Work Text:
Entangled on a soft velvet cough, George isn’t quite sure if he can determine when he ends and where Dream begins. Between flushed cheeks and dark eyes and under the dim light of the warm glow from the light in their livingroom, tendrils of desire are woven through the air, creating a bond between two bodies, drawing them closer and closer.
Dreams hair is getting long. It’s fluffy and dark, framing jade eyes. His delicate features accented with the faint dust of freckles across his nose, the subtle beauty that George would be stupid to resist.
Dark and sultry, George leans forward and kisses him. An electric current surges through them, passed on from one to another. The softness of their lips create a delicate friction, the coy exploration.
With his hands on Dreams back, George feels up the warmth of his skin beneath his own frosty fingertips. Feels the ridges of his spine, how he shudders when George bites on his lip and the way he arches into the touch.
With their bodies pressed so close, it’s like they’re molding together. As if they were two puzzle pieces finding their rightful place. Georges scent filling his senses, the scent of cologne that doesn’t belong to him and the tang of his sweat, tantalizing and intoxicating.
Every nerve ending alight with desire, Dream can feel everywhere Georges hands move. Greedy, they’re exploring, mapping out his body and venturing further and further south. Each inch he discovers eliciting an impassioned response, it feels like Georges touch leaves a trail of fire everywhere it went, igniting a hunter within Dream that, before meeting him, he never knew existed.
The air is stale around them, humid with sweat and the same oxygen passed between two bodies stagnant. The sensation of being so lightheaded makes George sighs into Dreams mouth, dark eyes searching. Taking in every inch of him, from the blush that starts at the tip of his ears and travels down his chest to counting each of his individual freckles.
“George,” Dream tries to laugh. It’s too breathless to put a name on the sound, punched out and far too fond. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re, like..”
He trails off. It’s fine, he doesn’t need to finish. George presses a kiss to the corner of his lips, then his jaw, then down his neck and oh, God.
”George,” he tries again, pitched.
“What?” George rouses like he hasn’t done anything wrong. For a moment, Dream forgets himself.
With the soft pudge of Dreams curves under his fingers, George smirks. With his teeth peeking out behind kissed lips, Dream does the only thing that a man like him can in this situation. Ragdoll, limp against the back of the couch, he tilts his head skywards and whines.
“What's what, Dream?” Georges voice is velvet. “You want a kiss?”
George scratches behind his ear when Dream nods, more urgent. “You really are like a dog. Come on, say you want it,” he laughs, lukewarm, and Dream closes his eyes. ”Dream.”
Driven by the primal need to be possessed, Dreams eyes flutter and follow the hand tracing the shape of his jaw. “George,” he breathes. “Kiss me. Please?”
Swollen and full, Dream whines into Georges mouth when he gives in. It doesn’t take much - George can be rough when he wants to, that much is well known - he likes to leave his marks, lay claim to what belongs to him. He’s not shy about it as most people would assume. He likes to flaunt what he owns with pretty gold chains and by sauntering about, brandishing a marked up neck and bruised hips.
Prideful, Dream thinks, tenderly, hands cupping the soft fat on the back of his thighs.
However fervent, it’s not enough to distract him from the pulsing in his bladder. He shifts, jostling George in his lap as he presses his thighs together. Mistakenly, George looks down at Dreams half-chub and smiles back up at him, sly.
“Dream,” he says for the umpteenth time since they’ve started. The way it lolls off of his tongue, his accent peeking through however faded. Dream finds that, with his closing throat, the best he can do is sigh and try to roll his hips up into George.
“Dream,” he says again. He presses his legs together. “Dream, do you need something?” With nimble fingers cradling his jaw, Dream bites his bottom lip to keep himself from making an embarrassing noise. George is none the wiser. “Don’t be shy, baby,” he rouses softly, “tell me what you need.”
Hesitant, yet incapable of resistance, Dream lets out another soft noise, high in the back of his throat, unable to find his voice. His body betrays him, the pulsing need growing stronger - he needs George to take charge, to fulfill the craving that has been building inside of him for the past how many years.
