Chapter Text
“We need to talk, blondie.”
The pink pulsing of his climax gradually started to simmer down to labored breathing and flushed cheeks, cock twitching where it lay inside the brunet. Glow of an orgasm dabbing off to reality.
Reality of fucking another man–
“Fu…” A thick grunt as he slides out from the heat surrounding him, wincing from the sensitivity, Mia a few meek doors away – probably having heard all the commotion, all the commotion of her own boyfriend slamming into some stranger on his office desk.
Mahogany wood damp – sticky with dried salt and old bodily fluids, desk marked with sin and years of his life being a lie. Letting out a shaky breath, watching the pale boy under him, how he could look so ethereal still dirtied with cum and hues of magenta bruises.
Why–fuck–why did he find the boy beautiful still?
Mocca eyes roll back with an airy whimper, feeling the blond remove himself, “Dream?”
Clicking his tongue on bruised sinful lips, he slowly walked backwards, away from the boy, away from whatever the fuck he’d just done. Heart starting to hammer pitch black throughout his body – regret , regret and shame. Swallowing hard around nothing, he stumbles slightly into his discarded joggers.
Snapping his eyes down to pick them up – throwing them on haphazardly.
“Blondie?”
Fabric felt rough on his dirtied skin, letting out a weak breath as his back hit the wall with a thud, refusing to look at the naked man. He should probably help clean him up, it's what he should do, right?
Right ?
Biting his lips deciding against it, prick , starting to slide down the wall, emitting a sound when his exposed back dragged against the surface, forest eyes burning holes into the carpet – the same carpet his toes curled into, while he came inside of another m–
“Dream!”
Air getting caught in his tightening throat, hitting the ground softly, his golden bangs swaying. “You,” not even finishing the sentence as he brings his knees jerkily crisscrossed in front of him – fingers toying with each other in his lap, black smoke choking him up, counting his fingers to ignore the sinking feeling.
A mere ghost of dark tufts of hair moving out of his peripheral, nostrils flaring as he just thinks.
He cheated.
He cheated on someone that loves him – someone he whispered to during late nights, I will never leave your side . That they would be each other's for the rest of their lives, I will never hurt you.
He cheated.
He cheated with a man – with someone who makes his pulse quicken, makes his cheeks flush. A man . A fucking man , fingers twitching where they lay, slight disgust painted on golden features, gut churning as bile starts forming, wanting to throw it up, wanting to get it out of his system. Trying to blink – blink it all away as he lets out a sound, “Geo–”
Unwanted pink light started pulling him up from the black void he was falling in, he didn’t want the pink to be there – didn’t want the pink to be pink for him . For other people, sure, but for him to experience it with another man, no.
Pissed she couldn't be the pastel colors, why did he have to make them appear, eyebrows furrowing as George sits down in front of him, sweatpants on, cleaning himself off with one of Dream’s old t-shirts, scoffing watching it happen.
Their knees bump slightly as mocca and forest mixed once again, “Dream…” The boy spoke calmly, almost soft voice despite his fucked out throat, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Huffing as he breaks his gaze, running a tongue under his top lip, “No–no, you said–you said we needed to talk, what,” a shaky intake of air, “What is it?”
George hums, trailing a lone finger over the blond’s kneecap, making him flinch away from the warmth. Not wanting hands on him – or rather, not wanting the boy’s touch on him. The brunet seemingly got the memo, a small spark of hurt behind mocca irises, “We can talk about that later,” he starts, bringing his knees to himself – away from Dream, “Just tell me why you’re freaking out.”
Blond brows perk, pink and black swirling around his lungs – they matched together like lost puzzle pieces, dancing around his veins like a couple, both colors making his heart stutter with shame. “It’s, uhm, nothing,” his pulse quickens, feeling thumping in his fingertips.
Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down thick syrup, not able to continue as George speaks before him, “You’re scared of the whole being gay thing agai–”
“Don’t call me that .” Dream breathes out, slowly looking up into the brit’s eyes, feeling like he’s drowning in hot coffee. He wished he could, wishing the man's eyes would take away all the worries like they had done prior.
Black replaced with blue, not shame anymore, just pure desperation and confusion, feeling his bottom lip tremble for a faint moment, a cold hiccup waiting for George to say anything, do anything .
Like the brit somehow knew all the answers.
George looked genuine, biting on the skin around his thumb, that teasing boy long forgotten, murmuring, “Sorry if I – if I pressured you, earlier, I tried to help you realize.”
Sucking down on his bottom lip hard to stop himself from crumbling, to stop the heartsick feeling from taking overdrive of his emotions, breath hitching, “Make me realize what?” Voice barely above a whisper, sounding–sounding purely weak .
“Y’know–”
“Don’t.” He backtracks, he knows what the other will say. Snapping his head down to not look at the sin sitting a foot in front of him – the boy's violet hues littered across his skin, left by the blond’s own disgusting mouth – and his girlfriend's sugary lips.
Taking a shallow breath as his left eye slightly blurred, he’d really done it. Repulsed by himself for a multitude of reasons, the regret of his actions eating him up from the inside, making his skin buzz – feeling almost numb as goosebumps rose alongside his nape.
Betraying the trust of someone that loved him – he might not love her he realizes now, but Mia still gave him everything, all pretty smiles and heart-shaped eyes, holding him while he slept – whispering sweet nothings, grunting as he remembered her yellow words, “I cheated.”
George's face contorted in all different shades of confusion, “Blondie, you–she,” he started, observing how Dream's hands trembled, how the green eyes started glossing over, “Hey, Dream, are you forgetting she lied to you ?” A breath, whispering the last part, “Maybe it’s better for you to worry about your other problems right now?”
Yet another blue hiccup makes its way up the blond's throat, “There is no other – other problems,” he lied through his teeth, maybe ignoring it, maybe pretending he didn’t just fuck a guy, how he absolutely hates himself for it – it would go away, “I-I experimented with you, and, and now I know I’m not into guys.” The last part comes out like a silent prayer, a weak sniffle.
Maybe if there was a God above, it would hear them – hear Dream’s silent begging, repent him from his sins, make his urges to drag the man in front of him against his broken lips go away.
