the floor next to him instead of the soft bed. His hair is messy, finally without a cat beanie, unruly with curls sticking up. George would run his hands through it if it wasn’t a weird thing to do. Instead he twists his own fingers together tightly to fight off any unconscious reaching for the other.
Still, Dream rests his head against the edge of the desk, looking up at him. They just look at each other for a moment before the blonde speaks, breath hitting his bare knees, “Do you really want a jet?”
It makes George laugh, that the other would even seriously consider it. His laugh makes Dream smile and he kicks his leg out to hit him, “No, idiot. Obviously.”
“Well,” Dream catches his ankle in his hand, smoothing his thumb over his skin in circles, “I’m just checking.”
“You’re dumb,” He shakes his head, not pulling away from the tender touch. He reaches, fixing one curl threatening to fall into his vision, tucking it back, “There you go.”
Dream’s hand lifts, the one on his ankle unwavering, face twisting like he forgot he didn’t have a hat on, “Oh, I didn’t-”
And he’s starting to get up like he’s going to go get one, George’s hand instantly darts out to grab onto his shoulder. Dream blinks at him in surprise, his ears turning pink at the wide eyes now looking up at him. He smiles gently, “It’s fine, Dream. It’s just me, I don’t care.”
“I’m-”
“It’s okay,” He squeezes softly, sensing the insecurity and offering, “I like your hair like this.”
“Oh,” Dream squeezes his ankle in response. He sits back again, staring up at him with parted lips, as if he has something to say. But instead he says quietly, “Your files are done.”
“Oh,” George repeats back, looking away from eyelashes blonde in the light, seeing that it wasn’t just a distraction. He opens all his editing software, distracted by the hand still on his ankle, a thumb rubbing up into his sweatpants. It smooths down soft leg hairs and he wonders if Dream is consciously doing the action.
But he knows Dream’s eyes are stuck on the frozen frame of the beginning of a video, where he’s smiling next to Karl and Nolan in a car. Which is an hour before the actual challenge. He slips his headset on, reaching blindly to the side to grab the extra one he keeps near. He slides it easily over Dream’s ears, given a big smile in response, containing his hair a little.
Curls still hang over his forehead, nearly covering his eyebrows, and George looks away before he finds the look too endearing. He has yet to fully process that this is what Dream has looked like during their late-night calls, during the times when he’s frustrated with him during recordings, when he makes dirty jokes at any chance possible.
He blinks at his own face on the screen, kind of feeling bad now that Dream missed out on all the experiences he filmed. But he plays it, having an idea already of how he wants to edit it. But instead, having not filmed any of the explanations at home, he just lets it play in full. His friend huffs at their dumb jokes and his stuttering on camera, watching closely.
When that one ends, he reaches to click to the next without a word. This time it’s an excerpt right when Jimmy is explaining the rules, aimed toward him while he makes a dumb face and whispers something to the camera. There’s a bit more, mostly talking with the other people there, in that one before it ends.
Dream hums and shifts so George asks him, “You don’t want to sit on a chair?”
Another hum and a shrug, eyes blinking up at him. He huffs back, pushing his chair out from under his desk, finally breaking the hold on his leg. He drags the extra chair he has in his recording office close to his desk but when Dream stands, he slumps down into his chair instead. George simply takes the chair he just pulled over, sitting with his legs crossed on the seat.
Dream moves to the next video, hitting play, something like a smug look tugging on his expression. It’s about halfway through that fingers wrap around the arm of his chair, tugging him further against his side, their shoulders hitting. George slumps into his side after maybe thirty more minutes, tired from traveling, head resting on his shoulder.
Dream’s large hand dips down to rub gently over the bone of his wrist, delicate, a soothing little gesture. A second, fingers rubbing up to his palm daringly before falling back to his wrist, then quiet mumbles, “Are you tired?”
He hums, blinking, soaking up his warmth selfishly, “A little.”
“You can sleep,” He’s told caringly.
“I’m fine,” He wants to linger here at Dream’s side for longer, take in the softness of a body pressed against his for as long as he’s allowed to. And it seems like Dream currently will let him stay forever.
He moves to get more comfortable on his shoulder and his friend asks, “Did you at least have fun?”
