Archive of Our Own

George isn't good at chemistry. This is a known fact to everyone in his class; averages always being slightly brought down, class rewards never being met and lectures consistently running a bit too late from two too many questions. George is beginning to feel anxious at the number ‘60’ amongst the rows of 90s and his classmates are beginning to get annoyed at him. 

“Dude, just–uh– listen,” Sapnap says one day, head resting on his hands as they get back another test result where the average is some stupid number because of George’s lackluster 40. “I know you’re getting stressed about finals, and I know you hate not doing well in this class, have you considered a tutor?” 

George sighs. “I just feel like that’s admitting failure though, Sap,”

Dream, who’s sitting next to George, turns himself back around from talking to Karl at the desk behind him. “Just because you need extra help doesn't make you a failure, George, you just have another way of learning that isn't being met by the professor,” 

Sapnap hums in agreement. “Exactly what I'm saying, bro. You know this last subject? Shit, taught myself the entire module the weekend before the paper was due.”

“I mean, true, but I can’t do that. Chemistry just rots my brain or something,” George slumps down in his seat, turning his paper over so that Dream can’t see his bad mark. “Like, I sit down to cram, and nothing stays in. I’ve done all the tips and methods I've seen on TikTok.”

“Wait, Dream is a tutor,” Sapnap wiggles his eyebrows over at Dream, who leans more into the conversation upon hearing his name. His shoulder is brushing against George’s and he subtly tries to lean into his touch. “Dream, could you tutor him? You guys already have that level of rapport that you enjoy with the other people you tutor,”

“Dream tutors high school students, I don't think it’s quite the same.”

“Well, I mean,” Dream stutters, cheeks tinting pink at George's proximity to him. “I don't know about tutoring you, but I can try to help you study?”

“You’d do that?” George shifts himself up in his chair, unintentionally moving even closer to Dream. 

Dream immediately moves back, averting George’s eyes as he answers: “Yeah, yeah, of course. Come over tonight?”

George nods, muttering an agreement, and shuffles away from Dream’s side of the desk. He grabs his pencil and starts writing the notes from the board– something he never does, which is probably half of the problem for why he keeps failing – just to keep himself from thinking too hard about Dream’s actions. 

In the pit of his stomach anxiety starts to swirl, the prospect of awkwardness tonight looms over him, mixed with the fact that he is always nervous around Dream; a high-school crush formed ten-fold when they started studying the same major at the same university. 

Sapnap sends him a wry smile and goes back to his work, listening to the professor begin his pre-lab demonstration.

As the professor drones on, George grows bored, another factor as to why he is doing bad, concentration slipping from him like water from a dripping faucet, spinning his pen in his fingers to the tune inside his mind. He stops moving entirely when he feels a warm and sturdy hand land on his thigh, closer to his knee than anywhere else, squeezing enough to make George look at its recipient– who’s already looking back at him. 

“Pay attention, yeah?” Dream whispers, leaning in closer to George so their foreheads nearly touch. George's breath hitches in his throat– he can’t help but notice that Dream's face is still red, from embarrassment or something else he's not sure, but he looks so cute with it. He almost tells him. “We can go over it again tonight, but try and focus right now, ok?”

George stutters over a response, a half-assed agreement mixed between a ‘yes’ and an ‘of course’. Dream giggles and pulls away slightly, shifting his gaze to his eyes, further up than where he had been staring before. “Is it ok if my hand is here? I should’ve asked before, I’m sorry for that– I can move it?”

George shakes his head, not trusting his words, and smiles softly, but he knows, in reality, it is wobbly and probably screams ‘I am in love with you’. Dream smiles too, warmer–not toned with the colours of freaking out, and squeezes his thigh again, moving the placement up just an inch. 

George doesn't pay attention to the rest of the demonstration. 

“Okay, so my roommate is out tonight, which is good, because we can use the dining room to study instead of my bedroom,” Dream says as he opens the door to his apartment. It’s a little ways off campus, resulting in a slightly awkward drive in the passenger seat of Dream’s truck. He hates that the same banter he has with the others in their friend group doesn't work the same way with Dream: he doesn't know how to talk to the other when it's just the two of them. Dream doesn't seem to mind too much though, singing softly to the tunes playing on the radio. “Do you want anything to eat?”

His apartment is set up like every stereotypical university apartment George has seen in movies, the entryway decorated with a single shoe stand that leads immediately into the kitchen and dining room, and then an open living room with a 3-seater couch and small television placed in the centre. Bookcases filled with books– a few he quickly recognises from seeing Dream reading in the library– and stuttered knick-knacks line the walls, before it tapers off into a thin hallway, with a door on either side and at the end of the hall. It's small but cozy. He imagines himself curling into the couch with a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea and maybe purchasing a coffee table to perch his feet on, with Dream by his side leaving sly kisses into the skin of his shoulder. He shakes the thought away and replies: “No, uh, no thank you. Can I use the toilet though?”

Dream nods and points to the door at the end of the hallway and George drops his backpack to the floor and walks– more like a slight jog–  to the toilet and shuts the door behind him. He leans against it and clicks the latch, privacy echoing around the room, and takes a deep breath. He can't make a scene. He can't be this hopelessly in love idiot (which is what he feels like). He needs to be succinct and he needs to focus so he can pass his exams. 

He flushes the toilet to cover his anxieties and splashes his face with water before opening the door and entering back into the dining room, Dream is already set up at the table with two glasses of water, and George’s bag sitting on the seat next to him.

“I would have set your iPad up, but I didn't want to go through your things.” He smiles, picking up his glass and taking a small sip.  George’s eyes are drawn to the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“Thank you,” George mumbles, quickly unpacking his things, trying not to seem like an entire lost cause. He pulls out his paperwork from the lab demonstration earlier that day and places it on the table next to Dream’s copy: his looking sad, all crumpled and ripped, next to Dream’s pristine copy that was probably placed in a plastic sleeve inside a filing book. He also pulls out a bag of gummy bears– one that he snagged from the vending machine outside his coding lecture, and a bottle of lemonade, to which Dream scoffs at. “What?”

“You and all this,” Dream gestures wildly with his hands, and George smiles at how cute he looks. “Sugar, it's garbage.”

“But it tastes good.”

“It’s also horrible to study with, George.” Dream raises an eyebrow and subtly pushes the food and drink further away from their setup. 

George groans in a light enough tone to let Dream know that he's not actually mad at him and he sinks into his chair. “What do you want to start with?”

“I should be asking you that question, silly,” Dream giggles, tilting his head to the side with an adorable mirth filled gaze. “We can go over the basic stuff that was used in the lecture today and then we can go over the content today? I know equilibrium can be kind of hard sometimes.”

George scoffs. “Sometimes? This whole topic doesn’t make any sense to me, it’s worse than the fucking spectroscopy experiment we did in first term and I’m colourblind .”

Dream laughs, throwing his head back and leaning into George at the same time, and his heart stutters. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, that’s just so funny. It’s okay, I can explain it to you again and we can learn properly, yeah?” 

George unclips his apple pencil from the top of his iPad and fiddles with it. The pep talk he gave himself in the bathroom? Essentially null void right now. There was no way he wasn't making a scene when Dream laughs like that at the simplest joke he makes. A whirlpool of emotions tug at his heart, swirling and threatening to drown him as they creep up his throat and claw at his voice box. He recalls earlier today, the feeling of soft pressure on his thigh because of Dream’s hand, the way it stayed there, periodically squeezing and unsqueezing as George’s attention lifted away from the professor: he wanted more of it, he wanted it all. He wanted Dream’s attention on him in that way and he wanted to know what it meant. Why would he do that, when up until that moment there was nothing between them that could even indicate a reciprocated crush?

“You don’t laugh like that anymore,” he mumbles, his eyebrows raising slightly accompanied with a questioning tilt of his head. He’s matching Dream’s mannerisms. This is perfect. He lifts his gaze and Dream is already looking back at him, pink cheeks accompanied with a sheepish smile.

