Chapter Text
He’s lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling. The faint moonlight coming through his window illuminates his room in soft blue colour. A slight scuffling sound permeates his quiet room.
Sitting up he catches a glimpse of something small and blue run across his floor and under his bed.
He turns the lamp at his bedside on and crawls to the edge of his bed. Hands sinking into his mattress as he hangs his head over the side. His hair falls out of his eyes and he squints trying to see what ran under his bed.
QUACKITY! Of course it’s Quackity! He thinks. The tiny man in his blue tracksuit notices George staring at him and turns to stare back at him.
“Put that down!” He furiously whispers at the tiny man under his bed.
Quackity was holding a rolled up paper that George knew was really important.
The tiny Quackity laughed and ran surprisingly fast out from the bottom end of George’s bed.
He whips his head up just as Quackity runs and disappears through his closed door.
I’m dreaming. He realises. But the thought fades away and sinks into the back of his mind.
It doesn’t matter that this isn’t real. He still needs to stop Quackity.
He yanks open his door, and walks down the hallway. Quackity is going to Sapnap’s room to show him the paper!
George groans in frustration, why does Quackity always do this!
The wooden floorboards are cool against his feet and he realises the TV in the lounge-room is playing. The sound getting louder as he pads down the hallway.
He enters the lounge room, seeing Dream sitting on the couch, blue light from the TV illuminating his face. Dream notices him and lowers his phone, giving him a small smile.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says back. His heart clenches just the tiniest bit at how soft Dream looks in his old grey gators sweat pants and a simple white t-shirt.
He sees tiny Quackity disappear behind the couch and a tiny thought in his head marvels at how realistic his dream is.
He ignores his mission to stop Quackity, instead sitting down on the couch next to Dream. The sensation of feeling so tired rushes through him once again, so he leans against Dream, snuggling against his best friend.
He has too many dreams like this, he realises but when Dream puts his arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer he can’t be angry at himself. Being able to have this in his dreams makes it worth it.
The softness of Dreams shirt brushes against his cheek and he hums into it. Feeling so content at the warmth his brain conjures up.
“You okay?” Dreams voice is so low and so close.
“Yeah just Quackity is being so annoying.” He mumbles against Dreams chest.
A slight chuckle reverberates through Dream.
“What did he do this time?”
Dream must’ve turned his head to speak because George feels Dream’s stubble lightly scrape against his forehead.
George is unsure how he ended up in Dream’s lap. The unsure look on his best friends face almost makes him falter. Usually the Dream in his dreams is more forward. Usually it’s him cornering George in kitchen corners or coming into George’s room. It’s usually Dream initiating the touching and kissing.
He runs his hands across Dreams jaw, wanting to feel the roughness beneath his fingertips.
He leans forward, brushing his lips gently against Dream’s cheek and he only just barely registers the hitch in Dream’s breathing.
His smiles against Dream’s face, he really likes this shy version of Dream he’s concocted.
“George..” Dream whispers. In warning? As a plea? George doesn’t care to figure out.
“Dream.” He murmurs, turning his face so that his lips slightly brush against Dream’s.
He takes a moment, breathing in the scent of his best friend underneath him. Rose scented soap and the underlying warm musk that he can only label as ‘Dream’.
“What are you-“
George closes the small distance between their lips, quickly pressing his lips against Dream’s to silence the question he knew was coming.
Gentle kisses are pushed back and forth between them. Soft lips brush against his as his hands fall from Dream’s jawline to squeeze at his broad firm shoulders.
The hesitation from Dream was starting to annoy him. He wanted the fast pace and the possessiveness Dream usually displayed in his dreams. He wanted Dream to ruin him.
“Touch me.” He demands in a tone he hopes conveys how much he wants this.
It works. All the hesitation slips from his best friend. Large hands slide up his thighs and settle on his hips, gripping tightly, causing the simmer of fire in George’s stomach to burst into flames.
Dream’s mouth falls from his, and George groans at the feeling of rough stubble against his neck. Kisses are pressed in a messy line down to his collarbones. The moment that his best friend latches on and starts sucking a dark bruise into his neck is the moment he starts shifting himself on Dream’s lap.
Hands dig tighter into his thighs and the moan that comes from his best friend underneath him churns it’s way into his gut.
Dream’s mouth has found it’s way back to his and the kisses are so messy and so delicious. He tastes into Dream’s mouth as they rock together on the couch.
