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It starts when Dream shuffles into the living room after his designated ‘work time’ one afternoon. As usual, it means that he appears quietly around dinner time with squinted eyes and messy hair after responding to countless emails, DMs and the odd phone call, back to where George and Sapnap haven’t moved all that much during his hours of absence.
“Hey baby,” Sapnap greets him with a brief but blinding smile, bent over the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Oh, the idiot’s back,” George drawls from his position across Sapnap, his heart giving a happy little tug at Dream’s arrival. His eyes, however, stay glued to the chessboard in front of him.
Dream predictably ignores them both and makes a beeline for the couch where Patches is dozing peacefully. George shuffles forward slightly to make sure Dream can take a seat and smiles when his boyfriend immediately pulls him back to lean between his spread legs.
Boyfriend. An excited flutter rises in his stomach. Not for the first time, he marvels at the fact that they’re an actual couple now, free to do all the clingy shit they used to laugh about years before.
Looking back, it’s actually kind of embarrassing how quickly their usual jokes had fallen flat after meeting in person for the first time – not even George had been able to pretend there was any irony left to hide behind when their mutual want was so clearly written into every single line of their bodies. In fact, it had barely taken two days for them to start making out in Dream’s bed. And now, two weeks after their first kiss and a long-overdue, actual conversation about their feelings, George thinks that the transition from best friends to boyfriends has gone surprisingly smoothly. It makes his insides feel all warm and gooey with happiness just thinking about it.
Boyfriend. What a nice label indeed.
His smile only grows when he feels a large hand settle into his unruly hair, and he melts into the fingers combing absentmindedly through the dark strands. It’s hard to be anything but happy when he gets to bathe in constant casual affection from his favourite person in the world.
“Have you two seriously not moved since I left?” Dream asks through a yawn. There is a faint click as he unlocks his phone.
Sapnap snorts, his eyebrows furrowing as he responds, “Obviously not. Just look at how fucked this goddamn match is.” He seems about three seconds away from chewing through his lower lip. George observes his obvious frustration with delight.
“Because you don’t know how to play chess, idiot,” he taunts gleefully, resisting the urge to blow a kiss when Sapnap flips him off. It’s not the time to instigate a physical confrontation. Yet.
That is until Sapnap finally moves one of his pieces with a triumphant cry. George gives him an outraged look, internally groaning at the opening he had overseen during his long-winded attempt to confuse the other as much as possible.
“Who doesn’t know how to play chess now, huh?” Sapnap leans back with a satisfied grin. “You fucking blundered so hard. Eat shit, bitch.”
George peers unhappily at the board. Now there really isn’t much he can do to salvage the game, and they both know it. But George is no quitter. He briefly contemplates the merits of introducing physical violence to their match after all, before deciding on a different approach.
Sniffling dramatically, he cranes his head back to look up at Dream. The hand on his head falls back promptly. His boyfriend seems entirely preoccupied with his phone and that means he probably hadn’t even been listening to the slander George was just subjected to. Rude. Normally he'd at least jump in to stoke the fire a little for his own amusement.
“I never blunder in chess. Everything I do has a purpose. Your brain just isn’t advanced enough to catch it, Sapnap,” George replies without looking at him, too busy staring unblinkingly at Dream in an effort to get his attention. He very pointedly ignores Sapnap’s muttered reply that might or might not have been something along the lines of, “Well you're gonna catch these nuts in your mouth if you don’t shut the hell up.”
Dream stays engrossed in whatever thing he is currently reading through on his phone. He looks unfairly pretty even from George’s current, lopsided view, and George takes a moment to appreciate the slightly parted lips and lowered lashes. Then he sighs and pinches Dream’s calf, making the other flinch.
“You’re supposed to agree with me here, Dream. You know, like a good boyfriend?”
He can’t help but put special emphasis on the last word, simply because he enjoys reminding Sapnap that he is extra special to Dream. And if it’s also because he likes how the word rolls off his tongue, and how it puts a little thrill into his stomach every time he gets to say it out loud, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
“Don’t bring Dream into this.” Sapnap immediately argues from where he has leaned over to scratch between Patches’ ears while waiting for George’s next move, “he’s just gonna agree with you, and Patches and I can’t take any more of that bullshit.”
George has to bite back a smile at his petulance. Whenever he tries to use his relationship with Dream to his advantage against Sapnap, the other never fails to argue back with all the indignation of a pet getting locked out of the bedroom while its owners try to get some alone time. The fact that he usually tries to paint himself as Patches’ one true ally doesn’t help his case, either.
Dream rolls his eyes, even though he does finally put his phone to the side and leans forward to cage George in with his looming upper body. The hand that had previously fallen from George’s head comes back up to flick him on the forehead in reprimand. “Don’t fucking pinch me, George. Also, I’m not a referee. You guys need to learn how to finish your chess games without dragging me in to settle your debates every time.”
“Well, I don’t want a referee, I want you to pick my side and tell Sapnap he sucks."
“You suck, George,” Sapnap immediately complains, “cause you start running to Dream the second you’re not winning at a game. Just make your move and let me do the rest, Dream’s busy anyway.”
“Dream wants no part in this,” Dream butts in, ignoring George’s puppy eyes and looking at the chessboard with knitted brows, “but if you want my professional opinion, I gotta say you’re fucked, George. I don’t think there’s any way you can turn this one.”
George groans, throwing his hands up. “Fine! Whatever, I don’t care about this stupid game anyway. You’re both horrible and I hate you.”
“Sure,” Sapnap and Dream respond in unison, watching as George moves one of his pieces with an annoyed scoff.
The game concludes five minutes later. Sapnap wins and promptly starts parading around the living room like he’s just scored the most difficult game of chess ever played. George rolls his eyes with a huff, slumping against Dream’s left leg. He hears his boyfriend chuckle above him.
