Archive of Our Own

The streets of London are bathed in sunlight that cuts through the cold air as Dream walks, not knowing where he’s going or what he’s looking for. The trip had been planned with his boyfriend; when he’d planned it, Dream had pictured them here together. But, two weeks before their flight was set to depart, they’d finally ended things. His ex had left, and Dream had come here. To London. Alone.

A single snowflake falls in front of his face as he’s passing a small park, and he watches it flutter to the ground and melt into the pavement, disappearing completely. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the frustrated huffs of busy people skirting around him. 

His ex would have tugged him aside by now, told him to stop being selfish. But Dream feels like he deserves this: a little piece of sidewalk in London, a place to plant his feet and stay.

They’d been mated. It was supposed to be a forever kind of thing, but not even something like a mating bite can override the startling realization of two people discovering that they’re actually not compatible. Not at all. They never were.

Rose-colored glasses, or whatever. The honeymoon phase. He’s never been more wrong about a person.

But that’s over now, and there’s no use wallowing in sadness over the end of a relationship he didn’t even want anymore. They were good. Then they weren’t. Now they’re nothing at all.

And the earth keeps spinning.

Dream finally moves aside, forfeiting his small piece of sidewalk to the rush of the city’s foot traffic. He checks his phone out of habit, like he’s hoping for a text or a call or a notification of some sort, but nothing comes. Another snowflake falls, and it, too, disappears. He stares at the spot where it once was, not even a mark left behind to show that it had once existed. 

He gives himself a moment to stand and stare, neither happy nor sad, and then he keeps moving, blending into the crowd.

And the earth keeps spinning.

–

Dream ends up on a step in front of the National Gallery, eating a sandwich from a small deli with a huge line. The sandwich is good– well worth the wait– and the view is beautiful from where he’s sat, looking straight at the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the Square. Beyond the tree is a large column with four giant lions sculpted out of bronze at each corner. To his right, some kids are throwing pennies into a fountain. To his left is–

A man. He’s far enough away that Dream isn’t annoyed by his presence, but he’s close enough that Dream can see the stubble dotting his chin. There’s no scent, so he’s either a Beta or he uses scent blockers; either way, it wouldn’t surprise Dream. Most people use some kind of scent blockers these days. Dream does it, as well, just to avoid trouble.

The man is eating, too, swirling noodles around a pair of chopsticks with ease. As Dream is studying him, he looks up, his dark brown eyes meeting Dream’s. With an awkward smile, Dream nods his head in a lame greeting and looks away, staring out toward the road.

But he can still feel the man’s eyes on him. After a few seconds of waiting to see if he’ll look away, Dream glances up again. As soon as he does, the man averts his eyes like he’s been caught. 

Dream, never one to shy away from chatting up a stranger, takes a deep breath and slides over, closing most of the space between them. 

“Hi, I’m Dream,” he says, holding out his right hand, his half-eaten sandwich in his left.

George looks surprised as he looks up, hand reaching to shake Dream’s. “I’m George,” he says. “Sorry if I was staring, I–”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Dream interrupts, waving him off. “I did it first. Just kind of zoned out.”

“No,” George says, then furrows his brow, shaking his head. “I mean, yeah, kind of. But, no, you look like someone I know. Like, a friend of a friend.”

“Oh yeah?” Dream asks and then smirks. “Handsome guy?”

He takes a bite of his sandwich, glad when George laughs, scooping the tips of his chopsticks back into his noodles. “Eh,” he answers, eyes flicking up to flash him a devilish smile. “Mid at best.”

“Ouch,” Dream says, mouth full, clutching his chest. He waits until he’s swallowed to say, “I guess to someone like you, I would be mid.”

“Someone like me?” George asks. 

In a city full of people with the same accent, George’s alone sounds cute. “Yeah,” Dream says, rolling his eyes and looking away. “Like, what are you, a model?”

Next to him, George coughs, choking on his food. “A model? You’re not serious, right?”

“Aren’t you?” Dream asks. He’s smiling. He hasn’t smiled much lately; it feels strange, like his muscles have forgotten how to do it.

“You’re an idiot,” George tells him. It should sound abrasive, coming from a stranger, but it doesn’t. It sounds like an old friend giving him a hard time. “Are all Americans idiots? Or are you special?”

“Fuck off,” Dream laughs. “I can’t help that you look like it.”

George doesn’t say anything to that, just shakes his head and twirls another bite of perfectly-wound noodles into his mouth. The sun is still out, fighting away the cold enough that he doesn’t need a coat. He’s wearing a hoodie, though, protecting him against the December chill that sweeps through every once in a while.

“So, what do you actually do?” he asks after a couple minutes, enjoying the conversation too much to let it end.

“I work in IT, like in-house support,” George answers. “And I do some coding on the side, but that hasn’t been the most lucrative, so my day job pays the bills.”

Dream nods. He takes the last bite of his sandwich and swallows it before saying, “Coding, that’s cool. Even if it’s not lucrative now, that doesn’t mean it won’t be someday.”

“You sound like my mum,” George tells him, smiling. “What about you? What do you do?”

Dream tells him about his boring office job, how he doesn’t love it, but it pays well. The truth is, his ex-boyfriend had guilted him into taking the job when his dad had told him about the opening in his office. An Alpha should provide for his Omega, he had said, pouting. He never wanted to fail him, but he’d always felt a bit like he was.

He doesn’t tell George any of that, though.

“You should do what you want to do,” George tells him. “Even if that means making sacrifices.”

Dream rests his elbow on his knee, chin on his hand, and he wonders if the end of his relationship means more than that. Maybe it’s a fresh start across the board, a chance to find out what kind of life he really wants to live. And maybe here in London, thousands of miles away from home, is the perfect place to do that.

–

When George has finished eating his lunch, he checks his phone and lets Dream know that he needs to head back to his office. Dream stands and offers to make the walk with him, glad when George accepts. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye quite yet. Exploring London alone has been good for him, but this hour or so of easy conversation has been a breath of fresh air. 

There’s also just something about this guy. 

They’re leisurely walking north away from Trafalgar Square, talking about everything Dream has done so far on his visit and everything he still needs to do, when a man bumps into George hard enough to make him stumble, and Dream smells it.

Alpha.

Without thinking, he wraps his arms around George and bares his teeth at the man, ready to fight. The man stops to growl back at him, hands turning to fists at his side, and Dream is half a second away from lunging at him when he feels George’s gentle hand pulling at his arm.

“Dream,” he says sharply, with authority in his tone. “Come on.”

He tugs at Dream’s arm, pulling him away from the confrontation, and Dream only relents because he doesn’t want to cause a scene and embarrass George. He keeps his eyes on the other Alpha to make sure he’s also leaving, only turning away once he’s practically out of sight. Then, he pulls George off to the side of the sidewalk, standing huddled together next to a shop door. 

“You okay?” he asks, looking him over, even though rationally he knows that the bump wouldn’t have hurt him in any real way.

“I’m fine,” George says, shaking his head. “Are you okay?” 

Dream hasn’t felt this way in a while and never for a total stranger. His heart is still racing as he scans his eyes over porcelain skin, making sure he’s not lying, that he really is okay.

“I’m sorry,” he answers when he’s satisfied with his full-body scan. “I don’t– I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“You don’t?” George asks, tilting his head, curious. 

“I mean, I do,” he tries to explain. “But, like, I also don’t. I don’t usually go all crazy Alpha over strange men.”

George looks at him, thoughtful, chewing on his lip. And then he asks a question that Dream hadn’t even thought to ask himself. “Is it the stranger part or the fact that I’m a man?”

He splutters, not prepared to answer. “What– what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on, Dream,” George says, rolling his eyes. Up this close, Dream can see the curl of his eyelashes, the shadow they cast high on his cheekbones. “You give off straight vibes, but you do this thing where you look at my lips when I’m talking so I’m having a hard time getting a read on you.”

Dream’s cheeks flush red hot at being called out, but he can’t help it. He lets his eyes drift down to the lips he hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at. 

“I give off straight vibes?” he asks, his voice coming out quieter than before.

George nods. “Maybe it’s the American football hoodie or the baggy jeans or maybe it’s just–”

Dream kisses him. He doesn’t think, doesn’t plan for it; he just leans in and presses a simple kiss to George’s lips, rendering him silent. Pulling back after just a second, he’s not sure what kind of reaction he expects, but he finds George stunned, a hint of a smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“Okay,” he says after a moment, eyes still wide in surprise. “Okay, so it was probably just the hoodie then.”

Dream chuckles and drops his head, cheeks still warm with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “You’re an idiot,” he says, echoing George’s earlier words, “but you’re a pretty cute idiot.”

George tries to tamp down his smile, but it’s too late. His eyes are sparkling with it. “I seriously have to get back to work, but do you, like, want my number? Maybe we can hang out again before you leave?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Dream answers, pulling out his phone. He opens a new contact and types George’s name in, then hands it over for George to put in his number. 

George types in a few numbers before hesitating, thumbs going still. Looking up, he looks almost nervous when he asks, “You know I’m not an Omega, right?”

Dream frowns at the question. “Um, well, I guess I didn’t know that for sure,” he answers. “But that’s not a problem, if that’s what you mean.”

“A lot of guys–” George starts, then shakes his head, focusing back on Dream’s phone and finishing typing out his phone number. 

“‘A lot of guys’ what?” Dream pushes, curious.

George forces out a laugh that doesn’t sound as genuine as his others over the past hour or so. “Like, Alpha guys. They’re into the whole Omega thing. And sometimes they assume that’s what I am, just using scent blockers, and then they’re disappointed when they find out I’m actually a Beta. So, it’s better to just say it up front sometimes.”

He hands Dream’s phone back, his phone number filled in with the +44 at the beginning, a reminder that they live in different countries. He doesn’t know what this is, but he knows what it’s not: it’s not long-term. 

Then again, what really is?

When they get to George’s office, they say goodbye with a promise that they’ll text later to figure out what to do. Dream doesn’t kiss him again, not wanting to push his luck, but he grazes his knuckles over George’s arm as they separate and the touch alone feels electric.