He realises he can feel Dream underneath him, the heat and excitement that rushes through him when he realises that they are both hard has him moaning brokenly into Dream’s neck.
“George wait.. What are we doing George? We should.. talk… about this.”
“Shut up.” George dismisses him, running his fingers through Dreams hair.
He’s always imagined it would be this soft.
He pulls back a little bit, staring at Dream’s face with his blown out pupils, flushed cheeks and a look on his face which George can only describes as a mix of disbelief and amazement.
Then he sees Quackity out of the corner of his eye. The tiny Quackity that has his papers. His little body bounces up the stairs towards Sapnap’s room.
His head falls onto Dreams shoulder once again as he groans in frustration. He remembers the urgency of the situation and how he has to run after Quackity. He can feel Dream’s hands resting lightly on his thighs again. Almost like the man is too afraid to touch him. George groans again and sighs, sliding off Dream’s lap.
“Hey what? Where are you going? Did I do something wrong?” Dream asks, holding onto his wrist, worry and confusion spread across his face.
“No Dream, I just have to go stop Quackity. He stole my papers again.” He explains, gesturing to the staircase.
He feels slightly sad to leave this dream Dream behind on the couch but he needs to stop Quackity. Hopefully he’ll have time to come back and finish what he started with his dream Dream.
‘Hah. Dream Dream.’
George almost giggles to himself as he thinks that phrase over and over as he climbs the stairs to find Quackity.
Sapnap’s bedroom door is locked. So he knows Quackity couldn’t have gotten in there. Crisis averted.
He goes downstairs again.
The TV is off in the lounge room so he navigates his way through the dark and heads down the hallway to his room. He sees light shining from underneath Dream’s door but continues on his way to his room. He has the important papers grasped tightly in his hands and he needs to get to his room before he sees Quackity.
He turns the light on, flooding his room with the bright yellow glow. He sees some boxes he still hasn’t unpacked, even though he’s been here for weeks, and pushes them in front of his door. He will not let Quackity get back into his room to steal more stuff.
He collapses onto his bed, sinking into the soft sheets that Dream had bought for him. He shifts all of his pillows around to cocoon him and drifts off to sleep.
When George wakes up he’s groggy. He yanks himself upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stretches his legs off the side of the bed, sitting up properly. His vision focuses in on boxes stacked in front of his door. Tiny Quackity, he remembers.
The effort of moving the boxes across his doorway last night drifts through his memory.
His laugh lodges itself halfway up his throat when suddenly his memory provides him with the image of Dream on the couch. Of him on top grinding against his best friend. Dream gasping against his face and neck and their lips pressing against each other.
He sits paralysed on the edge of his bed, trying to catch the hazy memories drifting through his mind.
That did not happen. No. No that was just a dream.
Burning horror sinks into his chest as he slowly gets up from his bed and makes his way over to his closet.
He almost stumbles when he catches sight of himself in the closet door mirror.
Dark bruises litter his neck and collarbones and heat rushes through his body, flaring shame at the realisation that he did in fact climb onto of his best friend’s lap. That he had started making out with him while he was sleepwalking.
George stumbles backward and his bed just barely catches him as his legs collapse at the memory.
Fuck fuck fuck.
The one word repeatedly rings through his mind as he sits on the edge of him bed. His hands twisting themselves through his messy dark hair.
What the fuck have you done?
•••••••••
“Did I do something wrong? George?”
“No Dream. I just have to go stop Quackity. He’s got my papers again.” He mumbles walking off. Dream sits paralysed on the couch, still half hard as he listens to George’s soft footsteps disappearing upstairs.
His mind flashes to a few weeks ago.
They had just finished helping George unpack the boxes in his room and were helping him set up his computer and monitors. Sapnap was laying on George’s bed not helping and instead doing nothing.
“I had a dream Quackity stole this and was running around my room one time.”
He had looked up and saw George holding one of the cords for his mic.
“What?!” He half laughed.
“Yeah. Sometimes I have dreams that this tiny version of Quackity comes into my room and steals stuff.” He laughed as he explained his story.
“Sometimes I actually get up and move shit around when I’m sleeping. That dream was when I was back in my flat in London. But like the morning after that dream I woke up, saw that I had the cord under my pillow and realised I had physically gotten up in the night and moved all the boxes in my room up against my door. Because I was trying to keep Quackity out!”
Dream feels gross.
The spit from George’s mouth was cooling on his lips and neck.
The realisation that George was asleep just now, that he was sleepwalking and wasn’t actually awake was slowly sinking into him.