“Cheer up, baby,” Dream comforts, squeezing his shoulder and leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to George’s head.
George gives a single, heaving sigh before his smile returns and he tilts his head back to look at Dream again. “I’m fine, I don’t care. Let Sapnap have his victory, I won’t play into his hands next time.”
“I believe in you. Next time I’ll even cheer you on,” Dream promises. There is an amused glint in his eyes, and his hair is falling into his face in soft waves. He looks relaxed, George observes fondly.
“You better. What made you too busy to do it this time?”
“You mean apart from the fact that I spent the majority of your game doing something that is actually productive?” comes the teasing reply, but it’s said through a laugh and George is too transfixed by how pretty Dream looks, confident and completely at ease, to respond with something witty.
He blinks. “Yeah. Tell me what you were doing on your phone just now.”
If Dream is surprised by the sudden softness in George’s tone, he doesn’t show it. His gaze stays light and affectionate, and he taps his finger against George’s nose once before mumbling, “You’re so demanding.” Somehow, it sounds more like admiration than admonishment. “My mom texted me. Said she’s gonna come over for New Year’s Eve tomorrow, with Dad and my siblings. Stay the night, too, so we’re actually going to be using all the space we have here. If we’re okay with it, of course. Going out isn’t really an option right now, but she thought it would be nice to have dinner together and stuff, something simple. Plus, the others are all eager to meet you.” Dream shoots him a smirk. “In person, at least.”
Oh.
George had kind of forgotten about that – about the fact that Dream’s family knows about their relationship. He hasn’t told his own parents yet, simply because he isn’t sure how to. They’d be supportive, he knows, grateful for that certainty at least. But ultimately he’d decided against bringing it up in their phone calls so far. His parents know how much Dream and Sapnap mean to him, how long he’s waited to finally be able to live together with them, and he suspects they might also know about the particularly unique bond he shares with Dream. But he hadn’t given them an update about that yet, and they hadn’t asked. So far, they’d been simply content to know that he is as happy as can be in Florida.
It had been one of the major things he’d talked about with Dream, right after they had decided to try out being in a romantic relationship. His decision to wait with telling his parents isn’t rooted in a sense of shame or the need to hide away, but rather in the fact that he wants to be able to settle into this new dynamic first, cherish the changes and enjoy the completely new aspects of togetherness. After all, it’s only been two weeks.
Dream had understood but made sure George was okay with his own family knowing. It made sense after all, with them being so close to Dream and coming to visit frequently, and Dream had sounded so excited and proud to be able to share the news with his loved ones that George had agreed without wasting another thought on it.
“Is that … still okay with you?” Dream asks presently, uncertainty bleeding into his tone at his boyfriend’s small silence.
George hesitates.
It’s an entirely different affair to actually meet Dream’s family, especially if it’s going to be an occasion of its own, with dinner and everything. Up until this point he’d been so focused on exploring his and Dream’s newfound intimacy that outsiders mostly slipped his mind. Sapnap knows how they work as a couple by now, naturally, and so do a handful of their other close friends – but telling them and letting them see didn’t feel like a big deal, since many of them had witnessed their blossoming relationship firsthand. As a result, no one even bats an eye at his and Dream’s antics, be it flirty comments, constant touching or disgustingly fond stares. They relentlessly bully them instead, and George knows it’s their way of showing they expected nothing less than absolute lovesickness from the both of them. And they’re right, so George can hardly blame them for being perceptive.
Letting Dream’s family witness all of that, however, seems slightly terrifying to a private person like George.
But Dream looks more like a kicked puppy by the second, and George can practically feel the onslaught of heartbreak concealed by selfless assurances, so he quickly concedes, “No, yeah, it is! I promise it is! Sorry, I just– that took a while to register.” He turns around fully between Dream’s legs and quirks his lips into a sly smile in an attempt to make up for his underwhelming response. Clearly, it’s important to Dream that he is on board with this, so he steels himself internally by looking at the bright side of the situation. “They can probably give me loads of blackmail material anyway. I actually need them to come over.”
Dream’s hopeful expression immediately falls and he groans at the same time as Sapnap returns from his impromptu victory lap to ask, “Who needs to come over?”
George’s smile morphs into a wild grin. Sure, the prospect of being scrutinised both as a person and partner by Dream’s family is scary, but perhaps it won’t be so bad if he can pry embarrassing childhood stories out of them and catch all the gossip Dream won’t spill. Maybe that’ll make the awkwardness worth it.
“Dream’s family wants to come over and have dinner with us for New Year’s,” he sing-songs, “and you’re gonna have to help me get all the intel we need to make sure we never have to pay rent, Sapnap.”
Sapnap cackles, letting himself fall onto the couch next to Patches, who spares him a slightly disgruntled look from being jostled by the movement. Paying her no mind, he responds, “Dude, Dream’s never gonna make you pay rent anyway, it’s gonna be me who has to pry all the dirty secrets out of them for leverage. Besides, they’ll probably want to talk about you anyway, especially now that you two are…” he trails off before leaning forward in a dramatic whisper, “an actual couple. I bet Dream’s mum is gonna laugh at you the whole evening because of that dumb boyfriend text you sent her ages ago.”
George winces, looking up to find Dream burying his face in his hands. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers hearing him whine about how long his mother had teased him for that. Back then the idea had seemed like the most hilarious thing in the world, so he supposes as far as first impressions go it can’t really get worse.
“To be fair, that text wasn’t even that bad,” he starts to defend, partly for Dream’s sake, and partly for his own bad conscience. Surely no one will hold that stupid old text against him. Surely they won’t think a little bit of messing around reflects his entire personality.
Sapnap just snorts. “Right. She probably thinks you’re a complete troll or something, especially cause I know damn well Dream kept her updated about all the DNF pandering.”