Dream doesn’t need an Omega. He just needs that, whatever that electric feeling is.

–

The place George chooses is a small, unassuming French restaurant with no more than a dozen tables, all glowing under warm lamplight. Dream arrives early, unsure what kind of commute it would be, but it’s a straight shot on the tube from St. Pancras to Leicester Square and the restaurant ends up being only a couple blocks from the tube station. So he arrives with a few minutes to kill, and he leans against the brick building to wait.

When their meeting time comes and goes, he starts to panic, thinking that maybe George has changed his mind. Maybe he hadn’t been into Dream after all. Or maybe, even worse, he had been into him until Dream had acted like a big, dumb Alpha and gotten protective. Maybe that had put him off.

In truth, Dream has never dated a Beta. But that’s only because he’s never dated anyone but his ex. There were a couple of girls in school that he went on singular dates with, but none of them turned into relationships. It doesn’t matter to him though; he’d meant it when he told George that he didn’t mind. He remembers the first boy he ever had a crush on, another Alpha. It hadn’t been mutual, so nothing ever happened, but Dream has never felt limited by gender– either gender. 

He thinks maybe that’s in part because his parents raised him that way. They’re both Betas, so they hadn’t passed down any Alpha superiority bullshit and they hadn’t ever told Dream who he could love. They’d told him about his biology, of course– there’d been a whole class on it in middle school, but none of the information they taught was based on societal boundaries. It was all based on scientific fact.

“Dream?” a voice says, sounding fuzzy but breaking through Dream’s thoughts anyway. It’s George, standing beside him, hands in his pockets and head tilted. “Earth to Dream?”

Dream lets the fog of thoughts clear and he smiles, shaking his head. “Sorry about that, I was somewhere else. Hi, George.”

He steps forward to hug him, glad when the gesture isn’t refused. While they’re hugging, Dream ducks his head to smell him. There’s none of that signature Omega smell, heady and intoxicating, but it’s almost better like this. Dream still feels like himself, not reduced to the animal inside him. George smells light and fresh; it’s delightful, honestly.

“Stop smelling me, you big, dumb Alpha,” George mumbles with enough lightness in his tone that Dream doesn’t have to worry he’s being serious. 

“You smell nice,” Dream defends, and he takes another exaggerated whiff of him before letting go, smiling down at his face.

George rolls his eyes and he turns to walk into the restaurant before stopping, hesitating, turning back to Dream. And then, after what seems like an internal war that Dream isn’t privy to, George pushes himself up on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to the corner of Dream’s mouth. Before he can pull away, Dream seizes him by the arm, holding him there.

“You missed,” he breathes, and he tilts his head to press their mouths together in a soft, quick kiss.

The electricity is still very much there, attraction sparking between them like a live wire. He can practically feel it, the physical heat of it everywhere they touch. 

“That’s enough,” George tells him, drawing away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes gleaming. “You’re a literal stranger, stop kissing me.”

“You kissed me that time,” Dream points out, but he drops it when George opens the door of the restaurant and instead follows him inside.

They’re sat at a small circular table near the back, tucked away in a corner. Their knees nearly touch underneath it, but Dream is not complaining.

“I didn’t know what kind of food you like and this place has a pretty good variety,” George says as he picks up his menu. “And it’s good food. And not insanely overpriced, unlike most places around here. So hopefully you like it.”

Dream reaches a hand under the table and finds George’s knee bouncing. He settles his fingers on it, hoping to soothe any nerves that are bubbling up. “It’s nice,” he says when George glances up, meeting his eyes over his menu. “I’m not picky. It’ll be perfect.”

What he means is: I’m not here for the food.

George studies him for a long moment before setting his menu down on the table and folding his hands. “This isn’t something I do,” he says. “Like, I don’t just meet random guys at Trafalgar Square and immediately start kissing them. And letting them touch my knee under the table like we’re– like we’re boyfriends or something.”

Dream pulls his hand away, sheepish, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, I–”

“I didn’t say stop,” George cuts in. “That’s the point. Like, if you were any other guy, I’d push you away. I’d tell you to stop. I’m not exactly shy.”

Dream hesitates, trying to keep up. He doesn’t dare return his hand yet, still trying to understand what it is that George is saying. “Okay,” he encourages.

The server comes to their table as George is starting to open his mouth again. With their drink orders given, sparkling water for both of them, the server turns away and Dream waits for George to finish his thought. He struggles for a moment, trying to find his way back to where he’d left off, but finally he gets there and nods, speaking again. 

“Right, so, I just wanted to say that this isn’t a normal thing. And, like, I’m curious if it is for you? Do you– does this happen to you?”

Dream can only laugh, wiping his hands over his face. “Does this happen to me?” he repeats, muttering the words, because the only answer to that question gives away so much more information than he really wants to divulge before they’ve even ordered their food.

It’s not that he feels any need to hide it; it’s just a lot to explain right up front. But maybe George had been right earlier. Maybe laying it all out on the table before anything happens is the best way to handle it. No secrets. No surprises.

“I started dating my ex when I was eighteen,” he says, hoping that none of this scares George away. “I dated him up until two weeks ago. We– we were mated and everything. So, no, this–” he gestures between the two of them– “this doesn’t happen to me.”

“Oh fuck,” George says right as the server returns with their bottles of Pellegrino. Her eyes go wide at George’s curse, but she doesn’t comment on it, asking if they’re ready to order. 

Dream does a quick scan of the menu that he hasn’t even looked at, picking the first thing that looks decent to him, a sirloin steak, while George orders chicken. When their server leaves again, Dream looks across the small table, unsure what he’s seeing in George’s eyes. He takes a deep breath and, instead of touching George’s knee again, he rests his arm on the table, his knuckles bumping up against George’s, waiting for him to speak again. 

George’s fingers twitch, rubbing against Dream’s. “That’s really recent,” he says, almost cringing. “Are you, like, okay? I mean, I’m sure you’re not great, but–”

“I am, though,” Dream tells him. “Well, maybe ‘great’ is overselling it. But, I’m good. It honestly– it’s been over for a while. We just hadn’t acknowledged that yet.”

George nods, processing the information. “And you were mated. So he was an Omega.”

“He was,” Dream answers. “Well, he is. He’s not dead.” 

He laughs lightly to make sure George knows that this is something they can laugh about. Yeah, it’s been an adjustment. And it is still very recent. But it had been a long time coming and Dream knows that he’s better off now. 

“How old are you?” George asks then. Two of his fingers slot between two of Dream’s, not quite holding on but curling around them and resting together. 

“I’m twenty-three,” Dream answers. “What about you?”

“Twenty-six,” George tells him and then smirks, asking, “Is that too old for you?”

Dream laughs and replies, “Definitely not. Especially when you don’t act any older than me.”

“Whatever,” George huffs, “I am the pinnacle of maturity.”

“No, you’re an idiot,” Dream argues, then bites his lip, smiling across the table. “A very cute idiot. That’s what you are.”

George smiles, ducking his head to try to hide it, and Dream doesn’t push. He takes a sip of his water with one hand, the other still tangled with George’s, basking in the surreality of the moment. He wonders if he had come to London with Tucker, if they’d been sitting together on that step in front of the National Gallery, if George had sat down next to them… would he still have felt this magnetism? This electricity? The predestiny of it all?

Or did it have to happen like this? Maybe George had to be the rising sun after a long, dark night.

George looks up, a cloud of concern in his eyes. “I’ve never really done relationships. And you just got out of a five year relationship. I just can’t really imagine that. Like, is this a bad idea? Maybe we shouldn’t–”

“George,” Dream says, loving how it feels to say his name. Like it belongs in his mouth, like he’s said it a thousand times before. “I’m here for four more days. Maybe none of that stuff matters.”

George stills, eyes wide and thoughtful, and Dream would take a picture if he didn’t think it would creep him out.

“Maybe we can just enjoy each other’s company,” Dream goes on. He picks up George’s hand, bringing it to his mouth, and he kisses the ridge of his knuckles. “Would that be okay?”

A new smile blooms slowly on George’s face, a flower opening to the sun. “Didn’t I tell you to stop kissing me?”

Putting on his best pout, Dream asks, “Do I have to?”

To his relief, George rolls his eyes and says, “Fine, you can kiss me. If you have to.”

So Dream does, right there in the restaurant, pulling George to meet him above the table. He kisses him once, and then twice, and then he finally lets go, feeling drunk on it. It’s still not that feeling he gets when he’s with an Omega in heat; his inner Alpha isn’t taking over. It’s just happiness, just the thrill of meeting someone he clicks with so fucking well. 

And George, somehow, is right there with him. George is kissing him back, blushing under candlelight, holding his hand.

It’s new and it’s exciting and it’s just what Dream needed at this exact moment in time.

–

After dinner, they walk north, talking too much to discuss where it is they’re going. When they turn, they’re in Chinatown, shops and restaurants with names in what Dream assumes is Mandarin lining a bustling street. There are red lanterns strung in zigzag lines above the street. They pass more than one street performer, the transition from one to the other seamless, like they’ve spaced themselves out just enough to ensure they don’t impede on each other. 

Too soon, they’re back at Leicester Square and George comes to a stop under the familiar red circle marking the entrance to the station.

“You said you’re staying up by St. Pancras, right?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The temperature has dropped since they went into the restaurant, low enough that their breaths are starting to come out as clouds.

“Yeah,” Dream says, unsure how to go about asking him not to end their night here. 

George nods. “My flat is the other way.”

A group of loud, drunk college kids walks by and Dream instinctively puts himself between them and George, a hand wrapping around George’s bicep. Even though he isn’t an Omega and he doesn’t have that scent that completely sets off his Alpha, the fact is that Dream is still an Alpha. All the time. There’s no getting rid of that.

And George is not his. But in a weird way, just for tonight, he feels like he is.

“So,” Dream says, pressed close to George now, shielding him from the city life behind him. 

George looks up at him, twists his fingers into Dream’s sweatshirt, and pulls him even closer. “I want to ask you to come back to mine.”

“Then ask me,” Dream prods softly.