“Yeah,” George says quietly, contemplatively. Then he continues, “It was weird to be in London again so soon.”
“Yeah?”
“Scary,” He admits, pulling his legs up more, practically curled toward the other now. He fiddles with his sleeve, “Like I couldn’t come back to you. To Florida, I mean. It felt like being trapped again.”
Dream finally grabs his hand gently, warming his frozen fingertips with his palm, earnest, “That’s never going to happen again. It’ll never be that way again. I’ll marry you if I have to, you’re staying here with me forever.”
George moves his left hand forward, fingers spread, looking down at his palm. Dream touches his ring finger thoughtfully before holding his hand properly, squeezing reassuringly. He smiles, teasing, “Marriage? Really?”
“If I had to,” A shrug, “I would.”
“If you married me I'd like murder you to take all your money and fame,” He muses, smile widening, “Then you’d look like an idiot.”
“Yeah,” A squeeze of his hand again, “I would.”
“I could buy a jet then,” He exclaims suddenly in realization, drawing a laugh out of Dream.
Chuckles, cheeks pink, “You’re so dumb.”
George picks up his phone with his free hand, pretending to look at it, “Oh no, my visa is being taken away, guess you have to marry me Dream.”
“Idiot,” He scoffs, though there’s something secret in his eyes. A little too red in the face and enthusiastic with his eye roll.
“Imagine,” He continues because he doesn’t know when to quit, “Dnf wedding, Dream. You can get a green dress and I’ll have a blue tux.”
“I am not wearing a dress,” A protest.
“Green tux then,” He proposes.
“And you wear the dress?”
“If you buy me a jet,” A smile.
“You don’t even really want a jet, George,” He says knowingly, “You just want to win something.”
“For the challenge of being married to you, I win a jet.”
“That’s dumb,” Dream says in exasperation, “You’re dumb.”
“You think I’m dumb,” He frowns mockingly, “I’m going back to London.”
“You think being married to me would be a challenge,” He retaliates.
They simply just blink at each other, fingers still firmly intertwined, stubbornly unrelenting. George is still clutching his phone in his hand, screen still dark, video still playing in their headphones. It’s odd to hear the sound of his own voice talking.
Dream wrinkles his nose, giving in because he always does, “Fine. You’re very smart, George.”
“How smart?” He pushes, both of their voices quiet all of the sudden.
“Fuck off.”
“Rude,” He lays his head back on his shoulder.
“You literally think I’m- I’m challenging to be with, like-“
There’s too much honesty and hurt falling into the words now and George twists into him. Free hand rising to brush through the curls on his nape, face pressing into the crook of his neck, “Dream. I was just joking, it wouldn’t be difficult.”
“I know we were just joking,” He grips his hand tighter, voice a bit frail, “We’re obviously not going to get married.”
He knocks Dream’s headphones on accident and they’re removed and he’s hugging him tightly. And the armrest digging into his side is uncomfortable and they’re still holding hands between them and George just loves him. So much. Too much. His own voice is in his headphones but the corners of his mouth wobble, “I never want to go back to London.”
And it’s the thing to remove the press of their palms together, large hands gently removing the headphones on his ears finally. George blinks at him, vision cloudy, and his hair is brushed behind his ears, “Then don’t.”
“I won’t,” He says rawly and Dream’s gaze on him softens. They’re nearly close enough for their noses to touch, green eyes studying his overgrown hair and the arch of his brow and his eyelashes. Hands running through the hair on the back of his head, caring and tender and then palms meeting his jaw.
“You’re so dumb,” Dream cups his face, thumb pressing to the corner of his mouth, and George’s heart leaps in his chest. A quirk of lips, eyes now on his cupid’s bow, leaning in while musing, “Or smart. Whatever.”
“Dream,” He mutters against his mouth, lips pressing to his chastely. Soft pink, chapped from how much the other bites his lips, careful on his. But George leans, pulling him in by his shoulders, pressing into him. Dream remains gentle, simply humming and tilting his head, even as George bites into his bottom lip.
Then they part, Dream so tender that George could melt under the love in his eyes. And he’s soft, leaning back into his chair even as the other wants to cling to him, green blinking at him slowly. A hand, reassuring knowingly, taps fingers onto his knuckles, “I’m glad you had fun at least. Even if you didn’t win.”