“Wh– did you just imply she’s gonna think I’m farming my own relationship? What is wrong with you, Sapnap?!” George sputters, feeling himself fluster at the idea of Dream’s family knowing about all the suspicious stuff he’d gotten up to with Dream over the years. Granted, he’s somewhat used to having an audience cataloguing his every move and interaction, and he’s certainly lost some of his inhibitions since he first started becoming big on the internet, but he is still a private person, intent on keeping parts of his life to himself only. Hell, his own family certainly isn’t up to date on what exactly he is up to online.
He hadn’t given any thought to the fact that Dream pretty much shares everything with his family, especially these days. Now, he pauses. Does that put him at a disadvantage? What if they’re already biassed and now he has to spend the entire upcoming evening proving his worth?
Dream seems to be sensing his slight distress because he lowers his hands from his face to shoot Sapnap a dirty look and give George’s shoulder a little squeeze.
“Shut up, Nick. My family is not that shallow, obviously. They’re gonna love you, George, even if they do end up teasing us a little bit. They know how much you mean to me, how much you both mean to me,” he adds when Sapnap opens his mouth to interject, “and that’s already enough for them to welcome you with open arms. Just be yourself, they’re not gonna analyse you and give you a rating.”
“You say that,” George retorts and fiddles with the hem of his shorts, trying to dispel some of the nervous energy that has suddenly crept upon him, “but there is no guarantee that you’re right.”
Dream sighs, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Sure there‘s a guarantee. They accepted Nick with open arms, and you know he’s only become a saint around them after moving in with me.”
His deadpan voice combined with Sapnap’s look of betrayal promptly makes George burst into laughter. He’s not fully convinced the comparison works, but the words serve as both distraction and reassurance and he gives Dream a grateful look as their friend goes off on a rant.
“I’ve always been nice to them, dickhead, and they like me for who I am! They’re my allies whenever you threaten me with your stupid landlord arc, we’re actually besties — you know what, forget what I said about them not liking you, George. It’s your flakey boyfriend you have to worry about.”
He points his hand threateningly, but Dream just waves him off with an amused grin and an eye-roll while standing up. George follows, groaning slightly as he regains the feeling in his legs after sitting on the floor for hours.
Dream picks up his phone again, presumably to text his mother back, and it reminds George to retrieve his own phone from where it’s slid out of his pocket and halfway under the couch. A glance at the screen tells him it’s actually almost an hour past their usual dinner time now. As if on cue, he feels his stomach rumbling and makes a decision.
“You know what, Sapnap, I wasn’t going to forgive you after that chess match and the slander you just subjected me to. But I’ve just thought of something you can do to make me join forces with you,” he tells his friend, turning his nose up and folding his hands behind his back to appear as regal as possible.
Sapnap catches on immediately, his voice breathy and eyes desperate as blinks up at George from his spot on the couch. “Anything you want, George, you have my word.”
“Pay for the takeout tonight.”
The imploring look on his friend’s face vanishes within a second. “But it’s not even my turn!”
“I don’t care. Pay for my pizza or I’ll join Dream on his landlord arc and we’ll send you back to work at a hotel again,” George replies with all the finality of a king commanding his knight. The act has seldom failed him before when it comes to his idiot best friends.
Sapnap concedes with a groan. “Fine, fine. God, you two really are perfect for one another.” He begins furiously typing in some website on his phone. “I’m not ordering from that greasy place again, though.”
George only shrugs in response, already making his way to the kitchen to get some much-needed hydration. There’s still some anxiety stirring in his stomach at the prospect of meeting Dream’s family in less than 24 hours, but he’s ignoring it for now.
He’s standing by the sink, halfway done with his glass of water and scrolling through Twitter to distract himself when he feels footsteps come up behind him. A moment later, familiar arms wind securely around his waist as Dream buries his head in the crook of his shoulder.
“Did you reply to your mum?” George asks, putting his own phone to the side to let his hands rest on Dream’s strong forearms.
“Yeah. She says she’s excited to see you. So are the others,” comes the muffled reply.
He nods, swaying them slightly on his feet. “That’s nice.” He remembers the hopeful look on Dream’s face, his confidence that things will work out just fine, and decides that he should probably give some assurance back. “I think it’s gonna be nice getting to know them. Spend my first American New Year’s together and all that.” His thumb traces a slow circle over the fine bones of Dream’s wrist.
His boyfriend tightens his arms around him. “Yeah? That’s good. I want you to be excited, not worried.”
George smiles a little and turns his head to drop a light kiss on his boyfriend’s head. “I’ll try,” he whispers into his hair and lets the comforting scent of Dream’s shampoo wash over his senses.
***
Despite the reassurances and his own promise to Dream, there is still a part of George that clings to the idea of making a good impression. It’s a bit surprising even to himself since he’s not usually this hung up on how others perceive him.
He’s never been one to care particularly much about other people’s opinions. He’s not one to change just to be liked better, not one to gracefully slip into a different persona to fit in with the crowd. George doesn’t think he’s ever known how to be anyone but himself his entire life, and he is comfortable with that.
But this is different. This is important to Dream, he knows, despite the easy attitude he likes to display. Family means everything to Dream, and it would probably break his heart if George didn’t get along well with them.
And George is sure they’re going to be lovely, nothing short of perfectly pleasant and absolutely accommodating, but he wants them to really, properly, actually like him. He feels like he owes it to Dream, at the very least, to make an effort and show that he’s taking this seriously.
It keeps him awake the night before the 31st. His mind is intent on playing out different scenarios, and he tosses and turns for over an hour before he feels too restless and hot to stay in his bed any longer.
