Work Text:
Dream likes pet names, like he really likes them. Any nickname really. It has always been a constant gripe for George, but it only got worse when George got to Florida. Even before they were dating, his name had quickly evolved from George to Georgie, or occasionally Gogy (which for some reason he hated less). Every time a nickname left Dream’s lips, George would physically convulse, appalled and cringing. He noticed it happened with Sapnap too, he was never Nick or Sapnap, always ‘Sap’, ‘buddy’, ‘mate’, or ‘bro’. Dream seemed incapable of simply using people's names, but George just let it slide, too happy to finally be in Florida to start nitpicking about his best friend's unconscious habits (unless it was Sapnap absentmindedly picking at his toenails on the couch, George definitely had things to say about that.)
Once feelings were finally confessed, George’s fears of it getting worse were proven true. Dream has always been persistent, and his desperation to find a pet name that didn’t have George cringing in on himself with fake retching and horrified laughter would be no exception.
‘Baby’ is of course the natural first step, and one George expected.
They’re piled on the couch, Patches snoring softly on George’s lap while he scritches behind her ears. The pair have become inseparable since George got to Florida, bonding over their shared love of long, lazy, naps and Dream’s attention. George’s feet rest in Dream’s lap, who sits at the other side of the couch, his index finger tucked under the elastic of George’s sweatpants to stroke at the dark hairs on George’s shin. Sapnap’s stream plays on the TV, even though he’s live only a few rooms away. He’s playing valorant with Punz but the audio in the living room is so quiet all they can hear from the stream is when either of their friends scream and rage.
“What do you want to eat tonight?” Dream asks, rolling down George’s sock to get access to the smooth skin of his ankle bone, unreasonably pale and delicate despite George’s months in the sun.
“Hmmmm… pizza?” George suggests, moving to tickle the white fur of Patches’ chest.
“Pizza works, I’ll text Sapnap.” Dream looks around himself, patting the pockets of his basketball shorts, perplexed.
“Baby, can you pass my phone?”
George jolts like he’s been burnt; Patches runs away, betrayed. Pale ankles are snatched from Dream’s grasp as George sits ramrod straight at the other end of the couch, looking at Dream like he’s just killed a kitten in front of his very eyes.
“ What did you just say?” His voice is cold, like ice water has been dunked over his head.
Dream looks back at him confused, “I just asked for my phone-”
“No-” George shakes his head, “not that. You called me-” Dream watches as pink lips turn in disgust.
“You called me baby .” George says the word like it tastes rotten on his tongue.
“Oh, huh- I guess…” The confusion doesn’t leave Dream’s face.
“ Why?” George asks, lips soured by the word and throat tight, an uncomfortable shiver rolling down his shoulder and the tops of his arms.
Dream hesitates like he’s being asked a trick question. “Because you’re my boyfriend… I- I don’t know, I just did. Is that not okay?”
George hates the flash of insecurity he sees in large puppy-dog eyes. Green blinks up at him, guilty and scolded.
“I really don’t like pet names Dream,” he confides, holding his own hands and picking at the skin around his thumbnail.
“Like- any of them?” George shakes his head in reply. Dream continues, “No- you can’t hate all of them… There’s gotta be one you like.”
George shrugs, “I don’t think so. They all make me cringe.”
“Well, what am I supposed to call you then?” Dream asks, shuffling over to close the space between them on the couch and flopping his head into George’s lap like a dog looking for pets. George obliges, tangling his hands into light brown curls.
“ Hmmm I wonder…” George scratches his stubbled chin in mock contemplation, “If only I had a name.”
Dream scowls up at the grinning face above him.
“But George,” he whines, “I like pet names… We have to find one you like!”
George scoffs, shaking his head in humoured exasperation. He knew telling Dream this would only make him more determined. He is too bullheaded for his own good, in every aspect of his life, George should’ve known this would be no exception.
“Good luck with that, baby .” He fakes a retch, before peals of giggles fill the room and Dream pouts dramatically, his bottom lip protruding in a way that’s both pathetic and unbearably cute.
They settle back into quiet comfort, George scratching at Dream’s scalp almost absentmindedly, creating tangles in already unruly hair. Deep set eyes flutter shut at the ministrations, Dream's whole head pressing into George’s hand.
“You tired?” George asks, taking note of the purplish hue to Dream’s under eye and the way he sags into his touch. George receives a faint hum, his boyfriend already dozing into dreamland.
George settles back against the couch, shuffling carefully to lie down with Dream against his stomach and their legs tangling together. The heat of Dream’s breath soaks through the thin material of his t-shirt and onto his belly, warm and damp in a way that should feel gross but instead feels like comfort, like home.
He’s still not used to the physicality of being around Dream. George basks in every point of contact between them, every piece of skin he can see and touch on his boyfriend, who looks impossibly comfortable dressed in basketball shorts and ratty T-shirt. George’s foot strokes up and down against Dream’s calf, disrupting the hair on his shins with his toes. Dream’s leg hair is bountiful, long and thick and only a few shades darker than blonde, making it appear barely there from a distance, but up close, it’s a solid covering that ruffles against the cotton of George’s sock. He can almost hear the soft sound from the friction.
All of Dream is hairy really, the tops of his thighs have a thinner smattering, lighter with a lack of exposure the higher up tree-trunk legs you go, with the insides of his thighs milky and practically hairless. Below his navel the hair is darker, almost a true rich brown as it trails down below the waistband of his shorts, just about visible from the way Dream’s shirt has ridden up while sleeping. Along his chest, hairs curl and spiral, a light dusting of blond(ish) flecks that travel up over his pecs and down towards his bellybutton.
George’s favourite bit of Dream’s body hair is his forearms. It’s thick and plentiful much like his legs, wrapping around toned and freckled skin, crawling up around his wrists and fading out to delicate barely-there hairs on the tops of his hands like peach fuzz. George caresses the soft hair there now as he holds a large hand to his own chest, over a steadily beating heart.
Mid-afternoon sun gleams through the living room windows as it begins to set, highlighting the warm and golden tones in Dream’s hair, sleep ruffled and so much more curly than George had ever imagined when he sat in dark, drizzly London. Rays of light worship Dream’s face as he scrunches his eyes shut against the sun, nuzzling further into George’s chest in an attempt to chase his sleep, furrowing thick brows and releasing a tired whine. Paint splatter freckles stand proud, gathering in a splash on the bridge of his nose before scattering and dispersing under his eyes and over his cheeks. Dream’s best freckle (in George’s humble opinion) is the one that sits on the side of his neck, right where George plants kiss after kiss at any given and possible opportunity. It’s almost like a target– a bullseye on a dartboard, and George’s lips are the point of the dart.
George soon drifts off too, the pressure of Dream’s body acting like a weighted blanket and sending him into slumber. His head is at a regretfully awkward angle and Dream’s chin stabs uncomfortably at his chest if he breathes too deep, but there is nowhere George would rather be.
-
George loves joining Dream in the shower, when his skin is wet and hot, exposed to nobody but him and the clinical walls of the bathroom. Dream’s hair is golden brown when it’s wet, clumps of curls dripping crystalline water down his back as his head is tilted up into the spray.
The en-suite door always ajar in invitation, George strips off in their bedroom before padding through and stepping into the steam.
Dream is humming something nonsensical, barely recognisable as any tune while he lathers broad shoulders in sandalwood and sea salt.
Cold, pale fingers replace Dream’s own, a small jolt to freckled skin before the familiarity of the touch soaks into his muscles and bones.
“George.”
A faint hum in reply as his lips press into Dream’s shoulder blade. Both of them have always loved how perfect their difference in height is for tender affection like this, or a kiss to the forehead, or strong arms wrapped around slender shoulders, or one of them on their knees.
Small hands smooth over the large expanse of exposed skin, fingers push into the dips of each rib and bump over each knob of Dream’s spine before George wraps his arms about his boyfriend’s grabbable waist, interlinking his fingers over the soft fat of Dream’s belly.
“Hi,” George murmurs into the wet shoulder in front of him, “I missed you.”
“I was only down the hall,” Dream reasons, he tries to turn in George’s grasp, but George tightens his hold, keeping Dream put.
“If I left to find you, I wouldn’t have finished the edit. I’m here now.”
“What if I wanted to shower alone?” Dream asks.