But George hesitates, worry seeping into his expression, taking him away like the distance between them is actually growing even though neither of them has moved. “I– I won’t fuck you,” he says, and then seems to rethink it. “I mean, I won’t bottom. I don’t– I don’t do that. So if that’s, like, a dealbreaker, you shouldn’t come back with me.”

Thoughts cycle through Dream quickly, surprise and curiosity and sadness– not sadness about what they can’t do, but sadness that George had even thought that might make Dream not want to come. Like that’s all Dream could want from him. Like, maybe, that’s all others have wanted from him in the past.

“I just want to spend more time with you,” Dream tells him, honest to the bone, “with or without clothes on.”

George peers back at him like he’s trying to catch a lie, trying to spot the cracks in his statement. But George can’t find any cracks if there aren’t any to find, so he pulls Dream down by the neck to kiss him again, right against the wall of the tube station.

This kiss lasts longer than the others as Dream parts his lips, moaning softly when George’s tongue dips just past them, brushing up against his own. But before the electricity can spark a fire right there on the street, they pull apart, breathless smiles mirrored.

“What kind of Alpha are you?” George asks in wonder, his thumb grazing Dream’s cheek.

It makes him feel full, feel proud. It makes him love his Alpha in a way he never has before. Not until right now, with George looking up at him in awe.

He doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he says, “Come on,” and leads George toward the door to the station.

–

George lives further south than Dream has been since arriving in London, out past all of the tourist sites and into the more residential areas. George tugs his arm when they get to the Clapham Common stop, leading him off the train and to the stairs leading up to the street. His flat is a five minute walk from there, above a yoga studio and a beauty salon. 

On the second of three floors, George lets them into a small one bedroom flat. It’s fairly neat, just a few pieces of clothing laying around. It looks very much like a single guy’s apartment, without any real decor. It’s nice, but it’s basic.

Not that Dream is paying much attention to the interior design.

“Here we are,” George says, dropping his keys on the ledge between the doorway and the small kitchen on the left. 

He takes his coat off, hanging it on a hook next to the door, and he kicks his shoes off, leaving them on the floor. Dream copies him, shrugging off his jacket and taking off his shoes, and then he doesn’t wait. He gets his hands on George, gently pushing him up against the wall, the words he’d said back at Leicester Square still ringing in his ears.

“Tell me if I go too far, okay?” he says, fingers gripping George’s sides, pressing into the soft flesh beneath his t-shirt. “I’m serious. If you just want to make out for a little bit and then tell me to leave, I’ll fucking take that happily.”

George’s head falls back against the wall. The raspberry pink of his lips is darker now from the cold and Dream wants to find out if they taste sweeter like this. 

“And if I want more than that?” he asks, looking up at Dream through his pretty long lashes. 

Dream’s grip tightens on George unconsciously just at the thought of it. “Even better,” he says, and closes the space between them, capturing George’s lips with his own.

There’s nothing stopping him this time. Despite the fact that they just met less than twelve hours ago, this is already their— fourth? fifth?— kiss. Until now, though, there have been limits on them. They’ve been in public. They’ve been getting to know each other.

Now, Dream kisses him hard and deep, parting his lips almost immediately to dart his tongue into George’s mouth, to taste him. He shudders when George’s tongue presses to his own, warm and wet, with a hint of sweetness from the chocolate cake they’d split after dinner. His hand slips under George’s shirt, not pushing too far, just needing to feel skin.

The way George arches his back against the wall, pressing himself flush to Dream’s body in response is beautifully sinful. Dream wants to devour him. 

He won’t though. He’ll let George lead.

They kiss until Dream’s mouth feels raw from it, until his mind is totally blank of thoughts, replaced by a pleasant buzz of static. It almost comes as a surprise when George pulls away, like Dream had forgotten that there was a time when he wasn’t kissing George. Blinking open his eyes, he looks at him, dazed, ready to follow.

“I have a bedroom,” George tells him, his breath choppy against Dream’s mouth. “Want to see it?”

Dream wants to play along, wants to laugh and make a coy little joke, but his brain feels like melted wax, like he’s waiting for it to solidify again. So he just says, “Yes,” because it’s all he can come up with.

George takes his hand and pulls him toward one of two doors to the right of the living room. The other is a bathroom, Dream can see as they pass it to walk into a small bedroom. Against the far wall is a full size bed. Next to it is a desk with a PC set up. And on the desk is—

“Oh my god,” he breathes, shaken from his daze by the little figurines set up under the double monitors. “You play Minecraft?”

“Are you about to make fun of me?” George asks. “Because I was going to suck your dick, but I don’t have to.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Dream starts, stopping abruptly when he realizes what George just said. “Wait, fuck, you are?”

“Like I said,” George says, raising an eyebrow, “I don’t have to. If you’d rather talk about how I play Minecraft.”

Dream shakes his head quickly, stepping close to George. “No, no, I was just excited because I do, too. But we can talk about that later.”

Dipping down to kiss George again, he nips at his bottom lip, smiling when it pulls a gasp from him. 

“Yeah, we can,” George breathes. As Dream’s hands find George’s waist again, settling into the dip of it on each of his sides, George’s hands find the waistband of his jeans. “Consent?”

Dream laughs softly at the straightforwardness of the question. “I consent,” he answers, and then slides one of his hands up to cup George’s jaw, tipping his face up to kiss him again. 

Nimble fingers flip open the button and lower his zipper, slipping under the denim to touch him through thin cotton. Dream groans at the contact, at the lack of hesitation in George’s movements, like he’s as eager as Dream is. He can’t possibly be, but it’s good to know he’s not totally alone in his desperation.

“You’re such a good kisser,” Dream tells him between presses of lips, a low growl in his voice. He often fights against his Alpha instincts in most areas of his life, not wanting that to be all he is, but it does slip out sometimes. Especially like this, with his dick getting hard in the hand of a pretty man.

“I am?” George asks back.

Dream moans again, softly, losing contact with George’s lips as his cock swells under George’s palm, sliding over his length. “Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and then gasps when George’s fingers wrap around him, still through his underwear, squeezing just right. “Fuck, George.”

“No fucking George,” George says. His name sounds like a song. Dream wants to play it on repeat in his head. “Fuck George’s mouth.”

Dream takes George’s face in both of his hands and surges in for another kiss, their tongues flicking together between their open mouths. Dream doesn’t bother to reiterate that he’ll take whatever George wants to give him; he’s pretty sure it’s implicit by now. Besides, he can’t pull away from the sweetness of George’s mouth long enough to say anything anyways.

And then, in an instant, George’s hand is under his boxers, hand wrapping around his cock, and Dream is fucking melting. How could he possibly be disappointed by this? How could he want more when just his hand feels so good that his body thrums with it, pleasure warming through him?

“If you really want to suck me,” he chokes out, breaking the kiss, “you need to stop that. But, like, I can come just like this if you’d rather.”

“Don’t come,” George tells him sharply, pulling his hand away. “I want you in my mouth, okay?”

Dream’s eyes dart down to stained lips, kiss-bruised and shiny, and his cock twitches at the thought of pushing them open wide, sliding over his soft tongue. Will he choke on it? How many Alpha cocks has he sucked before? Is he used to the extra length, the thickness? Will he hate it? Will he love it?

Too many thoughts flood his mind, excitement and anxiety blending into one feeling, but the only thing he can actually say is, “George.” It’s the only thought that sticks.

He wonders how long that will last. When George will leave his thoughts. He hopes like hell that he’ll stay, at least for a while.

He’s brought over to the bed and George asks, “Can I have you naked?”

And, well, how could Dream refuse such a polite request? So he strips, jeans and underwear kicked to the side, shirt stripped and tossed to join them. His body isn’t perfect, never has been, but it’s not anything he’s ashamed of. And George looks him over with hunger, like he’s a juicy steak and George hasn’t eaten all day.

“Sit,” George tells him.

Dream isn’t used to taking orders in the bedroom, but he kind of loves it. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching out and pulling George to stand between his legs. He hooks a thumb under the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it enough to expose a little patch of skin. At first, he presses a soft kiss there, feeling him out, but when George’s fingers dig into his hair, pulling him closer, Dream takes it a sign to open his mouth, teeth scraping across perfect skin. “Can I take this off?” he asks, giving the hem of his shirt a tug before he licks out over that same patch of skin.

George does the work of lifting his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor, and Dream takes advantage of the new expanse of skin to explore. He kisses and sucks and bites at it, content just with this, with George warm and soft under his mouth. He flicks the tip of his tongue into George’s belly button, grinning when it makes him lurch away, laughing.

“No belly button licking, you fucking weirdo,” George tells him, in a way that makes Dream want to do it again, just to get a rise out of him.

But before he can, George is on his knees, kisses dotting Dream’s thighs, and Dream can only lean back and watch. His eyelids flutter as George’s nose bumps into the base of his cock, hot breath against his skin. George’s hand comes up to stroke him again and, like this, with a clear view, he can see how fucking small George looks compared to him. He’s not an Omega, but he may as well be with such small hands.

As if reading his thoughts, George says, “You’re so big.” He doesn’t say it like a compliment or even like he’s that surprised; he just says it like it’s a fact that he felt the need to point out.

“Alpha,” Dream reminds him, trying not to sound cocky about it.

He’s not sure his attempt is successful, but he’s done his best.

“Nah,” George says without looking up. “Bigger than most Alphas I’ve seen.”

Dream bites his tongue to keep himself from saying either of the first two thoughts that enter his mind:

How many Alpha cocks have you seen?

and

Most?

“You want to back out?” Dream asks instead, even as George licks out over the tip, drawing a shaky breath from deep in his lungs. “If you don’t think you can, it’s-”

George glances up, narrowing his eyes, and in one quick movement, he lowers his mouth around Dream’s cock, shutting him up.

And it’s fucking otherworldly. 

“Holy shit,” he hisses, watching as George sucks as much as he can fit into his mouth comfortably, getting halfway down before Dream is nudging at his throat. Even though he’s not taking him all, he’s taking a lot and Dream is already impressed.