Drinking a glass of water only helps partially, and it’s a testament to his miserableness that he caves and starts pacing up and down his room to dispel some of his nervous energy instead. Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to get this riled up by his own rampant mind when he’s meant to be sleeping, which is probably why it’s a good thing that Dream is passed out in his own bed right now, exhausted from spending the better part of the day locked away and editing. He’s not a particularly heavy sleeper at the best of times, and George‘s anxiety would only keep him up and make him cranky.
No, George resigns himself to sorting this out on his own. At least one of them should be well-rested, he figures. And it’s probably not going to be him, considering the anxiety churning in his stomach.
Technically there isn’t even anything he can do in particular about the situation. Meeting your partner’s parents is a universally terrifying prospect for anyone, he supposes, at least to some degree. There are exceptions, and at the end of the day every family situation is different, but in his case, it just means he feels like he has to prove something. Although he isn’t quite sure what, and to whom.
It doesn’t help that he’s so aware that he’s going to be encountering Dream’s family. And for an extended amount of time, too. He doesn’t exactly have any prior experiences to go off of — he’d only met the parents of one of his previous girlfriends, and it had been a short chance encounter and nothing official. This New Year’s get-together feels very official.
He’s not sure if he’s ready for that level yet. Dream’s family already knows he and Dream are dating, that’s not the problem, but this is the first time he’s going to be George, Dream’s boyfriend immediately upon meeting someone in person. Does that entail certain expectations he’s unaware of? So far in their relationship, he and Dream had simply continued interacting like they always had, with the added bonus of kissing, cuddling, casual touching and all sorts of very deliberate, very filthy touching. But it’s not like George knows how much Dream has told them about that, about all their little quirks and habits. Who knows what they’re expecting, what they’ll deem appropriate or not.
All he needs them to know is that he's genuine and trying. And not a troll. Definitely no mention of that. It’s probably going to be his main mission to bring that across.
As he walks up and down in the darkness of his room, an idea starts to take shape inside his head. And once he’s found a proper starting point it’s like puzzle pieces slowly coming together. His steps start to slow the more he makes up his mind and soon enough, as the sky outside slowly turns from pitch black into an inky blue, tiredness hits him like a freight train.
George crawls into bed ten minutes later, head still buzzing but mind made up, and he’s so relieved about actually working through his dilemma that it doesn’t take him much longer to fall asleep.
By the time he wakes, late morning has already come and gone, and his stomach is rumbling. Breakfast has to wait, however, because he has to talk to Dream first. It’s a prerequisite for his plan, and George has a feeling it might take a bit of convincing to get things rolling.
He slips out of his room quietly, listening to the faint sound of Sapnap singing off-key in the kitchen downstairs and makes his way to Dream’s bedroom. There’s a faint trace of fresh shampoo and warm air wafting from the open bathroom door as he passes it, so he assumes his boyfriend has come out of the shower recently.
The door to Dream’s room is slightly ajar, an unspoken confirmation that it’s okay to come in, and he tentatively pokes his head through. “Dream?”
A loud rustle of clothing greets him. Dream is in his boxers, midway through putting on some grey sweatpants. His head whips up at George’s voice, eyes wide. “Jesus— what the fuck, George! You scared me!” He clutches at his chest as though he’s trying to calm his racing heart.
George wants to laugh, but the sound gets caught in his throat as he fully takes in the image in front of him. Golden sunlight streams through the windows into Dream’s room and illuminates him from behind. He should look dumb, with his hair still wet and slightly messy and his sweatpants only halfway on, but George finds that the opposite is true. He feels his throat go dry at the sight of broad shoulders glistening with stray droplets of water and lets his eyes wander down to the smattering of chest hair, the trim waist and the tan expanse of strong thighs. Dream looks perfect in the light, and George feels every thought about serious talks and plans leave his head for a long moment, overcome instead by the sudden urge to devour his boyfriend whole, put his mouth on him and let his hands explore every last inch of smooth skin.
Suddenly, he becomes acutely aware of the fact that it’s been two days since the last time they’d had sex. His hands twitch by his side. Last night’s resolution seems incredibly daunting to pull off, all of a sudden.
He swallows harshly. “The door was open,” comes his belated answer. His voice sounds faint even to his own ears.
“Well yeah, cause I thought you were still dead asleep and not tiptoeing down the hallway to sneak up on me,” Dream retorts, his cheeks darkening slightly, and bends again to pull his sweatpants the rest of the way up. George mourns the loss of seeing his pretty thighs in all their glory.
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you, I just don’t stomp like you, dumbass! I just wanted to talk to you.”
Dream turns to the side to fetch a discarded towel from his bed. He begins to dry his hair with it, giving a little hum.
“Sure, what’s up? Also, have you seen the white shirt I wore the other day? The one with the cat print?” He twists his head, looking around the room. George stares, transfixed, as the sunlight illuminates his side profile.
It’s no secret that Dream is hot. Like, really hot. So hot that he regularly makes George forget every single word he’s ever known without even doing anything particularly attractive. It’s unfair, really, how he can reduce George to a mess of half-formed thoughts and open-mouthed stares. He makes George want, so much so that he feels his cheek flush pink from the embarrassment of his own neediness. It’s only gotten worse now that they’re together and he’s allowed to touch, allowed to let his gaze wander and his hands stray.
Except that, right now, it’s the exact opposite of what he should do, no matter how much his mind screams at him to take what is his. He shakes his head at himself and makes a conscious effort to calm his fluttering heartbeat. He needs to get a grip on himself – it’s the reason he came up with his resolution last night, after all. His current reaction is more than enough proof for its need.
George clears his throat quickly. “Um, I think I wore it yesterday, it might be in my room.”
He ignores the raised eyebrow Dream sends his way. This is not the time to discuss his habit of raiding Dream’s closet. It’s a pointless argument anyway since they both know Dream enjoys it too much to actually be mad.