“Some people think I’m obnoxious when I laugh like that, so I don’t do it often, sorry if I–”

“No, no, don’t… don’t apologise, Dream,” George attempts to send a reassuring smile, but he knows it’s wobbly. He rests his hand on Dream’s thigh, similar to the way the other did earlier. “I like it, it’s cute.”

There’s a pause, Dream’s mouth is slightly agape and George watches his face tint slightly darker, vermillion in a shade even he can see at the tiny compliment given to the blond. He wants to store this information in the margin of his chemistry notebook, a constant reminder to him that Dream melts under compliments and to give him more. Still, he’s stopped before he can even think of opening another document.

“Oh, um,” Dream scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s start with basic esterification, okay?” 

George rolls his eyes, a pang in his heart at the subtle rejection, but he can't focus on it, not yet. His grades and his social likeability in this class currently reside on Dream so he needs to pay attention to him– something he doesn't think he'll have too much difficulty with. “I hate esterification, Dream,” 

“I know, that’s what the last paper was on,” George casts his gaze down. “No, that’s– that’s not what I meant! I mean, I did see your score, but a bad mark is nothing to be upset about– it's just learning stuff, you know? You need to learn about this particular topic another way, yeah?” Then after, in a small voice, so quiet George doesn't think he's supposed to hear. “Fuck, stop messing it up, Clay,”

“What?” He looks up again and Dream has wide eyes— caught in the act. George reaches out tentatively, before placing his hand on top of Dream’s. He doesn’t make eye contact. “You aren't messing anything up, you– you’re fine, perfect even. I really appreciate you doing this for me, you know? Saving my life here.”

Dream giggles and bashfully looks aside before clearing his throat and trying to seem put together and not burning red. “What about the chemical compound name, yeah? That's easy, right?”

George nods and looks down at the sheet in front of him, in all its crumbled glory to see the names of elements used in the experiment. He can read the words, he knows exactly how many carbons, hydrogens, and oxygen atoms are in them, but he doesn't know what they make.

“Okay, uh, what’s valeric acid also known as?” Dream asks, shifting closer to him to where he’s leaning over George's shoulder to see the sheet. He’s not sure why when he has his own copy in front of him, but he plays it off as a tutor-y thing he’s used to doing with his other students. How they haven’t fallen in love with him when they could probably also smell the delicious floral undertones of his cologne when he's this close- he’s unsure. 

“Uhhhh,” George hums, chewing on his bottom lip.  He’s looking at the name of the compound and the chemical formula, but he's not really paying attention, eyes gazing over to Dream beside him and the bag of gummy bears in front of him– anything to keep his mouth busy, honestly. 

Dream follows his gaze to the food in front of them and sighs. “Fine, you and your goddamn sweet tooth,” he chuckles and leans forward, picking up the bag and opening it, holding a singular gummy bear out toward George. “If you get this question right, you can have this blue gummy bear, and the next question we can up the stakes to a green gummy bear or something like that,”

“I thought this was chem, not psychology,” George reaches toward the gummy bear, but Dream holds it higher, a dominating look in his eyes that screams ‘listen to me’ in every sense. 

“It’s still a science. They can work hand in hand. Now do you want to be good, or not?”

George stills, a small gasp escaping his mouth involuntarily, and looks at Dream, more precisely, at Dream’s lips for the first time in their new proximity. He watches the way they go white slightly at the puncture point of his teeth, and how the bottom lip releases slightly damp after being in his mouth, he wonders what it tastes like. He cuts off Dream's stammered and flustered apology with a short and distinct: ‘yes’. He raises his gaze to meet Dream’s, challenging, and smirks. 

He can play this game. Even if it’s one-sided. 

“It’s pentanoic acid, yeah?”

Dream smiles, proud and with his teeth. George wants to lick them. “Yeah! Oh my god, have you been faking it all this time just to spend time alone with me,” he teases, pinching George's cheek.

George giggles and takes the bear from Dream’s fingers, lingering around his hand, and puts it in his mouth. Dream picks up his glass of water to take a sip. “No, I’m still shit at chemistry, I'm just a whore for sugar.” 

The blond sputters and chokes on his water, hitting his chest with wild eyes and a short laugh with undertones of something else underneath. “Jesus Christ, George.” George doesn't answer.

They go over a couple more questions about chemical compounds and household names and IUPAC names, George getting almost all of them right, and eating too many gummy bears in the process. He starts to understand Dream about the whole ‘no sugar when studying’ thing: his mind starts straying to the way green melted sugar sticks to the swell of Dream’s bottom lip.

“I’m bored of gummy bears, can my reward be something else?” He asks it with a slight lilt, hoping it’s enough to give an effect to Dream, but not quite enough to be embarrassingly noticeable. Dream’s wobbly smile is indicative of the desired effect taking place. 

“What do you want as your reward then?”

“A kiss,” George stares at him, watching as Dream freezes in his position, mid-way through shuffling to be even closer to George, as if their thighs weren't already pressed up against each other. When he doesn't say anything, not even a gasp of arousal (wishful thinking) or disgust, George stammers over himself. “I’m– I’m kidding, Dream, I can have my lemonade or somet–”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Dream looks up, matching the challenging look that George had in his eyes earlier. 

Oh . 

They were playing this game. This taunting game of push and pull, toeing around the line, the one that George has been playing for years, unknowingly already having a player two. He smiles, tilts his head down so he’s looking up at Dream through his eyelashes, and nods. It’s subtle, but it does exactly what he wants it to do.

“If you mix valeric acid and propanol together, what's the name of the ester created?” 

George stills. He doesn't know this. “Dreammmm” he groans, moving a hand up and thrusting it through his hair. “This is hard.”

“No it isn’t, just, okay write it down on your iPad.” George does as he’s asked. “Okay, look,” and before George can even comprehend what he is doing, Dream's leaning over him and wrapping his hand around George's that’s holding the apple pencil, chest pressed against his back. “Oh,”

This is the closest they’ve allowed themselves to be, and George can’t stop the goosebumps from rising on the back of his neck where Dream’s presence is so felt . He can feel the ends of Dream’s hair on his collarbones, the hand that's not on his own is snaked around his waist, loosely resting. “What… what are you doing?”

“Just … showing you what to do… so circle the alcohol.” He moves his hand, drawing a shaky circle around “propanol”. It looks even worse than George's chicken scratch of handwriting.  “What’s the number of carbons here?”

“Uh–“ It’s hard to concentrate when he can feel the other's breath against his neck, delicate fingers essentially caressing against his own “It’s three... Cause there's methyl, ethyl, propyl, etc,”

“Good,” Dream basically purrs, intentional or not, George isn't sure, but he positively melts in Dream’s hold. “And what’s the name of the acid?”

“Uh– pentanoic acid, or valeric, but I–I can’t remember the household names,”

“That's okay,” Dream hums a small tune as he writes – shakily– ‘anoate’ and ‘valerate’ next to the other words on the page. “Esters are always gonna have ‘anoate’ at the end of the name, that’s just what they’re called, but what goes in front of that?”

George bites his lip as Dream subconsciously– or consciously, god he wishes he studied neuroscience instead so he could study this idiot's brain– tightens his hold around George's waist. “Uh, it's uh, it’s the acid carbon group name thing?”

Dream hums in affirmation. “And then what’s the preface of it?”

With his memory jogged, he can easily answer the question. “It’s the number of carbon atoms from the alcohol. So, propyl. The ester is called propyl pentanoate”

“That’s right,” Dream writes the final name for the ester, and draws a checkmark and a smiley face next to it. “I can’t properly give your reward though, as I had to help, so,”

George blanks out as something soft and slightly damp touches his cheek, a lot farther away from the corner of his mouth than he’d like. It doesn't last long– just enough for him to realise that it is actually real and for him to gasp before Dream pulls away.

