Archive of Our Own

The timer was ticking, and the stadium had never been in such an uproar. Flashes of cameras blinding the players on the court whilst they dripped with sweat, dampening their jerseys and bent over, panting from the over-exertion on their bodies. It was only inevitable that Sapnap’s team would fail, especially against the Green Guardians, who seemed to be completely fine.

Constant shots being called off, constant unfair fouls, it was like a cycle of never being able to shoot a basket nor defend their own. But in the meanwhile, the Blue Bunnies still held up well, despite all odds being against them.

Dream grinned, standing at the center of the court, watching carefully as the other team’s power forward — Sapnap was screaming at the top of his lungs to Callahan, seemingly not faltering. His voice raw and angry from so much energy he pushed out during this game. Dripping with sweat, boiling with anger, the bandana around his head was still tight and drenched whilst Callahan stood quiet and took his yelling, unfazed.

He’d broken the other team, they were miserable out of their minds. Quackity looked stressed, worn out as he tried figuring out any other possible plays to help them gain a lead, Punz and Karl holding back their fuming raven-haired friend from doing something they’d all regret. 

They looked just as bad, maybe even worse. Eye bags prominent as their movements got more sloppy and their speed slowed down, Dream almost pitied them. Almost .

Because there was one specific person on the other team that had ignored all false call-outs, all the casual fouls being placed left and right, and how each out of their plays were constantly deflected by Dream’s team.

Their fucking captain. George, the boy with the posh accent, with a figure so small people would assume he’s rather their cheerleader if anything, dainty fingers that didn’t look like they belonged on the battlefield of the court. No matter how hard Dream tried to knock him down, or even get a reaction out of him, the Brit would wipe his sweat away, give a few encouraging words and continue playing. It was fucking infuriating.

At this point, the whole game lacked any type of sportsmanship, which would be considered pretty taboo if the stadium wasn’t totally eating it up. From Sapnap’s unfiltered mouth to Dream’s glaring and mockery, no one showed any remorse for each other. Well, almost no one, George was probably the star of the show, even if his team was losing.

The pretty British boy would have the cameras on him at all times, giving reassuring smiles and throwing up peace signs at any given moment that would have the whole stadium swooning - including those that supported the Green Guardians.

He moved gracefully across the court, refusing to give up, he never messed up once and the only reason they could barely score a point was because the referee kept calling their shots off. 

With each whistle for a call-off, the Blue Bunnies would wince in annoyance, and Sapnap would burst in anger again, but Dream had his eyes on somebody else. Someone so careless of how bad his situation was that he simply walked away from the net, and let the other team have their way.

It was maddening, how the captain could be so fine with being wronged constantly. Dream wanted him to scream, to cry, to throw unreasonable accusations that would mean nothing in the aftermath of the game. And it was almost like some push-and-pull game, Dream would never let him have the satisfaction of getting ahead in terms of point, and George would never let him see his outburst, the uglier side of being human. It was daunting, and it was scary how contained the man was.

A green flame from hell burned untamed in Dream’s empty pit where his heart should’ve been.

They were only ahead by a few points, which probably shouldn’t have been a big deal. But the Blue Bunnies knew that their opponents were toying with them, edging them, seeing their frustration boil to their heads when they were so close to winning, but it had never been enough.

Sapnap let out another string of curse words before George patted him on the back, and it seemed to be extremely effective, seeing as the man had calmed down and collected himself immediately before getting back into their respective formation. 

It was so fucking annoying, how he could manage to keep his own aggravated team in check and even keep himself under good condition, it was unfair, how composed he was, how perfect he looked doing practically anything. Dream found himself staring a bit too hard when George would shove his water bottle down his throat, seeing the way his Adam’s apple would bob every time he swallowed. And when he bent over to catch up on his breath, Dream would practically ogle at his ass.

His team knew, too, they’d never seen their ruthless captain so enamored with someone of the opposing team. And so did the Blue Bunnies, Dream loved it when George would shy away from him whenever he had the chance. The blond stood guarding him protectively, and would even take the advantage of getting as close as possible, because who the fuck’s going to stop him? The referee?

Though George was good too, Dream had to give him that much. The captain wouldn’t break under any circumstance, and he never slipped up on anything. It was like watching God’s most beautiful creation scorn down at him for his attempted failures at unraveling the beautiful thing.

He had paid the referee off beforehand — not like he needed it or anything — but what’s the point of money if you aren’t going to spend it?

The glistening waxed floor scattered with marks and scratches from previous games gave Dream an ugly reflection back. Something horrid and wicked staring back at him with eyes laced with malice and each step made solely just to bring someone down to hell. Dream loved every bit of it, no matter how much it stung his heart, he loved being yelled at, screamed at, meaningless insults directed at him that wouldn’t hurt him one bit, seeing people untangle beneath his puppeteer’s hands.

Just fucking give up, I know you want to yell at me just do it, so we can end your suffering.

Pretty boys with pretty skin, he wanted to ruin George, to destroy the Brit and remind him who the fucking boss is, show him who’s really superior, who George would kneel for and worship to when need be.

Anytime they made eye contact, George’s eyes would glisten with a tamed flame, flickering in the dark abyss of his iris as he stared back with boring eyes. Lips flushed pink from sucking on his water bottle constantly and cheeks crimson red from the tiring workout they had to do on court.

But he didn’t, he stayed quiet, like he was incapable of showing emotion, and it enraged Dream. He sighed in defeat, walking back and getting into his place, dragging his steps behind him solemnly as if he’d been the one constantly trampled by his opponents. Some part of him wanted the Brit across the court to tear up in frustration, to throw maybe a few punches that wouldn’t really affect him because he already looked so weak.