“Listen, I actually wanted to talk about the whole meeting-your-family thing again, cause I’ve been thinking about it last night.” He fiddles with the drawstrings of his own sweatpants and leans awkwardly against the dresser next to Dream’s door.
“Are you still hung up on that thing Sapnap said?” Dream asks before he finishes towel-drying his hair and comes over to him, opening one of the dresser’s drawers in search of another shirt. George lets himself look at his back muscles for a second, then resolutely averts his eyes and walks over to the bed himself, flopping down into the soft sheets with a groan.
He hears Dream chuckle and turns to lie on his back, arm thrown over his head.
“I mean … kinda. Not the trolling thing necessary,” he specifies, listening to the sound of
fabric rustling as Dream pulls a shirt over his head. Shame, his mind supplies automatically.
He squashes the thought down with vengeance, continuing instead, “It’s just that everyone else we’ve told about us so far has had a pretty good idea of how we operate. Like, we were inseparable even before we met up, and now, well …” He trails off, hoping Dream will catch on.
He does not, in fact, catch on. “Well?” he repeats instead, leaning back against his dresser with crossed arms. “Come on, George, we’ve talked about you actually speaking your mind.” George can hear the faint amusement in his voice, even though his tone stays encouraging.
He lifts his arm from his face and sits up abruptly. There is a sudden conviction pooling in his stomach and he seizes it gratefully.
“Well, now we’re together and we’re constantly touching and teasing and you kiss me all the time and manhandle me just because you can, and I like it obviously, but it’s different in front of your family,” he rushes out. “I know you and Sapnap told them stories about me and stuff, but they don’t know me, not really. I’m, like, reintroducing myself, and I wanna make it count.”
Dream’s eyes are thoughtful as they flick over his face. George meets his gaze unwaveringly, willing him to understand.
A nod. “Alright, I get what you mean. This is a big step, you want to make a good impression.” Then, Dream’s eyebrows furrow slightly. “But I already told you, they’re definitely going to like you. You don’t need to worry. Just enjoy yourself, it’s going to be fine.”
“Yes, I know that,” George waves a dismissive hand, “but I don’t just want this whole thing to be fine, I want it to be great. And it’s not just about me as a person, but also me as your boyfriend . So I’ve come up with a plan.” His determination has come back again at Dream’s apparent confusion and he sits up straighter to give him a meaningful look. “It’s centred around you, actually.”
“Me? What does that even mean?”
George takes a deep breath, sorts out his mind. He needs to get this right. “Okay, hear me out. If I want to get on your family’s good side I need to be focused, right? No zoning out, not talking without thinking first and definitely no fooling around. Just … being perfectly appropriate. Which is where you come into play.” The way he points his finger is almost accusatory. “You distract me all the time – you try to get under my skin, you stare at me a concerning amount of time and you never keep your hands to yourself.” His own hands are moving wildly as he talks and Dream looks at him with wide eyes, but George rambles on, intent on explaining his reasoning. “And I don’t mind that usually, but first of all, I don’t want to risk getting sidetracked while we’re around your family and secondly, I don’t want my first meeting with them to be all about that, you know?”
He takes a deep breath, almost surprised at the force with which the words leave his mouth, and makes sure to look squarely into Dream’s surprised face as he makes his point.
“So I think we should be mindful of our touching today, is all. Because this is all very new. So like, no snuggling on the couch, no footsies, no wandering hands, no groping, and no tickling or trying to pick me up. And,” he steels himself, trying his best to look stern, “no kissing.”
Dream, whose mouth had turned down more and more during George’s recital, gasps. “No kissing?!”
“No kissing. Especially not in the kitchen.”
His boyfriend sputters. “ Wha –? Why the kitchen ?!”
George has to laugh at the absolute incredulity on his boyfriend’s face. He gives a little shrug. “You get handsy in the kitchen. We haven’t cooked a single time together without also getting off at some point, I don’t think.”
It’s true. Dream has this thing for their newfound domesticity. George knows how much he enjoys talking about the mundane things they undertake to anyone who is willing to listen, how he thrives on all the activities that are strictly for them. He loves the exclusivity that comes with it, George supposes, and if he’s being honest, it affects him quite a bit, too.
And so whenever they had cooked together while Sapnap was out of the house, they both got a little drunk on the feeling of being together in their own world, teasing and touching more than usual just because they could, because they were each other’s. Dream would order him around with firm words and even firmer hands only to get all turned on by it, and George loved pushing him to the brink and then acting scandalised when he got bent over the nearest flat surface.
Presently, Dream’s face flushes a pretty rose colour, likely going through the same mental images as George. The sight makes George giggle because it's always fun to point out Dream’s horniness. It provides him with a rush of power that remains unmatched. And it’s even better because Dream knows he’s right, evident in the way he buries his face in his hands. Got him now.
Grinning triumphantly, he continues, “I’m not gonna risk that with your family around, though. So you’re gonna behave and just let me convince your parents I’m the best person in the world and that you’re incredibly lucky to have me, and boom! Crisis averted.”
Dream shoots him an indignant glare. “You say that as if I’m gonna seduce you right in front of my family, George. What do you think of me?”
“I think you’re a very affectionate simp when it comes to me and I know how that makes you act in front of others.”
The grin he flashes at his boyfriend is made out of pure, sparkling innocence. He claps once and then rubs his hands in delight. “I’m hearing no disputes, does that mean you concur? Do we have ourselves a deal?” After the rocky start, he really thought this would be harder.
Dream, however, doesn’t answer immediately. His face has turned thoughtful, even though faint traces of red are still visible high on his cheeks. George's fingers tingle once more with the urge to reach out, but he knows he has to hold out a little while longer. He has Dream right where he wants him, he can’t show weakness now.