Dark with desire and vulnerability, Dream opens his eyes - when had they closed? - and searches Georges gaze, sultry and smug. His voice barely above a whisper, “I.. I need, um.. I need t-to–”
He gasps, brows knitting inwards before tipping “George, I need-”
It doesn’t get him anywhere. His thighs flutter, trying to fan the best they can with Georges knees bracketing them. Georges gaze is dark, unrelenting - the hunger and the possessiveness. The way a single bead of sweat drips from Dreams forehead, catching on his temple. George leans in to lick it away, kissing the wrinkles of his brow.
With one hand still cradling his jaw, Georges other hand ventures further south, exploring the softness of Dreams inner thighs. The heat emanating from his core and the need pulsating through his body and it does little other than to serve fuel to his own desire.
His fingers trail upward, grazing over the fabric covering the jut between Dreams legs. With the urgency to be touched growing with every passing second. Dreams breath hitches as Georges slender fingers finally make contact with where he needs them most - dipping between his legs and brushing against the underside of his cock.
He arches into the touch - electric, sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being. Georges touch is skilled and attentive, bringing Dream to the edge of desperation and ecstasy. He knows exactly how to push his buttons, how to help him unwind after he’s been pent up for far too long.
Moans and gasps fill the air as George works his hand over Dreams cock - conservative, slow and torturous. In the moment, there is only the intoxicating blend of bliss and hunger for more. Dream loses himself in the depths of it, solace in Georges embrace and craving fulfillment.
Dreams bladder decides that it doesn’t want to let the moment linger, though. The familiar sensation in his bladder causes him to squirm, panting wetly into Georges mouth. Unwilling to let go of the moment, he fights to keep the urge at bay, clenching his fists by his sides and hoping that it would pass.
It doesn’t.
It tumbles over him in wave, the need only intensifying. With equal parts pleasure and desperation, Dream whines softly, his grip on his own bodily functions beginning to waver.
No, no, no, he cries to himself, internal, squeezing his eyes closed and praying to whatever there is that he won’t ruin the moment.
George swipes his tongue over Dreams bottom lip, and, attuned to the sudden shift in his demeanor, pulls back, releasing Dreams half-chub. “Dream?” He tries, noticing the telltale flicker of distress in his golden eyes. “Dream, is everything alright?”
Dream draws in a breath, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turn white. Caught between pleasurable sensations and the urgent call of nature, he flushes, cheeks a deep shade of crimson. He looks up at George with his voice equal parts embarrassment and need,
“George,” He swallows his pride, looking down instead as his hand cradles Georges hip. “I need to.. Um.. George, I need to go..”
Georges expression falters. His body betrays him, hands stilling and his posture stiff. It’s only for a moment, though, because he moves forward and presses his lips to Dreams neck, then his jaw and the sensitive little spot just behind his ear, and then his lips again, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and sucking until it’s swollen and red.
As fate would have it, Dreams resolve was no match for his bursting bladder. A soft moan and a sudden twitch of his muscles, he couldn’t hold it any longer. Venti lemonade and hot chocolate, he draws his head back and sighs. His hands on Georges hips pull him in closer, letting him feel the way it spreads. First a little damp spot just under his belly button, then a trail across his thigh and then a torrent, soaking through his boxers and Georges - his own - sweatpants.
His heart swells with gratitude and relief as he releases his clenched muscles, allowing the hot, off-yellow stream to cascade down between his thighs. It’s almost impressive, managing to soak through his own clothes, the body above him and the couch beneath him. The sensation of warm liquid spreading against his skin rouses the curious mix of pleasure and vulnerability, intertwining his primal desire with a deeper sense of trust and love that George embodied.
He gasps, shifting - it splashes beneath him as he moves, the urgency too much to move. His grip on George tightens, hard enough to leave bruises, and a small moan tumbles past his lips.