Without another second to spare, the buzzer went off again, and the teams rushed towards each other. The adrenaline in everyone was at its peak now, that if this one game wouldn’t go well, they should just consider giving up for the rest.

Excitement rising high in their cheeks, blood rushing to their ears as the teams zipped past each other, yelling for assists and passes, the stadium lights shining above them like they were in a theatrical play, the director being Dream. The crowd roared in anticipation, sitting at the edge of their seats to see if the Blue Bunnies could possibly take the rhythm and turn it into theirs again.

As George’s pretty thin fingers wrapped under the ball, and he jumped up, bullets of sweat bouncing off as he threw towards the net from the midway-line, and everything had gone quiet. For that one tick in time, everything had stopped moving except for the ball.

Everyone’s eyes glued to it as it rose high in the air in all its glory, and the Blue Bunnies looked at it like it was their last hope. And in this case — it was. This one point could turn the tides of the game, either wash down the Blue Bunnies like sewer water, or they could wash over the Green Guardians like a tsunami. Drown them in their ferocity and love for the game, and give themselves justice.

Everyone watched, everyone but Dream. His eyes darted to George, whom — for the first time — looked like he was perplexed, the first hint of emotion in his eyes as they went glossy, he could practically see the stars circling his head as he whispered pleads and cries to whatever God that was listening and watching over them now.

Hopeful eyes, encouraging chants, supportive fans, all of it… Dream watched diminish over a thousand times, and he would never get tired of it. The wishful thinking was short-lived, and the referee’s whistle echoed through the hushed stadium.

It was a call-out, and Dream watched all the ambition get sucked out of his opponents, watched them wither and die right before his feet, and just for the fun of it, he nudged one of his opponents next to him, causing Punz to trip over his tired feet and fall almost face-first on the floor. He fell with a thud, in sync with the ball falling on the floor in failure, and everyone whipped their heads to face the other two.

Punz darted his head towards Dream, and his face was almost laughable, seeing his frown and stitched-together eyebrows, a desperate attempt to intimidate, and it would’ve worked if Punz wasn’t so tired now. The merciless man cackled, scoffing at the meaningless effort before he felt something rock right against his face. A fist , a fucking fist, right against his face. He can understand little arguments on the court, but fucking physical fighting? That was something so low, so fucking pitiful, so god-damn desperate-

He turned, and he saw George, the once-tiny flicker of flame blew into a forest fire, and he had his hands balled up into fists, blowing air through his gritted teeth. His chest rose and fell violently. The stadium remained quiet, and even Sapnap - the overly hyper opponent - stood shell-shocked and quiet, wide-eyed as they awaited for the next move. To see if Dream would punch back, or if he would remain diligent and unfazed. 

Fortunately, he remained composed. He stumbled back on his feet in astonishment before looking back up - or rather down - at the fuming short man in front of him, stance ready to fight again, the referee stood quiet with the whistle still stuck in his mouth. Dread settled in everyone as the sudden realization weighed in on everyone else.

George had punched him, he had fucking punched him on the court.

“Don’t fucking touch him.”

He hissed through his teeth, Punz scrambled from the floor and got up, anxiously hooking his arm around George’s and gently tugging him back.

George had punched him, meaning Dream had finally cracked him.

Watching his seething rage finally disperse out into the court, suffocating everyone else, Dream finally had cracked George open like a can and rid him of his sportsmanship or any etiquette. The cameras that were previously pointed at him blurred to a stop, and even the announcer went dead silent.

All because their pretty little George had finally broken, brittle and frail, always so composed and nice, had finally shown his ugliest side. All this time, he’d kept it hidden away under false muttering of “congrats” or “good game”. He had finally been exposed for the serpent he is, and even then… Even with a victory of folding and bending George to his will, Dream was never satisfied. 

They saw him throw a fit of rage, but Dream wanted to obliterate him. Break him like glass and pick up the pieces, glue them back together how he deemed fit. String George like a puppet so that the next time they meet, the Brit would fall to his knees and worship to Dream like the god he is. But no, the idiot was stubborn, far more stubborn than Dream had imagined. Instead of giving up, falling to the floor, and sobbing, he stood his ground and roared in fiery rage as if it would do him any good.

It was fucking amazing.

Dream had briefly sent a look to the referee, daring him not to call it any foul, he brushed it off, the smell of metallic crimson liquid was evident, but he wiped away the blood before anyone could see, and hoped the bleeding would stop soon.

Now, he was going to try. He walked back into formation, his team equally stunned silent as their opponents, tread back to their positions, and waited for the ball to dribble again. The crowd grew louder now, some arguing with people on the sidelines as to how that wasn’t a foul or disqualification - hypocrites, they were - to the other side of the crowd bustling with energy with the newfound confidence of their team’s captain.

George grabbed the hem of his jersey, pulling it up to wipe the sweat off under his eyes, and let out an exasperated sigh. He had a look of determination on his face, with all odds against them, he still wanted to destroy the Green Guardians, his eyes burned forests and his gaze withered roses, his very stance was overpowering, and Dream soaked it up like the fucking masochist he is. Making sure to give him the widest grin ever, the blond stood quiet, ball in his hands as he sniffled, ignoring the disgusting iron blood that was forced back into his system, and he stared.

Watched as his jersey rode up his pale abdomen to reveal milky untouched skin, a slight outline of abs on his stomach as it dripped with sweat. Oh, how Dream wanted to ruin it. To ruin the flawless skin and have him writhing underneath him, dripped in the same sweat. His shorts were slightly higher than before and his thigh band was exposed now.

He could see the fat of his thighs jutting out ever so slightly, the black material wrapping around perfectly. Dream’s never wanted to be a thigh band so bad in his life.