Still, the impulse is hard to wrestle down, so he begins to fiddle with the soft, worn fabric of his sweatpants instead, smoothing over bumps and wrinkles so his restless hands have something to do. He knows Dream respects his need for privacy, but he is also aware that Dream loves to flaunt their relationship, has done so even before it became unambiguously romantic. George had noticed very quickly that Dream loves nothing more than showing everyone around them exactly how special their bond is. He understands it to some extent, although he himself has always favoured more subtle methods of demonstration.
“So what does it mean, exactly? Do we just keep apart the entire evening and make my family think we’re extremely awkward?” Dream asks eventually, scratching the stubble of his chin absentmindedly. He looks slightly unconvinced and George rushes to sway him.
“No! I’m not trying to say we should avoid each other, I’m just saying to be aware of our touches. I really don’t want to subject your family to all sorts of PDA. I don’t want to take away from the first time we’re all together. And I have no idea what they think is appropriate behaviour and what isn’t, so.”
Dream hesitates for a few more seconds. “Fine,” he agrees eventually. “I’ll behave if you do. For your sake. I know from experience they won’t mind anyway, but your point is valid and I don’t want you to worry the entire evening.” A sly grin makes its way onto his face. That sort of thing never bodes well for George, and he feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. “But in exchange, I want a phenomenal New Year’s kiss, even if my family is around. Then we’ll have a deal.”
There it is .
George blanches. “Wha– doesn’t that literally defeat the whole purpose?” he blurts out.
Dream shakes his head, still grinning. “Why would it? It would be weirder if we didn’t kiss – George, they know we’re dating and stuff, their eyes aren’t gonna fall out.”
George squirms. He tries picturing it, wrapping his arms around Dream right as the new year starts, faint cheers ringing in his ears while their lips lock and the world around them fades into nonexistence. He feels a bit woozy at the thought, letting his eyes flick to Dream’s lips on instinct. They look soft and inviting as always, and he knows from experience it’s going to be hard to leave it at one kiss.
Chewing on his lower lip, he considers the bargain. A tiny part of his brain remains wary, telling him that Dream is trying to rope him into a scheme of his own. But his reasoning makes sense, he has to admit. And it’s not like George has ever cared particularly much about New Year’s kisses, but now that he thinks about it, it would be kind of epic to have his first one with Dream.
Dream picks up on George’s losing battle immediately. “C’mon, Georgie,” he pleads with that obnoxiously high-pitched voice he knows George hates, “just one good honest kiss.”
“Fine, you idiot. It’s a deal,” George concedes with a sigh, vaguely kicking one leg in the direction of his boyfriend-turned-pleading-face-emoji. “We'll do the New Year’s kiss – I suppose it’s only fair. But we’re keeping it short and simple. Wouldn’t want you to get all riled up and stuff.”
It’s a weak attempt to gain some of his earlier leverage back, and Dream sees right through it. Unfortunately for George, he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to indulge the taunts any longer. The fact that he managed to sway George appears to have awakened something in him. Or maybe it’s just the simple promise of a kiss. After all, they haven’t really seen each other since yesterday. Either way, George can see a hungry spark grow in his boyfriend’s eyes and it rekindles the flicker of heat in his own stomach.
“There you go again, making this about me as if you didn’t just basically tell me I make you too horny to focus,” Dream scoffs, his tone lowered to a rumble that creeps up George’s spine until he has to forcefully suppress a shiver. The flame in his stomach begins to crackle dangerously. He opens his mouth to snap back, defend his dignity, but Dream doesn’t give him a chance to reply. “I bet by the end of the evening you’re going to be desperate for any attention from me. Don’t forget that I know you too, baby.”
Despite the excited thrum of his body at Dream’s words, George merely sniffs, raising his chin. It’s equal parts infuriating and intoxicating to be looking up at his boyfriend right now, watching him lean back against the dresser with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smile while he himself is left to cower on the bed.
“You’re twisting my words. Actually, you’re projecting. All I want is to leave a good impression on your family. You’re the one who literally bargained for a kiss, so if anything, it’s going to be you begging for my attention.”
Dream only waggles his eyebrows at him, although his mouth twitches as though he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “One kiss is all I need to make you change your mind,” he drawls, his tone painting George’s cheeks red. Annoyance briefly twists his face, and he spits, perhaps a bit too petulantly, “You wish! I’m not even going to go to sleep in the same bed as you tonight.”
This time, Dream does laugh, and he doesn’t stop until George makes a move to throw one of the pillows on the bed at him. That shuts him up real quick, George notes with dark satisfaction, watching as he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, whatever you say. Look, we’ll see how the evening goes, but I’m telling you, you don’t need to make things more complicated. We already made our deal, anyway.”
“We did.” George huffs, shifting on the bed to plant one foot on the floor again. His stomach is still smouldering, and it’s getting harder and harder to preoccupy his hands. He licks his lips, lets his eyes flicker up to Dream. Waits for him to break the sudden, charged silence that has fallen over them.
Dream clears his throat. “So all that aside, what I’m gathering is that your whole abstinence plan doesn’t start till my family is actually over, right?” His gaze slides from George’s eyes to his mouth with unmistakable want.
George knows what he’s really asking. Or rather, what he’s requesting. It’s clear enough in his glinting eyes and provocative posture, hips canted forwards and legs spread slightly. He feels the flames in his stomach grow.
Maybe he should say no. He’s come far, strengthening his resolve and making a point out of denying himself before it even counts. He knows what he should do, and he knows he can do it.
But George remains a hedonist at heart, and he’s been holding out this entire time already. Better to get it out of his system now, when he has the time to indulge. After all, he talked to Dream, struck his bargain. He thinks he deserves a little reward.
Especially because he still hasn’t had breakfast yet.