He bobs a few times and then pops off, spit smeared over his bottom lip. “I’m not, like, a total whore if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The words hit Dream like a slap to the face, completely unexpected. “What? Why would I be thinking that?”

“Because I give good head,” George says. His lips wrap around the tip again, tongue flicking over Dream’s slit, and the battle between concern that George would think that and the complete euphoria of George’s mouth on him is damn near dizzying. “It’s not like I’m sucking off a different guy every night. I just don’t like getting fucked, so I give a lot of blowjobs. Like, comparatively.” 

He goes to pull Dream back into his mouth, but Dream reaches down and stops him, a hand on his chin to hold him up. “Hey,” he says, making sure his eyes are on him before he continues. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Even if you were giving a hundred blowjobs every day, just a revolving door of dicks, it wouldn’t change how I see you. Okay?”

George’s eyes skirt away, pink blooming on the apples of his cheeks. Dream swipes his thumb over George’s jaw, stubble scratching, and he waits for him to look up again.

“How you see me?” George asks, eyes flicking up for a split second but not staying, darting around the room like they’re not comfortable landing anywhere.

Dream is not afraid of honesty. It’s the only thing he really knows.

“Yeah, George. I know I don’t really know you, but I know enough. You’re— you’re beautiful and bright and sharp and sexy and— your sexual history doesn’t change any of that.”

George’s lips tug like he wants to smile but he won’t let himself. When he finally looks up, though, it’s his eyes that give him away, the hidden smile evident in them. “Okay, fine,” he says. “I’m awesome. Can I suck your dick now?”

Dream grins, delighted by him, and he bends down to kiss him once, briefly, before letting go of his chin and leaning back. He flourishes his hand toward his cock and says, “Please. Continue.”

What follows is one of the best blowjobs he’s ever received. George is enthusiastic in a way that doesn’t come across as fake, like he’s actually enjoying it as much as Dream is. His mouth is good, lips tight and tongue always moving, hot against Dream’s cock. 

As open-minded as he is about the whole thing, a part of him would have expected sex with a Beta to be… less. His body was literally made to fit with an Omega’s; it’s nature. It seems like that should mean the sex is better, like even a blowjob should be heightened with an Omega mouth.

But it’s not true. This, with George, is every bit as natural as it ever was with his ex. In a way, it’s better. He knows that this is just about the two of them, their attraction not being boosted by fucking pheromones and scents or whatever. It’s strong enough on its own without that stuff. They don’t need the help.

“George,” he mumbles adoringly, watching as George sucks at the tip for a moment between deepthroat attempts. “Fuck, George, your mouth. So good.”

George dips down more, adding more suction, his cheeks hollowing out as he pulls back. When Dream slips out of his mouth with a wet pop, George grins up at him. 

“You have a nice dick,” he says, voice scratchy. “And your precome is a little sweet. You must eat a lot of fruit.”

Dream chokes out a little laugh, his skin tingling as George starts stroking him with a hand. “I try to. Fruit and, like, wheatgrass. I heard that helps.”

George’s nose wrinkles cutely. “Okay, no, mine probably tastes rank. You don’t have to suck me off if that’s a dealbreaker but I’m not drinking fucking wheatgrass.”

“No, I still– still want to,” Dream groans, his spine turning to jelly when George’s free hand dips between his legs to play with his balls. “Oh my god, yeah, that.”

George smirks at the reaction, giving his balls a squeeze just as he lowers his mouth around him again, bobbing slowly and letting the head of Dream’s cock push just into his throat with every pass. It’s– it’s definitely the best blowjob he’s ever gotten. It’s like he knows exactly what Dream wants and gives him exactly that, like every little movement, every little touch is tailor-made for him.

This virtual stranger knows him like a mindreader. Maybe he’s a psychic.

“Yes,” Dream breathes, barely able to hold himself up, slumping where he’s propping himself up on his elbows now. “Fuck, George, yes, exactly like that.”

The pad of George’s finger, small and soft, presses below his balls, just above his asshole, and he rubs as he sucks down hard. Stars pop into Dream’s vision, painting the black of his eyelids with constellations, and the feeling deep in his gut crests, right up to the edge. 

When it hits, it hits hard, throwing him back onto the mattress to ride out the feeling as he comes into George’s mouth at first, and then into his hand when he pulls off. Even without his knot, he comes what feels like buckets, going and going until he can hardly catch his breath. When he’s finally finished, George’s lips are back, sucking the excess come dripping from his slit, and Dream opens his eyes to watch, to stare as he licks it up.

George’s eyes flick up with his mouth open, come smeared across his lips and his chin, and he doesn’t look away. He holds the gaze even as he finally lets go of Dream’s cock.

“That was nice,” George says, his voice even more wrecked now.

Dream would laugh if he had an ounce of energy left at this particular moment. “Nice? It was– god. Amazing. Thank you.”

George does laugh, ducking his head between Dream’s legs, pressing his forehead to Dream’s thigh. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Of course I liked it, dumbass,” Dream says, managing a weak laugh. He reaches out for George and adds, “Come here. Can we, like, lay here for a minute? I need to recover before I can do you.”

George climbs up onto the bed, flopping down next to him, their bodies stretched horizontally across the bed. “You really don’t have to,” he says, words mumbled into Dream’s arm. “I get it, if that’s not something you like doing.”

“Oh, I do,” Dream sighs, almost wistful.

In truth, his ex didn’t like receiving blowjobs much, preferring to fuck whenever possible, to be knotted. And it’s not as if that was a great sacrifice to make, so he never really pushed the issue. But there’s something about being on your knees, taking your partner’s dick into your mouth. There’s something reverential about it. Dream would much rather worship like that than pray to a god that he can’t see or hear or touch. 

“Is there a ‘but’ coming?” George asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“No, no,” he answers, quick to reassure him. “Sorry, I think you sucked my brain out of my body with that blowjob. But, no, I promise. I really want to suck you off. Just as soon as my muscles are working again.”

George hums and lies there quietly for a moment before he says, “Maybe I just won’t wait for you.”

Frowning, Dream turns his head to look at George. “What do you—“

“Shh, you rest,” George interrupts, a wicked glint in his eye as he moves to sit up against the headboard. “I’ll just get started on my own.”

Dream wants to argue, to tell him that he’s ready now just so he doesn’t get left behind. He’s still winded, but he can get up and suck George’s dick through it. And he almost says as much before George slips his underwear off, spreading his legs enough to give Dream a perfect view of his dick.

It’s beautiful. Of course it’s beautiful. It matches him perfectly.

“No rush,” George says, wrapping his delicate fingers around his cock. It’s smaller than Dream’s, of course, but bigger than any of the Omega cocks he’s seen. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

And then he’s jerking off, right in front of Dream. He’s already hard, his enjoyment of giving head evident in how pink it is, flushed dark like he’s been hard for a while. So by the time he starts touching himself, he’s already wet with precome, already gasping as he rubs his palm over the head, twisting on the upstroke. 

Dream watches, entranced. He’s torn, really, between wanting to get his mouth on him and wanting to watch him, just like this. He wants to take tips from how George touches himself, wants to see what makes him moan, what makes more precome spill from the tip of his pretty pink cock. He wants to see him fall apart from nothing but his own hand, like Dream isn’t even here.

But, most of all, he wants to do it himself.

“I think I’m ready,” he says, gathering all of his strength to get up on his knees, crawling between George’s legs. “I’m still invited to join, right?”

“Yes, Dream, you may join,” George says, rolling his eyes. “You have full consent to suck my dick.”

Before Dream can bend down to take him into his mouth, George puts a hand up, splaying his fingers over Dream’s chest. 

“But you still don’t have consent to fuck me. Okay?”

Dream furrows his brow. “Of course, George,” he says, unsure of how else to communicate that it doesn’t need to be restated. He’d said it once, that him bottoming was off the table; Dream would never assume that something had changed without him saying so. 

“Okay,” George says, softening, “then kiss me first.”

Dream lets himself be pulled in, kissing George slowly, deeply, the taste of himself on George’s tongue sending shivers down his spine. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches down and peels George’s hand off of himself, replacing it with his own. He fits perfectly, just the perfect size for Dream’s palm to grasp him, to try to copy what he’d seen George doing to himself.

A soft, squeaky moan spills from George’s lips, melting between their mouths, and Dream can’t wait anymore. He has to get his mouth around him.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he says, a growl in his voice, as he scoots back and grabs George’s legs, pulling him down the bed enough so he can lay mostly flat. “God, look at you. Unbelievable.”

George laughs softly, not unaffected by his excitement, but still himself. He’s not a slave to his own biology; he’s just a man. He’s just a really, really beautiful man. Dream could easily get used to this.

“You’re looking at me like you want to eat me,” he says, radiant as he watches Dream hunch over him, mouth pressed to his chest, his stomach, any bit of skin he can taste.

“I do want to eat you,” he replies, scraping his teeth low on George’s belly to help make his point. “I want to eat every last bite of you. But then I couldn’t do this again, so I guess I’ll settle for sucking your cock.”

George’s hand digs into Dream’s hair, a gasp punch out of his chest when Dream’s mouth roams lower, open against the base of his dick. “Again? You want to do this again, huh?”

Dream doesn’t look up, afraid that he’ll see hesitation. “I’m here for four more days. Unless– if you’re busy, of course–”

“I’m not busy,” George answers, his breath shaky. “Well, I am tomorrow, but– fuck, we can talk schedules later. Come on, hurry up.”

Dream does not need to be asked twice. He swallows George in one go, moaning at the heavy slide of him over Dream’s tongue. He tastes just how he would have expected George to taste: the perfect balance of sweet and sour, feminine and masculine, soft and edgy. He’s only known him for a few hours, but he can tell this about him, knows that he is multidimensional in ways Dream surely doesn’t even know.

Above him, George moans, his body writhing against the bed, and Dream tries to take it all in, but he can’t. He’s so zoned in on his cock, on how good it feels in his mouth, on how badly he wants to make George come harder than he ever has before. He’s careful to keep his fingers away from his ass, not wanting him to even have a moment of worry, but he plays with his balls just a bit, fingertips petting over the soft hair on them.