Wanting to bruise and leave a red imprint on his leg for others to notice, he’d wonder how long the marks would last, if he’d have to work to place them on his thigh, or if George’s skin was as sensitive as it looked. Either way, it didn’t matter. As long as Dream got to see him sob, writhe in pleasurable pain, he’d be fine doing more work than necessary.

A hard hand hit his back, and he turned to see Callahan frowning at him, and he frowned before facing across the court again, ball ready in his hands as he let the suspense settle in the air before charging forward.

The teams were ruthless, that much was obvious. Ever since George’s outburst that had managed to render everyone speechless, he was more carefree now, throwing insults however much he liked and flipping them off when they got the point. Their ferocity was enough to get them to a tie now, and George was currently being the one held back by Sapnap, this time, no one could contain him.

“Fuck you!! How is that a fucking call-off ?! Fuck you!!”

Dream scoffed while he walked towards the referee and George fighting, the man was cowering despite their large height difference, and this didn’t look at all like the man that once nicely asked what was so wrong about their play, and constantly apologized for his teammates’ inappropriate behavior.

George noticed him getting closer, and his attention quickly shifted. Dream muttered insults under his breath as he saw his eyes still burn with maddening passion. He wasn’t faltering, and it pissed him off.

“And you. You fucking prick, I hope you get a pickle shoved up so far in your ass it kills you.”

Odd. That was certainly something he wasn’t expecting, especially with him still speaking in his posh accent. His voice hoarse and raggedy from all the violence he put it through.

But god, was it cute .

Dream felt his cold heart beat for a second, seeing George scowling at him. 

“Didn’t think a pretty face like yours could have such a vile mouth.”

“Oh, this vile mouth can do so much worse.”

Dream stepped forward, towering over him, shadow casting over him like clouds as they both became a bit too hyper-aware of their height difference.

“Is that an invitation?” Voice low, eyes swirling with an estranged mix of emotions as the both of them blurred the rest of the court out to focus on each other. George took a step back, and Dream settled.

“You’re fucking insufferable.” He breathed out quietly before shoving him off and heading back to his team again, huddling them up quickly and trying his best to ignore Dream’s scorching gaze.

He turned to the referee, giving a slight nod of reassurance before jogging back to his team, blissfully unaware of the crimson red blush creeping up on his face the more he thought about George. Let’s just hope his teammates think he’s just ran a lot.

The buzzer went off again, and everyone went to their positions, there was barely any time left on the clock, and they were head-to-head in terms of points. 

This would be the last game.

The last game with George on the court.

The dread hit him harder than a tidal wave, he wasn’t ready to let go, to surrender the fun, relinquish the adrenaline he got from flustering George or making him so angry he’d happily lose his perfect stature just to get a few words of his true feelings exposed. So, maybe he was a little sad, maybe he had been trying his best to drag out this game, but now, it all had to come to a short end.

Dream sighed, and let the games continue.

For it being the last game, the Blue Bunnies weren’t as exhausted or mentally drained as they should’ve been. Screeching in joy anytime they scored a basket and sticking their tongues out immaturely towards the Green Guardians when they happened to score a basket. The referee had calmed down a bit with the false call-outs and whatnot, only because Dream had specifically requested him to stop. In hopes of having a “fair game” in honour of it being the last quarter with George.

He hadn’t made it fair from the beginning, but give the man credit for trying. It probably wasn’t as eventful as they made it out to seem. Anytime the other team would tie with the Green Guardians, they’d score another to gain the lead again, and it was a constant game of push-and-pull.

Squeaks against the waxed floor, sweat dripping down his neck and the heat of the atmosphere finally settled in on both teams. Sapnap’s continuous screaming alongside George was something out of a film, how their confidence never wavered.

It was a delight to play with them. To let out laughs when they swore, or when their coach would scold them from the sidelines to be more respectful, and they’d blatantly disregard that.

The timer ticked and ticked, and they were tied now, the Blue Bunnies could still feel the threads of Dream’s puppeteering on them, and they were determined to snap out of it.

Especially George, his eyes set ablaze on the other team, for someone so short and cute, he could be pretty terrifying when he wanted. Eyes hooded, he made himself known. No matter how hard the other team tried, they couldn’t look away. It was like he had grabbed their attention, even with 50 seconds on the clock, the brunet would demand their utmost devotion for him, his eyes scorned them for not worshipping him, just as Dream had done three quarters ago.

Dream knew he was good at basketball, without the advantage of the referee at his hand or with, he knew he could beat any team he wanted to. He’s never had an entertaining game, nor has he ever lost.

So when he snapped back into reality, the final buzzer of the game rang loudly in the court, he hadn’t even been expecting it. His eyes darted to the leaderboard, and a sense of horror washed over him. 

He was good, he knew.

He wasn’t expecting to lose, though.

George stood on his knees under the basket, the ball bouncing away from him after being dunked shortly, and he seemed more out of it than Dream did. The daunting 50-51 scoreboard only made it worse, how the big red numbers were on display, showing everyone how Dream had humiliatingly lost to the Bunnies.

So, why wasn’t he mad? Why wasn’t he disappointed?

Because of George, his eyes darted back to the Brit being hassled by his teammates, him laughing uncontrollably while the other four rushed on him, yelling praises and how they had won the hardest game they’ve ever played.

And when they made eye contact, Dream couldn’t care less about his own team, how they walked solemnly back to the bench after receiving their first blow after their continuous winning streak.

And he screamed, he screamed with all the joy in his heart, with the biggest smile on his face, he screamed the loudest out of anyone there.

“Suck it, green boy!”

The blond couldn’t help but feel his heart leap in joy, the rising blood to his cheeks and his ears turning beet red after hearing that. Was he maybe a bit happy? Even when they had suffered a miserable loss? Yes. Yes, he was, shamelessly so.