“Yeah, we’ve got time,” he finds himself replying, his own eyes fixed to the very familiar outline at the front of Dream’s grey sweatpants.
“So, do you maybe want to–”
“Yes,” George answers, not even bothering to hear the full question before he’s already sliding off the bed and getting on his knees in front of his boyfriend.
***
Dream’s family arrives later that day while the household is still frantically preparing for their stay. In fact, up until the last minute, George is busy wiping down the kitchen counters to get rid of every awkward crumb and the odd sauce stain here and there. He finishes his task in record time and puts the used rag to dry by the sink before eyeing the kitchen floor suspiciously. It would probably be best to get the broom and do some sweeping next, he reckons, only to flinch when the doorbell interrupts his thoughts. Oh god.
Anxiety trickles into his stomach and he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. He can do this. Dream had told him multiple times that his family is excited to meet him and that he has nothing to worry about. Just be yourself – that shouldn’t be too hard. Especially because he doesn’t have to worry about getting sidetracked.
Mentally steeling himself to be the one that opens the door, he starts making his way out of the kitchen, only for Dream to barrel down the stairs and zip right past him in record speed. George stumbles to a stop with a surprised yelp.
“Sorry,” Dream shouts over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner. A second later, George can hear him opening the front door to a chorus of happy greetings.
He gnaws on his lower lip, relieved for the few extra seconds he gets to prepare himself. Uncertainty floods him instantly, however. Does he aim for a formal approach or would that seem too unnatural? How much space should he give them? Should he wait right where he is, hovering awkwardly at the kitchen entrance, or should he stride right up to them?
Once again, the decision is taken from him, this time when a girl with long blonde hair shuffles around the corner. She stops when she sees George. Recognition flits across her face and she breaks out into a grin. “Oh hey, George. Nice to finally meet you.”
Her voice is mildly familiar and she seems pretty young, so George assumes it’s the youngest of Dream’s siblings. He forces himself to relax enough to flash her a friendly smile that doesn’t feel too strained from nerves. “Hi! Good to see you, too.”
Not sure what to do with his hands, he settles on an awkward half-wave. She giggles, and takes him in with interest.
George endures the scrutinising for a few seconds, shuffling on his feet slightly. Does he have something on his shirt or something?
Panic flares up in his stomach. Just an hour ago he’d spent an agonisingly long time picking out an outfit just casual enough for the occasion. He’s fairly sure he checked the cleanliness of his clothes as part of the process, but he quickly glances down at himself anyway.
That makes Dream’s sister laugh again. “What?” George asks, incredulous. There aren’t any stains or marks on his clothes, at least not as far as he can see.
“Nothing. Just – you’re so awkward. And short. I think I’m almost as tall as you.”
It’s not the answer George would have expected, and he finds himself spluttering. “What? I’m not short! I’m average height, actually. Everyone in your family is just unnaturally tall.”
Wait– oh, great. George resists the urge to groan as his words register in his own brain. He’s just met her properly for the first time and he’s already reverting back to slandering her like they’re both on stream.
Luckily, Dream’s sister just rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Insulting me and my entire family first thing? I see how it is. You really know how to work your charm, George.”
Before he can reply, the rest of the family makes their way into the hallway. Dream’s mum seems to be explaining to him why his oldest sister couldn’t make it, but she stops and lights up when she spots George.
“Oh, there you are! It’s so good to see you!”
Her voice is nice, cheery in a way that doesn’t sound forced. She’s a tall woman with sandy hair and warm eyes, and when he goes to accept her hug she squeezes him tightly.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, ma’am,” George greets politely once they pull back. Fuck it, he’s going to be extra polite now to make up for the unintentional insult to the family. “You too, sir,” he continues, turning to give Dream’s father a firm handshake, just like his mother always told him to do.
“The pleasure’s all ours, George,” Dream’s dad answers with a smile and a friendly nod. He bears a lot of resemblance to Dream, although his hair is darker and he seems to be slightly shorter. “Clay has told us so much about you.”
“He almost made you sound too good to be true,” Dream’s younger brother jokes, waving at George from where he is trying to squeeze past his parents. George grins, his eyes automatically flitting to his boyfriend who is standing at the very back of the group with a slight flush on his face. The rest of the family laughs, and George relaxes a bit at the break from the formality of the situation.
“Is that so?” he asks, raising an amused eyebrow at Dream and watching the blush on his cheeks deepen. Cute.
“They’re exaggerating,” Dream huffs, but there is a smile tugging at his mouth. “Don’t believe a word they say. I tell them a lot, but they don’t know half the truth about you.” He says it innocently enough, but the wink he sends George speaks volumes. It’s George’s turn to blush, and he averts his eyes quickly. Not cute.
Figures Dream wouldn’t let George bond with his family by making fun of him for being a simp for the rest of the evening. There goes his Plan B. He resigns himself to practised politeness once more, starting with the bags Dream’s parents have brought into the house. “Can I help you with that?” he asks before the discussion of what Dream’s family knows or doesn’t know about him can evolve any further.
“Oh,” Dream’s mother exclaims, “sure! That’s very kind of you, sweetheart. We already prepared some stuff for dinner, and then Clay mentioned you guys are running short on some things so I thought I might as well bring those over, too.”
She turns to Dream’s father. “Why don’t you give George your bags and then let Clay show you the broken AC unit he mentioned earlier. Maybe you two can fix that before dinner. Where is Nick, by the way?”
Before George knows it, all of them are moving again, chattering loudly and scurrying off into the house. Dream’s mother ushers him into the kitchen, and he shoots Dream a slightly panicked look at the prospect of being left alone with her so soon, but his boyfriend only gives him a thumbs up, mouthing “See ya!” with an entirely too smug expression on his face before disappearing with his father. George swallows back a sigh.