George’s pale nose wrinkled like a little bunny, jaw clenching and relaxing over and over again, scanning mocca eye’s all over Dream’s figure, coffee irises starting to fill with liquid salt of their own, just observing the blond’s turmoils – Dream hated that look on him under these circumstances.
“Dream, you–I,” George starts as he sits on the back of his heels, brown eyes basking in a speckle of hurt, his lungs stuttering before he continues, “Can I hold your hand?” He’s never heard the man this unsure.
His blood ran cold at the words, letting out a sound of… he didn’t really know what sound came out of him, clenching his eyes shut hard , all shades of blue swimming in his vision, trying oh-so desperately to not let that one tear fall over his lash line, “Ok,” he mumbles against his better judgment, presenting his hand, still not looking at the other.
Sitting back down he brings the blond’s hand in his lap – holding it with both his dainty ones, toying with the fingers as he exhales. Dream’s hand twitches as blunt nails scrape over his knuckles, the pink comfort almost making it easier to just let go – let the panic dancing around his gut, out.
But he refused, taking a shallow intake of air, clearing his throat in a sorry, “I-I just, fuck, I just,” enclosing his fist around one of George’s hands – he didn’t know which one, palm swallowing a slender pointer-finger, holding on as if it were a life line. The brunet’s free hand continued its caressing, “You what, Dream?”
Lips trembling he finally looks up to mocca again, breathing becoming erratic as the fucking thumping in his ears sped up, feeling his blood rise and fall, “Just don’t call me that .”
George’s face permanently stuck in a worried state, lips wrinkling downwards with downturned eyes, “What?” The boy croaks out, shy words bouncing off the office walls.
A moment before the brit spoke again, “Call you gay?”
Freckled face scrunching at the bluntness of it all, how the man just said it as it was – no filter, like the concept wasn't scary, because it was scary . Voice cracking as he lets out a yes in agreement.
George tugged his arm, and Dream resisted.
Well, he tried to, his body going limp as green eyes filled to the brim, pulse thumping even more so brutally in his ears now, a panicked sound let loose as he looked around the room for a distraction – a distraction to not let it fall over, to not let the hues of blue swallow him whole, not even realizing as he got pulled in for a sitting hug.
Hands tangling in golden locks delicately, holding his face into the brunet’s neck, essence of faint sex still lingering on his doll skin. A choked grunt as that godawful black cloud in his stomach grew – grew and traveled up to his chest, feeling a singular tear finally fall, running down his left cheek, “I don’t wanna, wanna be like this.” He stuttered out, “I have a, have a girl, a job, a–”
That dainty hand in his hair started stroking, hearing a sound above him, “Blondie, you’re acting like the world is ending over some dick.” George tried to laugh, tried to lighten the mood.
Not that it helped all that much, his gut continued to pull and sink making him seasick.
He didn't respond to the tease, just staring at the door with empty wet eyes, feeling the brunet’s heartbeat under his ear. It was almost calming in a way – the boy's warmth, hearing him inhale and exhale as his heart, bump, bump, bump .
The smaller man’s Adam's apple bobs as a phantom kiss is delivered to the crown of golden locks, “It’s ok to like men, Dream.”
Huffing as more dier salt started falling over, George must have felt the wetness puddling on his chest, “I know that, you don't have to tell me that,” he gasps, a hard punch of air hitting his lungs as the first sob falls out, “I’m – I’m not some kid.”
“Shh,” the brunet cooed as he started drifting backwards, gently laying them down on the carpet, only making the blond start shedding even more bitter tears, getting pressed harder against a bruised chest – gripping on the man’s waist to hold onto… something .
Hitting the ground with a soft thud, almost laying fully on top of the smaller, getting caressed like a baby, muted pink fighting – trying to over take the angry disgusting black filling his eyes with liquid, and his mind with horrid thoughts.
Putting a name on it all – having to decide, having to figure it out, accept it , made nasty emotions pump through his veins, a sniff barely audible as a hand raked over his back, gently massaging the muscles.
Another ghost of satin lips against a tan temple, almost like he knows what Dream is thinking, the man speaks up, voice hushed, “You don’t have to label yourself, blondie.”
Shuddering waves of blue washed over, making him choke up for a brief moment, trying to stay as composed as possible, “George…” he croaks as a tear falls again, he has no idea why he's singing the boy’s name, why he's so desperately calling out for him when he's right there. Feeling a slim leg tangle with his own on the floor, having half a mind to think how the smaller must lay uncomfortably, sobs echoing throughout the office.
No time to voice his concerns as George continues, “Just like, love who you wanna love, y’know,” the brunet half laughs, teasing his hand back in dirtied locks, “I know it sounds cliche,” resting his jaw on the crown of Dream’s head, “Just don’t lie to yourself,” silken lips kissing all over the blond where he could reach, making the tears break loose, choking on oxygen as; "You're so beautiful," a British accent whispers into the room, “So, so beautiful, promise me you won’t lie to yourself.”
Feeling dampness hit his scalp, frail shy tears running from George’s face down to golden features – as Dream’s own eyes started dissolving in blue ones.
“You don’t need stupid labels for it, like–”
“George–” Dream cuts him off with a shaky whine, wanting the other to shut up, make him stop talking before the words become reality.
“I mean it, blondie,” the smaller takes over again, clearing his throat in excuse for the hiccups in his breath, “Who gives a fuck – fuck who you wanna fuck, it’s just sex.”
Squeezing the boy’s waist again, nails penetrating his flushed skin as George’s neck wound up wet and messy, “I know but–”
“Love who makes you smile, who cares if it’s some dude who makes you giddy,” he laughed, smacking Dream's bicep, “Or makes your cock hard.”
Dream tried, he really tried not to smile, but he couldn't help the twitch that appeared on his dried lips, “You’re such an idiot.” He huffs, the black and blue tears of remorse still there, albeit, a little less.
“That’s rich coming from you right now.” The other light-heartedly mocked.
They lay there for a moment, feeling each other up softly in silence as Dream’s mind went rampant, skimming their hands all over the body of the other, wet flushed cheeks and puffy eyes cooling. His face vibrating with the rumble in George's chest as he hummed a tune, he couldn't decipher what the tune was – but calming nonetheless with the hands dragging over his spine.