George asks him not to stop, tells him that it’s good, that he’s getting close. Dream lets every word wash over him like warm bathwater, sinking into the praise and the pride of making him feel good. It’s not a very stereotypical Alpha thing, wanting so badly to please his partner. But he thinks it makes sense, because he, as the Alpha, feels compelled to protect, to provide. That doesn’t stop at food and shelter– he feels the same urge to please, to make his partner feel happy, and safe, and good.

And, quite frankly, he thinks that any Alpha who doesn’t feel that way is a selfish asshole. 

“Dream,” George breathes, his muscles tightening. “Oh, fuck, I– Dream–”

Hot come fills his mouth in an instant, spurting from George’s cock right over his tongue. He swallows what he can, though he’s not perfect, letting a bit dribble down his chin. And when he’s done, Dream lets him slip out of his mouth, moving to lie down next to him. This time, there’s no rush to compose himself. He lets his eyes drift shut, a relaxed smile spreading over his face.

There’s still come on his chin. He’ll get it later.

–

“Tell me about the Minecraft things now,” Dream says later, when they’re cleaned up and back in George’s bed. “Do you actually play?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” George tells him. He’s sitting up with a cup of water, forcing himself to drink the whole thing before he can sleep. Apparently it’s a nightly routine of his. “I played a lot when I was younger. Like, a lot a lot. It was, like, my whole personality for a while.”

Dream grins. “Literally, same. I was always the ‘Minecraft kid’. I still kind of am.”

“What are the odds?” George laughs. With a deep breath, he drinks most of the water in one gulp.

Dream watches his throat work and can’t help but remember that same throat working around his cock no more than an hour ago. He reaches out and trails his fingers down the column of it as George catches his breath, riding over the slope of his Adam’s apple, down into the dip at the base. 

“Glad I sat down next to you,” George says, snatching Dream’s hand and bringing it to his mouth to bite his fingers, “even though you looked so weird.”

“I looked weird?” Dream asks. He can tell that George is teasing, but part of him is genuinely curious what his first impression was. Before they spoke, did he even notice him? What about when Dream introduced himself?

George takes the last sip of water and then sets the cup down on his bedside table. It doesn’t escape Dream’s notice that it’s a McDonalds cup, some kind of collector one. “Okay, no, you looked like the safer option between you and a couple who couldn’t keep their tongues out of each other’s mouths.”

“Oh, I saw them,” Dream says as George scoots down to lie next to Dream. His hands go to him like a magnetic force is pulling him in. “They smelled like weed, too. Like, really bad.”

George hums, quiet for a moment before turning to grab his phone. “Sorry, I have to set my alarm before I forget.”

“Oh, right,” Dream says, almost embarrassed that it’s just dawning on him now. “You’re not on vacation. You have to work.”

“Sadly, yes,” George sighs, typing in his alarm time and double checking that the volume is up before setting it back on the time. “I’d try to go in late or something, but my boss’s boss is in the office this week, so I can’t really skive.”

Dream feels a bit like an idiot for not thinking of that. It’s already almost midnight. He’s definitely overstayed his welcome by now, there’s no way he hasn’t. “Fuck, I’m sorry, George. I can get out of here and let you sleep. I should have–”

“Shut up, you idiot,” George tells him, grabbing Dream’s arm and pulling him closer to keep him from getting up. “You can sleep here. I’m not, like, kicking you out.” 

Dream frowns at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get in your way or keep you up or anything.”

With that, George smiles softly, like he knows that no one else can see him now, like he’s taken comfort in that. “How would you keep me up exactly?” he asks, rolling onto his back and tugging Dream to hover over him. “Like this?”

He kisses him and Dream floats. It’s slow and warm, the heat from earlier losing its intensity and turning to mulled wine, cinnamon and spice. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like it could last forever, like it’s as simple as breathing. Any questions his brain had supplied or thoughts that had popped into his head are beautifully gone. It’s just his body and George’s, just the two of them in the present tense.

And it’s electric: still so wonderfully, fantastically electric.

–

When George’s alarm goes off at half past six, Dream first feels a familiar wave of dread that the morning has come so quickly. Once the dread eases off, it’s replaced by a pang of guilt for keeping George up so late. They’d finally fallen asleep sometime around two, lips kissed raw and words slurring with fatigue. And now, George is next to him, grumbling at his phone as he presses snooze, and Dream wishes more than anything that they could stay right here, in bed, all day. 

But George’s life can’t stop just because Dream dropped into it one day on the steps of Trafalgar Square. He has work, he has family and friends and plans. And Dream would never expect him to prioritize him, a virtual stranger, over any of that.

“Good morning,” Dream mumbles, a heavy rasp in his voice. 

George’s response gets lost in the pillows, though it sounds like a string of curse words. He rolls over, pressing his face to Dream’s bare chest, and Dream laughs softly, wrapping an arm around him. 

“Not a morning person,” Dream comments, half to himself. “Somehow I could have guessed that.”

George falls back to sleep like that, breath heavy against Dream’s chest, and Dream watches him, trying to soak in the moment before that alarm goes off again and they actually have to get up out of the warmth of the bed. George will get ready for work and Dream will pull on his clothes from last night, making an epic walk of shame back to his hotel to shower and change and, honestly, probably get a few more hours’ sleep before he tackles the city all over again.

He feels sad that they’ll have to spend the day apart from each other. Even tonight, when George is off of work, he has a family dinner. He’d mentioned it somewhere between kissing and falling asleep the night before, that he wouldn’t be able to meet again tonight, but could do the next night. So these few moments of George sleeping on his chest are what he has to hold him over.

He doesn’t think about what happens after that, about his flight and his home and the fact that this isn’t something that’s built to last.

When George’s alarm sounds again, he turns it off and sits up, face smudged red and hair an absolute mess. And still, he is gorgeous. Maybe even more so.

“You can sleep in if you want,” he offers, his voice even more wrecked than Dream’s. “Just see yourself out later.”

They may have only just met, but Dream can tell certain things about George. He can tell that he’s private, never giving away more than he has to, and the last thing Dream wants to do is make him uncomfortable in any way. So he says, “That’s alright, I’m already up,” and stretches his arms above his head.

George mumbles something that sounds like freak as he trudges out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, turning on the shower.

Dream brushes his teeth with a spare toothbrush, the handle printed with what he assumes is George’s dentist’s name and phone number. When he’s done brushing his teeth, he rinses it and leaves it on the counter, thinking that maybe he’ll have a chance to use it again. They haven’t discussed it explicitly, but the implication had been that they’d see each other again. Though, maybe that had been pure hopefulness on his part.

Twenty minutes later, they’re leaving George’s flat and walking back to the tube station they’d gotten off at the night before. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the city is coming to life anyway, the lights of shops and restaurants blinking on around them.

The train is packed when they get on and it only gets even more packed as they inch closer to the city. Even though his hotel is on the same line as George’s stop, Dream gets off the train with him, just to be able to say goodbye without being crushed by the hordes of commuters. He pulls him to the side, letting the flood of people go by, and when it’s finally a bit calmer, Dream speaks for the first time since their departure.

“Hey, are we going to, like, do this again? Before I leave?”

George, only slightly more awake now, smiles softly. “Of course we are,” he says, hesitating before adding: “I just have this family thing tonight that I can’t really get out of. But tomorrow? I could see you after work if you’re free.”

He’s a bit sad at the thought of not seeing George until the next day, but it’s better than nothing. “I’ll try to clear my schedule,” he jokes, and then he leans in to kiss George, keeping it light. “Text me, okay?”

George nods and reaches up, pulling Dream in again. This kiss isn’t any deeper, but it lingers, letting Dream focus on the feel of George’s lips, letting him memorize it. When George backs away, Dream blinks his eyes open, watching him go.

“I’ll text you,” George tells him just before he turns around and disappears around the corner.

Dream stands there, in a kiss-induced stupor, and he tries to remember the last time he felt like this. The last time his heart started to race from a simple touch, or glance, or kiss. The last time he looked at someone and felt hope. Excitement. Desperation.

The next train comes and it’s even more packed than the last one. He’s not in a rush; instead of elbowing his way through the crowd, he sits on a bench and waits for the next one.

–

After napping and showering back at his hotel, Dream heads up to Camden Town to do some browsing. The markets are busy with Christmas shoppers and tourists, but he manages to find a fuzzy scarf for his mom and a nice messenger bag for himself to carry to work. He’d promised to send a souvenir to his friend Sapnap, too, so he buys a deck of playing cards that have naked women strategically holding the Union Jack to cover the good bits.

After that, the crowds start to overstimulate him, so he wanders down the road without direction, satisfied to just walk. He thinks about his ex, how they were supposed to be here together, and he just knows that Tucker would have complained to him by now to get an Uber. And Dream would have done it, would have climbed into a car and gone straight back to their hotel, passing the city by. Who knows what he would have missed. 

Well, there’s one thing he knows that he would have missed if he’d come to London with his ex, and just the thought of it makes him sad. 

On a whim, he ducks into a park that’s basically just grass and a few trees with paths winding through it. Before he can think better of it, he opens his phone and snaps a quick selfie with a funny face and he sends it to George. It’s a little cringe, maybe, sending a selfie via iMessage, but he doesn’t know if he has a Snapchat and he just– he hasn’t stopped thinking about him. 

It’s dumb. He’s dumb. They’ve just met and Dream’s breakup is still so recent and he’s leaving in a few days; he knows there’s no future for them after his flight takes off. But that doesn’t change the silly, excited way he feels whenever he thinks about him.

Which, again, has been basically nonstop.

He cuts through the park, exiting on the other side of it, and he’s back on the sidewalk when his phone buzzes. Opening it up, there’s a blurry picture of George ducking down, making an equally funny face at the camera. Beneath it, a text comes through: hope you’re having a good day :]

He ends up walking the whole way back to his hotel. It takes over an hour, between the crowds and stopping to look in windows and around corners, taking it all in. It’s hard to believe that one day could possibly give him such a different outlook, but it has. Yesterday, he was looking back. Now, he’s looking ahead. 

