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got a thing about you (and it won’t go away)

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“Dreeeeeam,” George protests for the umpteenth time tonight, “Stop.”

Dream continues anyway, hitting George playfully in game as he attempts to collect food.

“Nope. Not until you admit it.” The man in question drawls out happily, still prancing around and not leaving George to his task.

“What?”

“That I’m soooo much taller than you.”

George retaliates, hitting Dream as he snorts.

“You’re not soooo much taller than me,” He points out, mimicking Dream’s tone, “Only by, like, a couple inches.”

“More like a couple feet.”

“Shut up.” George whines, turning to his monitor currently displaying TeamSpeak as if he’ll be able to stare down it to glare at Dream’s real face.

How they’d got onto this topic, he doesn’t even know. George just knows that Dream really likes that fact that he’s taller than him, and for the unspoken record, maybe George secretly does too.

Dream breaks him out of his trail of thought by asking, “I wonder how much bigger one of my hoodies would be on you.”

He says it nonchalantly. As if George is able to respond to that in a normal person way.

In the end, he settles on joking, “Send me one then.” As he powers on with his game.

“Okay.” Is all Dream says in return.

 

~

 

“DREAM,” George exclaims, admittedly rather loudly, down their now connected Discord call, “I was joking.”

He hears a small, stifled laugh down the mic before Dream answers him.

“Well, I wasn’t.”

George can only sigh again as he glances back down to the half-opened package in his hands. The label indicating that it had come from America had highly stimulated George’s curiosity as to what it contained.

He’d briefly considered that maybe it was a part for his PC he’d ordered that he’d forgot about, but upon carrying it back home from the post office, he’d soon found out that it was definitely too soft for that.

When he’d got home and split the edge of the package open carefully, as soon as George had seen the soft fabric and hood of a jumper he’d just known what had happened. Dream had happened.

“I had to go all the way to the post office to collect this, as well,” George continues complaining, mainly to himself, as he pulls the rest of the hoodie out of its packaging, “How long did it take to arrive? Like, two weeks?”

Dream wheezes out of the speakers of George’s setup.

“I’ve been waiting for ages for it to arrive. I even paid for express delivery.” The other man sounds strangely proud of himself for doing so.

George finally untangles it all and chucks the packaging to the side for now. Holding the pale blue jumper up in the view of the camera he’d now turned on for Dream to see, George suddenly realises how big it actually is.

Hiding his expression of surprise behind the jumper from the camera, George mentally admits to himself that maybe Dream is so much taller than him.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

George laughs out, laying the soft fabric across his lap. It’s not until he brings it away from his face, that George realises the hoodie has a particular smell. His brain that quickly follows this with the realisation that this is probably what Dream smells like.

He desperately resists the strong urge to lift the material back up to his nose; missing the warm scent of ambrosial sandalwood that had ambushed him beforehand.

“Not kidding,”

Dream sing-songs back to him playfully, tone excited.

“That’s one of my favourites, George. Be careful with it.”

Feeling pressure suddenly hanging over him, George’s voice jumps higher as he exclaims, “Why would you send me one of your favourites?”

“Because.”

Dream helpfully answers, remaining silent after until George glances down at the jumper again before looking directly down the camera lens, giving him a death stare. The other man lets out a free laugh.

“C’mon then,” He urges, “Put it on.”

George makes a face when he brings the jumper up to his nose to dramatically sniff and teases him, “Did you even wash this, Dream?”

This time, it’s Dream’s turn to whine out a protest of ‘shut up’. George forces himself to maintain a mildly disgusted face for the camera when, in reality, the scent from Dream’s hoodie is perhaps one of the most inviting and safest he has ever encountered.

“Of course I did. Now c’mon.”

Dream’s tone is still whiny, dragging out the last syllable until George interrupts with an exclamation of, “Okay, okay!”

Practically able to hear the large grin in Dream’s chuckles as he moves to take his own hoodie off, George can’t stop himself from smiling widely at the sound in return. Somehow he manages to get his arms all twisted up and stuck in the material as he attempts to pull it off.

Dream teases him, as always, “Delaying the inevitable result are we?”

George just tuts at this man’s ridiculous determination to prove the extent of his height and it’s difference to his own; he has gone to great lengths to demonstrate his point, though, he must admit.

Finally, George manages to let his head pop free, taking an exaggerated breath of fresh cool air that makes Dream laugh and forget his question.

Perhaps a little too belatedly, however, he realises that during his vigorous struggle with his his own hoodie, his white, cotton t-shirt underneath has managed to ride up so high that it’s definitely visible on camera to Dream, exposing a considerable expanse of George’s pale skin.