Eyes tired and slightly moist, a sniff as he croaks out, “How, how did you meet Mia?” The words feel like acid on his lips, dripping down his jaw mixing with the black cloud already present on his chest – another thing making his heart stutter.
He hears a swallow – a gulp if you will – from above him, humming stopping, “We, shit, some months ago,” letting out a weak laugh, tightening his arms over Dream’s back in comfort, whispering the last part into blond locks, “At a bar, she… she was with a group of people–”
“Did you fuck her?” Feeling like his neck was burning up, flushing with despair, eyes threatening to start their little wet adventure as he toyed with George’s sides again, waiting for the unavoidable answer.
Whatever the answer may be, it would still make the black storm through his head persist, she’s either betrayed years of co-existing for a quick lay – or, Dream himself has fucked her friend after lying to them both for years.
Lying .
A dead chuckle escaping his tongue from the word, lying . Lying to himself, lying to his girlfriend . Swallowing down regret and hope – hopes of being able to be with her , with a sound of desperation, “Answer me,” lash line wetting with liquid blue, “Please.”
“Dream, I–” George starts, splaying his hand flat on the taller’s back, “I was with some friends, and, and she was there with a group of girls.”
Barely above a whisper, voice raspy, “Answer, George. Please.”
“No, I didn’t,” The brunet’s voice was stern, more words laying on the tip of his tongue, ready to be puked out – Dream’s heart falters at the words, he should be happy, right?
Their synced heartbeats were like a never-ending clock, drumming ugly colors of all emotions around the room, “I didn’t fuck her, but she–shit, she gave me her number–”
Cutting him off with a sob he so desperately tried to hold back, “Y-yeah no shit she gave you her number.”
“– After we made out, felt each other up,” a shaky breath, “I would have slept with her if, I, she, no, if one of her friends didn’t come and drag her away,” clearing his throat, “I ended up going home with one of her girls instead,” drawing circles onto Dream skin, almost like a nervous tick. “I’m sorry.” Is all he whispers.
He didn't care for the sentiment in that way, he never got possessive over her, still, it made his hands fist up.
Like the air had been punched out of him, coughing dramatically as he leaned up – pulling Georges hands off him, body feeling cold, he wanted to go back in his arms – let the brunet hold him, let the other try to swipe away the blue with sweet, pink, British words, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
Glossed over mocca meeting green ones – forest eyes filled with liquid sorrow, he didn’t let the smaller speak before he weakly asked, “Like, before the fucking threesome.”
“I-I figured,” nervously trying to pull Dream back, making the blond's eyes flutter, wet lashes hitting his under eye. And Dream let him – let the man drag him down with a sniff, void in his gut traveling at record speeds all over his insides, making him numb again, “I figured you knew, that she- that she had talked about me.”
Bringing a hand to wipe under his nose, old tears drying on his cupid's bow, “Of course she didn’t fucking talk about you.” Regardless of the venom he was spitting, he came crawling back to George's arms, letting the man look at him with a trembling lip before embracing him fully.
Taking a deep breath, lungs stuttering at the intake, surrounding his senses yet again was the essence of George, a pretty british boy his girlfriend supposedly found on a dating app , a singular wet drop fell down his cheek at the thought, running down his neck, landing in the puddle by George’s throat, “It’s ok, angel.” George whispers, tightening his arms around Dream.
Feeling the brunet rest his head on top of his, “Why did you just call me angel ?”
“Oh, sorry I–”
Hiccupping as he cuts the man's apology off, murmuring into the pale skin making the words muffled, “Your name for me is always– always blondie,” almost like he's embarrassed to say it.
George’s teasing hands falter for a moment, letting out a wet laugh, “Mhm you want me to keep calling you blondie, huh?” Dream’s heart skipped a beat, speckles of pink fighting for dear life to break through, maybe he would let it.
Silence dawns upon them again, and it's comfortable – never awkward, light touches and light nibbles delivered to George's chest at points, making the brunet hiss with a grin. He could get used to this, this boy made his brain think way too much – at the same time, mocca eyes glinting with understanding gave him hope.
Mocca was definitely more beautiful than chocolate.
A door closing in the distance makes him jump, yellow and black tightening his throat immediately, “Hey, it’s ok,” George interrupted before his mind could start wandering again, giving a small peck to his forehead, “Let's just get up, alright?”
Letting out a sound in agreement he started pulling away weakly, fuck he really needed to sleep , two heavy sessions of sex ruining his thighs, skin dirtied with bodily fluids.
Mind constantly running with alarm clocks.
A slight creak to his knee, standing to his full height, watching the brit do the same, warm breath as they just stare – mocca staring back. Feeling the tip of his ears heat crimson with his pulse.
“Blondie?”
Shaking his head, golden locks swaying in front of green, “I–I don’t wanna think more about this tonight, but, but thank you.” Whispering the last part looking down at his exposed feet.
“Yeah, no–of course, no problem.” George echoes back, voice awfully low – throat still raspy, slowly turning away with a light smile, before Dream grabs his wrist on impulse, pale skin feeling like cotton candy under his fingertips.
Gently yanking the brunet closer, biting down on his trembling lip, brown eyes just watch the man's action unfold with a slight furrow to his brows – a little grin dancing on his face, “What is it, Dream?”
He couldn't tell what colors roamed his gut when he nimbly captured the brit’s chin in his palm — the man’s barely-there stubble tickling his hand, “Can I, can I kiss you?” Opening his mouth in shock at his own words, eyes fluttering, his lashes felt crusty and weak as black started seeping over his spine, “No, what the fuck, sorry I–I,” he can’t be kissing a man, he can’t be wanting to kiss a–
Before he knew it, supple lips were pressed against his, it felt… familiar – making him stiffen before relaxing into the heat with a sigh, lips seductively skimming on each other, it was all awfully careful. His heart hammered faster and faster and faster, pink shooting through his veins as the tips of his eyebrows perked nervously.
He just fucked the man, still, cherry lips tasting one another now , made his heart flip, lower abdomen roaming with butterflies of all colors, pink, blue, black –
It's wrong.