So what if they had lost this? A minor defeat in his career, wouldn’t change much anyway.

The court had been cleared out, and teams returned to their locker rooms, changing and congratulating each other or sitting on the bench and torn apart between what they could’ve done or what action they should take to prevent another unprofessional game like that.

The best course of action would be to probably kick Dream out of the fucking team, but not only is he the captain, but he’s also their power forward. So, no way in hell was that happening any time soon.

Washed with guilt after he saw his team sulk, Dream volunteered to take the equipment back and tell Hasan that the team wouldn’t have to be there for it. He thought they would have disagreed, and insisted on sticking together, but as soon as he spoke, they hurriedly left him in the dust - which he rightfully deserved.

Towel hung around his neck, jersey off, he made his way back to the court from the locker rooms to see Hasan in his mini-skirt directing another cheerleader on what to do. The curly-haired man quickly noticed Dream, shooing the other person off and smirking whilst the blond approached him.

“Why, hello.”

“Hey… Hasan, what’s up?”

Someone had to be on an incredible level of stupid to not know that the ripped gymnast had a fat crush on Dream.

“Nothing,” He sang with a sweet melodic voice, eyes raking over Dream’s bare torso, “what’s up with you?”

A little uncomfortable, but nothing he wasn’t used to. The blond chuckled, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“Ah- y’know. Post-game loss’ still heavy on me.”

“Oh, come on.” He gently shoved at Dream’s shoulder, letting out a squeaky giggle that the blond hated immediately, “Don’t be like! I think you were great…” His voice trailed off quietly, and his eyes began to shine an emotion Dream frankly did not like. “I think you deserve some kind of award.”

The tension thick in the air, he laughed it off quickly.

“Really? No- uh, yeah. What’d you have in mind?” 

You stupid fucking dolt.

“I think you know…”

He stepped closer, leaning forward with a smug grin and hands cupped neatly behind his back. Dream blinked hard, realizing he couldn’t do anything to the main cheerleader, especially with people watching that still lingered after the game. Hasan was loved by everyone, and he was a hard worker, even Dream knew better than to cross him.

So, like star-crossed enemies, the very short man that had humiliated him on court hooked his arm around the other and reeled him away from Hasan.

The man stood stunned as Dream stumbled back from George’s quick pace.

“Hey, Hasan! Sorry, we can’t talk. Our managers need to discuss something with us.”

The Brit continued dragging him back to his own locker rooms, and Dream (happily so) waved goodbye to the scornful cheerleader, who stood with his arms crossed and an unhappy look. But Dream couldn’t care less, not only had he been saved, but it was also by George.

George. Fucking George, the one man in the entire world that made Dream weak in the knees without trying. His pretty face and small frame didn’t help at all with his fantasies.

Once they were in the locker room, the brunet’s face dropped his charming smile, and he retracted his arm back to him, letting out a frustrated groan. He wasn’t wearing his jersey either - but unlike Dream - he had enough manners to respect the workplace and put on a simple t-shirt, a shirt tight, almost too tight. Exposing his thin waist and the curves of his hips, Dream practically drooled.

But he was in the right mind to make sure George didn’t notice. Maybe I’ll play a little bit longer with my toy.

“I didn’t need your help.”

“Sure looked like it.”

George ignored his harsh tone, neatly placing whatever article of clothing was in his hand into his duffel bag, back turned to Dream.

“I didn’t. Would’ve been fine on my own. Wanted a good fuck too, he’d be perfect for that.”

George turned, sneering in his direction. Instead of being disgusted, he thought to strike back with equal sass.

“I bet. After losing a game like that, I’d want to fuck out my stress, too.”

“Ouch. Low blow.”

He stepped closer to the blissfully unaware brunet, who continued neatly tucking away his belongings in his duffel bag in front of the wall of lockers.

Closer and closer until he finally noticed, pressing his front against George’s back, causing him to shoot up straight and whip around, embarrassment tainting his face as he noticed their proximity and Dream’s… well, lack of clothing. It was just a fun little thing to do, Dream would immediately step away at any sign of discomfort, but seeing George flustered and unable to form a coherent sentence was far better than he had hoped.

“What- uh, what do you- What are you-”

He leaned downwards a bit, hunched and looming over George, tilting his head with a grin so annoying that George would’ve punched him if he wasn’t still trying to process what was going on.

“What’s wrong, Georgie?”

The name was enough as it is, but with a generous(not) distance between the two, the brunet could barely grasp anything.

He was speechless, blinking quickly and staring back at him with pupils blown wide.

“Tell me…” His voice low, he brought his hand up, gently grabbing George’s chin and tilting his head away, so he could get a good look at his sweet unstained neck while he spoke, “did you have anything else in mind when you brought me here, alone? Where’s your team, princess?”

The Brit stumbled back, though it didn’t do much since his spine crashed against the lockers behind him, and it only gave them a few more centimeters of distance. Having your shirtless opponent backing you up against the wall wasn’t exactly ideal.

They stood silent for a moment, Dream’s smug grin never faltered and George just couldn’t tear his eyes away from his, tension thick in the air between them, the blond could hear the rapid pacing of George’s heart. He just doesn’t know if it’s because of him, or if it’s because of winning the game.

“Look at you, you’re so red… And why?” Arms slowly going on either side of George’s head, effectively giving him no chance of escape, “Flustered?”

“Sh-Shut up.”

Is all he managed to say, which only caused Dream to let out a low, dry chuckle. He sighed, tilting his head and moving even closer, resulting in George shrinking in on himself.

“You know, you were right… About me wanting a good fuck because - after all - I did lose the game.” It was testing the waters, he didn’t move anymore, remained still as he stared down at George and waited for a slap, or a harsh kick right in the nuts, but there was nothing. So, he continued, “Would you like to help out, then?”