“Uh,” George trails off, brain just short of glitching out. He wasn’t joking, of course he wanted Dream to kiss him, but he didn't expect him to actually do it, even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted. He spares a glance at Dream who's sporting a playful but challenging smile, sitting back next to him like he was originally. They’re playing the same game . “You didn’t give me my reward,”

“I had to help you figure it out though, I'm being generous enough as it is to even give you half of it,” Dream moves his hand to rest on George's knee. He shifts his leg for it to ‘accidentally’ slide further up. 

George can feel his sanity slip from his fingertips. He’s enjoying this game, he wants to push it further. How far can they go? How far can he push until it teeters over too far? How far can he go before he ruins the friendship? He’s dying to find out. 

“You know you and the Pavlov thing?” Dream hums in response, kneading his thumb into George’s thigh. He feels the tension envelop him whole, encircling his limbs and tugging him closer to Dream– he realises that Dream didn't lean back after he kissed him. He feels the exhale of air against the side of his face. “How about we do another theory?”

“Such as?” Dream leans in further and places another kiss on George’s cheek, closer to his ear, and George sighs out at the contact. He can feel every molecule in the air mould around him, every muscle of his own stilling, and every strand of Dream’s stubble shifting into a soft smile. 

“I get a taste of it and then I can work towards it? Like I know what I'm working for?” 

Dream chuckles lowly – fuck – and bites softly at George’s earlobe. “Yeah? You wanna taste me, George?”

He's pretty sure that Dream can feel how much he’s blushing, red hot vermillion cheeks flush against the others— but this means that he can feel Dream’s blush too. 

“D-Dream?” George stutters, half breathless. 

“Sorry– sorry, George, I’m… fuck,” Dream exhales against George’s cheek and pulls away to look into his eyes. Dream’s own are the same shimmering green they always are, albeit with blown-out pupils. “I’m sorry, I got too ahead of myself, are you okay with this? Do you want me to stop or anything? I'm not going too far?” 

George giggles and reaches his hands out to cup both sides of Dream’s jaw. Dream shies his head away, breaking eye contact and looking down into his lap. “Did I read this wrong? Am I just ruining things between us?”

“Dream,” George breathes, softly smiling and angling Dream’s head to make them look at each other again. The top of Dream’s cheeks are tinted the cutest shade of peach and George wants to lick them and see how they taste. “I promise you aren't ruining anything, truly, I want this, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” 

“I'm not just talking about the kiss, George,” Dream whispers, leaning into George’s touch at the small confession. “I wanna go farther with you, I want to kiss you breathless and I want to know what your tongue tastes like. I wanna know how your thighs feel under your jeans, I wanna mark up your neck and make you such a nice pink,” George pauses, completely blanking out with his lips parted in nothing but surprise at the fact that Dream is almost reading his thoughts. “Fuck, I sound so stupid, I'm so sorry. Do you want to go? I can organise a coworker to come help you study if that's what you– mmph”

George surges forward and captures Dream’s lips with his own, he tries to slot their lips together, move in a rhythm that's slow and emotion-baring– but Dream doesn’t reciprocate. A pang of rejection settles itself into George’s heart as he pulls back, looking directly at the small wet patch on Dream’s lips. 

“Who fucked up now?” George mumbles, loosening his hands and dropping them to his sides. He starts to lean back, mentally preparing himself for the bus ride home and his evening crying in his bed talking about this unreciprocated crush with his two best friends– Ben and Jerry, but Dream catches his hand before he gets too far. He pulls on his wrist, sending George stumbling back to his seat and facing toward the other man, a look in his eyes that he can't quite place. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t– fuck, I'm sorry–I’m not very experienced… I didn't expect you to do that.” He cradles George's jaw, and without meaning to he leans into it, sighing subtly to the comfort. “Can we do it again?”

George doesn’t bother replying, just leans forward again and they’re kissing– lips firmly pressed against the others: oozing in passion. It’s in tune, moving in a motion that makes George feel dizzy. 

He kisses George with such intensity that he gasps, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dream’s neck, loosely tugging with every wave of pressure. Kissing someone shouldn't feel this good, George is completely and utterly lost in it. He's moving his mouth in synchrony, tilting his head to go deeper, moving forward to kiss harder, draw out the sugary tinted secrets from his lips.

“You taste so fucking good, oh my god,” Dream groans, pulling away and leaning his head against George’s. “And you’re so damn pretty holy fuck, George.”

George mumbles his praises and moves his head forward, trying to whisper them against Dream’s lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that, Dream,” Dream gasps as George bites softly on his bottom lip, pulling it out and watching it snap back into place with lidded eyes. “I just wanna keep doing this, please? No more talking, more kissing,”

Dream complies, surging forward and tangling his hands into George’s hair, matching the desperate tugs that he’s doing to Dream’s. He thinks it's a metaphor for the desperation he feels to take off the other's clothes, lick along his clavicle and leave marks of ownership in a pretty necklace made especially for him.

George pokes his tongue out, licking along Dream’s lips and Dream opens his mouth, breathing hotly into the kiss as George begins to explore, mapping out any landmarks with his tongue. He licks along his teeth, and he’s starting to taste the sugar off his own tongue– and fuck, it’s addicting. 

Dream pulls away, and George bites on a whine in disapproval, begrudgingly opening his eyes. He doesn’t regret it though. Dream is heaving and flushed bright pink, hands chattering against George’s cheeks from what he hopes is nervousness over the interaction. His lips are red and swollen, and a burst of pride erupts in George’s chest at the realisation that he did that, he reduced Dream to this desperate mess: he’s so caught up in it that he hasn’t registered that he’s trying to tell him something.

“What?” he asks intelligently. He can feel his own face grow redder when he hears the hoarseness of his own voice. 

“I said,” Dream chuckles, moving his hands– upsettingly– away from George’s face and to clasp at George's own. “We should get back to studying,”

George looks at Dream, and he looks back. Besides his flushed face and blown-out eyes, there is nothing on his face to indicate that he’s joking. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but I think you’ll like the next reward.”

“What is it?”

He squeezes George's hand. “If you get the next question right, I’ll give you a handjob,”

George’s eyes widen at the low tone of Dream's voice and the words he said, his breath getting hitched in his throat. Dear god, he wants that. “What is it?” 

He expects Dream to turn around, let go of his hands and prepare a hard question from the back of the textbook, but rather, he loosens his hold on one of his hands and lays it high up on his thigh, just shy of feeling George’s semi through his pants. “Whats an alcohol that has one carbon atom in it?” 

George grins. Of course, Dream would ask him an easy question: he’s just as desperate as he is. “Methanol,” 

Dream grins and leans in again, muttering something along the lines of ‘well done’ before biting into George's mouth, kissing him with ferocity, desperation leaking through with the slight pain of every contact of teeth on his lips. George scoots himself closer to the other– they're still awkwardly seated at the dining table– and picks up Dream’s discarded hand to lay on top of his erection, groaning as he presses down. 

“Already hard, huh?” Dream mutters, leaving open-mouthed kisses trailing down his cheek. 

“Kinda hard not to be when you’re kissing me like this.” George replies, involuntarily bucking his hips as Dream bites into his neck. He feels euphoric with the sensation of being marked. 

Dream giggles against his skin and grinds the palm of his hand into George's cock, moaning out at the whine that George lets through his gritted teeth. “Yeah, that’s right let me hear you, baby,” 

George whines again and throws his head back, emotions rolling over his body in waves. “Fuck,”

“Before I do anything else,” Dream says, clear and not in the low sexy voice he’s been using. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because I need to know I'm not overstepping or forcing you into anything,”

Georges's chest flutters at the implication, feeling way too many feelings for how Dream is so nice and accommodating, his hips buck up again. He tries to ignore the way Dream looks down at them with an amused smile. “I'm one hundred percent positive I want to do this with you,”

“Really?” Dream says, looking up at him to make eye contact again. “Because I don't know if I can stop if I start,” there's a pause where George looks up into Dream’s eyes with such infatuation he can feel his skin bursting with the need for it to come out. “I mean obviously if you wanted to stop, I’d stop. I don't know why I said that, of course, I’d stop if you wanted me to, consent is so important in a relationship– not that this is gonna be a relationship or anything if you didn't want, but I just, yeah, I'm sorry?” 