It’s right.
He wants to run away.
He wants to drag him closer.
Lungs filled with fuzz, feeling a shy tongue lick his bottom lip, asking oh-so softly for entrance, and he let it, grabbing ahold of the boy’s waist to deepen it. Breathing through their nostrils as tongues and lips sped up, teasing bites here and there.
“Fuck,” George grunted out in an accent, throwing his hands in golden locks, pressing their faces impossibly closer, sharing spit like there was no tomorrow, neither of the boys realizing they were walking backward before they hit the door with a thud.
All his previous worries seemingly disappear for a moment, when all his mind can think of is a pretty british boy he wants to ruin – wants to kiss, how beautiful he is. Squeezing the boy's sides as he turns his head to the left for better access, a faint moan is let out as nails scrape all over him.
“Dream!”
“Shit,” he breathes against spit-covered lips as his heart jumps out of his chest, hands starting to shake when he pushes away hastily, “Yeah?” Dream yells, hoping she would hear him – or rather, wishing she wouldn't, would just go away. Let him continue this comfort in foreign lips.
Mocca eyes widened for a split second, clearing his throat as he took a few steps back. Almost letting out a sound at the loss of warmth, cock barely stirring, “We’ll come out now!”
Opening the door jerkily, he hears a high-pitched voice ask, “We?”
He felt like he could fall locking eyes with chocolate again – and not in a good way, her sweet eyes made every color that was previously present vanish, instead this ugly, disgusting, hateful, bright, fucking yellow – “Yeah, we , George is still here.”
Her eyes travel across his exposed torso, “I–weren’t you gonna drive him home?”
A hiccup, looking down to hide the red in his eyes, “Uh, I showed him some code–”
“You code?” George interrupted, looking to the side he saw brown eyes glint, if he had a tail it would be wagging, “I, shit–”
“What?” Mia deadpans, shifting his gaze to her with a wrinkled nose – eyes still feeling puffy, slowly walking towards her to wrap his hands around her midsection.
“Fuck, I showed him some code, wanna eat breakfast?” Dream weakly tries his best to shift the topic. Hands feeling like acid where he was holding her clothed sides, “I really want bagels.” He suggested with a faux smile.
He felt a presence move behind him, Mia stood dumbfounded, her response a little airy, “I mean, yeah, sure,” shifting her eyes to the brunet, “What do you wanna eat, George?“
“Oh, I should, I should probably head hom–”
“No!” The couple both sang, the taller blond clearing his throat, “We wouldn't send you home after all of… that .”
The room filled with tension, everyone just sending glances at each other, rolling his tongue as he toyed with her sides, comparing it to George’s, how his was harder – more muscle. He caught mocca eyes on his own as the brunet spoke, eyes drifting down to where Dream was holding Mia, “I–yeah, bagels probably fine.”
It’s what they wound up doing after that dreadful reunion, all three in the kitchen, small chatting about needing sleep and a shower – awfully domestic even with an extra person. Everyone was still half-naked and bruised, sitting around the table – George in front of them, chewing away on some way-too-dry bread.
Chocolate eyes roaming over the brunet’s chest, openly eyeing him up. Dream’s gut churned at the visual, why she was looking at him, and not the blond. Why is it making green jealousy spring, never once felt that way over her prior – not even when the brit fucked her.
A clank of a butter knife makes him look away from her, down at his food, mother always told him not to play with his food growing up, but it was better than watching the other two eye fuck. Or rather, Mia eye fuck George.
“So, do yall wanna do it again?” She asked after some peaceful quiet, cockiness dripping off her words. He saw mocca eyes panic, choking on his food as he looked between the two blonds.
Dream acted nonchalantly, still in his head about this newfound information about himself, about his fucking girlfriend, “Like, when?” Feeling a slender hand grab ahold of his bicep, not sparing her a glance as he kept his eyes on the other boy with a dull smirk.
Watching how the brunet fumbled, how his mouth closed and opened repeatedly. Understandable, he gets it, truly, he himself would have been shocked. George not able to speak before Mia beats him to it, “I could go again now.”
Finally the brit spoke up with a scoff, “My dick would fall off.”
He couldn't help the grin that spread on his face at the words, letting out a dead laugh, “Yeah, no, same.”
Hand on his body leaves him jerkily, turning to see Mia with a little pout toying with her food, “Why 'you guys so fucking boring.” She mumbles.
“She really is needy, huh?” George teased, it was good seeing the dynamic come back. Not feeling the need to put on this fake show, letting the brunet steer the conversation, “But,” George starts again, biting his lip looking at Dream, “If you– I mean you guys really wanna do it again sometime, I’m – I’m up for it?” His face looked like a question mark, trying to communicate to Dream with his eyes – the blond just winked at him licking over ivory.
Mia perked beside him, letting out an agreement, “I do.”
Of course she does.
“Mhm, it was hot,” The other blond stated, shining George a second smile, “Let me at least sleep and shower though.” Swallowing down another piece of bread, pupils blowing up thinking of all the things he could do, having to hold back a laugh when he asks, “You wanna try something a little more kinky?”
George looked utterly whiplashed by the blonds new behavior, he’d just had the man crying on him a mere hour ago, “Dream– are you–”
“Shit, yeah,” Mia cuts him off, no regards to the brunet’s stammering, “What kinda kinky are you thinking of?”
Rolling his tongue over cherry lips, tasting faintly of British ones, “Cuffs, blindfolds, whatever.” He falsely suggested, “That's up to you, Mia,” finishing with a cough.
“Or…” Snaking an arm around her waist to drag her in, softly nibbling her ear lobe leaving yellow drops on his lips, whispering loud enough for George to hear, “Want us tying you down?” A squeeze to her sides, “Use you?” He knows that's exactly what she wants, a privilege you get from fucking the same person since highschool.
“Yes, god–” Tuning her out when he saw mocca eyes hood slightly, shifting his body, confusion gone from his face. It made a crinkle appear on his forehead watching the other boy eye her hungrily, George should be looking at him that way, not her . That same feeling he got prior blossoming hues of greens in his chest, “You up for that, George?”
“Yeah.” The brit breaths, finally looking at Dream again with an unreadable expression.