“You don’t. You love me.” There’s no waver of doubt in George’s voice. Dream sighs, humoured in defeat.
“I do love you.”
“You have a cut on your shoulder.” George changes the subject, nosing at the small scab on Dream’s left shoulder.
“Huh… I wonder how.” His voice sounds disinterested, focused purely on how George’s hands wander along his stomach and chest.
“Hmmmm… Because you’re an idiot.” The statement punctuated with a smacking kiss to the top of Dream’s spine.
George’s hands trail lower, scratching through thick hair below Dream’s belly button and tangling through a trimmed dusting of pubes. Dream’s breath catches in his throat as George cups his soft dick, rolling his balls in hand and squeezing. Dream’s hips cant into the feeling, gasping, surprised and aroused as blood pumps down to his cock.
“George-” he warns, voice thick and low, almost drowned out by the sound of running water overhead, “don’t start something you won’t finish.”
“I’m just helping you get clean.” False innocence drips from a sickly sweet voice as George wraps his hand around a now half hard cock and begins to jerk Dream off teasingly.
Dream’s breath comes out of him in short puffs as he hangs his head low, watching a small hand pull him to full hardness and blood fill his cock while George’s grip stretches to adjust. Before he can bask in the sensation for too long, George’s hand is gone. Dream begins to whine at being teased, but his disgruntled mumblings are cut off by a surprisingly strong grip on his hips.
George spins Dream around to face him before pushing him back against the cold tile of the shower wall. An involuntary squeak leaves Dream at the chill on his bare ass, transforming into a gasp as he hears a dull thud accompanied by the sight of George dropping to his knees.
Water-clumped eyelashes flutter up at Dream as dark brown eyes meet green.
“This okay?” George asks, delicate hands crawling up the inside of Dream’s thighs, stroking the light dusting of hairs there.
Dream gulps, eagerly nodding. Before his chin can come back up from the motion, George has his hand around the base of Dream’s cock and he’s licking at the tip. It’s small kitten licks at first, watching as Dream’s dick twitches at each one, before pointing his tongue and pressing into the slit. One of Dream’s hands flies to George’s wet hair, the other tugging at his own brown tangles.
George’s eyes drop shut as he flattens his tongue under the head of Dream’s cock, laving over the underside slowly as he slides forward to take Dream into the wet warmth of his throat. He reaches the base in one swift glide, nuzzling into the thatch of hair above.
“God- George. ” The hand in George’s hair tightens, the back of Dream’s head thudding against the shower wall as George swallows around him.
George doesn’t move, warming Dream in his throat, feeling how his cock throbs against his tongue, listening to poorly controlled desperation from the man above him. Dream’s hips twitch forward once before a firm hand pins him back against the shower wall.
“ George- please.”
George loves to get Dream like this, needy and whining, barely able to control himself. He can feel the muscles in Dream’s thighs, stomach and ass tense as he wills his hips to keep still; he can feel how precum dribbles out and down his own throat; he can feel the man he loves at his mercy, powerless to pleasure.
George pulls back, beginning a teasing pace on Dream’s cock, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing torturously slow to barely give any stimulation. Every gentle movement against the sensitive skin has Dream keening, so acutely attuned to every sensation George is giving him.
George can feel it. As Dream’s balls draw up and his whole body tenses further, he can feel that Dream’s close. He pulls off Dream's cock with an echoing pop, and an ugly choked-out sob leaves Dream’s lips as his orgasm is taken from him.
“ George. ” He tries to sound firm, but with the way his voice shakes with arousal and the fist in his own hair clenches tighter, George is confident that he isn’t really mad. Dream likes to be deprived, denied and edged, teased and taunted by George.
“What is it?” George asks, all fluttering eyelashes and doe eyes. Dream’s cock jumps at the expression.
“Nothing sweetheart, just please keep going-” Dream’s eyes go wide, the pet name having slid out thoughtlessly. George’s face contorts and scrunches.
“ Sweetheart?”
“I-” Dream looks panic stricken, yearning for release and worried now it won’t come.
“What did we say about pet names Dream? C’mon…” George tuts, trying to keep composure through the urge to cringe.
“George, please- ” Dream’s voice lifts an octave.
“Shhh shh shh,” George soothes, petting the taut skin of Dream’s hipbone, “don’t worry sweetheart,” George mocks.
“I’ll still let you cum Dream, you just might have to wait a little longer now, as punishment.” He wraps a hand back around Dream’s cock, “How’s that sound?”
Dream nods, frantic at the pull of George’s hand over his already sensitive cock.
“Dream, words please?”
“Yes, I want that.”
“Good. Now, you’re gonna fuck my throat however you want, but you’re not allowed to cum. You have to stop yourself. Got it?” Dream nods again.
“Dream…” George scolds.
“Yes,” Dream verbalises in response. George lolls his tongue out, mouth wide and inviting, lips slick and pink. Dream thrusts back in and George hollows his cheeks, sealing himself tightly around Dream’s cock.
Despite attempting self-restraint and a steady pace, Dream falls into temptation as soon as George swallows around the intrusion in his throat, humming contentedly at his mouth being filled and sending tantalizing vibrations through Dream. His thrusts are sloppy, dizzy on the power and control George has granted him and forgetting for a moment that he will have to stop himself.
That moment passes quickly as George feels him getting close again and feels the realisation dawn on Dream that he must rip his own pleasure away. But George knows Dream, knows he wants so badly to be good. As George feels his boyfriend’s orgasm rapidly approaching, he pulls away from heaven with a whine, his dick twitching uselessly in the air to search for a final second of stimulation that would tip him over the edge. It doesn’t come.
Dream’s chest heaves with laboured breaths, hand in his own hair again tugging sharply, fat tears rolling from his eyes to join the droplets from the shower.
“Again?” George asks, on his knees and the picture of sin with the face of a saint.
“ Yeah-” Dream’s voice is hoarse, breathy and barely audible over the roaring shower above them.
George grins up at Dream, water at the edges of his eyes not from the shower, and drops his jaw once again in invitation. Dream guides himself back in, the tip of his cock grazing the spongy inside of George’s cheek and drawing a shaking moan from Dream. His knees tremble, desperate to hold himself together, desperate to cum.
George pushes forward, taking Dream to the hilt once more and relaxing his throat around him. Dream’s thrusts are gentle, careful and cautious as every nerve in his body feels exposed and raw. He’s so turned on from being edged twice already that it takes one cruel lashing of George’s tongue on the underside of his cock before Dream is withdrawing once again and stopping his climax.
“So good for me Dream.” George’s voice is hoarse, the corners of his mouth pooling with spit and his lips are an obscene shade of red, matching the angry head of Dream’s twitching and desperate cock.
“You can cum this time, but not until I do okay?”
George spits in his own palm, raising his hand up to Dream with a cocked eyebrow and a silent demand. Dream spits into the open palm and George wraps his hand in a tight fist around his own neglected cock. George’s strokes are short and fast, twisting at the head every few pumps in a way that already has pale thighs quivering. Dream watches on as the small, pink head of George’s dick pokes out through his fist on each downward glide, but an obnoxious cough brings his attention to George’s face, flushed from steam and sex, mouth parted and tongue sliding over lips in sultry seduction.
Dream taps the sensitive head on George’s plush bottom lip, smearing precum across it while George’s tongue laps at it hungrily. A rough hand grasps at George’s hair, pulling his head back and his mouth opens in a moan. Dream stuffs himself back inside familiar heat. Hard and slow thrusts have George moaning, spluttering around Dream, hand rapid and brutal around his own cock.
George finishes with a cry, cum spitting out over his hand and down onto the shower floor, the sound is muffled by Dream still thrusting hard and fast into his throat, primal and hungry for release. Dream follows shortly after, his orgasm barrelling through his whole body and his vision blacks out as he releases hard down George’s throat, who desperately tries to swallow down salty white before pulling back with a cough.
When Dream comes to, he looks down at the ruined face of his boyfriend, who parts his lips once more, dropping his tongue out and letting the remains of Dream’s cum roll from it, dripping obscenely onto his thighs that are still smeared in his own release. If Dream hadn’t just come harder than ever, after being edged three times, George thinks the sight alone would have him hard and ready again.
“You are insane .” The thought jumps from Dream’s lips before he can stop it, astonished at the man on his knees in front of him, who’s tracing spirals and patterns into their joint releases on his skin.