“Dream,” George encases the other’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks just enough to get him to stop talking and have his lips pout in this adorable way. “I want this more than anything, and I want anything that will come from this, I… I really like you, like, legitimately, this is like a dream come true for me,”

Dream tilts his head forward and their foreheads bump together softly. He hums, gives a little chuckle, and: “Dream,” 

George rolls his eyes and plants a soft chaste kiss on Dream’s lips. “I want to keep kissing you and I want you to give me a handjob, and anything you want me to do for you I’ll do. I give you my consent,”

Dream smiles brightly, returning the kiss with one of his own, and then a deeper one, followed by his hand returning to George’s crotch to begin unbuttoning his pants. George is running his hands down Dream’s arms, across his back, and down further to twist into the bottom of his shirt. He doesn't have to say anything for Dream to know what he means, and he pulls back and reaches an arm behind him to hike his shirt up and over his shoulders and throw it across the room. 

George groans when he sees Dream’s bare chest, and runs his hands down his pecs and nipples, down further to knead softly into his stomach. It feels like butter and soft velvet, and George could spend all day tracing patterns across the indented muscles. 

Dream moans at the contact, now palming George through his boxers, and he looks up for one final double-check before putting his hand into George’s underwear and pulling his cock out. 

Honestly, George should feel embarrassed by how flushed his cock is, bright red and almost leaking from just kissing, but Dream immediately silences his thoughts. He tentatively grips his cock in his right hand, and George gasps loudly, gripping back at Dream’s shoulder blades. He hears a small chuckle from the blond, but he's too high to care, Dream’s hand is on my cock and he’s giving me a handy holy shit . Even though Dream had told him earlier not to conceal his moans, he finds himself biting his lip to stifle the whines that crawl up his throat with every downstroke. Dream notices, because of course he does, and squeezes at his thighs, looking at him through his eyelashes.

“Don't,” he says. It’s simple, but the low tone makes George roll his eyes back in pleasure: feeling so many things all because of his goddamn voice.

Dream tugs his hand up again, changing the pressure, and squeezes a little when he gets closer to the head, and George lets out a high-pitched whine, almost going as red as his cock when he realises he can hear his moans echo off the hallway behind them.

“That’s better, George,” he stops jacking off George to focus on the tip of his cock, paying special attention to the underside, using more pressure as his thumb brushes past it. George can’t help the moan, grabbing harder at Dream’s shoulders and bucking into his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind that much, rather, slacks his hand back into cupping his cock (his whole hand envelops George’s cock: something he doesn’t try to think much of or else he'd come right on the spot) and lets George thrust into it.

“Fuck, Dream, fuck, you’re so—“ George mumbles, and Dream chuckles, low next to his ear and starts sucking a bruise into his neck. Dear god, this man would be the death of him. “You’re doing so good. You’re doing so good for me,”

Dream stops biting George’s neck to moan against the skin, and the vibrations feel heavenly against the blood flowing through George’s veins. His grip tightens, and Dream takes control again, harder and faster than before. He looks more alive, like this, George thinks. He didn’t think Dream could get any hotter, but when he makes eye contact with him he can see that something else has changed; lust clouds his eyes and George can feel everything with the way he grips his cock, other hand squeezing the fat of his thigh. George scrunches his eyes shut when Dream repositions his hand, and re-wraps it around his cock, immediately tugging upwards.

“You’re so fucking perfect even here, I can’t believe it,” he rasps, squeezing his hand tighter as it grazes the head, eyes trained directly to the bead of precum that spills out. 

“Perfect, I— oh — I’m here cause I needed help with chem homework I don’t think I’m perfect,”

“Perfect to me, you’re so good at coding and English, and you’re so fucking pretty, god, you deserve to be fucking worshipped.”

George moans again as Dream pushes his thumb past his slit. “Dream, Dream fuck you can’t do that I’m—“

“Close already? Surely not,” there’s something in his voice that George can’t recognise, so he opens his eyes and tilts his head to see Dream staring back at his face, eyebrows upturned and mouth opened: mocking him. “I’ve barely started touching your pretty cock and you’re already about to come and make me stop?”

“Dream it’s not that I just—“

“You want me inside you, yeah? You wanna feel how my cock feels against you, pressing inside?” He moves his other hand from his thigh to graze George’s abdomen, rubbing in a clockwise motion. “You think you’ll feel it in here?”

George bites his lip and throws his head back again, breathing deeply through his nose. “You— fuck — you are a fucking asshole, oh my god,”

“You know you like it,”

“Of course I fucking like it, I–” he cuts himself off with a whine as Dream pushes his thumb into his stomach, kneading the skin. The feeling of that and his hand on his cock is heavenly. “I fucking like everything about you, I always have, Dream, just, just do something,”

“I am doing something, aren’t I?” As if to prove his point, he twists his wrist as his grip on the brunet's cock nears the tip, causing George to writhe against the hand that’s borderline pinning him down.

“Fuck, fuck, Dream, I wanna make you feel good too, please” Dream groans in response and leans forward, head falling into George’s shoulder.

“You’re so fucking hot making all these pretty noises for me. You wanna make me feel good baby?” He’s pressing his lips against George’s neck as George tries to come up with an answer that isn't a string of moans. 

“Dream, Dream, I need you to call me that again, and I wanna make you feel good too, let me make you feel good,” he grabs a fistful of the hair on the back of Dream’s neck and pulls him away from his own, hickey formation cut short with a moan. George deposits that information for later.

He pulls his head closer to his own and their foreheads clash together gently. 

“I want you to feel good, Dream, let me make you a mess,”

Dream groans and closes his eyes, sweeping forward for a short but deep kiss. George doesn’t know if he will ever get over the way Dream’s lips feel against his, the way it feels like he’s searching for his soul every time he touches him. “I think you’ll be the mess, but yeah, fuck, yeah, you can make me feel good.” He lowers his voice, moving his head closer to George’s cheek, and mumbles his next words into the reddening skin there. “I wanna fuck you so bad.”

“You can’t- you can’t say things like that,” George tugs Dream’s hair to make eye contact with him, staring into hooded black. 

“Why not? ‘S true,” Dream mumbles, leaning his head back closer towards George’s hand. “Can we do it, is that okay? I wanna fuck you,”

George whimpers when Dream pulls his hand off his cock, and he bucks his hips involuntarily. He averts his eyes from Dream’s cruel smirk that paints his lips, seemingly forgetting the almost desperate act he pulled just a mere seconds before. “Poor baby can’t deal without being touched for two seconds, oh no. Let's get you to the bedroom before you start crying,”

“You can't do it out here?” George stands up—shakily— from the dining chair and takes a step toward the living room, his cock almost leaking where it hangs outside of his pushed-down underwear. “If I stay the night here does it classify this as a bedroom?”

Dream whines, he fucking whines , and takes a long step toward George before pressing his lips harshly against his partner’s. It’s more teeth than anything, heavy saliva swapped between mouths tainted with lust and desire. They walk backward while they kiss, George hopes that Dream knows enough about his apartment to not bump into anything. George keens against his mouth as the back of his knees hit the armrest of the couch and he falls back against the plush cushions. 

“You are so fucking hot, so fucking desperate for me, yeah baby? You want me inside you so badly you can't take two steps towards my room? You want my roommate to walk in on us? Want him to see you with your legs in the air choking on my fingers? Hmm?” 

“Dream, fuck, fuck, hold on a second,” George chokes, gasping around his words as Dream’s fingers find their way around the hem of his shirt, brushing against his ribs. He sits back and pulls his hands away immediately, and George tries not to let the other know how that makes him feel, but he's sure Dream sees his cock bob with anticipation. 