“Alright then.”
They ended up finishing their food, small conversations about certain activities . Mia had jumped to the pedestal when George asked for a ride home, telling the man they had a spare bed, toothbrush, you name it. Both boys looked taken aback by the words, before “I mean sure,” George had agreed, much to Dream’s surprise.
Taking turns in the showers and going on with their day after some well-deserved sleep, no worries of an extra person joining their routine. It was kind of calming in a way, the brunet’s presence making his brain, just, pause for a moment. Finding comfort in having someone that understands around.
Even if he didn’t want to think of what he understood.
Lazily lounging around watching some shit reality show, to the blond's dismay – Mia was snuggling up to his side, running her acrylics over his clothed chest. Biting his tongue all day to not let his disgust shine through.
George had gotten a spare set of joggers after the shower, and he tried – he really did, tried not to look at the man, how his own clothes were hanging loosely off his figure.
But he's just a man, and all that.
Just a man with this newfound pleasure of seeing pretty boys wearing his clothes.
The brunet was on the other side of Mia again, not cozying up, just sitting – mocca eyes trained on the boring television. Dream could reach him if he tried, having his arm over the back of the couch, his body almost screaming at him to just move his hand forward slightly to poke him – to feel him .
A huff from the girl as she sits up, he got a whiff of her sickeningly sweet shampoo when she did so, making his nose wrinkle. Her thigh knocking into George’s, “What are we even watching?”
“I dunno, you put it on.” He yawned, looking to the left at them then looking back, before doing a double-take; seeing her place her pinky on the brunet’s thigh – stiffening at the action, but not saying anything, green starting to buzz through his veins as the hand traveled further.
George all but leaned his head back lightly, coughing, “I uhm, I think it’s something about, about marriages, or some shit.” Mia’s hand fully on top of him, drawing circles on his outer thigh with her thumb.
He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but seeing her feeling him up– right beside him, made this almost competitive nature take over. Gingerly pushing forward a tiny bit to run his blunt nails down George’s neck, resting his hand there like a necklace, like a phantom touch of a chokehold, just backwards.
“Why are we watching that?” Mia asked, with no intention of getting any actual answers, just a shitty attempt at distracting Dream, snaking her hand upwards to lay by his inner thigh – squeezing there and making George stutter his breath.
Dream could have scoffed at the whole scene, finding the brunet’s pulse points on the side of his throat, nape in Dream’s palm – the brit’s heartbeat pulsating under his fingertips as he ever so tactfully squeezed there, “Like I said, you put it on.” Dream spoke, equally trying to distract her.
A faint swear can be heard muttered under the man's breath, shifting his hips lightly, “Guys, you–”
“What?” The blond couple asked in unison, Dream let his chokehold go, Mia, however, kept teasingly roaming her hand. “What is it, George?” He asked again, scraping his hand over dark locks, tugging carefully.
Green eyes watching George like a hawk, how his bulge got more prominent – not hard, just stirring to life, “Uh, nothing.” Mia’s acrylics continue to roam, Dream's fingers scraping on the side of his throat.
Mocca irises glinting with something unreadable, body sinking into the cushions as the couple kept teasing their hands on him – discreetly, trying not to alert each other. And George took it, feeling like a mere buffer in their competitive nature.
A little whine from an extra hard tug, the brunet breathes out, “Fuck! You uh – did you guys wanna do that, that threesome?” Shaking his head as Dream removes his grip, “Cause,'' George started with a confident chuckle, because of course it is, the man’s always on some sort of high horse, “I’m horny, and if you guys are gonna keep touching me lik–”
“Jesus, yeah ok,” Dream laughed, a grin dancing on his lips, “You really don’t have a filter, do you?” Ignoring how Mia’s hands on the man drove him up the wall, he wanted to rip them off him.
Speak of the devil and she shall appear, “Mhm, you two babies got enough rest?”
It looked like George wanted to do something, licking his lips, shifting his gaze between the two blonds, “Don’t worry about that, princess.”
Dream felt his whole face contort at the pet name, “ Princess ,” he mocked, realizing he said it out loud he cleared his throat, “She’s no princess, I’ll tell you that much.” Trying to excuse it as teasing.
“Mhm,” George mumbled, standing to his full length, “Wanna go?”
Much like their first night together, they stumbled over each other into the dim-lit room. Dream didn’t push her against a door this time, rather telling her to grab the cuffs – fluffy ones, Mia buying them some years ago wanting to experiment .
Mia turns around on her merry way to the bedside, so obviously, he catches George’s waist behind her back, making the brit stutter. Traveling a palm up his chest, feeling the boys slight muscle flex under his palm – a lone finger skimming across his jaw, tilting his chin so he could whisper directly in the man's ear, “I didn’t like how she was touching you on the couch.” Placing his other hand on the boy's hip, grinding carefully against his ass, “Tryna touch you, as if I couldn't see it.”
Taking a second to breathe, the softness of George's backside rubbed against him, tightening his grip on the boy's hips, a bruising one – he wanted it to bruise, to leave magenta and carmine handprints all over his pale skin. Warm fuzz blossoming in his chest from the simple contact.
“Dream–” George starts, cutting himself off as the blond pushes him towards the bed seeing Mia turn around. Putting on a faux smile he clears his throat, already feeling heated in anticipation. This boy made him feel like a fucking virgin.
Seeing her pull out pink cuffs – yellow would suit her better, his mind supplies. It's almost cliche, a blond chick with hot pink restraints dangling from her pointer, “George, do you mind helping her?” Not wanting to involve himself more than necessary.
The brunet does just that, feeling up her sides as he gingerly undresses her, shifting his gaze to the ground and pulling off his own hoodie, hand finding home over his barely-there bulge – palming, trying to get some blood pumping.
Head falls back as visions of a certain boy engulf his head, closing his eyes hard trying to focus on how his pretty lips parted, how he felt tightening around him like a glove, milky skin making a mess of himself . Grunting as the hand started going more vigorously.
“What are you doing, Dream?” An annoyingly all-too-familiar voice asked, not opening his eyes as he bit his lip, grumbling, “Trying to get hard, can’t you see?”