He finally scoffed, hands kept to himself because it was obvious he was too scared to touch Dream in all his glory.

“Ugh. You’re unbearable.”

“Then tell me to stop, and I’ll stop right here.” He retorted, eyes darker than before and George felt something sinister behind them, but curious would always be the one to kill a cat, “I won’t go further than you want me to.”

So he stayed silent, and it was enough of an answer for Dream to smile as if he was mocking George. But in all honesty, George was practically a mess under him already, and his boner wasn’t going to go away any time soon, so why not let the one person you hate the most take care of that?

The lack of noise gave Dream a new sense of pride, leaning closer, watching tentatively as George turned away, foolishly exposing his neck. 

His lips ghosted over the ivory skin, breath tingling the hair on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine, George did his best to stay quiet.

“Come on, stop squirming and speak already, I’m not a very patient man…” 

Voice nothing short of a whisper, his lips connecting to his skin and placing gentle kisses in a single up to his jaw, feeling him quiver under the sensible touching and his warm breath spreading all over him like a forest fire.

“You’re an a-awful player.” The noises leaving his lips were like listening to heaven’s music, watching him struggle to hold it in as Dream smiled against his skin, “And an even worse person-”

His own moan cutting him off as Dream bit harshly onto the nape of his neck, nearly drawing blood, letting his canines sink in and relish in how close he was to tasting the pretty boy’s crimson underneath him.

George’s hands gripped at his shoulders, still trying to stifle his moans as Dream continued painting his masterpiece on him. He slotted his knee in between George’s thighs, pressing hard against him, watching him squirm in half-delight and half-annoyance.

“Stop teasing.” He whined, Dream leaned away from his neck to look at the pretty sight before him, lips as red as they could get, coated with saliva along with his glossy eyes, neck fresh with hickeys and love bites.

“Or what?” He pressed harder, hands both trailing down and landing on his hips, making sure he wouldn’t be able to move, watching him trying to control his breathing and not seem like an utter mess already. “What’re you gonna do, slut? I’ll be fucking damned if you don’t take what I give you.”

A whimper let out his mouth, and Dream felt him finally let go of any control he had left of himself, melting in his arms and letting out uncontrollable moans.

“Please- just, get on with it already, I’m-”

Dream didn’t bother listening to him, grabbing the hem of his shirt and slowly pulling it off, throwing it to the side, and letting his hands wander around George’s bare torso. Exploring every crevice on his body and slowly letting himself loose with the boundaries, fingers tugging at his waistband from the back, rubbing excruciatingly slow on his hips. 

What he’d give to take a picture of George right now, writhing in unexplainable pleasure, eyes shut tight and jaw slack, head thrown back as his hips unconsciously rutted against Dream’s, causing him to slam it back against the lockers, making George yelp from the sudden force.

“Stop that. One more time and I’ll leave you here, begging for my fucking cock.”

Almost immediately, his face turned apologetic, and he shook his head vigorously, arms wrapping lazily around his neck and pulling him closer, closing any space there was between them.

“Please-” A quiet whimper, pathetic if Dream wasn’t totally enamoured with George’s submissive side, “don’t. Don’t do that.”

Dream’s mind ran rampant on the thoughts of George, or at least what he could do to him. He couldn’t believe that in a million years, he’d be fucking him in the locker room post-game, but then again, he wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Awh, poor baby.” He cooed, though it was a mockery of him if anything, “You got lube? Or do you wanna get fucked raw, hmm? Like the whore you are?”

The brunet let out another pathetic cry, face dug deep into the nape of Dream’s neck as he pressed his knee harder against George. His flimsy shorts weren’t hiding much, though neither were Dream’s. 

“I-I don’t…” He looked up, nose red and cheeks even redder with humiliation as he continued, “you can fuck me though, I can take it- I promise I can.”

It did take him by surprise, the sheer willingness of George, him doing anything to be able to get fucked good and raw was beyond him.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to-”

He groaned, digging his nails into the back of Dream’s neck impatiently.

“God, yes. Don’t make me wait right now, please.”

“If you insist, princess.”

Dream reluctantly separated himself from George, took a step back, and reveled at how pretty George looked trying to catch his breath from the adrenaline rush just now, face cherry red from the embarrassment. He looked more exhausted now than he did back in the game, and it made Dream’s ego inflate even more.

“On your knees,”

Demanding, George complied easily, slumping on his knees, wincing against the hard tile floor, knowing it would cut and bruise his skin if he stayed like this too long.

“Open up.”

Dream only lowered his shorts a little, letting his dick reign free from the confinements of his boxers, and held it as it hardened right in front of George’s eyes.

And George, the poor brunet, never saw it coming, eyes sparkling at the size, unable to realize that he was meant to fit his dick in his mouth (and among other places). An unintentional whimper left his lips as his hands trailed up to hold his cock, it was heavy, and it was fucking big .

He revealed at the sight, how he could see a blue vein pulsing, seeing it red and flushed angry from not being touched, how hard he was and how big he felt in his thin hands.

“Well? Get on with it, bitch.”

George was never one to like being so harshly treated during such an intimate moment, but when Dream did it, insulted him like he was nothing but a filthy rag toy, thrown around however Dream deemed fit, it was more enticing than it ought to be.

Fire roared in his chest, burning away any dignity left, rushing blood to the rest of his body as he looked up, batting his eyes at Dream. He wanted to be good . So good that Dream would only come to him and treat him as roughly as he liked, so good that Dream couldn’t think of anyone else besides him when fucking, so good that Dream would ache for him when the brunet would eventually reject him.