“I’m sorry, are you okay? Do you need anything? We can stop if you want,” Dream says, his voice in his normal register again. George slightly mourns for the loss of his sexy demeanour, but he sits up and lays his head against his chest and he decides this is a close second to the feeling. 

“You’re just– fuck, I don’t want to stop or anything but can you slow down on the talk a little? I feel like I'm about to come in my pants,”

“Isn't that the point?” Dream gives a low chuckle and playfully bites the lobe of George’s ear, causing him to shudder. “But if that’s what you want, I can do that. Do you want me to keep anything? Do more of something else? Something else entirely? I can–”

“Dream,” George laughs and pulls his head back, gazing up into his eyes. They’re still filled with lust and desire, albeit smidged with concern: understanding. “We can do everything the same, you can do more or less if you want, just save some of the harder talk for later? When you’re actually fucking me? I want to last,” he leaves a soft kiss against his lips, and Dream melts against them like it’s the first time again.

When they pull away, he leans his head against George’s, surging forward every few seconds to leave chaste, short kisses against the corner of his mouth, or to his bottom lip. “Is this… is this working for you? Are you enjoying it?” 

George doesn’t respond, rather, he tilts his head further down and makes eye contact with his leaking cock, still bobbing and aching for more attention from Dream’s hand. He feels Dream’s head tilt down to look, and his breath hitches. “That much?”

“You’ve been rubbing my dick for the last five minutes of course I’m enjoying it,”

“Yeah but that’s like, body reactions, do you–” he cuts himself off and kisses George’s cheek again. “Do you actually like it, like everything I'm doing? I don't want this to be bad for you I–”

“Dream,” he whispers, tucking his head close to his ear in an embrace. Dream’s arms wrap around George’s waist and he nuzzles his head into his shoulder, the blush of his cheeks almost searing George’s skin. 

“I just wanna be good for you. I don’t want to fuck it up,”

“I like you, a lot, okay? You couldn’t fuck this up if you tried to. I think this is like, the best thing that’s happened to me,” George mumbles into the back of his head, running a hand through the thick strands that had fallen out of his ponytail in their move from studying to fucking. 

“Really?” Dream sniffles and leans back. “You sure there's nothing I could do better?”

“You could start kissing me and touching me again, or you can go and get some lube so you can start to feel good too,” George whispers, moving a hand down to push against the bulge in Dream’s jeans, making him moan out with squinted eyes. “This can’t be that comfortable, can it?”

Dream hangs his head in a reserved moan at the slightest pressure against his crotch. He steals a quick kiss before he stands and recedes to his bedroom in search of lube. 

George lays himself back, legs bent at the knees and hanging off the armrest of Dream’s faded green couch, and awkwardly shuffles his jeans off the rest of the way. He wants to touch himself while he waits: he can hear Dream rummaging around in his top drawer or wherever he keeps his things, but he feels like he shouldn’t disobey Dream. It wasn't like they had discussed anything, but they both had so naturally settled into their roles and George felt like he didn't have permission from his partner to touch himself, to even think about sexual thoughts outside of his presence. He wanted to give him a show anyway, so he resorts to tucking his cock back into his boxers and keeps his t-shirt on. He spends more time than he’d like to admit trying to make his shirt effortlessly look like it had ridden up, a pale sliver of skin exposed for the other to gnaw on the moment he returns, but he’s caught in the act by the man himself: looking pleased with a small–sealed–bottle of clear liquid. 

“You know you can take it off if you want, you don't have to wait for me to be here,” he murmurs, approaching George and kneeling in front of his face. George doesn't think the hardwood floor is very forgiving on his knees, but seeing Dream at the same level as him for the first time sends a spurt of arousal through his stomach, and on his stomach.

“Wanted you to take it off for me,” 

“You wanted… fuck, George, okay,” Dream quickly caresses the sides of George’s skin, helping him sit up slightly and he pulls the cotton off his shoulders. “Look at you,”

George feels his nipples harden as Dream’s hands swallow his waist, and they trace the indents of his ribs, albeit a little struggled from his position on the floor adjacent to him. 

“Get on top of me,” George mumbles, stopping a wandering hand of Dream’s from rubbing the pink buds. Rather, he manipulates his fingers to wrap around his jaw, thumb resting between George’s lips. George would do anything to feel the way Dream’s entire body shivers when he sticks his tongue out to lick a long stripe against the skin. “I can move further up, or further down if you wanna bend my ass up over the armrest,”

Dream groans, pushing his thumb in gently so that George’s lips wrap around the appendage. “Baby, I wanna see you. Wanna watch how you react when I fuck you,” George nods around his thumb, humming lowly in agreement and shuddering in unison as Dream groans again. He shuffles his way back up the couch, his right leg awkwardly hooked over the backrest and his left foot flat on the floor, and Dream crawls into the space between his legs. He whines as their crotches brush against each other, and Dream is quick to silence it with a soft kiss, tongue already desperately asking to explore around his mouth again.

He tries to stay quiet, embarrassment creeping around the edges of his consciousness as he realises that he is still so close just from kissing, and now the added element of Dream grinding down harshly against him makes it difficult to think straight. Dream pulls away, panting, a long string of saliva keeping the two connected. He breaks it with another short kiss to his top lip, and George whimpers as he chases his lips as Dream pulls away. 

“Baby,” Oh, fuck. Dream’s voice is gravely and George swears his cock grows harder just at the sound of his voice, so close to his ears, and it’s all because of him. “Can I prep you? Please, baby, I wanna—”

“You still do?” George angles his face to suck the heated skin of his neck into his mouth to cover it in muddled mulberry tones. “If it's too much work I can just suck you off or something,”

“George,” Dream says, his voice harder than he's heard before. He pulls his head away from his neck, but not before Dream laces his fingers through his hair and tugs him backward, baring George’s neck out while he makes eye contact with Dream. His eyes are glassy and swimming pools of arousal. “I wanna fuck you so bad, George, I think I might die if I don't get inside you soon,” 

George strains around a chuckle, the harsh grip on his hair softens, but is still present enough to make him reconsider: Dream wants him just as much as he does. He shakily nods, to the best of his ability, and Dream responds with a grin. 

“How do you want me?” He props himself up on his elbows as Dream leans back so he can reach down and get the lube from its position on the floor. 

“How you are is perfect, baby, but do you wanna put this leg on my shoulder? It might make it a bit easier for you,” 

Dream unwraps the seal from the bottle and pops the cap, the pressure causing a small amount to shoot out onto George’s thigh. He tries, and fails, to hold a laugh back at Dream’s surprised face. “Shut up, god, you are so mean even when I’m about to fuck you,”

“‘S funny,” George pouts, lifting his hips at Dream’s prompts so his underwear can be slid off his legs. He tries, and again fails, at holding in the butterflies at Dream’s gasp as he watches George’s cock spring free and slap against his stomach. “Why d’you have a brand new one? You fuck that much?”

“Ha-ha, George, but no,” Dream leans down to press short, wet, open-mouthed kisses down George’s sternum. He gasps out soft moans at every point of contact. “I’m a– uh– a virgin,”

“Wait, what?” The brunet gasps, propping himself up on his elbows again, looking down at Dream’s chin resting on his abdomen looking back at him. He wants to focus on the curve of his ass as it’s pushed in the air to accommodate his position, but instead; “but, you said all those things, you can’t be a virgin,”

“It’s called watching stuff, and reading… research, you know?” He mumbles, blush sitting high on his cheekbones. “It works, hmm?” As if to prove his point, he nudges George’s cock with his cheeks, resulting in a high-pitched moan from the other. 

“Shut up and fuck me, Dream,” the blond bites softly above where George wants him— a warning— and sits back, repositioning himself to not be on his knees between George’s legs. 