George drags his index up through sticky sin on his thigh, gathering a pearl onto his fingertip and sucking it into his bruised mouth, lashes fluttering and tongue swirling around the intrusion.
“ Insane ,” Dream repeats and George just grins up at him, all teeth, spit and shower spray.
George stands on wobbly legs, meeting Dream who still leans boneless against the tile wall. He clamps Dream’s face in his hands, crashing their lips together in a messy scramble, Dream tasting himself as he licks behind George’s teeth and tangles their tongues.
George parts from Dream, stepping back into the running water and washing his body clean once more. Like a magnet Dream’s skin finds his again, lips find his again. They move against each other lazily and unhurried, washing down flushed skin with roaming hands and hot water.
“I love you,” George murmurs between gentle brushes of their lips, like speaking the words into Dreams mouth will send them straight down to his heart.
“I love you,” Dream lifts his chin to place a kiss to the wet hair that’s plastered flat against George’s forehead, “even when you tease me till I think I might literally combust from a slight breeze.”
George chokes out a surprised laugh, leaning round Dream’s body to turn off the shower and shaking his hair at him like a wet dog.
“But it wasn’t too much?” George asks, raking his hair off his face and stepping out into the fog of the bathroom. Dream follows like a puppy.
“No- no it was good… Really good.”
“Good.” George beams a sunshine smile, grabbing a large bath towel and lassoing it around Dreams hips to pull them flush together. When Dream’s soft cock brushes against the planes of George’s lower stomach he hisses, hips flinching backwards from the point of contact.
“Though I don’t think you’re allowed to touch my dick for… at least a week.” He muses, dramatically scrunching his face and turning away from his boyfriend.
George crowds him, pressing himself against the cleft of Dream’s ass, lifting himself on tiptoes to whisper into his ear.
“I don’t need to touch your cock to fuck you.” Dream’s eyes go wide, coughing at George’s words.
“ Jesus, you’re a monster,” he teases, slipping away to retrieve his own towel.
“But I thought I was your sweetheart! ” George fakes a retch, giggling childishly as Dream slinks out of the bathroom with a huff and a playful roll of his eyes.
Dream mumbles, blushing and embarrassed, “You’re an idiot.”
-
Sapnap and George are in the kitchen. It’s eight in the morning, the earliest they have both ever been awake (unless you count nights where they had not slept), and the toast is burning.
Toast.
“We can’t even make fucking toast,” Sapnap huffs, rushing to the windows before the smoke alarm is triggered “Why did we think this would be a good idea?”
“ We didn’t,” George mutters, “I was making my boyfriend breakfast in bed and you butted in.” He jabs Sapnap in the side playfully, letting him know he isn’t really mad, even if Sapnap can’t make toast.
George puts two more pieces of sourdough under the grill before returning to the bacon in the skillet. The sizzle of fat against cast iron and sun streaming through a gap in the living room curtains bathes the kitchen in domestic warmth.
“Do you want me to sort the avocado?” Sapnap already has the knife in one hand and the avocado in the other, so George simply nods and returns his eyes to the pan.
“It’s his first birthday with us all together, I’m not missing it…” Sapnap sounds small, for once appearing as the youngest of the three. George pretends it doesn’t hurt.
“Nick-” George lowers the heat of the pan, takes a peek at the toast before turning to face Sapnap, “we aren’t gonna leave you out, you know that right?”
Sapnap doesn’t face him, eyes fixed on the avocado as he cuts it and stabs out the pit.
“No, I know- obviously. Nothing has really changed. I just- I don’t know, Gogy.”
George closes the distance between them, he leans against him with his chin dropping and digging into Sapnap’s shoulder.
“ Surpnurp…” he can see in his peripheral vision when Sapnap’s mouth twitches to a smile, his own chin dipping against his chest.
“Grge…”
“Stop being an idiot.” He digs his chin in deeper, scraping his stubble along Sapnap’s hoodie, “I’ll never leave you, Surpnurp.”
Sapnap finally turns to look at George, a glimmer of wetness in his eyes that both boys will pretend isn’t there. He bumps his forehead against George’s, or at least tries to, his cap is in the way, before shrugging George’s head from his shoulder.
“Fuck off.” He smiles. George turns away satisfied, retrieving the toast from the grill right before it burns for a second time and placing it down on the plate already set up on a tray.
Sapnap comes over to the tray then, a bowl of poorly mashed avocado in hand, and spreads it across the toast while George fetches eggs from the fridge. He takes the bacon from the pan and onto the plate before cracking the eggs to fry in the fat. As they bubble away in bacon grease George looks over at his best friend again.
Everyone always calls Dream and Sapnap brothers, but it’s hard for George to imagine a more fitting word for his own relationship with Sapnap. They’re closer than anyone could imagine; the fans, their friends, even Dream. Nobody sat through hours of George’s nervous fumblings to articulate his emotions like Sapnap did, understanding and mostly unhelpful ( “why the fuck are you asking my advice?” ) but the only one George felt safe to confide in. He was the only person who was able to pull the words from George’s heart and into his brain, and then once George got to Florida, Sapnap was the only one to push the words from his brain and out his mouth. It was Sapnap who dropped everything and flew to the UK when George needed someone, who gathered as many of their friends as he could to join him, who met him at the airport with a dumb sign and confetti streamers, who talked George through the most pivotal moment in his life.
“You know-” George fumbles, turning off the stove and transferring the eggs to the plate while Sapnap grabs the hot sauce, “you know I love you right?”
Sapnap’s head swings round to face George, meeting a cringing and embarrassed face, small hands holding each other.
“Yeah man, I know.” Sapnap beams, shaking his head in bemusement, “love you too. Now come on, let's go wake up your boyfriend.”
Sneaking up the stairs and back into their bedroom, with breakfast tray in hand, is much harder than it was sneaking out of the room earlier, but they manage. George and Sapnap stand at the foot of the bed, enjoying the rare ability to look down at Dream, who’s sleep-mussed and softly snoring against sage green sheets. The almost constant crease in his brow is soothed by unconsciousness and his mouth hangs open, lips dry and chapped from sleep. George thinks he never looks more beautiful than in the morning.
“Morning, birthday boy!” Sapnap bellows through the room.
Dream jolts from the bed with a shriek, sheets pooling around his hips, chest bare, eyes crazed and confused till they land on the two of them. Sapnap’s hands hold the tray of food, George’s are full of a few messily wrapped presents.
“Happy Birthday, idiot,” George smiles, all warmth and crinkled eyes; Dream mirrors the smile with blinding teeth and glowing affection.
Dream scoots to the middle of the bed and the boys join him on either side, George pressed deep into Dream’s chest as Sapnap puts the tray of food in his lap. Avocado toast (not burnt), bacon (slightly burnt), eggs (perfect) and a glass of green juice (which is nowhere near as good as apple juice if you ask George).
“Guys-” Dream’s voice is thick with sleep and syrupy with affection, two fried eggs eyes stare up at Dream with a hot sauce smile.
Sapnap barges his shoulder against Dream’s, “Don’t be a baby.You’re twenty four now, gotta act like it.”
Dream gives a weak punch to Sapnap’s arm, “Thanks, brother.”
Dream eats his birthday breakfast as though it’s the best meal he’s ever eaten, though maybe it’s just because it’s the first meal in forever that he’s not had to cook, and when Sapnap shuffles the tray away, George throws the haphazard pile of gifts into Dream’s lap.
“I said I didn’t want any-” He is quickly shushed by George.
“They’re dumb and cost, like, next to nothing. Shut up,” he picks up the first parcel, small and cylindrical, “this one first.”
Dream tears through the paper to reveal a dark green nail polish.
“You said you wanted to try painting your nails,” George mutters, now feeling embarrassed for giving a multimillionaire $5 nail varnish. “I’m sure you got loads in the PO Box but I think the colour is cool, it’s green yea-”
“It’s perfect, I love it.”
George shrugs, nestling further into Dream out of bashfulness.
“Mine next.” Sapnap shuffles forward, shoving the lumpy square present under Dream’s nose.
The paper pile grows as Dream unwraps Sapnap’s gift, a pink fluffy elephant.
Dream and George stare at it, confused.
“I just wanted mine to be bigger,” he states, grinning smugly, “more than one and a half inches right, Gogy?”