With steadied breathing, he hovered his lips over the tip, letting his tongue gently graze against the slit, sliding over and coating it with minimal saliva, letting hot air settle deep onto Dream.

Then again, Dream wasn’t exactly patient, his breath stuttering as he threaded his hand midway through George’s hair, then gripping it ever so tightly between his fingers, causing George to let out a pathetic moan.

“Either you suck my dick, or I leave.”

Dream wouldn’t leave - both of them knew that. But George listened anyway, wrapping his lips around and his other hand wrapping around Dream’s base, barely able to fully cover it with all of his fingers. And he ever so gently moved his head, excruciatingly slow, letting his mouth relish in every inch and weight added with each second that passed.

He made sure to make eye contact with Dream, eyes glossy as he looked up, blinking quickly as he sank his mouth down further, watching the blond throw his head back and groan of satisfaction.

This is what he was hoping for, he’d be good, he promised himself he would be. And he wasn’t letting this opportunity go any time soon.

George retracted his head back, his lips returning to the tip to let his tongue swirl around and coat a generous amount of his saliva before dipping back down again, the pace was moderate, and he made sure not to go too fast in fear of choking or worse. Made sure to take his time to let his mouth get used to the weight and size of his dick.

He hummed quietly, Dream letting out another string of curses and a low guttural moan as he felt the vibrations shoot up his spine, the gentle scraping of George’s teeth sending every nerve to go hay-wire in him.

The lord was testing them today, and they had both failed miserably.

His pace sped up only when Dream tugged at his hair, pumping what was left of Dream’s dick that he couldn’t fit in his mouth with his hand, eyes fluttering with each throbbing motion, with each tug at his scalp and the feeling of his jaw going numb.

Though a particularly harsh thrust had his lips aching at the base of Dream’s dick, vision going white as he saw flashing stars. It made him feel good, feeling his own cock twitch at how his throat instinctively tried to have him pull away, loved the feeling of it hitting the back and staying there before he lost his breath. Before Dream quickly pulled out, worry tainting his face. He let out a string of curse words before his hand on his hair softened and cupped his face, forcing George to look up at him gently.

“Fuck- you good? I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself-”

George caught his breath, gasping in relief and holding his throat to massage it, but he scoffed, a taunting smile appeared on his face once he’d calmed down because he’d never seen or heard Dream that concerned.

“Fuck off, I can take it. I’m not some fragile toy.”

It was meant to be reassuring, but it came off way brattier than usual, and Dream raised an eyebrow, curious with George’s newfound confidence. Annoyed, he gripped at his hair again, tighter than before, forcing him to look up and dragging a moan out of the brunet’s mouth.

“What’s with the attitude, hm? I’m tryna be nice here, whore.”

“I don’t need you to be nice. Just fucking- be mean, I like it better when you’re mean, use me however you like, asshole.”

It took him a moment, checking for more confirmation on George’s face, and when he saw no hesitance, no guilt behind those eyes for such filthy words, no remorse for himself and for what’s about to approach him. 

Who’s to deny such a request from someone so pretty?

George opened his mouth again, tongue out and dripping with saliva down his chin as Dream laid the tip of his cock there again, feeling George’s hot breath tingle each nerve, and he looked down at him mockingly.

“Alright then,”

He continued. voice low and echoing in the empty locker room.

“Can I fuck your face? Be a good boy and don’t scream too loud about how full you are when I actually do fuck you, we can’t get caught, baby.”

He nodded excitedly, eyes sparkling with hope and greed like he’d been wanting this the whole time.

“Fuck- you’re such a whore.”

With that, he didn’t let the brunet defend himself, simply started pushing his cock in without any prior warning, watching his lips struggle to wrap around as he went further down, watching his throat bulge ever so slightly the more he pushed, and he went on and on, so slow that tears pricked George’s eyes from the painful ache as he finally reached the base of Dream’s dick.

He grunted in content before pulling out and repeating the process, adoring every muffled gag George made, every tear that slipped down his eyes, and how he hummed impatiently against his dick, squeezing his thighs rather tight, but Dream didn’t mind.

The pace was fair, easy for George to catch his breath when he pulled back to the tip, and easy for Dream to keep himself in check, letting him eat up the image of George staring up at him, lips wrapped so perfectly on his cock, teary-eyed and a moaning mess as he made use of his vile mouth.

Memories of their recent game flooded back to him, remembering how George had sworn at him, how he swung at him, fiery rage with a face of passionate anger as he let the impact settle in on Dream’s now-aching cheek, and he became far too aware of it this time around.

In a fit of rage, he sped up, giving George no time to adjust as he thrusted in with full force, watching him gag at the base of his dick before pulling out and repeating the same process, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hot.

The blistering heat of their showdown slowly started trickling back into Dream’s head, and he hated being humiliated and belittled on the court, especially by someone so inferior to him.

With rough pace and no signs of regret, Dream continued to abuse his throat, relishing in the bulge that formed, loving how George’s nails dug into his clothes thighs, but he couldn’t care less about the stinging pain, he cared more about how he could feel the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat, saliva drooling down his chin and coating his cock ever so generously for future preparations, alongside with tears that managed to trickle on.

And how warm his mouth was, how compliant he was to everything Dream did to him, it made Dream want to come right there, instantly, knowing he could in George’s mouth without having to face the consequence because the brunet wouldn’t make him.

“Fuck-”

The urge to let go of everything he’s been holding back was strong now, but Dream knew his limits, pulling out quickly before he got too ahead of himself, and watched George’s face twist in confusion as he moved to the side, coughing and trying to catch up with his breath. 

“Why-” he coughed again, rubbing his throat in hopes of soothing it from the damage, “-why did you do that?”