“Feisty.” George laughed, and somehow it made his cock perk, hearing his smart-arse mouth, as Dream once called it.
“Is that coming from you ?” The blond couldn't help but chuckle back, tongue peeking out between his toothy grin, mind swarming with the brunet trying so desperately to stay in control.
A scoff, “You’ll get there, come over here.” She should have only known, it wasn't as simple as just you’ll get there, years of history already proving that.
Sighing as he looks down at them, George lazily stroking himself, Mia – well, Mia laying awfully naked, hands above her head in the cuffs running behind a metal bar. Her breasts sloping slightly, laying flat, “Tell me the safe words.” George pipes up.
Walking towards them as she lists out the three colors, shrugging off his sweats feeling like a hunter hunting his prey watching her all bound like this, George had this similar look painted on his face.
His heart drumming ugly yellow, but he goes for it anyways as he joins them on the bedding, the brunet delivers a light nibble to her thigh, “You look pretty like this,” he mumbles into her subtle flesh.
And fuck.
He hates it.
Fucking hates those words uttered from the boys mouth. Clicking his tongue as he observed the two play around – seeing the brunet already sporting a boner. Feeling himself grow watching the man, how he teases her body, marking her faintly.
He can almost envision them at the bar messing around, dancing, skimming of hands traveling looking for a quick fuck. It's confusing though, the two boys are almost polar opposite of each other, small sparks of black starting to fall around his skin. Maybe Dream wasn’t her type?
Maybe it didn’t matter what her type was if it meant she got laid.
Letting out a shaky breath, he should probably get in on the action before his mind takes him too far, occupying her right side, while George the other half. Her eyes shifted between them with a light smirk, ivory flashing behind her sugary lips.
She loved the attention, Dream could bet on it. And he would indulge her just a little bit, smiling to himself as he licks up her throat. “Want to make George feel good?” He purrs.
“Yeah–fuck, yeah.”
The smaller of the two worked his way to sit on her chest, stroking her flushed cheek before tapping his cock on her lips, “Of course you do.” George sang darkly, the room swirled with so many fucking colors, his head felt like exploding, but he told himself it would all be worth it.
And it would.
Trying to ignore the other two as he placed himself between her legs, caressing her calves to alert her. Vision blocked by George’s back, watching how his shoulder blades shifted as he placed himself. Dream’s throat hiccuped before gently taking the brunet’s arm – raising it so he could poke his head between the brit’s biceps and waist.
Mia looked minorly confused before ignoring the close contact, George’s hand fell over Dream’s neck, grabbing a hold of a tan shoulder. He could feel the rise and fall from George's sides like this, studying how the girl's lips enclosed around a pink tip.
His own cock rubbing against her inner thigh, “You like that, angel ?” Pet name felt like venom on his lips – venom that seeped down from his words to his chest making his heart thump harder. The brunet dug his nails down in Dream’s biceps like it was mold, probably confused with where he was going with it all.
Finally, chocolate eyes mixed with green ones at the words, and he felt like it was Christmas, licking over his fangs as he oh-so-slowly turned his face left to ghost his lips against George’s waist, making him let out a moan as his cock went down her throat, “Shit–”
Her eyes wrinkled, and even more-so as Dream licked a stripe over his midsection, salty skin running under his tongue. Small hands flexing in its restraints, coughing making George pull out, “Need a breather?” British accent laced with understanding, soft pink dripping off of his words.
Mia’s face permanently stuck in a confused state, “I – uh, no, I just–” Dream snaked his arm around George’s hips as she talked, resting it on the boy’s thighs, “Dream, are you–why are you–”
“You gonna suck him off or not?”
With a shake of her head she looked back up at George, the sight was –he guessed– arousing for someone else, “Yeah–yes.” And at that the brunet pushed in with a grunt, tan hands continuing their exploration of the smaller man's body, Mia’s eyes, when not in a heated staring contest with George, followed the blond’s movement.
He gets it though, he himself would have done a double-take if his awfully straight partner was acting, well, not exactly straight . Fed up with the position, he removes himself from the scene, not wanting to look at the tension building between the other two.
Ruffling his golden locks, running a hand down George’s back softly, resisting the urge to drag him towards his chest. Fuck it , as he hooked his chin on his shoulder – hand on his spine moving to his stomach, he loved the feeling of pale skin, silky under his fingertips. Ever so slowly dragging it up his chest – leaving a flick to his nipple before resting around his throat. A singular finger tilts George's chin towards his head, making them face to face, “Hi there.”
The brunet’s hips continue their movement, his length sliding in and out of metaphorical yellow lips, whispering, “What are you doing?”
He knows the other was trying to stay quiet but it made him laugh, pupils blowing thinking of all the things he could say, his other hand travels down to grab a base of George’s cock, speaking loud enough for both to hear, looking down into confused chocolate eyes to talk to her, ignoring George, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
His mind swarming with every color under the sun, pushing George’s hips to help shove his cock down her throat, never relenting his gaze with her, “George’s dick down your throat?” Voice stern, spitting fire he hoped would hurt, "Isn't that what you wanted?"
She mumbled something around the intrusion he couldn't decipher.
So he jerkily ripped the brunet off his girlfriend, making her gasp out, placing both boys between her legs, pushing their bodies flushed almost like a petty kid saying it’s mine . Dream’s head resting on atop of a pale shoulder again, the hand he had on the base of Georges cock starting to move slightly.
“Dream what th–”
“Or was that a one-time thing at the bar?”
“What are–”
Letting out an ugly laugh as he cuts her off again, “I get it though, he’s beautiful.” George grunts at that as Dream continues his movements, the boy just stuck in the middle of some rivalry. Pink flaring up his skin at the contact, yellow swallowing his mind at the conversation.
Gently – or as gently he could when red started hammering throughout the room, he pushed George away to the other side of the bed. Hastily looming over Mia to grab her chin, leaning down to speak directly in her face, “You feel good, no, I mean, you were warmth for my dick,” Yanking her face as their eyes mix with toxic intent, “But he feels fucking amazing.”
“You fucked him?” She spat, nose wrinkling with disgust. He can hear George move around but refuses to relent his gaze from her.