It clicks.
The three of them collapse in laughter, hysterical and happy and so full of joy to be together in this dumb moment, in any moment, every moment.
Dream eyes the larger parcel still left on his lap, “And this?”
“This one is from both of us.” George gestures for Dream to open the large rectangular parcel.
Patches leaps and crashes into the wrapping paper, rolling around in it as it crinkles and tears under her claws. She pounces on the new paper when Dream drops it to the floor beside the bed.
The third gift is a large patchwork blanket, both sides covered in colourful squares. As Dream looks it over he finds each square is a piece of Dream Team merch; each of his milestone hoodies, George’s Halloween cat merch (one of Dream’s personal favourites), Sapnap’s valentine’s merch, the Dream Team card deck; all of the best ones stitched together to make a large cozy throw.
“Oh-” his voice is cloying with emotion, throat bobbing as he holds back welling tears. Dream’s hands smooth over the fabric with reverence, admiring each carefully sewn together square.
“Guys, this is-”
“Awesome right?” George beams, excitement radiating from his every pore. He grabs for a corner and shakes it out so it covers the whole bed and their laps, “look how big it is!”
“It’s amazing, I love it,” he places a gentle kiss on George's still messy hair, “thank you.”
“And where’s mine?” Sapnap huffs playfully before squirming away shrieking as Dream turns and plants a loud smacking kiss to his cheek. George wrinkles his nose in mock disgust.
“God gross, get a room Dreamnap.” He fakes a retch, clambering out of the bed and scooping Patches up from her paper nest.
“Aww Gogy, it’s okay,” Sapnap is pulling the face, the I’m about to say something wildly inappropriate face, “you’re both bottoms anyway, you need me…”
“ What-” Dream’s face turns a violent shade of crimson that even George could see, if he wasn’t mortified with his head buried in his hands.
“Don’t think I haven’t heard our Gogy here railing the shit out of you, bro, you break through the soundproo-”
“Stop. Please,” George pleads, his own face burning against the skin of his palms.
Sapnap leaps from the bed, deeming his best friends sufficiently humiliated, “Come on, up you get, loverboys.”
Dream rolls out of crumpled sheets on command like an obedient puppy, and without the sturdy support of his boyfriend’s body, George topples over onto the mattress with an ooft
“Come on, Gogy, up you get.” Sapnap’s humoured exasperation is muffled to George’s ears by the inviting warmth of freshly vacated sheets.
He grumbles something incoherent into luxurious cotton, his nose filled with the comforting smell of Dream. A hand disrupts his attempt to bunker down, resting on his shoulder and shaking him gently.
“Come on, Darling, let’s get outta bed.” George shoots up from under soft sheets, staring a startled Dream down with a disapproving gaze.
“Darling?” sounds from behind them, George turns to the doorway to see Sapnap, still within earshot and grinning like he’s won the lottery, “are we using pet names now, darling ?”
George reacts with his whole body, convulsing and face soured at the term of supposed endearment.
“ We- ” George coughs, cheeks filling with blood and embarrassment, “are not using pet names.”
George crawls out from Dream's hand, stalking dramatically out of the bedroom and down the stairs, “Dream is just an idiot.”
“You know…” Sapnap muses, following George down the staircase with Dream trailing behind, “Idiot is basically a pet name.”
George’s head is in the fridge grabbing himself the apple juice.
“Right? That’s what I sai-” Dream’s words die on his tongue as George whips his head round to glare at him.
“It is not the same,” George spits with no real venom, “one is cringe and weird, and the other is me calling him a muffinhead.”
Dream and Sapnap’s eyes meet, matching Cheshire Cat grins before the pair of them break out into a poor rendition of BadBoyHalo’s ‘Muffin’, dancing around the kitchen together like idiots while George watches on in fond exasperation.
“You’re both nimrods,” he shouts over the sound of off-key singing.
“Nimrod is also kind of a pet name,” Sapnap sing-songs before rejoining Dream for the chorus of the musical masterpiece that is ‘Muffin’.
Dream and Sapnap dance off into the living room, still singing and laughing, being ridiculous children as always. George finishes his drink, smiling ear to ear at how lucky he is to have such stupid, hilarious, loving friends, how lucky he is to have Sapnap, and Dream, and to all live together after the years of waiting.
They spend the day together under blankets, watching Dream’s favourite movies before switching over to twitch in the evening. Foolish is streaming, (because of course he is) so they put him on in the background while they decide on what to order for dinner, both insisting that Dream isn’t allowed to cook on his birthday, and George and Sapnap collectively agreeing that dinner is definitely out of their skill bracket.
“Do you think the fans will be mad that we didn't stream on your birthday?” Sapnap speaks through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.
Dream shrugs, picking a stray olive out his pizza box, “I mean, probably. But I just wanted to spend today with you guys. I mean even my mom isn’t coming over.”
“Wait, really?” George’s brows jump in surprise, looking up at Dream from where he is comfortably tucked into his side, “have you ever had a birthday without seeing your mum?”
“No, but- well. She’s coming over tomorrow, I just wanted to be with you two today. She gets it.” Dream seems bashful at the admission, his cheeks slightly pinker than before.
“Well, happy birthday, brother,” Sapnap smiles standing from the armchair to come bump his fist against Dream’s shoulder. He collects the empty pizza boxes and takes them through to the kitchen while George curls impossibly closer to Dream under the patchwork merch blanket.
“I would’ve tried to make it more exciting if I’d know it was just going to be the three of us,” George mumbles, tinged with guilt.
“No, no, George, today was perfect,” he rushes, his arm tightening around George’s waist and pulling him in so he’s practically sitting on Dream’s lap, “I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.”
Soft lips hit George’s temple, and he turns to greet those lips with his own. It is a brief, simple kiss, barely anything more than a peck, but Sapnap chooses that exact quick moment to re-enter the living room.
“Gross, nope, not third wheeling today. I don’t care if it’s Dream’s birthday, I'm not watching that all night.” He places a crate of beer on the coffee table before flopping down dramatically on the couch, his whole body resting across Dream and George’s laps.
“ Sapnap-” George groans, flicking Sapnap in the forehead, “you’re so fucking heavy.”
“It’s ‘cause I’m pure muscle and you’re a human twig bro, you should hit the gym sometime and try it.” He wiggles his shoulders in emphasis, before clambering off their laps to retrieve the beer on the coffee table.
“Nick-” Dream eyes the cans of beer as Sapnap cracks one open and shoves it in his face.
“Nope, not listening to it Clay. This is peer pressure, I’m pressuring you. You can’t give me that I don’t drink bullshit anymore.” He leaves no room for argument, waving the can in Dreams face till beer sloshes out the opening. “It’s your birthday, the Dream Team are all together, and we are getting drunk.”
George snatches the can from Sapnap’s hands, making a show of bringing it to his lips and tipping his head back. He has never been the biggest fan of beer, but if University taught him anything, it’s that he can chug it easily. Dream and Sapnap stare in amazement as hoppy bubbles flow down George’s throat, the can empty in seconds.
“That’s the spirit, Gogy! Holy shit-” Sapnap cheers, cracking another three beers open and dishing them out between them all.
Dream looks at George, then down at the beer in his own hand, never one to be outdone, he brings the can to his mouth and downs it. He’s not as smooth as George, and foam bubbles out the corner of his mouth. George thinks very innocent, pure thoughts as he watches it dribble down his jaw and wet his neck.
The pair of them look at Sapnap expectantly, as he eyes his own can, “I thought I was supposed to be the peer pressurer here, how has this happened?” His beer quickly disappears, two more are cracked for himself and Dream before he settles back down onto the armchair.
The rest of their night is spent talking nonsensically. Foolish raids Tina and they watch as she plays Raft. The crate of beer slowly depletes, and by one in the morning Sapnap is calling it quits and stumbling his way down the hall to his bedroom. Nobody is drunk, all of them just fuzzy and warm, but Sapnap is a notorious lightweight.
Dream stands from the couch, stretching tall till his shirt rides up and reveals a soft stomach of pizza and beer.
“Right, come on. Sleep,” he extends a hand to George who is happily dragged up from the couch, patchwork blanket wrapped around his head like he’s a little old lady. It’s hard to tell if the wobble in his legs is from disuse, tiredness, or the beer, but he shuffles upstairs behind Dream and collapses face first into the sheets. Behind him he hears a fond chuckle, and faint shuffling before a body joins him on the bed. George curls onto his side to face Dream, admiring the drunk flush to his cheeks, the slight daze to his eye and the dopey smile that is sickly sweet with love.