He squeezes the clear liquid out and rubs it between his fingers to warm it up. Anticipation warms his stomach as Dream adjusts his legs to fold into a more comfortable position. 

“Yeck” Dream mutters, rubbing his fingers together again and shuddering—this time not from pleasure. “This feels so fucking weird on my fingers,” 

George can’t help the laugh that comes from him. “What? Do you normally use lotion or something?”

Dream is quiet for a moment before lifting his head to meet George’s eyes, nodding subtly. “Oh my god, you are a virgin,”

Dream giggles and drops his hands to George’s ass, his clean hand kneading at the plush skin and his other hand further down. His finger circles George’s rim and he can’t help the gasp that escapes his mouth as Dream’s fingertip is pushed in.

“Are you okay?” he looks down and Dream is examining George’s face for even the slightest sign of discomfort, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of arousal and terror. 

“I’m fine, Dream, just a little sensitive,”

Dream smirks. “Already so reactive, baby, I wonder what you’ll sound like with my whole finger in?”

George’s chest tints a shade of vermillion and he turns his face away with a bashful: “Shut up.” He bites his lip as the blond inches his finger in further. When Dream’s hand comes flush with his ass, he lets out a stuttered breath. He's all too aware of the digit softly stroking his insides. 

“Yeah?” Dream whispers, nudging his head into George’s neck and leaving a trail of soft kisses to his lips. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Dream, you’re fine, you can go fa- oh ” Dream pulls his finger out and pushes it back in, just slightly faster than the first time, and George's gasp pulls at his throat. “Oh- oh fuck,”

Dream hushes a soft laugh into his neck. “You’re acting like you’ve never done this before,”

“It’s been a while,” George breathes, pleasure crawling its way around his voice. 

“It feels kind of hot”

“You are inside me, Dream, and you’re supposed to be good at chemistry so surely you know how hot the human body can be,” Dream silences him with a hard kiss and a finger probing at his walls. “Fu-fuck you, oh my god,”

Dream giggles against his lips “You’re lucky you’re so pretty,”

“You’re obsessed with me,” Dream just hums.

He thrusts his finger in again, a bit slower than before, and calculated, focused on stretching him rather than pleasure seeking just yet. George runs his hands across Dream’s shoulder blades in encouragement, mapping his way to stay wrapped around his neck, lightly tugging at the small curls with every spike of pleasure. 

“Is this good?” Dream whispers, pressing soft kisses against his adam’s apple. “Does it feel good? Is it working?”

“Yeah, you’re–you’re good, but, adjust your angles? So I’m prepped properly, you know?” Dream nods and nibbles at his neck as he adjusts the angle, making George hiss in a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure. “Yeah, that’s– oh– that’s good,” 

Dream continues to thrust his finger in until George starts pushing his hips back to meet him. It doesn't last long though, Dream tightens his grip on George’s hip, a firm ‘stay still’ written in the indented flesh. He flexes his middle finger against his rim, just shy of slipping in until Dream feels George nod his head enthusiastically. He carefully inserts his second finger and thrusts once, twice, and curls them, sending George into a high-pitched moan. 

“Uh– that’s good right?” Dream asks, beginning to withdraw his fingers with concern written over his face. George glares at Dream when he makes eye contact and thrusts his own hips down to try and gain more stimulation. 

“Yes, you fucking idiot, please, please do it again,” and he does, Dream thrusting and curling his fingers inside him and beginning to scissor them, still adjusting his angle every so often like he was told. 

George whines, arching his back into Dream, pulling his head out of his shoulder to kiss him with just teeth. “You are doing so good, baby, your fingers feel so good, can’t wait to feel the rest of you,”

Dream groans, biting on George's lip and snapping it back into place. “You look so pretty under me, George, so good on my fingers, I can’t wait to fuck you,”

George’s eyes light up, still amazed that Dream truly does want to fuck him– he’s sure Dream catches it, as he surges forward and bites where his neck meets his jaw. 

“You want another?” He mumbles into his ear, stuttered slightly– from nerves or arousal George wasn’t quite sure– but he welcomes it either way. He wouldn’t tell him, but George could feel Dream subtly rutting his hips against George’s thighs and the couch cushions, chasing any form of friction he could get.

George moans, shifting his thigh slightly to make contact with Dream’s crotch, and Dream retaliates by thrusting in a third finger and immediately curling them. Dream mumbles praise against George’s neck as he pants and stares at the ceiling, a million thoughts running through his head that are just incoherent strings of ‘Dream’ or ‘fuck’.

Dream wiggles his fingers one by one, and George swears he can see white even if Dream hasn’t found the best spot yet. He whimpers, almost changing positions in reaction to the pleasure. He wants to flip them over and sit on Dream’s cock and ride him into oblivion but at the same time, he wants to sit and take it, exactly how Dream wants him to. He expresses his dilemma through a whiny moan, which is quickly turned into a groan when Dream moves his hand from his hip to fondle his balls. 

George gasps at a particular thrust arching into Dream who’s peppering kisses along his neck. 

“Fuck, fuck, Dream, I need you in me, please,” he writhers around the three fingers inside his ass, still poking and stroking around in search of his prostate. Dream hums, a raspy tone straight into his ear, desperation leaking between the vibrations.

“Yeah? my fingers not enough for you?” 

“They— they are I just wanna make you feel good too, Dream, baby, please plea— oh my god, ” George bucks his hips back onto the blond's fingers just as they trace over his prostate, pleasure racking through his body in waves.

He feels Dream’s smile grow on the side of his face. “Right there?” He angles his fingers the right way and thrusts again, hitting it dead on and George screams around a moan, back arching impossibly high.

“Dream, please , please fuck me I need you to fuck me please.” He grabs Dream’s shoulder blades and pushes him away slightly, forcing the other to make eye contact with him. He doesn’t care that he’s pleading, that he’s begging for his friend’s cock as much as he is, all he cares about at this moment is chasing pleasure with someone who can make him see every star in the galaxy. “Please, fuck me, please Dream, I wanna feel you,”

With the added eye contact, Dream breaks it immediately by rolling his eyes back, and he grinds his still-clothed cock into the couch, just as desperate as George is. He moans loudly, trying but failing to stifle it by biting his lip. 

“God, George, you can’t just fucking say things like that. Do you want me to come before I even fuck you? You want me to make a mess in my pants because of you and leave you high and dry?” He’s still thrusting his fingers in, rubbing at the spot every time they’re fully inserted, while George is almost climbing up him at the stimulation. “You look so beautiful like this, so hot, begging for me to fuck you like you’ve never been touched before. Who’s supposed to be the virgin here?” 

George moans louder than before, both hands thrusting out to grab onto his arm. “Fuck, fuck, Dream please, pull out pull out pull out,” 

Hearing the urgency in his voice, Dream pulls his fingers out and grips softly at George’s thighs, although concerned for his partner, utterly mesmerised in the way the skin jiggles and his cock jumps with every tremble of his body. 

“Are you okay?” His eyes widen when they reach George’s face, eyes closed tightly and mouth open, groaning and gasping at the movements he can’t control. “Did I hurt yo–?”

“No, fuck , Dream, you’re so–” George cuts himself off to give a half-hearted chuckle, breathless and lust-tainted. “You are perfect, you’re so, so , good for me, but I don’t think I can come twice. Not right now,” 

Dreams face tints red, flaming hot spreading down to his chest. “What?” He breathes, stuttered in its delivery.

George mimics his breathless state. “Yeah,” he moves his hands down to lace over Dream’s and forces him to grip his thighs tighter. “Can you fuck me now? Please?”

Dream groans and surges forward, pressing his lips to George’s, and then to his cheek; George is sure he can taste the heat there. “Look at you being so polite, I’ll fuck you now, baby, so good for me.”