If the other man notices, he luckily doesn’t comment. George sheepishly pulls the fabric back down, covering the full length of his torso, and knows he blushes a deep red.

“Go on, George.”

Dream encourages him, but this time it’s softer and more supportive; it’s not doing anything to alleviate the stark colour of George’s cheeks.

He moves further back from his desk to give himself more room this time and to open up the camera angle a little more.

“Fine. I’m doing it.” George answers, sounding rather begrudging, but actually secretly feeling quite excited to wear something of Dream’s.

Sliding the loose material over his head, George suddenly realises that they’re now technically closer than they have ever been to each other. Slipping his arms into the definitely too-long sleeves feels like a warm embrace, saving him from the winter chill of his room despite the heating of his apartment being cranked up to ‘high’.

A large amount of the soft fabric of the baby-blue hoodie bunches at George’s slender waist. Getting out of his chair to feel the full effect of the length, he almost forgets about Dream’s presence altogether until he hears a soft gasp emitted from his speakers.

Suddenly intrigued, George squints at the display of him in his room on his screen, pushing his chair further to the side and away from him in the process. His eyes widen slightly in surprise at what he sees.

The pale-blue material of the jumper seems to drape lavishly over him, rolling in waves of somber sea and drowning him in its sheer length. Blue sleeves cascade long past the position of George’s actual hands; bunching them up a little to emerge his skin, he quickly finds that he doesn’t want to, discovering comfort in the warm, fluffy interior. Instead, he reveals only his fingertips to the cool air and wraps them around the ends of the sleeves creating sweater paws.

Falling around his mid thigh, the hem of Dream’s hoodie nearly stretches far enough to conceal the fact that he’s even wearing shorts altogether; his pale thighs on show to the camera and complimentary to the pastel hue of the warm fabric.

George studies himself for a few seconds more before an involuntary, shy smile blooms across his face, fingers still playing with the hems of the sleeves and shifting side-to-side on his feet, rather nervously.

“George, you look...”

Dream’s voice is finally heard again, crackling through the speakers this time, still breathless and hushed. George waits for the inevitably tame insult though, because that’s their thing that’s what they do.

Stupid, maybe. Silly? Or maybe even a simple and straight to the point, small.

None of these words fly out of Dream’s mouth however. Instead, “You look cute.”

George is pretty sure he loses his breath; he’s known Dream for years and his tone is honest and serious. He’s not teasing, or even being affectionate in a way that close, close friends do. Consequently, he flushes bright and prominent red, much to his embarrassment.

“Dreeeam,” He persists, attempting to cover his blush in his hands, “You-don’t.”

‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’ George wants to say, but his words aren’t cooperating right now.

“I’m being honest!”

Dream maintains, voice now higher at the accusation than the previous, almost intimate tone. It soon returns.

“George-,” His breathlessness is back too, “I can’t- You look adorable in my hoodie.”

George is still blushing furiously, and has to resort to looking at the floor, begging the warmth in his cheeks to go away. He feels like he should say something, so he does.

“Thank you?”

He tries to reply in a timid voice, not sure of the correct reaction to receiving a compliment of such nature.

Dream chuckles lightly before going quiet for a more few seconds, seemingly considering something before reaching a decision.

“Is it comfy, baby?”

It’s George’s turn to gasp audibly because Oh. My. God.

Sure, they’ve all used such nicknames in a joking way with each other before, but not in this capacity and context. It’s so much different and it definitely does something to George... he even thinks he likes it.

Currently presenting himself to Dream over call, standing in nothing really more than the other man’s hoodie that absolutely engulfs his smaller and slender frame, coupled with the addition of a freaking pet name, George feels, as he so often does with Dream, vulnerable yet safe and completely and utterly cared for in every way. And he loves it.

In order to attempt to get this point across, George makes sure to maintain eye-contact with his camera fully whilst he speaks, “Very comfy,”

He snuggles his face into the front of the hoodie to demonstrate, “Thank you, Dream.”

Said man laughs happily in reply before he still manages to point out that his jumper is big on George.

“Admit it. I’m taller than you by far.”

George’s face morphs into a pout because now with hard evidence produced, he can’t really counter this fact.

“Fine,” He reluctantly admits, shoving his hands into the pocket of Dream’s hoodie, “But only by, like, a little bit.”

Dream chuckles again lowly, “Whatever you say, baby,”

George’s face begins to heat up at the fondness in the other’s words, imagining Dream’s smile.

“Whatever you say.”