“You’re not even watching my video,” He says hoarsely, mouth dry, because apparently they’re not acknowledging it yet.
“I don’t need to watch a video,” A tilt of his head, “Not anymore. Not if I can see you right here.”
George simply blanks, staring at his softened features. He seems at peace now, comfortable, more than the other had seen him so far. Two more taps against his knuckles before the touch and his gaze is gone.
Dream’s jaw works, as if he’s suddenly irritated, but his voice doesn’t harden, “You should probably get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
Dream pauses the video, as if he’s impatient to leave, “You’re tired, George.”
“That’s not how that works, you can’t just tell me I’m tired and I’m-“ He pauses at the way his jaw is working, the tapping of fingers, and then sighs, “Will you lay down with me?”
“Do you want me to?” And the question is raw, protective, guarded.
At the sudden change in tone, George furrows his eyebrows, “Of course, that’s why I asked.”
“Then let’s go,” Dream stands, giving him no time, leading the way.
On the way down the hall, George grips onto the back of his shirt, asking smally, “Wait, Dream, can we go in your room?”
Dream turns, since his room is in the opposite direction that they’re going, and their eyes meet momentarily. A hand, gentle on his waist, curving around to the small of his back, “I’m glad you’re home again.”
“Why?” He asks, being guided along.
A pinched look is directed toward him, confused, “Because I missed you?”
“Oh.” He blanks, “Right.”
“Why that reaction?” A frown, “Am I not allowed to miss you?”
“No. I mean, you are. It’s just new,” George sort of wants to kiss him again for the puzzled expression on his face. It’s just such a Dream expression, he wants to embrace all of him so suddenly. Instead he continues, “I’m used to you missing me while I’m at home, not from home.”
“Well, get used to it,” A more pinched look, “Or don’t, I guess.”
George opens his door for them, hand trailing along his back until they’re forced to part, Dream brushing past him. He lands face down on his bed, socked feet in the air, arms sprawled out. George admires the sight of him, taking in the warm curve of his body, before he’s moving to join. He tucks himself against his side, nosing into his neck, hand curling around to splay on his waist.
He can feel the stretch of his muscles there from the way his arm is extended, the slight protruding of his rib. And then he inches the hand down, over the soft fat that lays above his hips. Dream doesn’t stop him, doesn’t seem to want to stop him, and George thinks idly that he was created perfectly to rest under his palms.
He rubs his thumb back and forth there, soothing, tender feelings suddenly gripping his chest. Dream’s voice is muffled in his pillow, “Why did you want to sleep in here?”
“So you wouldn’t leave me,” George answers against his skin.
“I won’t,” He tilts his head to the side, words quiet.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dream is shuffling out from underneath him, turning to twist his arms around his shoulders and squeeze him against his chest.
George cuddles back up to him, legs twisting around his waist and pulling him in further, speaking into his collarbones, “I don’t think I want a jet anyway.”
“Why not?” Fingernails dragging dully up his back.
“Because I wouldn’t use it,” He admits, “I’d just wanna stay here with you instead.”
“I told you,” A kiss is still pressed into his hair for the sentiment, “You just wanted to win.”
“And why is that bad?” He tilts his head upward, eyes falling closed at the second peck between his eyebrows, “I’m a big loser, Dream.”
“A bad loser, you mean.”
“But will it really be interesting if I just lost anyway?” He grumbles, “Who even cares at that point?”
“I think it’s cool to see your point of view,” A squeeze, “Quit worrying so much about it.”
“But-”
“Just sleep, George, I’m sure you’ve had a long flight.”
“Fine. Idiot.”
And they don’t talk about it. He tosses and turns at night just thinking about it, and wonders if perhaps Dream just doesn’t want him. That it was one-off and all he needed to know he really wasn’t interested in kissing George. And he sulks maybe a little, despite the gentle little touches he still receives daily.
Until he’s presenting the final product to Dream, sitting down on a couch in their home theater and pressing play. Dream lays down, hair tickling his thighs from how he sprawls out. George is more interested in watching his expression, watching his lazy blinks and slack mouth and the slight twitch of his eyebrows.