George smiles giddily, wiggling his hips slightly as Dream leans back on his haunches and goes to stand up. His face heats up as he looks at Dream’s body: chest flushed and soft, dipping into those black jeans that sit low and loose on his hips. His bulge is prominent through the fabric, and if he looks close enough he can see a small wet patch near the zipper. His gaze trails up, to where his cheeks are coloured and decorated with a sheen of sweat, his hair messy from George’s hands. He smiles at George, probably in love with how small he looks sprawled across the sofa naked with his legs wide open.

“I’m gonna go get a condom, okay? I’ll be right back,” he whispers, tripping slightly on the rug as he turns to go to his room, eyes being forcibly dragged away from George.

He’s not gone for long, speed walking back from the hallway to the foot of the couch. He shoots George another shy smile as he moves his hands to unbutton his jeans. George replies with a bashful look himself, tucking his face into his shoulder. 

“You still good?” He asks after peeling his jeans off. 

“More than,” George replies, unhooking his leg from the back of the couch and sitting himself up. He reaches his hands out to assist in taking off Dream’s boxers. “Do you want me to ride you? Or–”

“No,” Dream says abruptly, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I wanna… you lay back and let me do all the work, baby,”

“What were you going to say? You cut yourself off,” 

“You little...” He sighs, grinning down at George’s pleading eyes. “You pay attention to everything but class, huh?”

Although blushing, George sits up straighter, raising an eyebrow at the man standing over him with his thumbs tucked into his boxer band. 

“I… I want to do all the work, I want to fuck you, George, you can ride me another time, yeah?” He pushes his thumbs down and pulls the boxers with them.

George's eyes widen when his cock springs free, big and heavy as it bounces up his hipbones: George can hardly stop himself from salivating at the sight. When he steps out of his boxers, he lifts his leg and sits on George’s thighs, picking up the lube from the floor.

“You’ll let me do that?”

“Yeah, yeah, Dream, anything,” he breathes, leaning back to lay his head against the couch cushions as Dream gets himself ready. 

There’s a slight pause, Dream looks at his hands and the back at George’s thighs.

“George,” he chuckles, hoisting himself back off of the couch. “Lift your legs back up, baby, let me in.”

George nods quickly, almost embarrassingly quickly, and resumes his previous position, and when Dream sits back in between his open legs he bends down to leave small kisses on his thighs in appreciation. He wraps a hand around his cock, gaining relief for the first time since they started. He moans out as his fingers skim the tip, and George busies himself with unwrapping the condom so he doesn't come untouched. How can Dream look so hot? He briefly entertains the idea of watching him spill all over his hand just from anticipation, all while George sits and watches waiting for permission to come himself. He moans.

“Dream, here,” he hands him the unwrapped condom, and Dream opens his eyes, albeit heavy-lidded. Lust clouds his features and George almost believes that he has forgotten about him in chasing his own pleasure. “Put it on, put it on, we can feel good together, please,”

“Yeah, yeah, okay George” Dream rolls the condom on his cock, biting his lip as he approaches the base. He coats himself with a layer of lube, warmed in his hand as George caresses his thighs.

He rests one hand on George's thigh that hooks over the back of the chair, kneading at the plush skin with sheer desperation. The other, still gripping the base of his cock and lining it up with George's entrance. He rubs his cock against the rim, drawing mewls from his partner underneath him.

“Dream,” he chokes his way around a moan, a request, and he finally starts pushing in. It’s slow, considerate, and if Dream hadn’t told George that he was a virgin this would be the time that he would realise: his face is scrunched in pleasure as every centimetre of his cock inches in slowly. His eyebrows are upturned and his mouth is wide open, similar to the mocking face from earlier in the evening but this time: it's genuine. George copies his face, but he keeps his eyes open, watching as every movement brings more relief to Dream, his face, and noises evidence. 

“Fuck, George,” he murmurs when his hips become flush with George’s. They breathe heavily, Dream’s partially obscured by the skin of George's neck. “You feel so good, god ,”

George moans in reply, moving his hands and grabbing harshly at Dream’s shoulders. “ You feel so good, oh my god, you feel so big,”

Dream bites at the skin under George’s ear in a failed attempt to conceal his whine. He moves his hips, just slightly at first, but when the pressure blooms under his skin he thrusts again and George cries out. 

He pulls his head out of George’s neck with wide eyes, apologies already flooding from his lips.

“Dream, Dream, it's okay,” George cradles his jaw in his hands, forcing the man on top of him to look into his eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it, you can move if you want, just start slow, okay?”

Dream nods, angling his head to kiss the palm of George’s hand. “Slow first? You’ll let me know when to change it up, yeah?”

A flutter of further arousal— if that’s even possible at this point— at Dream's consideration appears in his stomach, and he articulates this with a high-pitched whine. 

Dream smirks as he pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip in before thrusting at the same pace back in, but his dominating persona isn't kept up for long, his mouth left open in a constant exhale, bordering a whimper.

“You’re doing so good — ah — so good for me, Dream,” George mumbles around a moan. The praise is good, Dream’s whimper forms and becomes louder because of it, and he opens his eyes and looks into George’s.

“Fuck you,” he sputters a laugh, thrusting further in even though his hips are flush with George’s, and George throws his head back, the thrust just shy of his prostate. 

“Again,” he commands, snaking his hands around to grab at Dream’s shoulders and tug him back down.  He swallows any snarky comments with his lips, biting and licking into the other's mouth with desperation.

Dream pulls out halfway and moves his hips back with the same force as the last one, and they moan into each other’s mouths. 

Dream bites harshly on George’s bottom lip and pulls on it as he goes to sit up straighter, George chases him, opting to press his mouth against his chest.

“I’m not gonna last long, baby, can I go faster, please?” Dream moves his hands to grip tightly at his waist, and he shallowly thrusts his hips as George stumbles over his words. “I wanna last, I wanna fuck you more but you feel so good , why didn't we do this sooner?”

“Because— because you’re — you're, oh, you're— fuck, Dream ,” Dream increases his pace at George’s stuttering, the nodding of his head enthusiastic enough for him to take it as a yes, and his hips hit against George’s with an audible slapping sound. George is sure if Dream’s roommate came home and somehow didn’t see them they would definitely hear them. “Please, please I need you, I'm not gonna last— ah — last long either.”

Desperation and lust seep through the air and Dream whines as he adjusts his angling to a more comfortable position. He lifts George’s hips up so George is being held up by him, and George kicks his leg that's swung over the back of the couch in ecstasy. 

“Dream, you are amazing, please, a little to the left?” George feels weird directing him, but he knows that Dream is too focused on his own pleasure to think about George’s. Normally, he’d be upset by that, feeling like he’s being treated the same as he has by all the other guys he's dated in the past, but Dream is a virgin, and even though George is seeing stars with pleasure, Dream’s inexperience still leaks through the poorly timed thrusts and the way his cock slips out and over George’s hipbone if he pulls out too far. He giggles every time it happens though: too struck with love and honey-toned desire to care about it too much. 

Dream adjusts himself, and his next thrust forces a loud moan out of his throat. He arches impossibly into Dream as he pulls out and hits that spot again and again, when George can finally catch his breath when Dream allows him to, he cracks his eyes open and sees Dream with the smuggest look on his face. 

“Yeah, baby?” He chuckles, leaning down to swallow more moans off of his partner’s lips. “That’s the spot you like?” 

“Fuck,” George whimpers when Dream deliberately brushes past his prostate. The all too familiar feeling pools in his stomach and he feels the ache for release down all the way down to his toes. “Baby, baby, you’re so good, I wanna come, please? Please, can I come?”

Dream groans and bites at George’s lips. “You’ve been so good for me, yeah? You can come. I… we’re gonna come together, okay?”

With that, Dream squishes George’s lips with a hard kiss, and wraps a hand around his cock, moving his hand at the same pace as his thrusts.

“Dream, Dream,” George whines into his lips, eyes scrunched closed and his hands wandering around Dream’s shoulders. “You– you can go as fast or as hard as you– ah – as you want, yeah baby? Come for me, let me come”

Dream does as he's asked, adjusting his hold on George’s lifted thigh to thoroughly plow into George, his other hand still going at his cock, making him leak more precum all over his partner's hand. Dream doesn't say anything about the feeling on his hand this time, but he closes his eyes with a soft moan.