Or, at the very least, he’s not looking anywhere but right where he is.

–

He picks up Nando’s around the corner from his hotel and takes it back to his room, debating whether he wants to go back out. He should go do stuff, see things, but he has this strange feeling like he doesn’t want to do anything without George. It’s not possible, of course, to spend the rest of his time with him, but every time he thinks about something that he wants to do, his mind says, but what if George wants to do that another day? 

His walk had been tiring anyway, so after he’s eaten, he draws a bath and soaks in it, using the fancy hotel body wash to clean himself and to scent the water. It’s relaxing enough that he decides he has no interest in going back out tonight. That is, until it’s almost nine and he gets a text from George while he’s watching a soccer match on the TV.

just got home. wyd?

Dream smiles seeing the name pop up. nothing just took a bath now chilling in bed.

He bites his lip, watching the screen of his phone like a hawk, wondering if he’ll want to talk, maybe facetime. It would be a nice treat after not seeing him all day aside from a blurry photo. But the text he gets is even better.

wanna come over?

Dream barely even thinks to reply to the message before he’s hopping up and getting dressed.

He gets an Uber, not wanting to mess around with the train right now. It still takes 45 minutes or so, between waiting for his car and driving through the city. When he’s finally knocking on George’s door, it’s nearly ten, and Dream is already regretting how little time they’ll have before George’s alarm is blaring again, taking him away.

The door opens and George is there, smiling. And clearly fucking exhausted.

“Hey,” Dream says, stepping inside and pulling George into a hug. He’d thought he was getting a booty call, but the mood is very different. “Did you have fun at your family’s?”

“Yeah,” George answers, nuzzling his face into Dream’s shoulder. “Sorry for asking you to come over so late. I just– I don’t know.”

Dream nods and, softly, says, “I know. Me too.”

It’s better not to put words to some things. It’s better to just let them be.

George leads them into the bedroom. They strip down to their underwear quietly and get into his bed. George plugs his phone in, but doesn’t set an alarm.

“I don’t know if I have enough energy to do much. Someone kept me up too late last night.”

Dream laughs and wraps an arm around George’s waist to pull him closer. “As soon as you opened the door, I figured sex was off the table tonight.” He presses a kiss to George’s cheek. “But that’s okay, right? We can just, like, be here together. For a few hours.”

“Sleep, and breakfast,” George says. “I’m taking a half day tomorrow. You have me until noon.”

It’s embarrassing how excited Dream feels at the prospect of getting him for a few extra hours. “And that’s okay? With your boss’s boss being there?”

“He usually doesn’t show up until lunchtime anyway,” George answers. “Besides, I don’t care. I want to.”

“I’m not complaining,” Dream assures him and dips down for a slow, languid kiss. 

They make out for a while, just like that. George is warm and his muscles are lax, but anytime Dream starts to pull away, George tugs him closer, not letting him break the kiss. But finally, his head drops back against his pillow, his eyes closed, and he says, “Okay, sleep now.” 

“Sleep now,” Dream agrees.

He tries not to watch George sleep, he really does, but it’s a losing battle. The last thing he sees before succumbing to sleep himself is the steady rise and fall of George’s chest, his strawberry lips parted around each breath.

–

After breakfast the next morning at a cute little cafe two blocks away, they come back to George’s flat and make up for the night before. Dream ends up on his back on George’s bed, lips covered in George’s, their hips pressed tight together. He’s hard in no time, moaning into the kiss and letting George strip his shirt off, fumble with the fly of his pants, pull his dick out. It’s quick and dirty and hot– so hot– especially when George’s dick slides up against his own.

“Oh my god,” Dream groans, looking down to get a glimpse of their dicks together, so different in size. George can’t get his fingers around them both, not even close, but he holds them together just enough to roll his hips and fuck up against Dream. 

“H-hold them,” George orders, reaching up to grab the headboard. 

Dream does as he’s told, wrapping his right hand around their cocks. He adds his left, too, giving them something to fuck up into, and George does just that, setting a rhythm with his hips that makes Dream feel like he’s being fucked. It sets something off in his brain, being on his back with George thrusting up against him: it’s like a door unlocks.

And Dream finds that he wants to walk through it.

I don’t bottom, George had said. He hadn’t said the act itself was off the table– just that the position was.

“Fuck, George,” Dream whines, precome dripping from his dick and trickling over his fist. He wants it. He wants it. 

God, he’s close already, so turned on by the thought of–

“Fuck me,” he mumbles, testing it out to see how it feels to say it. “Don’t stop.”

George’s body looks insane like this, stretched out, muscles working with each thrust. Dream wants to touch him, but he can’t let go, can’t loosen his grip on their dicks when he’s this close. 

“That good?” George asks.

Dream nods, jaw dropped, the slide of George’s cock against his getting wetter and wetter with the precome spilling from both of them. It feels even better like this and he bucks his hips up along with George a few times, chasing his orgasm until, with a gasping breath, he comes into the circle of his hands. 

George isn’t far behind, his movements growing choppy as Dream lets his dick slip out of his hold and instead focuses his hands on George. Using the slickness of his own come, he jerks George off, twisting his hand like he’d learned to do that first night. 

“Dream,” George pants, his muscles tensing. “I’m– I’m so–”

He comes then, adding to the pool of it on Dream’s stomach, and when he’s finished, he slumps down to catch his breath. It gives Dream time to collect himself, too, his heart still pounding and his hands shaking. He can’t believe it’s not even noon yet. He can’t remember the last time he had sex anytime other than nighttime, before bed.

“Can I ask you a question?” George says a minute later, still winded, but mostly composed. He rolls onto his side, avoiding the mess of come, and he reaches over to grab a box of tissues.

Dream takes them and starts cleaning himself up, saying, “Of course.”

“I just don’t get how you can be into me.”

Dream stills, looking over at him like he’s lost his mind because surely he must have. “What?”

George rolls his eyes and explains, “No, okay– not in, like, a low self esteem way. But in an Alpha way. Like, don’t you miss the slick and the– the knotting and stuff?”

Dream stares at him, a tissue full of his jizz in hand, and for the first time he thinks that George is an actual dumbass. “Did it seem like I missed it?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“No, but you would, right?” George pushes. “It’s in your biology to want that stuff.”

Taking a moment, Dream lets his thoughts roll around in his head until they make sense and he thinks of a way to explain it. “It’s like how I like women,” he starts, noticing the immediate curl of George’s lip. “Shut up. Listen. I can be attracted to women, right? Just like I’m attracted to men. But that doesn’t mean that, when I’m with a man, I’m missing the things I find attractive in women, you know? Like, there are a lot of things I find attractive and no single person has all of them. They couldn’t.”

George rests his head on his pillow, apparently thinking, and Dream gives him time. He finishes wiping up their come with the tissues and even though he’ll need to wash it properly, it’s not quite as much of a mess.

“And it really doesn’t bother you?” George asks after a minute, words muffled in the pillow. “The fact that I can’t do what an Omega does?”

Dream rolls onto his side and kisses George’s lips, saying, “It really doesn’t. At all.”

What he doesn’t say, and what he can’t help but wonder is: who the fuck made you feel this way in the first place?

–

That night, they meet for dinner after George finishes work, and then they go back to his flat. They half-watch a film on George’s sofa, talking and kissing through most of it until they finally give up and go to the bedroom to fool around. In the morning, Dream gets up with George again, taking the train into the city with him. Just like before, he gets off of the train with George and says goodbye to him there on the platform before getting on the next train that comes through.

It’s like they’re creating a routine for a future that doesn’t exist, but it’s fun to pretend. It’s like they’re kids playing house in a way, acting out what their life would be like if this was something that was going to be real. 

Friday night, on the eve of his last day in London, Dream finally asks for the thing he can’t stop thinking about now that the idea has planted itself in his brain. This is wildly new territory for him, but he’s in a new country with a new person, in what feels like a new life. Like he’s shed his old, dead skin and he can feel everything so much better now without it.

So, with all of that newness, it only seems right to add this to the pile.

“Hey, George,” he says, his hands cupping George’s neck as they kiss up against his living room wall. Their mouths taste like the Chinese they’d ordered in, just a hint of spice lingering in the kiss. “You know how you said you don’t bottom?”

George goes stiff under him, pulling away to look up at Dream with a sense of wariness– not fear, exactly, or discomfort, but there’s tension that wasn’t there before. “Yes.”

Dream nods and takes a deep breath. “Do you, um, top?”

George doesn’t move, but his eyes widen just a bit, showing his surprise. “I– I do, sometimes. Not often, but I do.” He doesn’t ask, doesn’t continue, making Dream spell it out.

“Would you want to, with me?”

“Are you–” George starts, and then apparently rethinks what he was going to ask, changing it. “Have you done that before? Been fucked?”

“No,” Dream admits. 

George studies him for a long moment. “But you want to?”

Dream takes another deep, shaky breath, answering, “Yeah, I really do.”

At that, George smiles and shakes his head in disbelief. “You really are the strangest Alpha I’ve ever met.”

When they kiss again, a hint of sweet chili sauce lingering on their tongues, George’s hands roam to Dream’s ass, squeezing through his jeans. Dream isn’t sure if he’s considering his answer or if that ass squeeze is the answer, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t want to rush George into a decision he regrets. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he said no, but it would destroy him if George regretted a single second of this.

“You’re so tall,” George huffs, breaking the kiss. “It’s annoying. Come to bed.”

Dream laughs and lets George pull him into the bedroom, dropping onto the bed. It starts simple enough, pieces of clothing coming off between heavy kisses, hands covering skin and hair being tugged. They’ve done this bit and it’s no less exhilarating, but it’s familiar now. What’s less familiar is the opening of a drawer and the bottle of lube being set down on the mattress next to them. 

“You’re not, like, doing this for me, right?” George asks. “You don’t think this is something I need, right? Because I’m totally down to do it, but I’d be just as happy sucking your dick.”