He always cringes a little internally at his own face and voice playing out on the projector, like all his insecurities and every move are so easily on display. He just looks away, liking the way that Dream smiles a little at some points and laughs when he falls. Until gentle pink is parting, expression shifting into something different, eyes darting from one part of the screen to another.
George follows, seeing himself with his hand above the tape, stretching to reach. He frowns, looking again so see what it is that has even caught Dream’s attention. He follows his gaze, nearly scoffing when of course the other is lingering on his waist. The way his friend is unashamed about staring at his ass in the jeans he was wearing.
But he keeps his mouth closed about it, nearly missing the way Dream is fumbling with his own hands. He watches them open, fingers apart, stretching and then the way they close only to repeat the action. He sees the tension in the line of his shoulders, the way he swallows dryly, eyes blinking slowly. Dream looks away from the screen only when he’s lost the challenge, no longer stretched thin against the jet.
It ends not long after and Dream is quiet for a moment. George squints at him, curious about the behavior, asking to be sure, “Good?”
“Yeah,” It comes out rough and his friend clears his throat, finally looking up at him, “It was good.”
“Even if I lost?”
He tilts his chin up, smiling gently, “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” He brushes his fingers over the stubble on his jaw.
“Yes, George.”
He bites down a smile but still teases, “And my- my ass looked good at the end?”
“Wh-“ Dream chokes, sitting up and coughing in surprise, “What is wrong with you?”
He sees the way his ears turn pink, knowing his cheeks are red even though he’s turned away. He laughs, scooting and sliding his arms around his shoulders, musing against his ear lowly, “It’s just a question, Dream.”
A shiver, “Well I’m not answering it.”
“You don’t like my ass?” He pouts jokingly.
“Fuck, George,” Dream twists around in his arms, gripping his waist with large hands, grumbling against the corner of his mouth, “I fucking love your ass.”
“Cringe, you’re so-“ He’s laughing and the other kisses him, making him hold on tighter. But there’s still laughter bubbling up in his chest, twisting his fingers in curled hair, Dream pulling away to smile dumbly at him. His cheeks are rosy, bashful now, and George feels the warmth with his palms, “Have you ever heard of a thing called being subtle?”
“I’m subtle, what are you talking about?” Dream chuckles, face squished between his hands.
“You can’t watch a single video without staring at my ass,” He laughs again, feeling warm with the other holding him, “You’re obsessed.”
“I wasn’t,” Their noses bump, both of them smiling giddily, “Actually, I was looking at all of you. Your waist is, like, small.”
“Small?”
“Yeah,” The hands on him shift and Dream looks down at them, “You’re so small I can hold all of your waist with just my hands.”
George looks too, at the large hands splayed out on his body, “Oh. You’re so weird.”
“No,” He hums, telling him lowly, “I can do anything I want to you and you have to just take it.”
“Creep,” He wrinkles his nose, not feeling uncomfortable at all with the statement.
“George.” Dream rolls his eyes, “Consensually, of course.”
“Yeah?” He hums against his mouth, “You’re gonna make me take it?”
Dream squeezes him, making something hot curl in his gut, “Maybe if you keep talking like that.”
“That’s gross,” He replies, twisting out of his hold just to leave him there.
Finger’s digging into his shirt and a complaint, “George. George, I’m trying to seduce you, let me seduce you.”
“You’re literally an idiot,” He huffs, a bit dizzy just from the fact that Dream just admitted to openly trying to fuck him. He grabs onto his wrists, “C’mon, I want to lay down, let’s go watch something.”
“We’re literally in the perfect place to watch something,” Dream lets himself be tugged along anyway, face pinched in confusion.
George looks away from him as they go down the hall, “Quit making that face, you look dumb.”
And heat is crawling up the back of his neck, hands gripping onto him by the hips, actively stopping him so a warm frame can press against his back. Teasing words, “You like my face?”
His hips are being squeezed, Dream fully pressing against him, hot breath on his neck. They’re stalling in the hallway and he tries again feebly, “Let’s watch something.”
One step and then Dream loops arms under his, pressing him into a hug from behind. Words against his jaw, the press of a smile there, “George, c’mon. You like me?”