He had just taken advantage of his best friend, held his hips as he let him- no encouraged him to grind against him. He had left dark bruises along George’s neck without him even knowing what they were doing.
George making a move on him like that was so uncharacteristic he should have known! George doesn’t even like him like that. He was asleep. Probably imagining someone else underneath him.
But wait no. George had said his name. He had said his name, right? His confusion just added to the overwhelming feelings consuming him.
Dream quickly turns off the TV and flings himself off the couch, fleeing to his room and locking the door behind him. He rushes into his bathroom, twisting the shower tap on and stripping his clothes off, stepping into the steaming hot water.
He feels like he needs to scrub his skin, to scrub the ghostly feeling of George’s hands and lips on him. His mind is running.
What should he do? Should he tell George in the morning? Or would that just make him incredibly uncomfortable? Would George even remember what he did?
What if he does remember? And he’s angry at him that he hadn’t realised he was asleep sooner and stopped him?
He stays up all night. Scrolling through Twitter and through reddit, while laying in bed. Eventually he sits up and grabs his laptop. Deciding to start editing the video him, George and Sapnap had filmed the previous day.
It was easy, and it took his mind of thinking about George.
He stayed there editing until the faint glow of sunlight started to filter in around his closed blinds.
Exhaustion settles into him. If he gets up now and goes into the kitchen to have breakfast he will see George.
He rolls onto his side, grabbing his pillow and pulling it against his chest and positioning the other one comfortably under his head.
He drifts off to sleep, welcoming the excuse he now has to not confront George just yet.
•••••••
“Is Dream awake?”
He looks up at Sapnap who’s standing on the other side of the bench, wearing basket ball shorts and a black hoodie. He’s glad that Dream always keeps the air con high in their home. It would’ve been awkward trying to explain to Sapnap why he was the only one wearing a hoodie. Having to make up an excuse that didn’t involve covering up dark bruising on his neck.
“How should I know?” He says a bit too defensively.
“I dunno. Wasn’t sure if he had messaged you this morning or anything.”
Thankfully Sapnap hadn’t noticed any change in his tone, or he had just chalked it off to morning grumpiness.
He doesn’t respond and Sapnap turns back around to the toaster. Humming a Lil Uzi song as he waits. He stares down at his bowl of cereal in front of him. He has to admit to himself, he’s glad Dream is still sleeping. He won’t have to apologise in front of Sapnap or awkwardly converse with him as they avoid talking about the events of last night.
He can’t even imagine how confused Dream would’ve been last night.
Having his best friend climb onto his lap and start heavily making out with him and then just getting up and leaving without saying a word. He remembers the look on Dreams face, the light grip he had on his wrist as he asked him where he was going. And George had just walked away without saying anything back.
He must’ve been visibly cringing at the memory, because it’s at that moment that Sapnap startles him from his thoughts.
“What’s wrong? Are you finally getting sick of eating that cereal?” Sapnap’s smile is easy and somewhat comforting. Although George would never tell him that.
“No. It’s nothing. I just. I was just remembering something embarrassing that I did.”
“Pftt what? Being born?”
“Sapnap.” He stretches the name out in a groan. He’s almost tempted to tell him what happened. Instead he drops his head down onto his outstretched arm.
“Ohhh. You’re talking about when I muffined you the other day in bullet chess. It’s okay Georgie. Someday you’ll grow your balls back.”
He can’t help the scoff that falls out of his mouth. He turns his face further into his arm so that Sapnap can’t see his smile.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Oh I’m an idiot am I?” He says in a mocking British accent.
“Yes.” His short reply makes Sapnap laugh.
He changes his mind. He would never hear the end of it if he told Sapnap that he forced himself onto Dream while he was sleepwalking.
Comfortable silence falls around them, the only sounds are the scrape of the knife against toast.
He should’ve just had some Nutella toast, he realises, looking down at his bowl of cereal. When he first arrived in America it was a little goal of his to try every one of the famous cereals he always saw on TV shows. He liked this one so much that he had bought three boxes of it.
But Sapnap’s right, he might be a little bit over it.
Even though nervousness consumes him about the inevitable awkward conversation he has to have with Dream, he can’t help but be glad that his best friend is still sleeping.
He can pretend it didn’t happen for a little bit, and just sit at the kitchen island and listen to Sapnap talk about the new boxes of Pokémon cards he had bought.
So he sits and listens to Sapnap as he finishes his cereal.