“I have a better idea,”

He lowered himself to face George on his knees, tilting his head and brushing his messy hair to the side, cooing.

He’s always loved making a mess of his partners, and George was no different. Likewise, he leaned away from touch for a moment before realizing how gentle he was being, not caring if it was tantalizing or not.

“You wanna feel good, don’t you, baby?”

His face was red, tear-stained, and sniffling nose, red as a beet as his eyes twinkled at the dirty thoughts that began racing in his mind.

“Y-Yeah…”

Weak and quiet, it was just as he had enjoyed them. Dream stood back up, aiding George to stand up from his already shivering legs, and letting him lean against the lockers behind him. It was rare for Dream to appreciate someone’s beauty, especially George's. Because while he was good-looking, he found the Brit to be awfully snobby, cocky in the sense that he knew he was good-looking, and he’d gladly take full advantage of it.

But, maybe this once, he can go back on his word. He can relish in the fact that George looks so beautiful right now, and he’d be the one to break him, his failed attempts at trying to make George sob and writhe in anger would finally be fulfilled now, and he wouldn’t feel so empty leaving the court this time.

Once George had caught his breath, he turned around, willingly bending over against the lockers, face squished by the metal as he stuck his ass out towards Dream. 

It took his breath away, seeing George be so obedient, no signs of resisting as he whined against the cold wall.

“Please- fuck me.”

Dream smirked, watching him squirm from the emptiness of another soul, from the loss of connection he once had, begging for more with his fragile body.

“Then beg.”

George froze for a second, contemplating if it was really worth it or not. But he lost his dignity far too long ago, and there was no point in denying a monster its wishes.

“Fuck me-” He paused, stifling a sob from his aching cock flushed against his stomach,”-until there are indents on me from how hard you press me up onto the lockers… please, I need it so bad dream, fuck me.”

He let out a squeal as Dream pressed himself against him, his saliva-coated dick slipping between his thighs, large hands covering his pale ass, sweet whispers escaping his lips as he leaned forward, gentle kisses trailing down his spine, letting his hot breath warm George more than necessary. He smiled against the skin, and George could already feel the humiliation rising in his face, the red taking over again.

“Such a whore, Georgie…” He whispered soothingly, though it was anything but, “Want my cock that bad? Nothing but a slut, aren’t ya?”

“N-No- I’m not a-”

A stinging pain shot through his spine, feeling tingles and nerves dance in his body as he winced, a pathetic sob leaving his lips as he felt the burn of the harsh slap against his ass against Dream’s now-cooling hand.

“Hmm? You’re not slut, George? You’re telling me you don’t like this… at all? Want me to stop?”

He shook his head, regret settling bitterly in his mouth as he spoke again, voice raw from before.

“No- God no. I am a slut, I’m such a fucking slut, Dream-”

Another harsh slap and George knew for sure that it would leave a red imprint on his ass. Crying out as tears began slipping out again.

“Yeah? Slut for who, huh?”

“You- god, it’s you . I’m a fucking slut for you Dream, please use me, please. Please. ”

With an exasperated breath, impatient quivering, George heard Dream build up spit in his mouth, and slowly let it dribble down from his lips to George’s fluttering hole, and slowly, he pressed a finger, circling the rim and making sure his saliva went nowhere but inside.

“You are so…” Pushing inside ever so slowly, he felt George tense up, his other hand trailing to his hips and soothingly rubbing it, a subtle action to make sure he was comfortable. “So fucking pretty, and all for me, huh?”

The brunet nodded, his hair sticking in different places, the bitter taste of Dream still lingering in his mouth as he tried to adjust to the finger that slowly pushed in and out of him. With little to no lubricant.

And he was eager to let another finger join, his digits dragging through his walls agonizingly slow, stretching him open and letting the burning feeling settle in George’s mind, because Dream was an asshole, and he loved watching people suffer.

He heard him crying, sobbing his eyes out and hiccuping as he moaned from the desirable pleasure being given to him, and he couldn’t help but revel in the smallest of noises.

Once they died down, he added another finger, thrusting it aggressively inside of George, causing him to surge in pain, letting out wracked sobbing.

“God- It feels so good, so good .”

He babbled, barely coherent, two fingers were already enough as it is, but three made him feel like slush, melting at the rough friction, tongue falling aimlessly out of his mouth as he tried speaking. He’d done three fingers on himself, but he never realized their hand differences until now, how his fingers were so much larger, so much better than his own.

“Fuck- I bet it does. Such a fucking slut, and I only put three fingers in.”

More moans erupted, he’d been so caught up with how satisfying his fingers felt, he forgot that he’d be fucked, and Dream’s cock was nothing short of pleasure and pain.

And the thought of feeling something stuff him so full, especially from Dream, drove him insane.

“Please! Just put it in me- Dream please fuck me, I need it so bad, oh god.”

He cried out weakly, fingers curling against the lockers as he tried to take a hold of something to make sure he didn’t fall but found nothing in return.

“Yeah?” He felt the three fingers leaving him without warning, feeling empty and cold as his face was pressed harder against the cold surface in front of him, a hand tangled through his hair and hearing shuffling behind him. “Then are you gonna whine like a bitch? Huh?”

He opened his eyes, trying to blink away the tears. Opening his mouth to say something but was cut off by an abrupt moan emerging from his throat, feeling the tip of Dream’s dick prod at his entrance.

He already felt big, and George knew he was fucked. (literally)

Ignoring his whines and complaints about not going faster, Dream pushed further in watching the littlest of noises that were coming out of George get knocked out of his lungs, only letting out small squeals and fists pressed roughly against the metal to numb whatever pain he was feeling, tears slipping through his tightly-shut eyes as he grunted.