“Before you managed to.” He full-on grinned like it was some sort of competition.
This ugly look on her face, “Of course you're one of them.”
Dream’s smile falters a little bit, grip around her chin tightening before George speaks up, “Is that a problem?” His voice was cold, not this normal teasing attitude he always wore, just painstakingly cold. Standing by the side of the bed playing with the keys to the cuffs – holding a hand over his junk for decency.
Her demeanor changed when George got involved, because of course it did, “I-I mean–”
“Save it.” George starts bored as he moves up to free her from her restraints, “You’re fucking stupid for inviting someone you cheated with to fuck your boyfriend.” Cuffs falling off with a rattle.
She rubs her wrist before sitting up on her knees in record speed, grabbing Dream’s chin as he had done to her, their noses bump and a spark of disgust flies between them, “When did you start fucking guys, Dream?” She spat like it was some sort of insult.
“When did you turn into such a whore?” Voice gravelly – almost tired, trying his best to keep his cool, black storming up around them, goosebumps finding place again.
“Since your dick stopped working!”
It goes quiet at that, a moment of intense staring, before grabbing her wrist, yanking her off the bed towards the door, “Maybe it doesn't work ‘cause of you," pushing her out to the hallway, feet rubbing on the carpeted floor, “Go to your mom’s and tell her how much of a slut you are!”
She tried barging in again, before he delivered a shove to her shoulder, “Go.” Red flush spreading on his chest – this deep grotesque crimson.
“Give me fucking clothes.”
Staring at her exposed body, distaste wrinkling his face, “You probably wouldn’t mind walking around naked on the streets.”
“Dream, give me my fuckin–”
Not letting her finish before slamming the door in her face, flicking the lock in place, “Take some dirty shit from the laundry!” Dream belted, bottom lip between ivory as he hangs his head low, door handle rattling, “Fucking leave, I paid for the place!”
Taking a deep breath clearing his throat like nothing happened, gently shifting his face towards the other in contrast to his yelling. George splayed out on the bed, a hand behind his head, a silken duvet covering his crotch.
Mocca and forest green mix, and not for the last time. It’s tense, but Dream didn’t really care, not able to keep it in as he burst out laughing, George looked mildly shocked, “Are you laughing after all that ?”
He looked like the embodiment of a puppy getting a treat, grin on his face walking towards the bed to jump on top of the brit, “I just don’t care anymore, to be honest.” He rejoiced, crawling between the brunet’s legs, laying his face on his chest, a elegant hand was quick to tangle in his locks.
“I mean, you did just, I don't know, break up?” George’s heartbeat found home under his ear again.
“Yeah,” he breathes, “And it feels good.” Allowing himself the comfort in George’s arms for just a moment, this lingering black in his lungs still – but he knows it’s for the best, he knows no reason to deny it.
"Can't believe this is why you said yes to the threesome," George laughed, vibrating Dreams face from the rumble, "You, you could have told me, idiot!"
Their threesome lasted a weak ten minutes, and he’s never been more grateful for not having sex, hands scratching his scalp in the comfort of a pretty boy instead, feeling like bricks had been lifted off of his shoulders as pink sprouted.
"Shh."
"Idiot." Fondness lacing beneath the British accent.
“Fuck.” George breathes, choking on a sob, only coaxing Dream to go harder – not too hard, just deep, slowly rolling his hips into the brunet. Couch creaking with every thrust of his.
They kept it going – kept meeting each other at various places, not always simply for sex, just to savour time together after a stressful day, Mia long gone, she came back packing her shit – which led to Dream calling George up asking for a visit to escape; the pretty boy he’s driving his cock into now.
Maybe that threesome was the best thing that happened to him.
A hand on the man’s chin to force eye contact, watching his pretty mocca irises gloss over, his other hand lubed up teasingly stroking his cock in time with the awfully slow thrusts, “I told you: don’t come.”
They learned each other's bodies with time, taking moments to slow things down, let their bodies seductively dance around each other in silk sheets, cherry lips ghosting over collarbones and necks, whispering sweet nothing into salty skin.
Now though, he wants to see if the boy could crumble with the sweet words.
Leaning down to nibble his jaw, breath warm against his scalp as George grunts, “Dream, fuck .” Pink smoke all around them as his tip grazes his prostate, tightening around the base of his cock.
“You’re gorgeous,” upping his hips slightly, pressing their foreheads together, it was true, the man was beautiful. He wanted to see how long the other would hold out – how long until he broke.
Lightly focusing on his head as he shifted to sit up, to hold George’s hips down for better leverage. Angling so he knows he hit the golden spot every time – his warm lubed up hand working on George’s tip, making him sputter, “Dream, holy shit , I don't know how long I can last.”
“ Tsk , I said you can’t cum just a second ago.” With a vicious grin, the blond started jerking the smaller man’s cock, hips gaining more momentum, his muscles screaming at him to change how he was sitting, but refusing – doing everything in his power to please the man under him.
The brunet throws his hands back to hold onto the armrest. He felt so tall looming over him in this position, how fucking pretty George looked looking up at him with big wet eyes.
The brunet’s face contoured to this power-hungry one, gritting his teeth with a furrow to his brows – looking like an offended cat, “You trying to see how long I last? Shit , is that what you're doing?”
Flashing the man a shining smile before slamming into him, making mocca roll with a moan, knuckles turning white where he was holding on behind him. He would never get tired of this look, still not over how groundbreaking the other felt around him, sweaty bangs sway as he moans out himself.
“I'm just telling you, don’t cum.” He states once again, laughing to himself as he does everything in his power to make the other reach his climax, despising his teasing words. Hand tactfully working over his shaft, trying to coax it into releasing, feeling the stiffness twitch in his palm, as walls tighten around his cock.
“I won’t, I won’t–” George whined with a sour face, he looked good like this, straining every limb he had to stop the pink build-up of an orgasm, sweat coating posh skin, almost making it sparkle.
“No? You're not gonna cum?” As everything around them quickened – heartbeats, hips, jerking of the man's cock. Dream’s whole body was actually screaming at him at this point. Needing a break, shaking his head with a grunt, still refusing.