“Hi,” he whispers into the quiet of their bedroom, the only light available to them is the soft glow of a salt lamp on a bookshelf in the corner, “did you have a good birthday, darling? ”
As he says it, his nose scrunches in disgust and Dream rolls his eyes. A large hand reaches forward and tangles itself with George’s, tugging incessantly till he shuffles forward into Dream’s chest. They’re lying on top of the sheets, too tired to move further, George graciously shares the patchwork blanket.
“I had an amazing birthday, thank you darling ,” Dream mocks the way George’s accent shapes the word, smiling proudly and tucking George under his chin.
“I was gonna give you super awesome hot birthday sex, but I think I’m too tired and tipsy for that.” George chuckles, pressing his face closer into Dream’s chest till all he can smell is him.
When an ocean separated them, the question of what Dream would smell like crossed George’s mind more often than anything else, even what Dream might look like. Dream’s looks never mattered to George, he knew he would still be in love with him no matter how he looked, but how someone smells is everything. George imagined he would maybe smell musky, sandalwood maybe? But when George first got close enough to breathe Dream in for the first time, he realised how silly he had been because of course Dream smells like watermelon and lime, saltwater and safety and home. He smelt like home.
Now, however, George finds more often than not they end up smelling the same. Using the same shampoo and body wash will do that, the same detergent and deodorant, but it still feels right because now George smells like home, too. Florida, this house, and Dream have always been home long before he’d ever smelt it.
“I don’t need super hot awesome birthday sex. I’ve got a super hot awesome boyfriend who gives me super hot awesome sex all year round,” the hand on George’s back slips beneath his hoodie, seeking the smooth skin of his back. Dream trails his thumb up and down the barely protruding bumps of his spine, “sleep now, super hot awesome boy.”
“Happy Birthday, Dream.”
-
Dream hates when Patches is sick, hates how helpless he is to cure her. It’s nothing serious, just a little kitty flu, but he’s already gone overboard with vet visits and medicine. He’s even gotten her a new cozy bed so she’s warmer .
George also hates seeing Patches sick, he hasn’t seen it before but it hurts him to watch her sneeze till he thinks her head might pop off, but he thinks watching Dream worry might hurt him more. Panicked, fidgeting, and frantic as he’s Googling every new but expected symptom has George wanting to cut open his own chest and remove his heart so it stops aching so fondly for his idiot boyfriend. It’s so hard to love someone this much, George learnt this long before him and Dream got together, but he always thought believing they would never amount to anything would hurt more than his love actually being reciprocated. The ache in his ribs when his person is hurting could split him open and bleed him dry, proving him so very wrong.
It’s eleven at night, and George is tired. His bedsheets are too cold, the mattress too flat, there’s no sturdy weight beside him, no steady breathing in his ear. It’s eleven at night and George is tired, but he is a lovesick idiot and Dream isn’t next to him. He has tossed and turned till the fitted sheet on the mattress pings off at the corner, tried every white noise playlist he can think of and even snagged a couple of Dream’s melatonin gummies. But nothing. Counting sheep isn't going to help George.
He crawls out from unwelcoming sheets, fuzzy socks protecting his feet from the cold hardwood floor as he creeps down the stairs in pursuit of Dream.
As expected, he finds Dream on the floor of Patches’ special room. The poorly tabby is curled up in her new bed, cozy and snoozing gently. Her purr has a scratchy rasp to it, but she seems settled as Dream’s hand moves rhythmically through light brown fur.
“Hey,” George sits down next to Dream, tiredly plopping his head down on his shoulder, “how’s the patient?”
Dream sighs, exhaustion deep in his bones. “She’s sleeping, but I can’t bring myself to leave her. How pathetic is that?” He laughs, weak.
“It’s not pathetic Dream, she’s- she’s like your kid. Your baby.” He reaches for Dream’s hand, tangling it with his own.
Dream smiles teasingly, “You’re my-”
“Don’t.” George grins.
Silence falls on them and Dream looks back down at the tiny cat, resuming his soothing pets.
“Why are you still awake?” he asks.
“Couldn’t sleep, you weren’t there.” George feels guilty for telling the truth, feels selfish to put the responsibility on Dream, but he knows lying wouldn’t fool anyone.
“I’m sorry, angel.” Dream freezes, feeling the physical response to his words as George flinches, recoiling ever so slightly. “I- oh my god I’m sorry I’m so tired I know you hate it, I know-”
“Dream-”
“It just slipped out.”
“It’s okay,” he squeezes Dream’s hand, standing, “c’mon, she’s sleeping now. You should do the same.”
Dream is willingly dragged from the floor and into George’s arms.
“You look like shit, Dream How about I run you a bath before we go to bed, huh?” Dream nods, letting himself be pulled away from Patches and up to the master bathroom.
Dream sits naked on the cool marble surrounding the tub while George starts the bath. When they’d had the house built, Dream insisted on a big, old fashioned bathroom with pillars and marble countertops, the bath situated in a large alcove. George and Sapnap had bullied him relentlessly at the time, calling it extravagant and dumb. Now, George waits for the large tub to fill with bubbles and hot water, he is grateful for the space to clamber in behind his human stringbean of a boyfriend.
He pulls Dream to lay back against his chest, grounded by the weight of him and the way bare skin meets. The room is in almost complete darkness, except for a few stray candles George had been bothered to light, and the air is filled with lavender and camomile.
George had tried to enjoy baths the same way Dream does when he was in London. He followed careful instructions from his best friend of what products to get, what to do with his time while he soaked in hot water, what candles Dream preferred. But no matter what, George felt restless, uncomfortable as his skin pruned and completely incapable of switching off his thoughts. Now, in Florida, with the comforting weight of a man against his chest and the calming aura of Dream , he could somewhat understand the appeal.
Dream’s head is lolled against George’s shoulder, his hair damp and curling from steam. His eyes are closed and George thinks if they could just stay here long enough he would be able to count how many individual eyelashes Dream has.
One, two, three, f-
“If I’m this crazy about my cat, god help us when we have kids…” It’s spoken in a way where George isn’t sure if Dream expects a reply, or if he was even expected to hear. When Dream is delirious with sleep his thoughts leave his mouth freely, he is malleable and loose lipped.
Still, George replies, “you will be even more of a nimrod, but I’ll still be there to look after you while you are too busy looking after everyone else, as always.”
Dream hums in agreement and the time for talking is over again. Silence with Dream is perfection, George thinks, or as close to it as one can get. He smooths a wet hand into Dream’s hair, pulling bronze curls back from a clammy forehead so he can place a kiss there. The quiet sound that emanates from Dream’s throat makes George know the action was appreciated, so it’s repeated. Another kiss to Dream’s temple, then to his cheek, across to his ear which has Dream squirming just slightly. George kisses him there again, his teeth scrape just barely against Dream’s earlobe and he receives a nearly inaudible whine in response.
George trails lower, peppering tiny kisses down the side of Dream’s neck, his lips barely touching the damp skin.
Dream’s voice is already wrecked as he breathes George’s name into the midnight air.
“Shhhh,” George whispers against Dream’s throat, “let me take care of you, yeah?”
Dream nods into the darkness, and George’s mouth continues its exploration. He leaves long and lingering kisses across the sensitive skin of Dream’s neck, soothing hot breath over his shoulder before grazing his teeth over the sturdy muscle there. A gentle shiver wracks through Dream’s body, and in the dim candlelight George can see his skin raise in goosebumps. His hand finds Dream’s thigh under the water, sliding up over soaked skin to his hip, then over till he feels the patch of coarse hair that rests above Dream’s cock, which George is surprised to find almost fully hard already.
Unhurried but without teasing, George takes Dream in hand and begins to stroke up and down slowly. Dream sighs into it, relaxing further into George’s chest as he lets stress seep out of every pore. Tranquility falls upon the darkness of their sanctuary, only the sounds of Dream’s breathy pants and the rippling of bath water interrupt the meditative silence. George’s free hand finds its way to Dream’s chest, pruned fingertips running featherlight over wet and warm skin, making spirals in the light hairs on Dream’s sternum before moving to circle his nipple. Dream gasps, throwing his head back further and giving George more neck to worship adoringly with his mouth, finding his favourite freckle there quickly.