Blabbering muddled words, Dream kept his hips steady, pulling him back in on himself to make sure to get the hard part over with. The burn was intense, feeling like he was being forced open and split into half, George let out another cry in the overly satisfying pain.

“Y-You feel so good- god-”

Choking on his words, struggling to even stand up well, he finally felt Dream’s hips flush against his ass, and let out a breath he’d been holding the whole time. He’d never felt so full, never felt pain this intense that it’d drive him mad. But holy fuck did it feel good as hell. 

Letting out more wracked sobs from his aching dick to the lack of movement, he felt Dream go stiff, and suddenly pressed himself against George’s arched spine.

“Hey, you alright?”

The nervousness in his tone made George scoff through a teary-eyed face and bright pink lips chewed on far too much.

“Dream- I’m fine, it just hurts- but it feels good. Just- give me a moment.”

And so Dream did, probably the only nice thing he’s done in a while, staying there patiently in the same position, hugging George’s back and whispering sweet nothings, holding him up carefully and rubbing soothing circles on his hip bone.

If it had not been for his sickeningly sweet demise, George wouldn’t have stopped crying, the immense pain that had previously been tormenting him had quickly subsided, only now, he felt like his body was suffocating from lack of freedom, how Dream’s dick felt like he was being caged up and locked, harder to breathe every time.

“Y-You can move now.”

His voice was quiet, unable to be as vocal as before because he simply didn’t have the energy in him anymore, Dream had ruined him before even fucking him.

“You sure? We don’t have to go on if you’re too exhausted.”

“No!- No. I want you to move, please.”

Dream did, and he was careful with George’s current state right now, leaning back and pressing George lightly against the lockers this time, holding his hips steady as he pulled out and pushed back in, eliciting small pathetic moans from the other’s weak throat.

He let out a deep sigh, the drag of George’s walls was far more pleasurable than he imagined, feeling every deep crevice as he resisted against the harsh friction.

“You’re so fucking tight,”

Letting out a deep guttural groan, he began to speed up, using his hips to anchor him backward and forcing himself in to go deeper, resulting in George letting out mewls and whines, unable to catch up with his own breath as it continuously got knocked out of him.

Each noise was as lewd as it could possibly get, the loud skin-to-skin slapping and the disgustingly arousing squelching noise eliciting from George’s hole being ripped open by Dream’s spit-slick dick, and how the brunet couldn’t help but let out the most pitiful moans Dream has ever heard.

“Look at you,” he cooed, hands roughly gripping his hips, the pads leaving harsh indents as if they weren’t meant to, eyeing down how his back arched painfully and his body would shake violently with the rough force, “so pretty, taking me so well.”

George was glad Dream couldn’t see his face, burning up and spit dripping down his lips because he couldn’t even keep his mouth closed, too tired to give a shit about what he looked like, focusing on trying to numb the intense stretch that constantly felt like it was hitting the back of his throat.

He felt like putty under him, being used however Dream liked, fucked into oblivion, to the point where he couldn’t even form proper thoughts, it was fucking amazing .

Dream adored the way even the slightest bit of pressure would leave George’s skin tainted red, he wondered where he could bite, suck, sink his teeth in so that there’d be a permanent mark on George. 

He’ll be damned if someone else got to see George like this.

Easing his hand from his hair, releasing it to let his head fall against the lockers lazily as his hand trailed down his spine, fingers ghosting over the slight dip and letting out a breathy moan. Ignoring that fact that he’d just slid past the bundle of nerves, disregarding the screams that left George’s pretty worked-out mouth.

“Holy fuck, you’re so pretty.”

Dream wasn’t one to fall for looks, and even now, both of them knew he only meant George’s body, only meant that he loved marking and ruining his flawless skin, making him all sludge and putty before him, watching him go weak at the knees, but neither of them minded.

Well, at least Dream didn’t mind.

“M’ close,” he mumbled meekly, choking down sobs, “m’ so close Dreamie.”

Now, both of his hands left George’s hip and went against the lockers the brunet was being fucked against, even the blond could feel himself getting slower, the heat recoiling in his stomach, constantly doing flips every time George would let out a moan or a sob, when he wouldn’t be able to form a proper sentence or how good George felt, sucking him back in every time he pulled out, tightening around his dick every time he would hit his prostate dead on.

With the lockers and his hands supporting him now, he felt a sudden surge of energy, ramming into George harder and faster than he’d done before. Taking no notice of George’s pleas or cries of wanting to cum, or his desperate voice begging to slow down even a little, Dream was too busy chasing his own orgasm.

He didn’t care that the man under him had already come, crying from the over-stimulation as his dick wept with cum, dripping below him and some even landed on his stomach, knees quivering, too close to completely giving up, and he was beyond exhausted.

Mercifully, Dream decided to do one final thrust, digging deep into George, relishing in the scream he let out, painting his insides milky white and watching some spurt out as he thrusted weakly a few more times, savouring how full George was, how there wasn’t enough space for his own white fluid.

They stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to catch up with themselves, head spinning too fast and bodies aching from the overexertion.

Dream pulled out with the little strength he had left in him, both wincing from the stimulation, and George collapsed right in his arms.

He heard Dream chuckle quietly before picking him up bridal style and carrying him to the stalls in the corner of the locker room, towards the showers.

“No- Don’t wanna shower.”

“Let’s clean you up at least, can’t have you walking around dripping, can we?”

He let out a disgruntled groan, yet pressing closely against Dream’s bare chest and complying otherwise.

So, yeah, fucking your enemy in the locker room post-game wasn’t the greatest idea, but Dream definitely got a kick out of Hasan’s face when they walked out shoulder-to-shoulder and teased George for his inability to walk for the next few days.

So in hindsight, Dream actually ended up seeing the worst and best side of George after all.