“Baby,” George coos, rare, “you’re so tense..” his fingers cradle Dreams jaw, touching him all the way down to his collarbone. He grinds his hips once into the stream, and the feeling is nearly angelic. Wet and warm, soaking through the top of his t-shirt and then some. The stream trickles down Dreams stomach where it’s exposed and George gets the sudden urge to run his fingers through it. He repeats the movements, twice, thrice, and the sounds it makes are obscene. Georges hands wander and Dream struggles to keep his eyes open to see it. It’s nearly too much to bear when he presses his thumb into the slit.
“George-!” He calls, choked. George only laughs at him, giggling sweetly as the stream breaks into two with the pressure, spraying Georges chest and dripping down Dreams chin.
“What a mess..” George kisses his teeth as he drops his cock, looking up at him expectantly. “What do you say?”
Dream struggles to find himself, trembling. The stream finally begins to taper out, his heaving chest stuttering with every breath. Inadvertently, as George levels him with that gaze, bated breath and flushed cheeks. With damp hands, Dream reaches out to cup his jaw. He smiles at him, laughs, and another spurt of piss comes out as his form trembles and shakes with it. Georges tongue darks out and sucks Dreams thumb into his mouth, licking over the pad of his finger and tasting him.
Somehow, it’s one of the most attractive things he’s ever seen.
With his face flushed with embarrassment, his initial instinct is to pull away and hide. But George, ever understanding and one of if not the hottest person he’s ever met, lurches forward to kiss the taste into his mouth. He doesn’t stop moving, his lips, his hips, kissing him into oblivion as he chases his own pleasure, panting into Dreams mouth more than he is kissing him properly.
“I’m so sorry,” Dream gasps, limp under his hold. “I couldn’t hold it in.” The shameful admission stirs something inside of him, cock twitching in interest as George moves against him, hungry and searching.
It doesn’t take long for Dream to finish first - he cums, all over his stomach and into the small puddle of cooling piss that pools in his belly button, splashing a bit as the ropes shoot upwards. The sight of it pushes George over the edge, too, surging forward to catch his lips in a heated kiss, all tongue and teeth as he howls and cums in his pants like a horny teenager.
In the haze of it, he isn’t sure how long it takes for the both of them to come to, slumped against each other filthy and drenched. George is the first to move, though, cringing and wincing at the feeling of piss and cum cooling on his skin.
“Dream,” he whispers into the shell of his ear, his warm breaths shaking with the effort of holding himself up. “This is really gross. You’re really gross.”
With his bare throat, Dream manages to laugh, jostling him. “Skill issue,” he tells him. Hands on his hips, then his chest and his shoulders, George is careful to avoid the bodily fluids. It doesn’t worry very well, and he stumbles when he stands, dripping all over their carpeted floor. Dream cringes, knowing he’s going to be the one who gets stuck with cleaning it all up if they have any of their pride to save.
When they shower together, Dream laves Georges hair in his strawberry-scented shampoo and conditioner. He runs his fingers over each crevice and dip of his body, feeling him up and memorizing every curve and freckle. He kisses his neck and whispers words of praise, quiet in the evening where the golden light from the window paints him in the glow of aureylian and myrrh. Dream thinks that he deserves every drop of it as his digits work sudsy water into the dip between his hip and thighs.
In bed later that night, with the fresh scent of fruit and bleach still lingering in Georges hair and on Dreams hands, Dream can kiss him softly and cup his hands over the bruises on his hips, humming softly. In the night, he can let George mumble to him that he wants to be the big spoon and he’ll scoot just a little further down the bed so that he can rest his head in Georges collarbone and George can wrap his arms around his chest.
“George,” he whispers to the wall, closing his eyes. When George sounds his acknowledgement with a hum and a kiss to the back of his neck, he continues, “thanks for today. I, um. I didn’t know I needed that.”
George hooks his leg over Dreams hip and smiles into the back of his neck. It’s all he really needs. Dream finds one of his hands and squeezes it, bringing his knuckles to his lips and kissing it.