George can feel Dream’s pulse thrumming against his lips, Dream’s cock throbs in his hand and he can feel how muscles jolt with electrifying arousal when he twists his wrist over the head. A shiver wracks through Dream and George can tell he’s close.
“That’s it Dream, cum for me,” and as if on command Dream lets go, hurtling over the edge and spilling over George’s hand and his own chest with a stuttering breath.
George reaches over the side of the tub to retrieve a clean flannel, dunking it into the bath water to clean his hand and Dream’s release before it spoils the lavender water. Dream lies boneless against him, tension stripped from his core and exhaustion taking over.
“What about you?” Dream pushes back against where George’s cock rests half hard against his back.
“This wasn’t about me, c’mon,” George pushes weakly against Dream’s shoulders to pry himself out from beneath, “let's go to bed now.”
They dry themselves lazily while bubbles and water gurgle down the drain, eyelids heavy with sleep and limbs loose. They shuffle into the bedroom, neither bothering to dress as they climb under the sheets and George pulls Dream into his chest.
“Thank you,” Dream breathes into the fine smattering of hair on George’s chest.
“What for?” George’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, unseen in the pitch black bedroom.
“Just-” he sighs, “being you, being here… Loving me.” George swears he can feel Dream press his lips to his chest, right where his heart rests behind his ribs.
“I love you,” Dream murmurs into George’s skin, the words sinking through skin and flesh and bone till they wrap around the organ and squeeze. His breath leaves him in a flood.
“I love you too,” and then, because everything is getting a little too real for George in this moment, “ angel.”
“ Ugh ,” Dream’s wet hair bristles at bare skin as he headbutts George’s collarbone dramatically, “you were being so nice and then you ruined it .”
Dream’s brilliant white smile glows in the darkness, George beams back at him.
“Sleep,” he insists, covering Dream’s eyes with his hand till he feels eyelashes tickle his palm when Dream closes his eyes and almost instantly falls to sleep.
-
Dream’s mum is wonderful. When Dream and George rolled up to her house one day holding hands she simply embraced them, her only comment being that the text George sent all those years ago hadn’t been a lie after all. She is the definition of sunshine, green tea with honey, fuzzy blankets and warm hugs.
Dream and Sapnap are out doing something , George hadn’t bothered to ask. He never was interested in what those two were doing, outside of video games anyway, so he usually stayed home whenever they found something they wanted to do together. Today though, Nancy insisted George came over while the others were out. He’s sitting at her kitchen island, a cup of tea going cold in his hands. He won’t drink it, he doesn’t even like tea, but it felt appropriate to say yes when she had asked, and the warmth of the mug is nice on his palms. He’s never been alone with her before. Dream or Sapnap, or Dream and Sapnap have always been with him.
“Do you want anything to eat, George?” Her smile could stop wars, he thinks.
George shakes his head and she turns her back to him once more, stirring something in a large pot. It smells sweet and fruity, but he can’t quite pin down what fruit.
“No thanks,” not knowing is bugging him, “what’re you cooking?”
“Oh!” She flips her head over her shoulder to beam at him once more, “we have a couple of apple trees in the yard, and no matter what we just can’t eat that many apples so I always end up making a big batch of applesauce with them, and I had some raspberries in the freezer, too, so I just threw them in.”
George is glad her back is to him as he wrinkles his nose at the idea.
He will never get over how similar Dream and his mum are, their hair the exact same shade of bronze, their eyes the same shade of green that George cannot fully appreciate. They both move through their homes with graceful care, cleaning up after everyone else who lives there without complaint.
“Do you ever cook?” Nancy interrupts George’s wandering thoughts. He shakes his head again before realizing she can’t see him.
“Not really, I’ve tried here and there. Me and Sap- Nick made Clay breakfast for his birthday…” he grimaces remembering, “we burnt the toast.”
Nancy turns to George with a cheeky smile, shaking her head fondly at him.
“Let me guess, Clay does all of the cooking?” He nods, bashful. “What will you do when you have kids?”
George freezes, the muscles in his shoulder seizing. Nancy swings round, eyes wide as if she’s shocked by her own words.
“Oh George, I’m so sorry I didn't mean to say that out loud, you must think I’m so pushy!” Another similarity between her and her son, they have no filter to their thoughts.
George laughs, forcing his body to relax and reminding himself he doesn’t need to be scared to want anymore. He used to be petrified to think of marriage and kids, but he knows now he will get to have that, with Dream, and he doesn’t need to be scared anymore.
“No- Nancy it’s okay,” he sees the weight of worry lift from her shoulders, “I guess I just need to learn to cook before then…”
Nancy offers George another sunshine smile, before a thought appears. He can see it on her face the same way he can see it on Dream’s when he gets a brainwave.
“What?” he asks, smiling at the familiar expression.
The thought overwhelms her, she flies around her kitchen in a buzz. Turning the applesauce down to a lower heat on a smaller burner, and scurrying to her fridge. She pulls out chicken, milk, butter, celery, onions and carrots; before running to her cupboard for flour and seasonings. George can see the way she builds her own excitement at the idea in the same way Dream will before he starts on a new video.
“Well, why don’t we start now?” she asks, smiling at the neatly laid out ingredients. It’s impossible for George to not absorb her excitement, her joy at sharing this moment with him. He stands from the breakfast bar to wash his hands, once clean he turns to face her, hands in the air like a scrubbed surgeon.
“Right,” he laughs, face jokingly serious, “where do we begin?”
Before long the family kitchen is filled with the comforting scent of sautéed vegetables and buttery pastry. George has a bandage around his right index finger, his clothes are covered in flour and god knows what else. Two large pies sit on the counter ready to go into the oven, egg wash glistening and golden on the top.
Dream and Sapnap come piling in through the front door then, sweaty and a little muddy from whatever activity they occupied themselves with today.
“Mom?” echoes through the home, Dream’s voice dropping to his sweet mama’s boy tone.
“In the kitchen,” she shouts back, though Dream and Sapnap are already through the threshold, “hi, boys.”
“It smells fu-” Sapnap pauses, corrects, “freaking incredible in here, Nancy,”
Sapnap has an air of comfort around Dream’s mum that George hasn’t quite got yet, like he’s one of her own children. He crosses the kitchen to give her a familial hug and she wrinkles her nose at the smell of him.
“ You,” she teases, “however, do not smell incredible.”
She slaps him on the shoulder, a playful shove in the direction of a bathroom. “Go shower, Nick, I don’t want you traipsing that muck and stench into your lovely new home.”
Dream is leaning against the door jamb as Sapnap shuffles through, at ease and as at home here as he is at the Dream Team house.
“You too, Clay, I think I can smell you from here.” His mother smiles, adoring as always. She leaves the kitchen, mumbling something about fetching Dream some fresh towels.
Dream surveys the room, observing the pies on the kitchen counter and the state of George, “What’ve you been doing?”
“Cooking,” George responds proudly, “and not burning your mum’s kitchen to the ground.”
Dream’s eyes are drawn to the dressing on his finger, “you cut yourself?”
He crosses the room to take George’s injured hand in his, twisting it to assess the damage as though he can even see anything through the bandage.
“Just a little bit, onions are slippery…”
George tucks himself into Dream’s side, self-indulgently getting close to the smell of sweat and dirt. It does something to him, sue him.
“Did you and Stinknap have fun?” Inhaling the musk of Dream and stale perspiration makes George’s stomach swoop.
“Mhmm, yeah it was good,” Dream sounds distracted, the audible gurgle of his stomach lets George know why, “how was today with Mom?”
“Yeah- good, nice. She was talking about us having kids…” George laughs, but he feels the minuscule tightening of Dream’s muscles, “don’t worry, I’m not panicking. You don’t panic.”
His muscles relax against George, “Sorry, I know stuff like that freaks you out. I know she can be… a lot .”
“Hmm, I wonder who else I know that can be like that?” George pokes into Dream’s side till he swats his hand away and wriggles from George’s grasp.
“That was… before,” George continues, “I’m not so scared anymore, I’m not running away, Dream.”
“No,” Dream agrees, “no I know that.”