Dream reaches for him, fingers tracing his jaw. “It’s not for you,” he answers softly, his truth on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out of him. “Obviously, if you’re not into it, we don’t have to do it, but–”

“I already said I was,” George points out, an eyebrow raised. 

“I know, I know,” Dream reassures. “I just– I haven’t thought about it in years. It was never really on the table, you know? My ex, he– he never would have done it. He had really old-fashioned ideas of what a relationship between an Alpha and an Omega should be, you know? It’s part of why we stopped working. Or maybe why we never really worked to begin with.”

George listens, not with an expression of pity, but with an openness and a patience that Dream appreciates more than anything. “But you were together for five years?”

Dream nods. “Yeah, just about.”

“What was the final straw?” George asks quietly. He covers Dream’s hand with his own, dragging it to his chest and holding it there.

Dream thinks back to the last day, the one where they finally called it. “He said I embarrassed him in front of his family. They asked when we were going to have a kid and I just– I told them I didn’t think I wanted to.”

George’s brow furrows. “How did that embarrass him?”

Dream laughs humorlessly, rolling his eyes. “How did anything ever embarrass him? He wanted us to be, like, the cookie cutter family, you know? Picket fence and everything. And, honestly, I don’t even know if it’s the life that I didn’t want or just– him.” 

He feels awful saying it, admitting that he simply fell out of love with the guy who taught him what love was in the first place. But it’s true. Tucker was not the person for him. He knows that now. And maybe George isn’t that guy either, maybe George is just the right guy for these few days in London, but looking at him, Dream feels hopeful. He feels like, even if it’s not him, there could be someone else out there who will strike him with lightning, will warm him like a crackling fire on a winter night.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says, the words floating across the minimal space between them, there for the taking. If George wants them, all he has to do is reach out and grab them.

And he does.

–

George’s fingers are tiny compared to Dream’s, but when he gets up to three of them fucking into Dream, they certainly don’t feel tiny. There’s a burn in the stretch, but it fades as George takes his time, getting him ready. It’s definitely new, being on his back with his legs spread wide, letting someone inside him. It’s new and it’s weird, but it’s good, too. 

“How’s that?” George asks, spreading his fingers as much as he can, trying to relax the ring of muscle.

“Good,” Dream tells him, his breath heavy. They’ve been at this for a while, even taking a break when Dream’s ass was starting to get sore. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore. It just pinches when you twist your hand, but other than that, I feel good. I feel ready.”

George nods. “I reckon you are.”

He slides his fingers out then, and it’s a weird sensation, having his asshole worked open like this. It’s no wonder he’s heard horror stories of things happening during sex. Of course, it’s different for an Omega; their bodies were designed for this. But just because Dream’s body wasn’t specifically engineered to get fucked and have babies doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy this, too.

George rolls a condom onto his dick without asking and Dream doesn’t protest. They’re virtual strangers after all. They’ve known each other for three days. Dream would question it if he didn’t use a condom.

In another life, maybe they could fuck raw. Maybe Dream could find out how it feels to have hot come dripping from his ass, could go about his day knowing that he’s full of George’s jizz. He thinks he’d like that, feeling marked by him. They could never be mated, but they could do that. George could still own him.

George has his dick pressed to Dream’s ass, ready to push inside, when he stops and says, “Consent?”

It’s a running theme, this need to check in, to get straightforward consent before they do anything sexual. Dream would have thought it would ruin the mood, but it’s weirdly hot having George be so respectful of him, so attentive. Dream has never had nonconsensual sex, but there have certainly been times that felt disconnected, like he could have been a really good dildo and his partner wouldn’t have noticed the difference.

“You have consent, George,” Dream answers, the corner of his mouth curling into a small smile. “I want you inside me.”

And with that, George is pushing inside, his cock filling Dream slowly but surely until his hips are pressed against Dream’s ass. 

It’s a different feeling from his fingers, thicker and longer, but George has prepped him so well that it doesn’t hurt. It’s a lot, but there’s no pain to speak of. It’s just– it’s fucking beautiful. It feels– they feel beautiful. 

“George,” he breathes, tingles already spreading from where the head of George’s cock is pressing at his walls, making him feel parts of himself he’s never felt before. “Oh my god. You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” George asks, drawing his hips back just to push in again, slowly and carefully. “That feels good? Doesn’t hurt?”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Dream confirms. “Feels– weird, kind of. But so fucking good.”

George chuckles softly; he’s clearly not unaffected by the feeling, his breath shaky and his teeth scraping over his bottom lip like he’s trying to keep quiet. “I’m glad. I was worried I’d get my dick in you and you’d hate it.”

Shaking his head, Dream reaches out, trying to tug George’s hips forward. “Shut up. Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” George retorts, thrusting again, a little faster this time, working up something of a rhythm. “You’re an idiot. The biggest idiot.” 

“You’re the– fuck, babe, I can’t fucking focus on this when– when you’re doing that.”

George drops down close, fucking him carefully, but deeper, his hips smacking into Dream’s ass with each thrust. “Babe,” he repeats, like that’s the only part he heard.

Honestly, Dream hadn’t even realized he was saying it, but he doesn’t feel any urge to walk it back. “George,” he says, spreading his legs wider, feeling the deep press of George’s cock. “Shut up and fuck me. Just– just fuck me.”

George doesn’t say another word. He nips at Dream’s ear, kisses down his neck. He scrapes his teeth over Dream’s pulse, the spot where he would bite a mating mark into his skin if things were very different. Instead, George marks him in other ways: in the small hands that grip him, the soft moans that go straight to Dream’s brain, the flags planted all over his body that state: George was here. George had this first.

Dream comes with his cock in his hand, so long and hard that he feels his vision close in. He doesn’t pass out though, thank god–he watches George come inside him, watches the pleasure play out on his face.

After, tears prick his eyes. He doesn’t get it, but George seems to, kissing him and telling him to just breathe. It doesn’t last long, just a weird little emotional blip, but it’s enough to get him thinking about how he doesn’t want the end of this thing to come any closer. 

It will, though. Time is unrelenting like that. 

As they fall asleep that night, Dream starts making a list of all the things he’ll miss. He gets to eleven before his eyelids get too heavy and he lets sleep steal him away.

–

Saturday. His last day in London.

Fuck.

He wakes up with his face pressed against George’s back, covered in a sweatshirt for once. The temperature had dipped overnight, too fast for the radiator to compensate, so they’d woken up shivering and slid into sweatshirts and sweatpants. George’s clothes are a little small for Dream, but it works in a pinch. Besides, they smell like him. For that alone, he doesn’t mind the snug fit.

He opens his eyes, blinking away the morning haze, and he looks down at George, sleeping soundly against his pillow. The morning is bittersweet, because on one hand, they have the whole day together for the first time since they met. On the other hand, it’s also their last day together.

Dream’s hand slips under George’s shirt, his hand pressing flat over the warm skin of his stomach, and he closes his eyes again, not wanting the moment to end. He can’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be, anything he’d rather be doing at this particular moment in time.

He clenches his ass cheeks, a little jolt running up his spine when he does. It’s not pain exactly; it’s just a reminder, a little ache that sings of George’s cock in him, just a few hours ago. When he took off from the Orlando airport, he had no idea that he would be getting fucked while he was away. But he had no idea he’d find George either. It’s been an unexpected vacation, that’s for sure.

Unforgettable, too.

George wakes up an hour or so later, and they lie in bed, talking, until George starts to complain that he’s hungry. Before they go out, Dream follows George into his small shower, kissing him under the spray of hot water. They’ve been naked together, but this is something different. There’s nothing but skin for Dream to touch, unimpeded. 

He presses him against the shower wall and kisses his neck, sucks at the skin until he leaves a mark. He lets his lips trace George’s collarbone, meandering down his chest until he’s found his nipples. He takes them between his teeth, one at a time, careful not to bite down hard. He just licks, his tongue quick, grinning when George whimpers softly at the feeling like he can’t keep it in.

They leave it there, though, finishing their shower before the hot water has a chance to run cold. Then, they get dressed– Dream, in his clothes from the night before, and George, in a wrinkled t-shirt from a pile of clean clothing in a laundry basket in the corner of the bedroom.

Instead of going to a restaurant for breakfast, they stop at a Pret A Manger to pick up some pastries and a juice for Dream, while George orders a latte. They take their food to the park down the street and find an empty bench to sit on while they eat. The park is mostly empty, just a few people walking along the paths with strollers or dogs, the December air too chilly for most people to hang out. And Dream gets that, given that he’s Florida raised. He’s not used to this biting cold.

But he has a hat, a pair of mittens, and a coat that he’d bought specifically for this trip. He can tough it out.

“So, what do you want to do today?” George asks, holding his latte between two mitten-covered hands. “What do you have left on your list that you want to see?”

His list, he thinks with a little inward chuckle. His list had gone out the window days ago. “There’s tons of stuff,” he answers, leaning back on the bench. “Like, too much. There’s really no point in trying to cross anything off at this point.”

George kicks him gently. “What have you been doing this whole time, huh? Wasting your time?”

Dream rolls his eyes and, with a payback kick to his ankle, he says, “Not a waste of time.”

George looks almost disappointed that Dream didn’t keep the joke going, but he takes another bite out of his croissant, swallowing it before he goes back to the original topic. “Well, it’s your last day. You want to do some cliche tourist thing? It’s your call.”

Dream smirks and takes a sip from his bottle of orange juice. He twists the cap back on, sealing it, and he looks up at the sky. It’s as grey as it is cold, the outlines of the clouds completely indiscernible as if it’s just one giant cloud covering the expanse of the whole sky. It should be depressing, but Dream isn’t going to let anything get to him today.

“We could just sit here,” Dream offers, glancing over to George with a smile. “We could stay right here all day. I really don’t care, as long as you’re here.”

George’s face crinkles up in disgust, pink spreading over his cheeks. “Gross,” he says flatly. “You’re actually so gross, Dream.”

Dream happily goes back to eating his muffin, content. He is a little gross. He knows this about himself and he accepts it. And, honestly, he can tell that George accepts it, too.