“I absolutely despise you,” He rolls his eyes, turning to press a gentle kiss to his mouth and then a second longer one, “It’s not like I changed my whole life to be near you or anything.”
Dream hums a satisfied, “Okay, let’s go watch a show now.”
“Okay,” He follows him down the hall to his room, frowning slightly. He’s still unsure on their footing, the casual press of their lips but the other’s avoidance of proper communication. The blonde grabs his laptop, settling with his legs under the covers, George crawling under them too to watch him turn it on.
A shoulder wedges between his and the headboard, a hand sliding over his back to rest on his waist. A mumble, “What do you want to watch?” He shrugs so he suggests, “Breaking Bad?”
“Yeah,” He hums, ignoring the eyes lingering warmly on his face.
They get only a few minutes into an episode when Dream asks, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” He twists more to sink into his side, resting his head on his chest. Gentle fingers coming up to run through his hair, kiss being pressed onto his head. He leans into it, pressing his nose there under his chin, leg hooking around one of his.
Dream inhales at the motion, touch stuttering, voice a low hum, “You sure?”
“Yeah,” He says against the skin there, more sure this time. Another large hand comes to curve around his jaw, Dream dipping suddenly to kiss him slow and sweet. He turns into it, tilting his head up, nearly on top of him at this point. A hand drags down, over his back, soothing and comforting before settling on his waist again.
He thinks about the previous comments, the way Dream is attracted to the size difference between them, wondering if he’s always resisted touching him like this. His toes curl at the thought of the other getting off a little on just how small he is. He hums, their lips parting just for Dream to hold him tighter and kiss him a second time.
Show abandoned, the hand on his jaw moves to push the laptop off his lap, turning them over. George’s leg lifts, wrapping around his waist, arms around him comforting. Dream’s weight presses down on him but it’s a nice weight, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. George digs his fingers into his curls, saying against his mouth, “Dream.”
“Hm,” He hums, low in his chest, hands squeezing his waist.
“You like me?” He finally asks, running his own hand up a broad back.
Dream blinks his eyes open, something tender in his gaze, “I’ll show you how much I like you.”
His heart jumps at the hand suddenly squeezing his thigh but he asks again for a clear answer, “No, Dream. You like me?”
“I like you, George,” He huffs against the corner of his mouth, like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe, fond still, “A lot.”
“Oh,” His cheeks burn despite the fact that Dream is on top of him and they were just kissing, “Good.”
“Idiot.” Dream rolls his eyes, leaning to press kisses against his neck. George swallows down the sound that threatens to escape, kind of offended by how attracted he is to his best friend. But the mood sobers more, hands slipping under his sweater to grip onto his hips, asking against the crook of his neck again huskily, “So, no?”
And he’s asking for permission, for consent of this going further. George nods, “Show me.”
Hands sliding upward, splaying against his ribs, words hot on his skin, “It’s irritating how hot you are sometimes.”
He furrows his eyebrows, confused because he truly hasn’t done anything except lay around the house in gross clothes, “I am not-“
Dream kisses him, biting at his lips, scruff scratching against his chin. He groans when his bottom lip is tugged on, legs spreading involuntarily at just the fact that he’s got the other so worked up, hips finally pressing between them properly. Dream is half hard just from the small amount of kissing they’ve done, “I have wanted you forever.”
“Yeah?” He burns up at the dark look in his eyes.
“Thought about it, about you, when you were in London,” He admits, thumb stroking gently over his skin, “A lot.”
“You,” George wraps his arms and legs around him, throat tight and stomach twisting deliciously, wanting to squeeze him to death, “Are so annoying sometimes.”
“You’re just going to insult me now,” Dream’s expression changes to that puzzled one, half joking.
“Quit making that fucking face,” George kisses him finally, sweeter than they have been, “You drive me crazy.”
“George,” The other groans, their noses brushing, tongue finally dipping into his mouth to taste him. Dream tastes like that juice he likes so much and something sweeter like candy, the taste of toothpaste still lingering slightly on his teeth. He wonders idly if the other had been expecting them to kiss like this, fingers stroking over the skin under his sweater feverishly.