They share a look, a look that before they got together would have sent George fleeing. The look screams we are in love and will be together forever.
Nancy comes back in with a towel for Dream and he slips off into another bathroom to shower away muck and sweat, and if they were in the safety of their own home George would trail behind, clinging to the last moments of Dream’s stink. Instead George and Nancy clean up the kitchen (and himself), and wrap one of the pot pies up in foil for the boys to cook at home. All of it feels so beautifully domestic and George never imagined himself the caretaker househusband type, but he is so excited to cook the pie later for Sapnap and Dream.
Sapnap comes back from his shower first, hair wet and flat to his head, forgoing his hat and tucking it away in a plastic bag of dirty clothes. He jokes that George’s food will poison them all and Nancy clips him around the ear for it.
George settles at the breakfast bar again while Sapnap and Nancy catch up, talking about what he and Dream did today and once again, George couldn’t care less what they do with their brother bonding time.
Dream comes back from his shower shortly after, hair completely brown with water and curling perfectly over his forehead and around his ears. He shakes his head like a wet dog before flopping himself down onto George’s shoulder. He can feel the way Dream’s hair wets his shirt, cold and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
“You ready to go, babe?” His voice is smooth like velvet in George’s ear, in a way that would usually have him a bumbling, blushing mess. But instead he shrugs Dream off his shoulder, scowling at him though he’s not truly angry.
“Babe?” he asks, the word sits toxic on his tongue like bile, watching Dream’s face flicker from contentment, confusion, before finally flicking to realization.
“Shit.” If Dream were a dog right now, he would be standing with his tail between his legs, eyes guilty like he’s crapped on the rug.
George clambers down from the stool, walking over to Dream’s mum and Sapnap.
“I think we are going now, but thanks Nancy- for today.” She opens her arms, pulling George in for a hug. He isn’t used to this yet, casual intimacy, his family never were ones for hugs.
“Anytime, George, even if these two aren’t busy. You’re welcome here whenever, okay? We are family now!”
George nods into her shoulder, noting how she smells like home to him now. He turns away from the affection, eyes stinging as he holds back how overwhelmed with her love he is, her acceptance.
George grabs the pot pie meant for the three of them and trundles out the door, Sapnap and Dream saying their goodbyes before following.
“Shotgun!” George shouts to the boys behind him, standing at the passenger door of Sapnap’s Tesla with his pie held securely in his arms.
“Oh come on,” Dream grumbles, “you know there’s no room for my legs in the back seat.”
George turns to his boyfriend, smiling with pure menace, “Any askers?” and then, because he is truly a little bitch. “Come on babe , let’s go home.”
Dream looks to the sky exasperated, perhaps looking for answers on how to find a less petty boyfriend, George muses. He slides into the passenger seat, satisfied with himself while Dream squeezes into the back with his knees crushed against the back of the seat. Sapnap slips in behind the wheel, shooting George a look.
“I hate when you two bicker, I feel like I’m back in my parents divorce. Just pick a pet name for him and be done please, I beg.”
“If he wasn’t such a nimrod using cringy nicknames, we wouldn’t bicker,” George shrugs, looking in the rear view mirror at Dream’s frustrated smile, he shakes his head fondly as George smiles back at him.
Back home the pie goes in the oven, and Dream steams some vegetables on the stove. George watches proudly as they all devour something he cooked. Sapnap begrudgingly admits it was delicious while simultaneously insisting it’s because Nancy cooked most of it and really George can’t argue, but he says he will make it himself next time and prove him wrong.
-
Sapnap is out of town and to Dream and George that means one thing:
Making out on the living room couch like horny teenagers.
Sue them, they’re young. They spent most of their teen lives behind a desk on Minecraft, their early twenties locked inside during a global pandemic or four thousand odd miles away from the person they want to make out on a couch with. They’re just making up for lost time.
George straddles Dream’s lap, pressed impossibly close. Nothing about the kiss is rushed, after all, they have all the time in the world. George kisses him slowly, focusing on the feeling of Dream’s bottom lip between his own, the gentle scrape of slightly chapped skin and hot shuddering breaths that escape whenever George pulls back for air.
They’re both hard, but neither feel the need to address that just yet, other than barely there friction when George grinds down onto Dream’s lap. They’ve been here for hours now, unhurried while they touch and kiss. Dream’s hair is in disarray, completely disheveled and frizzy from George’s hands, his voice is hoarse with disuse and soft moaning from the back of his throat.
With a particularly hard roll of George’s hips, Dream moans unbridled against him.
“George,” he says just because he can, just because he needs to.
“Hmm?” George is lost in the moment, words left them so long ago he doesn’t even think he could form them now.
George kisses down as Dream tries to talk, “Should we move?”
Nimble hands find their way under Dream’s sweatshirt, cold palms pressed against the jutt of his soft belly.
“Why?” George asks, his teeth grazing Dream’s corotid as he talks.
“I- uh-” Reason and logic and thought seemingly leave Dream with another roll of George’s hips. Pink lips press forcefully against pale skin as George practically devours his boyfriend.
“Why can’t we stay here?” he murmurs into heated flesh, kissing the particularly prominent freckle on Dream’s neck, “why can’t you fuck me here?”
George pulls back, his shirt coming off and over his head, leaving a debauched display of pale skin, flushed with arousal so that his chest practically glows with his desire.
“We need lube,” Dream reasons, but even logic cannot hold him back from his hands mapping George’s flesh, exploring familiar dips and grooves of bone and muscle.
George unceremoniously rips himself from Dream’s grasp, petulant, “Go get lube then.”
George’s hands find their way to his waistband, pulling his sweats down to reveal no boxers confining him. He’s already hard, as they both knew, and flushed red with want, tantalizing as he rolls his foreskin to reveal the slick head of his cock.
Dream moves frantically, like someone running from fire, like someone desperate. George supposes he is. He’s gone in a flash, up the stairs and towards the bedroom where George knows the lube will be. Heavy footsteps let him know when Dream returns, bounding and leaping towards the sofa as best as he can with the awkwardness of moving with a boner.
Dream hands George the lube, a smile on his face, pleased with himself.
“Boy,” George laughs, uncapping it to pour a generous amount to his own hand, “fetch.”
Without thinking, Dream tilts his head like a confused puppy, and George cannot help the fond giggle that passes his lips.
“Do you want to top?” George asks, because he’s never sure where it will go when Dream is so obedient like this. His boyfriend nods all the same, removing his own clothes and taking his seat back on the couch.
George returns to his lap, hissing at the minute sensation of his cock brushing against Dream’s. With a slick hand he moves to his own hole.
“Watch me,” he demands, eyes dark and intense as his first finger breaches the rim.
George opens himself up on skilled fingers, so attuned to his body and so desperate for pleasure. Dream sits below him, wanting, waiting, writhing untouched while George enjoys himself. Each moan from George’s lips causes a twitch of Dream’s cock, every twist of a finger inside George results in a fresh bead of precum to bubble and slide down Dream’s shaft. By the time George deems himself suitably prepped, the man below him is a mess. Fidgety and frustrated, his hands hold onto George’s hips with bruising passion.
“Slick yourself up for me,” George requests, still pumping his own fingers in and out of himself, careful to avoid his prostate. Neither of them need to cum any time soon. There’s no hurry.
Dream reaches blindly for the lube, his eyes leaving George to fix upon his neck and chest, littering it with harsh kisses and delicate bites. His shaky hands uncap the bottle, pouring lube out into his palm before wrapping around his cock. He jolts beneath George at the cold liquid, groaning as he finally gets friction.
George removes his fingers, lifting himself in Dream’s lap while one hand grips strongly onto Dream’s shoulder, and the other reaches beneath himself to guide Dream to his hole. The wet head of Dream’s cock smears across the muscle before George opens up for him, the tip sinking into tight heat.
“God-” George huffs, breathing hot against the side of Dream’s face as he tries to hold himself up, “I forgot how much you are.”
Dream’s hands wrap around George, palms splayed against the sweaty skin of his back, “I’ve got you.”
George sinks down further, a stuttering breath leaving both of them as they are swallowed by the overwhelming feelings of pleasure.
“That’s it, love.” Dream praises.