–

They don’t stay there all day, of course. Between the cold air and the hard bench on Dream’s already sore ass, they move along once they’re done eating. From there, they go up to Buckingham Palace, just so Drean can see it, and then they walk over to Westminster, to see the Abbey and the Palace, and poor, boarded-up Big Ben.

George points to the London Eye across the river and tells him, “That thing is so overrated. So expensive and the views aren’t even that great. We should see if they have tickets available.”

Dream laughs, but doesn’t question it. His heart falters just a bit when George takes his hand, leading him toward the Westminster Bridge, toward the giant, fancy ferris wheel. An hour later, they’re a couple hundred feet in the air and climbing, looking out over the city. It may be overrated, but Dream thinks it’s worth every penny. 

There are at least a dozen other people in the pod with them– maybe even two. Dream isn’t sure. They find a spot against the railing looking toward the West, and they stay there, George in front and Dream stepping up behind him, arms bracketing his body in. When George leans back into him, Dream just smiles and breathes him in.

When they reach the very top, so dizzyingly high up, Dream ducks his head down to nudge his nose against George’s ear. He feels like there’s no one else in the pod with him when George looks up, his eyes meeting Dream’s over his shoulder. It’s just the two of them and a sky of endless clouds, the city muted below them.

He doesn’t know what to say. Bringing a hand up, he molds his palm to George’s jaw, his thumb sweeping over day-old scruff. He looks into George’s eyes and watches them soften, the dark brown melting like chocolate, and he knows that there are no words. There is nothing to say.

There is just this crackling electricity. Just the bittersweetness of a perfect moment that isn’t built to last.

They start to move again, inching toward the ground now, having passed the summit. They’ll be at ground level soon, back amongst the bustling pedestrians and stop-and-go traffic. For now, though, Dream kisses George and tries not to think about what comes next.

–

When afternoon starts slipping into evening, they go back to Dream’s hotel together and pack his things. Dream checks out early, thanking the front desk associate, and he orders an Uber to pick them up. With Dream’s bags in the trunk and George next to him in the back seat, they make their way back to Clapham, back to the flat that Dream has slept in every night since they met.

That night, they watch dumb YouTube videos and get each other off on the living room sofa, and when they’re ready for bed, Dream double checks that he has everything he needs for the morning. He has to be up early for his eight AM flight and he doesn’t want to have to look for everything when he’s sleepy and sad and saying his goodbyes.

When they get into bed, Dream has to wonder when it started feeling like his, too.

–

*****

–

When Dream thinks that George has fallen asleep, he starts to let himself drift off too. Before he can, though, George speaks, his voice low and quiet as if he’s worried someone else will hear.

“I went on a date with this guy a few years ago. I was in college. We met at a party. And he was, like, this big Alpha guy, right? I thought he was so hot.”

Dream shifts, turning toward George. It’s dark enough that he can’t see much, but he faces him anyway, listening intently.

“I was an idiot, okay? Like, it’s so embarrassing now, looking back at it. I should’ve– whatever, it’s embarrassing.”

“George,” Dream whispers, reaching to touch his arm. “Whatever it is, it’s in the past. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“Well, I am,” he says, resolute. “He– he said he had this stuff that would make me feel like an Omega. He said that: that it would feel like I was an Omega. I thought– I don’t know what I thought. I thought it would, like, make it easier. Make it feel better.”

Dream’s heart stops. He’s sure that it stops, that his blood runs cold. He doesn’t know how he finds his voice to speak, but they come out of his mouth of their own volition. “What, George? It would make what feel better?”

George sniffs, and with that sound, Dream’s heart cracks.

“He wanted to knot me,” George says, a scratchy wobble in his voice. “He used that– that stuff to make me smell like an Omega. So he could.”

The rest of Dream cracks then, too.

He knows the stuff George is talking about. He’s heard of it before. But it wouldn’t make him feel like an Omega, wouldn’t give him the physical advantages that make it easier to take a knot. All it would do is give that scumbag the illusion that he was fucking an Omega, enough that he’d be able to pop his knot, regardless of the damage it did.

And then– oh god, they’d be locked together. He’d– he’d be in so much pain and he’d be locked there. 

Half of him wants to tear the city apart looking for this guy, wants to make him suffer every bit as much as George did. The other half of him wants to weep thinking about George being put in that position, the trauma it surely left.

I don’t bottom.

No wonder.

Dream ducks down, pressing his forehead to George, bringing his hand up to cup his neck in a way he hopes feels comforting. It’s all he can do right now; he can’t travel back in time to stop it from happening. All he can do is hold him now, here, and hope that it does more good than harm.

“Ever since then, I’ve been cautious of Alphas. I’ve just assumed that’s what they want, you know? In the end, that’s all any Alpha wants– just an Omega to knot.” His chest doesn’t heave with sobs. Instead, his sadness is quiet, the wetness in his voice and the tiny shaking breaths giving him away. “And then– you.”

Dream’s own face is wet, but he bites back his tears, wanting to be a rock for George. He isn’t a rock, of course. He’s never been that stoic type, the ones who barely show emotion. He can be strong though. He can give George that.

George tips his face, brushing his lips against Dream’s. “Thanks for showing me that Alphas can be good. That– that men can be good. That I can find someone I actually trust.”

Dream’s heart aches in his chest. He’s glad that he could be that for George, but god, he hates that he needed it in the first place. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. That– that shouldn’t have happened, George. You deserve so much better than that. You– do you know how amazing you are?”

It’s a testament to how genuine George’s emotions are that he doesn’t make a sarcastic comment or crack a dumb joke. Instead, he says, “No, I know it shouldn’t have happened. I know I didn’t deserve it. I just feel like an idiot looking back. The fact that I believed him. Like, how stupid.”

“No,” Dream says fiercely, almost growling. “You didn’t know. He knew. He knew, George. Every bit of blame is on him. He’s the idiot.”

George sniffles and shuffles closer, their bodies pressed close as George wraps an arm around Dream. “Relax, Dream,” he murmurs. “He’s– it’s in the past. Don’t go all protective Alpha on a ghost, okay?”

Dream takes a deep, steadying breath and says, “I’d fight the wind if it knocked you over. I’d find a way.”

It should alarm him, how true it is. He would fight the air that gives him life if it hurt George. But it doesn’t scare him. He thinks he’s known it since that first day, when another Alpha knocked into George on the sidewalk. He’s known that George has felt like his all along, whether the feeling is deserved or not.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” George tells him, lips against his cheek. “I wish we had just a little longer.”

Dream’s fingers tangle in George’s t-shirt, holding him close enough that he can feel his heartbeat against his chest. It catches up to his own, beating in tandem for a few beats before they fall out of sync again. He thinks that’s what this is, their time together. It’s just a few beats of their hearts, in perfect synchrony, before they fall out of rhythm and go their own ways. 

Dream holds onto George’s body like maybe he can hold on to their time together. Maybe they can squeeze in just one or two more heartbeats before they lose the rhythm.

–

*****

–

Dream is awake before his alarm makes a peep. Ironically, it’s the fear of that impending sound that pulls him from the comfort of his sleep, like morbid curiosity. He can’t sleep for fear of being woken up. It’s sick.

He’s not ready. He’d known this whole time; he’d been aware that this was coming and now, he can’t accept it. Not after everything that happened the night before, not after learning what had happened to George. He knows the trauma is old, but it’s new to Dream and he can’t— he can’t walk away now. 

But he has to. He has a flight. He has a job. It’s not like he can stay forever. 

He opens the airline website and stares at the online check-in section. His flight leaves in three and a half hours. Three and a half hours and he’ll be on his way home, with nothing but a few silly souvenirs and some of the best memories he could ever hope to keep.

Three and a half hours.

He climbs out of the bed as quietly as possible, double checking that he hasn’t woken George before walking out into the living room. It’s funny how at home he feels here, how the walls around him have started to feel like old friends in just a few days.

He finds the phone number and he calls it, keeping his voice down as he speaks to let George sleep a little longer.

—

When he gets back into bed, George finally stirs, frowning as he cuddles up to Dream’s chest. “Is it time? Do you have to go?”

“What if I didn’t?” Dream asks, cautiously optimistic. He thinks he knows how George will react, but the truth is he doesn’t. 

George’s head tilts, the sleepy confused expression clear even through the darkness of the early morning. “Didn’t what?”

“Have to go,” Dream explains. “What if I stayed a little longer?”

“A little– what? How much longer?” George is starting to wake up now, but the confusion is still thick in his eyes.

“I don’t know, a day or two?” Dream says, shrugging. “Maybe three or four? I have a little more time off I can use. I was saving it for a rainy day, but I think it’s raining now.”

George's nose wrinkles adorably. One of his eyebrows is messed up from his pillow, the hairs going every which way. Dream is so completely enamored with him.

“I can’t tell if that’s a metaphor or not. This is London. Odds are it is raining.”

“It’s a metaphor, idiot,” Dream huffs, grinning. “Would you just answer me already? Is it okay if I stay a little bit longer?”

George kisses him then, sleep breath and all. It’s not bad though. Not at all. “You can stay for as long as you want. Stay forever.”

Dream pulls away, looking into George’s eyes. It’s still dark, but he can see the features of his face blurred by shadows. “I can’t stay forever,” he says, his tone filled with regret. “You get that, right? That’s just how it is.”

“No, I know,” George answers. There’s regret there, too, but Dream can tell that he understands; they’re on the same page.

“But a few more days,” Dream says, hopeful. And, god, it’s good to feel hopeful again. “We can have that at least, yeah?”

George’s sleepy grin takes Dream’s heart into a vice grip so strong he can’t imagine it will ever be let go.

“I’ll take a few more days.”

It’s all Dream has to give. He’d love to offer more, months or years or infinities, but he’s not in a place to give those away. Even if they magically lived on the same continent, in the same city, the fact is that Dream has just gotten out of a relationship that he’d been in since he became an adult, and fresh off a breakup is never the best time to jump into something permanent. 

Maybe someday the stars will align and they’ll find each other again, in just the right place and time. Maybe then they can talk long term. For now, they have days.

Dream just wants to make the most of them.