Then tight hands wrap around the fabric, almost as if to pull him up impossibly closer, his back arching almost involuntarily. He slides his warm palms up Dream’s back, feeling the broadness of him, the way his shoulders are strong but his waist slims slightly. Stubble is scraping over his jaw again, his shoulder, and he has the bizarre realization that Dream is such a man.
Big and rough but perfectly molded to soften his touch into something reserved just for their moment. He practically trembles at the hands smoothing over his hips only to sink fingertips into the soft flesh of his thighs, almost as if to spread him open further, hot mouth still dragging over his neck. He digs fingers into the hair at his nape, swearing, making large hands grip him by his waist.
Dream sits up over him, knees between his spread thighs, hands around him almost entirely. Dark eyes rake over him, squeezing, and George gets that tight feeling over the look in his gaze. He grips him by the shoulders, leaning up to kiss him, but Dream drags him fully up onto his thighs. Hands splay on his back, keeping him up, the two of them pressing together perfectly.
The way hips rut upwards into his sends chills up his spine, a moan finally escaping his lips. The other shuts him up with his own mouth, the drag of their lips slow before Dream pushes him back. He falls, hips still lifted up by large hands, fingers pressing into his skin. And Dream grinds up, pulling him into it, hot and heavy against his ass.
He can’t help the way he groans, back arching, a bit helpless to the movement. Slow and filthy grinding into him before Dream’s fingers slide slightly under his shirt, “Let me see you.”
“See me?” George can’t help but muse, a bit teasing despite their position, “I’m right here.”
“You’re an idiot,” Dream’s nose wrinkles and it’s so Dream that he can’t help but blush like he’s a teenager again. He pushes up his shirt, brushing large hands over smooth pale skin, lifting his arms to wiggle out of it. Fingers splay across his ribs, a wide gaze taking him in, and George has never been so naked in front of him in his life.
He shifts uncomfortably under the staring, insecure about the tent in his sweatpants, “What?”
“George,” Dream breathes, stroking over his skin with his thumbs. His lips are parted, eyes running over him just to do it over again. Then they level on his face, expression unreadable, “You’re gorgeous.”
“You’re so dumb,” He tries to hide away, face covered by his hands, “Why are you so sappy?”
Dream’s hand catches the inside of his knee when he tries to close his legs, pushing them apart again. Then he dips, kissing him tenderly after brushing his hands away, wedging his hips between his thighs. And they’re hard, pressed together, but he can hardly think when Dream is kissing him like he hung the stars.
He tangles hands in his hair, their noses brushing, gentle bites to his lips. Their foreheads touch and he tells him, “You’re annoying.”
Thumb sinking into the crease of his thigh, words against his lips, completed with the rock of his hips, “I need to see you more like this.”
“You can,” George smiles a little, “If you want.”
“In the summer,” Dream continues because he’s dumb like that, “I’m gonna take you swimming.”
“Yeah?” He huffs in amusement.
“And I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers in the hot tub,” He promises, “See you all pretty and hot for me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” George blushes like a virgin, rolling his eyes to brush it off. Lips press to his, Dream smiling, humming in amusement at the reaction. He touches his stubbled face, feeling his dimple, “Haven’t you not gotten laid in a long time? Why are you like, good?”
“I’m good?” Dream focuses on that of course, “You think I’m good, George. Maybe you just like me.”
“Can’t be that,” He huffs. He’s kissed again, hips rolling forward into his finally. They both gasp at the relief, too caught in each other to have been paying attention.
But Dream hums, telling him, “Let me take care of you, okay?”
He nods, because the low look in his eyes has him eager to do anything. Fingers hook into his waistband, tugging his boxers and sweatpants down enough just to leave him bare. He’s flushed all the way to the tip, the fresh air alone making precum leak embarrassingly. Dream swallows down the noise he makes when he wraps his hand around him, like he can’t kiss him fast enough.
And he’s not necessarily small but Dream’s hand makes him look that way. His thighs tremble slightly, hand tight around him, stroking to the tip and back down. He watches the head of his cock disappear as he stokes upward only to leak filthily all over his hand when he shifts down again. And he hasn’t been touched in so long, in years, that he can’t help but keen pathetically.