“Your noises are so hot, baby, I’m— George, I’m coming, I’m coming, oh my god,” Dream moans, loudly and thrusts hard into George as he comes, mewling into George’s mouth. George isn’t far behind him, the roughness of Dream’s thrusts shifting him up the couch, and the hotness of his breath against his mouth, and just Dream honestly, is enough to send him over the edge, and he closes his eyes and whines as he comes.

“Fuck, fuck, Dream, oh my god,” George can feel his cock spasm, thick white ropes shoot up his stomach and onto his chest, hot on his skin. 

Dream moves his mouth quickly against George’s, swallowing his moans in lust and passion, and the sweetness melts George from the inside out. He thrusts a few more times, slower and less harsh than before, milking the last of his orgasm out before he collapses against George, head nuzzled into his neck with heavy breaths. George wraps his arms around him, unhooking and lowering his leg from the back of the couch, and basically koala hugs the man on top of him, embracing him with all the words they’ve left unsaid in the hug. 

They lay there for what feels like hours, but could really only just be minutes, just waiting for their breathing to slow down, and when it does they stay embraced for longer, the two alternating who peppers kisses along the other's neck. Dream is shaking against him, his entire body stuttering, but George knows from experience that this is a good reaction.

When George starts to feel the cum on his stomach stick uncomfortably to him and Dream, he shuffles, and they speak for the first time. 

“George,” Dream mumbles, and fuck his voice is raspy and George’s neck erupts in goosebumps at the feeling of consonants against his neck. “You did so well, thank you, thank you , baby,”

“Dream, you don't need to thank me,” George chuckles, gently clasping his hands on Dream’s jaw and pulling his head out to look him in the eyes. “You were amazing. So, so good.”

“Good for a first?” He sheepishly asks, tilting his head into George’s hand. His heart flutters at that. 

“Perfect, baby”

“You’re so…” He trails off, and George thinks it’s intentional until he notices his eyes aren’t on him anymore, instead they’re lower, and: “Oh fuck, George” Dream grunts out, just short of a moan as he trails his fingers across George’s neck tracing along the scattered love bites. “Do they hurt?”

“A little,” he shuffles, melting further into Dream’s touch.

“I’m sorry,” he kisses his forehead. “But holy shit you look so good with them. Like you’re mine,”

George blushes bright red, and tries to tilt his head away in embarrassment but Dream moves his hand to capture his jaw and forces them to meet eyes. He falls in love with the fondness in his partner’s eyes.

“Like I’m yours?” He questions, angling his head to press his lips to the palm of Dream’s hand.

“Yeah… If that’s what you want, of course. It’s— It’s what I want,” Dream stutters his way around his confession, George’s heart squeezing the entire time. He nods his head and changes his position to capture Dream’s lips.

“Of course, baby, I would really— really — like that,” 

Dream smiles and moves his head and shoulders a bit— like he’s dancing— and presses his lips to George’s again, and again, and again in a series of quick pecks. “I’m glad you say that cause, god, you look so good on my cock,”

George gasps and moves his head back, cheeks tinting redder. “You’re such— such an idiot oh my god. Chivalry is dead, dead!” 

Dream chuckles and kisses along his collarbones: basically wanting any amount of skin—any amount of George — he could get. “So uh— back to chemistry study now?” 

George rolls his eyes and kisses his partner’s forehead. “Can we go to your bed? Please? I wanna lay down somewhere comfy and maybe sleep,”

“Hey, you wanted to be here, idiot,” Dream says, pushing himself up onto his hands to look at him properly, surveying George’s whole body and the mess on his stomach before looking into his eyes again. “But yeah, of course, anything for you baby,”

George melts at the softness in his voice, and nods, propping himself up on his elbows as Dream removes himself from George with a small hiss. 

When he stands his legs wobble, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch before he trips, and Dream swiftly picks him up forcing George’s legs to once again wrap around Dream’s waist. He leans his head against his chest as Dream takes short steps toward his bedroom. 

“You feeling okay, love?” George positively melts further into the other’s hold at the pet name, and further again when Dream surges forward to press a soft kiss into his hair. “Your back, your legs, your… your hole? All good?”

“Don't get shy on me now,” George giggles. They approach the bedroom and Dream leans down to pull the blankets back before laying George down on his back. George stifles a small whine when Dream pulls away, not joining him, but stops as soon as he sees dreams pointed smirk (albeit slightly flustered). “I'm all good, don't worry, Dream.”

“That’s good, baby, I’m glad,” Dream runs a hand across George’s cheek slowly, eyes tracing over his cheeks and his lips before scanning over his room. “I’ll be right back with some water and something to clean you up, yeah?” 

Georges nods an affirmation, and Dream disappears through the threshold of his bedroom again, pulling at the covering on his cock. He sighs and relaxes into the mattress, sleep creeping around the corners of his eyes but he fights it off; the lingering thought of failing chemistry still present in the very back of his mind, but at the front is Dream Dream Dream. Dream's hand clasping over his helping him draw skeletal structures, Dream’s hair as it falls in front of his eyes, Dream’s stomach flexing and unflexing as he thrusts into him, Dream’s eyebrows and how they pinch together when he’s inside of him— he has to forcibly stop his thoughts from continuing before he pops another boner in front of the other so soon.

Dream appears around the corner with his hands stupidly clutched around more things that he had said he was going to get, items wobbling as he approaches the bed. “Sorry I took so long I didn’t know what you liked? I can't have ibuprofen, but I’m not sure if you can so I brought that and paracetamol and I have, like, cream stuff? For your legs, if they're sore where I pushed them, and I have–”

“Dream, baby,” George leans up and kisses his lips, so softly, yet conveying everything that he wants to: you are amazing, you are more than enough, thank you, thank you . “It’s perfect, I can take ibuprofen, yeah?” 

Dream just nods in response, uncapping a bottle of water for George and holding it out for him to drink from, before pulling out a wet wipe and softly dabs at George’s stomach, drawing– what he thinks– are circles and stars and hearts into his skin. He feels his face heat up to the point of boiling when he considers Dream playing with his cum on his stomach, but when he looks down and is greeted with his clean skin only being caressed by Dream’s fingertips. He takes the pain medicine and downs half the bottle of water, offering the rest to Dream who quickly follows suit. 

“Do you need to, uh, to be anywhere tomorrow?” Dream asks, looking up at George. He shuffles himself around so he’s laying next to George, fingers still dancing across his stomach and trailing over to his waist. George shakes his head in response, and a shy smile spreads its way across Dream’s lips. He can't help himself– he surges forward to kiss them; slow and passionate, causing Dream’s fingers to dig a little deeper into his side. 

Dream tries to pull away, only for George to leave more chaste kisses along the side of his lips, across his cheek, and down his neck. “You want me to stay the night?” he mumbles into the skin, nuzzling his head into his shoulder and moving his body so he’s basically laying on top of Dream. The blond makes a small noise– almost like a squeak– and nods his head, pulling George in closer to his side and angling his head down. He loves the way that Dream can’t get enough of him– how his fingers trace every inch of his waist and his eyes scan his face and his lips press against his forehead and his hair and his cheek every few seconds– he’s exactly the same, he can’t get enough of the other, an obsession, all the months of pining finally amounting to something worthwhile. He smiles at the realisation, his own lips already pressed against Dream’s right pectoral, it's obvious that he can feel it.

“Why are you smiling?” he murmurs, moving a hand under George’s chin to angle it up so they could make eye contact. He’s greeted with warm green eyes that hold every mimicked emotion in them. 

“‘M just happy. ‘M with you,” he whispers back, tilting his head into Dream’s hand. Dream leans forward and closes the gap between their lips, and George knows that he feels the exact same way.