The pet name slips out, and George moans, dropping down completely till he’s sat back against Dream’s thighs again. His head snaps up to look Dream in the eye, his own pupils blown and mouth parted in shock and arousal and-
Love
George surges forward, capturing Dream’s lips with his own. The kiss is rough, so much more forceful than either of them have been all night, and George makes tiny circles with his hips, grinding down on Dream’s cock inside him.
When he pulls away, he demands, “Call me that again.”
Dream is so lost in the feeling, his lips finding any piece of skin they can. “Hmm?” he murmurs, distracted.
“Call me that again, Dream.”
“Call you what?” Dream asks, gasping as George lifts himself almost all the way off, till just the head of Dream’s cock is still inside him.
“Love?” Dream asks, and George moans again, nodding frantically and sliding back down on Dream, grinding forward when he’s once again fully sheathed.
“You like that one?” Dream wants to be sure, George can hear the surprise, the hesitation, buried deep under his arousal, but George can hear it. He’s always been so attuned to the tiniest changes in Dream’s voice and tone.
“Yeah, I really like that one.” George glides up again, starting to properly ride Dream, his arms wrapped around Dream’s shoulders to pull him close.
Dream laughs, out of place for the moment if it wasn’t so breathless with astonishment, and if it didn’t cut off into a moan as George slams himself down on his cock.
“We found a pet name,” he breathes, incredulous.
Dream pulls George in for another kiss, it’s sloppy and messy, and they can barely keep connected with how George is bouncing on him, but it’s so hot and right and they’re so turned on. George’s thighs tremble with the effort of holding himself up. Dream grabs onto the fat of his ass, under where it meets his thighs, and begins aiding his movements, thrusting up gently each time George moves down.
“That’s it love, so good for me,” and George moans again, burying his face in Dream’s neck.
George can feel the wetness in his eyes, the tremble of his lips, the scorching heat of Dream’s cock against his walls, adoring hands on his skin. A wrecked sob sticks in his throat and he doesn’t know where that came from. George doesn’t cry during sex, he doesn’t.
George clenches around Dream, listening for his gasp, trying to regain control. He can tell when he’s failed, when Dream can feel the wetness against his neck.
“George,” one of his hands moves to cradle George’s face, pulling him from his neck to look at George, “what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
George shakes his head fervently, “No, no.”
Even now with tears in his eyes and his whole body shaking, he still rolls his hips mindlessly, his cock drooling and smearing precum against Dream’s chest.
“It just feels so good, I love you,” George sniffles, reaching to cup Dream’s face in his hand, stubble scratchy against his palm.
“I love you,” Dream replies, his thumb stroking soothing stripes against George’s face before pulling him forward for another kiss. Slow and sweet, the rhythmic press of their mouths while George keeps grinding on Dream’s cock.
Dream adjusts his hips, and finally hits George’s prostate with the head of his cock. George gasps, his thighs squeezing against Dream’s when he jumps forward.
“I’ve got you love, come on.” Words of encouragement fall on deaf ears for George, he’s blinded by pleasure and overwhelmed by how much he loves the pet name, all he can do is whimper and dumbly grind Dream’s dick against his prostate.
“C’mon, George, lie down for me.” Dream lifts George from his lap, causing an involuntary whine as stimulation is ripped from his grasp. He’s manhandled to lie against the couch, his back itching with the feeling of the fabric against cooling sweat.
“Okay?” Dream checks in, his own face flushed and bronze curls clinging to his neck and forehead.
“‘M okay, keep going please, I need you.” George thinks he’s never sounded so ruined, so desperate.
“Kiss me please,” he asks. Dream complies.
Dream pushes back in while their lips meet, he bites George’s bottom lip as they moan, pulling it into his mouth and sucking slightly. When he withdraws and the lip snaps back against George’s teeth it’s puffy and red, shining with spit.
Dream sets a gentle, steady rhythm, but even so George is ruined beneath him.
“That’s it love, so gorgeous.” Dream praises, using the pet name as a cheat code to get George to moan into his mouth. Their foreheads are pressed together, noses bumping, sharing a small pocket of hot breath as it passes between their lips. They hardly kiss anymore, just the occasional brush of lips as Dream thrusts into George.
George’s cock lies against his stomach, bobbing with each thrust and drooling profusely. Dream finds his prostate again with skilled ease, leaving George writhing every time he chooses to hit that spot again, but he doesn’t abuse it, he’s patient and is taking his time. They both stay in a stasis of pleasure, suspended in the moment with no need to move forward, escalate, finish.
Even in the intensity of the moment they love each other so tenderly, Dream cradles George’s face, George’s fingernails glide down Dream’s spine in worship, drawing goosebumps and shivers from the man above him. Every slow roll of Dream’s hips have George lifting up to meet him, they move in perfect synchrony as they stroll leisurely to their climaxes.
Eventually, though, everything builds to its crescendo. Dream’s hips begin to stutter and he targets George’s prostate, working to have them finish together. George’s voice is high and airy, little desperate moans while silent tears track down his temples, his cock red and twitching at every shock to his nerves.
“ Dream -“
“It’s alright love, cum for me.” George reaches between them, grasping his own cock and tugging with quick and shallow movements. After a few short strokes his back is arching from the couch and George is cumming, white ribbons shoot all the way to his collarbones. He clenches around Dream and pulls him down into ecstasy with him, like two people strapped together jumping from a plane. Dream’s face is beautiful when he cums, his eyebrows scrunching and face impossibly blushed all the way down his neck and chest, perfect white teeth clamping down into a plush bottom lip as he rides it out.
“Wow,” George pants, staring at the way Dream’s arms shake as he holds himself up, not wanting to collapse into the mess George has made on himself.
Dream doesn’t talk, simply regaining breath and nodding, before a puzzled look drops to his face. It’s a face George recognises, a face of staring at a piece of broken code or a new cancel thread on Twitter. It’s not a face he’s seen while Dream is still inside him.
“What?” he asks, starting to feel insecure. He cried, had possibly one of the best orgasms of his life, and now Dream is looking away from him, face scrunched like he has to solve a problem, confront an issue. He begins to descend into panic, and Dream must sense it as his eyes refocus on George, smiling in embarrassment.
“I’m just trying to figure out how we don’t get cum on the couch.”
Every muscle in George’s body relaxes, breaking out into ridiculous laughter. Dream joins him, shaking his head fondly.
“Fuck the couch,” George replies, pushing Dream softly on the shoulder to get him to pull out and away.
“ George,” Dream smiles, looking scandalaised, “I just fucked you, I don’t know if I could go for another round with the couch right now…”
“You’re an idiot.”
George wastes no time scrambling from the couch, successfully managing to get a minimal amount of Dream’s release on the fabric. Settling for the mildly uncomfortable feeling of Dream’s cum dripping down his inner thigh instead. As awful as it feels, he likes it in a possessive, owned way that would only be arousing with Dream.
Dream watches, pupils still blown wide as translucent liquid slides down milky thighs, George smirks at Dream’s soft cock giving a weak twitch at the sight.
George walks to the bathroom, whole body exhausted, filling the sink with hot soapy water and dumping a washcloth into it. Dream joins him shortly after, presumably after cleaning the couch, and takes the cloth from George’s grasp, dropping to his knees behind him. If George wasn’t so spent, the sight alone of Dream disappearing behind him in the reflection of the bathroom mirror would have him hard again.
With gentle care Dream cleans the streaks of cum from George’s legs, before grabbing him by the hips and manhandling George to face him. Dream is careful with the cloth, thorough as he cleans George down, whispering soft apologies as he touches sensitive flesh.
“Do you think the pet name is just a sex thing?” Dream asks. He sounds hopeful, almost, but braced for disappointment.
George shrugs, “I don’t know…”
Dream stands, quickly wiping himself down before taking George’s hand in his.
“Come on love, let's go to bed.” He tugs at George’s hand, guiding them both up the stairs and into the bedroom. George wants to argue that it’s only eight in the evening and it’s far too early to go to bed. But George has never been one to deprive himself of a plush mattress and comfortable sheets, and he’s also too busy flushing rouge at the pet name.
“God damn it,” he mutters under his breath, sagging into the pillows and pulling the duvet up to his chin.
“What?” Dream curls into the bed beside him.
“It’s not just a sex thing. I really like that pet name. Fuck.” George sighs, defeated because Dream got his own way. In the end, Dream always gets his own way.
His boyfriend beams at him from across the mattress, flinging his arms up in celebration.
“Let’s go!”