And Dream’s hand is tight, seemingly set on making him cum embarrassingly fast, unrelenting. George’s hands stutter in their need to grip onto him, grabbing too tightly onto his shoulders. But Dream just kisses him again, licking into his mouth as if he loves the taste of his moans.
He feels like he’s been reduced to a trembling mess in too short of a timespan, he half considers the fact that maybe Dream had been hooking up with people while hidden away because there’s no fucking way. But no, maybe Dream just loves him or something. Or the other way around. He just arches into the touch, stomach flipping endlessly from the hand gripping his thigh.
It hits him so suddenly, low in his stomach tightening, and Dream swallows down the noise that leaves him. All the stars fall from the sky and he’s thrown off the edge with his best friend pressed against him. The other hums against his mouth, stroking him gently through it, and he can’t help the immediate embarrassment for how fast he became undone.
He squeezes Dream around the shoulders, wanting to bury himself in his frame forever somewhere near his heart. And he feels dumb, sentimental with cum spilled all over his chest and the other’s hand, on unsteady footing. But he buries himself in his neck, smelling the sweat there, not wanting to leave yet.
And Dream is heaven on earth, free hand coming up to cup the back of his head, as if he doesn’t want him to leave yet either. Gentle lips brushing against his temple, stubble scratching his cheek, a mess between the two of them. George strokes fingers over the nape of his neck, providing at least a little of the affection he’s receiving. But too soon, “George. Lemme get a washcloth.”
“No,” He hums stubbornly, not moving but making a face.
“I’ll hold you after,” Dream presses kisses into his hair, “I promise.”
And Dream is still very obviously hard in his sweatpants when he climbs off him, not mentioning it. There’s an odd look on his face again, almost peaceful, something tender and innocent about it. And he looks over his exposed body, as if he’s the one who’s heaven sent, even though he feels gross now.
He throws an arm over his eyes when he returns, a warm cloth running over his stomach and thighs, face growing warm. He lifts his hips so he can be covered again, remaining shirtless, lips pressing just momentarily to the jut of his hip. Dream puts the washcloth into the laundry basket before he climbs up next to him, dipping the mattress with his weight.
A hand running up his side, “Are you going to hide forever?”
“‘M not hiding,” He lies, moving his arm away to blink at him.
“Then what are you doing?” Dream smiles a little.
“Nothing,” He huffs, rolling to press his face into his shoulder, “I just don’t like you seeing me.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re weird and I’m gross,” He finds a place against his chest, the press of his hardness against his hip somehow a shock.
“You’re so nice, George,” He remarks back sarcastically, voice deep in his chest.
George's hand raises to hold his waist, moving to simply look at him, noses nearly touching. Dream smiles and he comments, “You never asked me to help you.”
“I’m okay.”
“Why? Do you not want me to-”
“No. I just, I dunno, it’s been years,” His face goes a bashful pink, “And you’re you, I’d embarrass myself.”
“I don’t care about that,” He kisses the corner of his mouth, “If anything, it’s a compliment.”
“I dunno,” A shrug, “It’s okay.”
“Hm,” Their noses brush and Dream’s eyes crinkle, “I could just not help you.”
“Well-” Dream starts in that flustered exasperated way.
“I’ll just watch,” He moves back more, simply blinked at, and says slyly, “Eventually I’m going to see you, Dream.”
“Wait, eventually?” And his face gets all screwed up as if he didn’t expect there to be more. It makes a lump form in his throat for a moment before Dream says dumbly, “You’d let me fuck you?”
George groans, covering his face with his hands again, teasing more than anything, “You’re a fucking idiot sometimes.”
“Wait-”
He kisses him, shutting down whatever he was going to say. Dream is a big dumb idiot with a lot of things, humming nearly in shock. He pulls away, that unreadable expression on his face again, and George laughs at him a little, “What did you expect? A casual handjob and we just act like it never happened?”
“I-” The wrinkle of his nose, “I mean, yeah?”
“This wasn’t going to be casual sex, you know?” He tells him and Dream kisses him like life has been breathed into him for the first time. It’s nearly bruising and it makes him laugh, probably interrupting their moment, “I hate you.”
“No,” A big smile now, “You don’t.”
“Whatever, can you just get naked now?” He brushes off.