A pool of precum leaked out, mixing with the heated lube that spilled on his stomach, “ Holy shit – I won’t–” cutting himself off with another whimper, shutting his eyes hard – making them crinkle all over.
Leaning over to lick a stripe on the side of his neck, disgusting salt exploding in his mouth – and he loved it . Voice rough around the edges as he whispers a taunt to the boy's ear, “Don’t cum, George.” Trying harder to make the boys body fail him, focusing his movement on George's cock, rather than hips.
He felt all of the brit’s muscles strain again, how his legs started shaking where they laid around Dream’s waist, “I said, fuck , I won’t,” George choked on a sob as his breath hitched, and god , it sounded beautiful.
Having enough, he removed his iron hold on the man’s hip, and grabbed his chin again, yanking him, “Look at me.” And George did, slowly cracking his eye up, mocca shining with arousing tears – a singular drop fell as they locked gazes. Drak strands of hairs bouncing in tandem with Dreams thrust.
Panting – grunting in each other's mouths as the brunet’s lips trembled, trying his best to keep their eye contact, Dream would give him a gold star for effort, smirking as he moves faster, “Look at you– fuck ,” cutting himself off with a grunt, arms starting to burn from the jerking motion, “Trying so hard to be good.”
“You–you’re the one being good.”
“Come on now, that isn’t gonna work on me, George.” Nonetheless the blond feels the coil start bubbling in his gut, “You look so desperate trying not, not to cum.”
Green eyes blown, shining with power watching how the man under him started losing himself more, “There you go.”
“Sh-shut up.”
“Don't tell me you gonna cum, are you?” Faux disappointed behind golden words, forearms felt like they were burning from the strain, thighs in the same predicament, wet lewd sounds echoing around George’s living room walls. Pale legs shaking around Dream’s figure, sounds getting more and more high-pitched.
“I can’t, Dream, fuck , I can’t.” The brunet sobs out again, eyes shutting permanently.
He just tsks, a sadistic grin spreading seeing him break, “You can," voice deep, stern like authority, feeling water prickle his own eyes from the burn, huffing through it to jerk the man's cock, ramming into his sweet spot, “Don’t cum.”
“Dream–"
Everything around him tightened impossibly, making him stutter his hips, quickly regaining his pace again to chase his own pleasurable pink, spitting faux words down at the other, “Shit, you can, don’t, don’t do it.”
“Fuck you, I can't!” George all but screams as his under eyes wetten, face turning crimson in concentration, then he feels it: the brunet’s cock starting to pulsate as he babbles out, “I won't, I won’t, sorry–” like it's the only words he knows, clear white dirtying both boys chests as George’s orgasm hits him, whimpering as Dream’s own climax falls on him like a truck seeing the other’s desperate squirming.
“Holy shit–” and he's done for himself, painting the insides of George, claiming him – he wishes it would, leave an imprint of his cock inside the other, ruin him for anyone else. Waves of pink bliss crashing down, buzzing throughout his body, riding it out, muttering an are you ok in the haze of it all.
“Fu-fuck, yeah, more than ok.” The brunet swallows, letting out a dry moan.
Not removing himself from the other, simply taking a moment to breathe as the ecstasy shimmers down, George's all-to-familiar heartbeat comfortably under his ear again, dainty hands scratch over his back, surely leaving crimson marks – and he lets them.
Peppering kisses on the expanse of his chest, his own chest flares with pink – making him warm all over, he can’t put a finger on it, but it's so sweet he wants to push the other so close they mesh into one being, he wants to devour him, hold the man’s pretty flushed cheeks and never let go.
Looking up at him with big eyes from where he's resting his head on George's torso, just looking at him, it's all he needs, tilting his head like a puppy, still breathless “I-I really like you.”
George runs his palms over Dream's face with a moan caught in his throat, gently dragging his thumb over a freckled cheek, voice slurry, “I really like y-you too, blondie, don’t worry.” He whispers into the room. Only making the corners of his lip tug more, kissing up, up, up, up his throat, leaving nibbles on his jaw.
“Like, I really really like you.” Dream mumbled kissing the corners of his mouth, diving in for a lingering kiss.
Both boys smile against the lips of the other man, noses gliding across each other, “I really really like you too.” George laughs, throwing his head back as his giggles fall over, Dream feels tightening around his length where he's still connected to the brunet, but he doesn't mind, just observes him with a fond smile.
Shifting his hips to get the attention on him again, making both parties whine, “I mean it!”
George looks down, locking mocca onto jade green like they always did – always this way of communicating through their gazes, biting down on his bruised lips, “I know you do,” bringing their faces close again, “Why so sappy today, you get some dick and you–”
Not able to hold back his own laugh as he scooped the brunet in his hands, shifting and falling back on the couch, making George sit on top of him with a bounce, still connected through his length, “Shut up, you’re such an idiot.” Placing his hands on pale thighs caging his crotch, pretty.
Studying how the skin on his tummy rolled when he sat like this, how beautiful it was – how his half-hard cock lay against his left thigh when George speaks up, “Does this mean you feel better now?”
“How?” Dream softly asked back, drawing circles into his skin.
“The whole coming to terms with things?”
Sending the smaller man a grin, “I’m not gay.”
George's face stiffens at the words and Dream rolls his eyes, thrusting his hips up to startle the other, hearing a faint grunt from the action, “I’m joking.”
Continuing talking before the brunet got a chance to, thrusting his hips harder to make the other fall on his chest, bringing George's face into his neck gingerly, caressing his locks, “But maybe, maybe don’t call me that.” He mumbles into dark tufts of hair, smelling of a shampoo he has come to know and love.
“Oh?” George sighs, shifting his head up to lock eyes again, pink shooting through every possible nerve ending of his body as he looks at his flushed face.
“Cause, I don’t know yet.” The brunet sends a look at those words, which Dream just kisses away, speaking into his cherry mouth, “All I need to know is how much I love breaking you,” biting the man’s bottom lip, displaying pearly white teeth, “And how gorgeous you are when I do.”
“You like breaking me, blondie?”
He might not label it.
But he knew his love for making pretty british boys flush.
Dream quite enjoyed the colors that came with it as well.
Specifically pink and mocca.