Dream hums in agreement to that, pressing their lips together for just a moment more before twisting away from him. He turns onto his back, already partially soft from their talking and lack of friction, smoothing a palm over himself through his sweatpants, “So what, you want me to just jack off?”
“Do whatever,” He muses, eyeing him over, “But yeah.”
“I hate this, by the way,” He complains, continuing to grant himself some friction, “Hate being seen.”
“I like seeing you,” George tells him, watching the way veins pop out as his fingers flex around himself.
But Dream must not seem to truly hate it as much as he says, because he in no way tries to back out. He palms himself, jaw clenched as if he’s concentrating, and George breathes in the sight of him like this in the afternoon sun. And he falters for a moment before he moves to tug up his shirt a little.
George carefully memorizes how his stomach is soft but with muscle hidden underneath, his efforts with eating well and working out showing through. A happy trail leads down under where the waistband of his boxers peaks out of his sweatpants but Dream isn’t moving at all. His hand rests still against his hip and George asks him, “Let me see you.”
Eyes meet his and he sees the hesitance, the lack of much experience in his eyes. But then it’s quickly gone a moment later, Dream’s hips lifting to hook thumbs into his bottoms and push them down at once. George nearly loses his breath, seeing him there with his hard cock curving up towards his stomach.
He’s pink and flushed, having not been touched this whole time, leaking. And Dream groans, low in his chest, when he wraps a hand around himself. He strokes himself, hips pressing forward into the motion naturally, dirty and wet. It comes out of George’s mouth almost against his will, “Can I admit something?”
Dream’s eyes are dark, blinking at him through his eyelashes, hand unwavering. Still, he hums, gaze trailing all over his bare chest.
It makes something tighten low in George’s stomach but he continues on, feeling brainless as he admits, “I like that you’re so much bigger than me.”
“Jesus Christ, George,” He squeezes his eyes shut, “Please.”
“And I like that while I was in London that you were here thinking of me,” He takes it as encouragement, “And then probably calling and acting as if you weren’t wanting me, thinking of bending me over and-”
“George, for the love of god, can you please shut up so-” He digs a thumb into the slit and is cumming so quickly it seems as if it hurts. His muscles go tense too suddenly, face pinched, moaning. He cums all over his hand, head thrown back, and George can’t look away. And once he can breathe again, Dream instantly is lit up with embarrassment, “See, I can’t-”
But George jumps on him then, hands framing his face, kissing him endlessly. Dream’s clean hand wraps around the back of his neck, their kiss turning sloppy. He digs fingers into his hair because he doesn’t care, he just wants this closeness with him forever. He’s waited multiple very long years to get this with him and he’s going to keep this with him, everything else be damned, “You make me insane.”
“I should have-” Their noses brush together, suddenly tender, “God, George, I should have come with Sap to London. I could’ve kissed you then instead of being afraid you wouldn’t like me anymore once you see me like this.”
George shakes his head.
“I could’ve kissed you on your first day here,” He breathes, “When Sap left us alone for the first time, I could’ve already been together with you. Instead of being a fucking idiot, I’ve been such a fucking idiot.”
“It’s fine, Dream, it doesn’t matter anymore,” He hushes, “We’re past that now. It would’ve hurt so much more when you would’ve had to leave me alone again.”
“God, I’m gross, why are we talking about this while I’m gross,” Dream suddenly seems to realize, gently sitting up and going to clean up. But when he returns, he sinks into George’s arms like dead weight, face pressing into his bare collarbones, “Why has today been crazy?”
“Because you kissed me when I lost that Mr. Beast challenge,” He hums, running fingers through his hair tenderly.
“George,” He mumbles, almost sleepy, “I’ll buy you a jet, it’s fine.”
“I don’t want one, I just wanted to win, remember?”
“Right.”
“Instead,” He runs his hands down his back, “How about you promise to stay home with me for a while?”
“We can’t,” Dream grumbles, face smooshed against his skin, “We already have plans.”
“Then we stay together,” He compromises.
“Move in with me,” A small kiss, “Into my room, I mean.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve waited enough time, right?” A sigh, “At least I think so.”
“Yeah,” He smiles, “We have.”