His nerves are already coming back full force, but he obediently follows Dream’s mother, listening attentively as she directs him on where to put what. In return, he tries his best to calm his nervous hands and make casual small-talk. To his great relief, he finds that Dream’s mother is actually quite laid-back and incredibly good at keeping the conversation going when George feels himself falter slightly. She’s curious and engaging, but she doesn’t bombard him with questions and genuinely listens when he talks. He comes to appreciate her warm nature a lot as they work side by side, and soon he even feels comfortable enough to make a few jokes.
As he starts to observe her more closely, he realises that Dream has inherited a lot from her. They share the same kindness, the same earnestness and enthusiasm. Pet names seem to come easy to both of them, and they have the same way of ducking their head when laughing loudly. Not to mention that they’re both prone to wheezing.
He tells her the last part before he even registers what he’s saying and then freezes immediately, fearing he’s being too forward. To his surprise, she grins at him broadly.
“You would think so, but wait until you hear Clay’s father laughing. They sound the exact same .” She declares it as though she’s just let George in on a secret, and he feels the icy tendrils of anxiety threatening to seize his heart at every potential misstep melt a bit further. It’s another thing she has in common with Dream – the almost uncanny ability to make almost anyone comfortable in their presence.
And it’s also part of the reason why he agrees easily to start preparing dinner with her when she asks. Of course, it’s the polite thing to do, but he’s realising that he also genuinely wants to. He tells her he would’ve offered anyway, that he enjoys being the sous-chef partly because it reminds him of when he was younger and helping his mother in the kitchen.
“Clay told me about that,” she remarks with a kind look in her eyes. “You made her cake for your birthday this year, right?”
George stops chopping cucumber mid-motion to stare at her in surprise. Had she seriously remembered such a minuscule detail? Suddenly, he feels out of his depth again, all progress forgotten. How is he meant to be even half as open and accommodating as her when he doesn’t even remember if Dream has ever told him anything about his mother outside of the fact that she is … well, his mother.
“Uh,” he responds intelligently, having to remind himself to actually close his mouth and maybe start blinking again. “Yeah. It was the chocolate one she always made me. How did you …?”
Dream’s mum gives him a knowing smile. “Clay really does talk about you a lot. More than he’s ever talked about anyone, ever. I thought it would become less after your arrival here, once routine sets in and everything, but then, you know.”
George’s shoulders start to creep up to his ears. Not the one-on-one parental discussion about my relationship with her son, anything but that . His earlier comfortableness seems like a very distant thing now. Instead, he feels like he’s going to combust while his cheeks grow warm, especially when she starts laughing gently. Briefly, he contemplates excusing himself from the kitchen to go to his room and scream into a pillow for a few seconds.
“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed. We’re all very happy for you two,” she assures him, gently knocking their shoulders together. “You know, I’ve known that you’re good for him for a long time now, just from what he told me and the way he’d act. It’s great to finally see you two be together.”
George refrains from burying his face in his hands. At least she’s somewhat vague. Instead, he clears his throat. “Thanks, ma’am. He’s good for me, too. He’s really …” he trails off, just barely refraining from defaulting back to using ‘epic’ as a descriptive for any positive characteristic. “Great. Really, really great,” he finishes instead, forcing himself to make eye contact to convey his sincerity for a few excruciating seconds. It’s a miracle he doesn’t cringe outwardly.
He’s not built for this. It might end in a stress-induced nosebleed for him. Very subtly, he tries to bring a hand up to his nose to check if he’s already there.
Dream’s mum pats his forearm comfortingly as if sensing how much talking about the feelings he has for her son stresses him. “That’s good to hear, honey,” she hums. “And I thought I told you it’s okay to use my first name, hm?”
George lowers his shoulders again, grateful to move on from the topic.
'Just be yourself,' echoes in his head, and he nearly scoffs out loud. That’s easy to say when he’s pretty much allergic to showing emotional vulnerability to anyone but Dream. Maybe a few of his closest friends, occasionally. He certainly hadn’t expected the subject of his feelings to come up in conversation with Dream’s parents. At least not on their very first proper meeting Maybe he should’ve considered the possibility of them flustering him more than the one of Dream distracting him with looks and touches. George shudders. Or maybe there’s simply no way to have the upper hand when meeting your partner’s parents.
To his relief, Dream’s mother seems content with his response, and they instead continue to make idle conversation while working across from each other at the kitchen island. George tries his best to hear about as many of Dream’s embarrassing childhood stories as possible in an effort to escape any more potential relationship discussions. Luckily, Dream’s mother seems more than happy to indulge his interest and George soon finds himself giggling along to her lighthearted tales of family vacations and childhood pranks.
But it doesn’t take long until they get interrupted by a rush of footsteps coming down the stairs. A second later, Dream appears in the door, grinning stupidly at the sight of them talking and laughing.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Oh, honey, what happened to the AC thing?” Dream’s mum asks, turning around from where she is preparing steak.
Dream waves her off. “I delegated it to Sapnap. You know he’s more of a handyman than I am, and Dad loves a good opportunity to impart some of his wisdom. I thought I’d help you two instead.”
“Well,” Dream’s mum laughs, “we certainly won’t complain about an extra pair of helping hands, right, George?”
George merely squints at his boyfriend. He seems to be in a very good mood, and George wouldn’t put it past him to start pushing the loose boundaries of their little pact just for his own amusement. Maybe he’s planning an ambush on him, despite the fact that George had explicitly told him off from starting anything in the kitchen. God knows Dream loves cornering him here.
But Dream only shoots him a smile and walks over to where his mother is rifling through various drawers in search of a utensil to give him. George half-expects him to brush against his back teasingly, but his boyfriend actually keeps a proper distance. Huh. So maybe no ambush after all.
“Right,” he answers belatedly, returning his attention to the small pile of vegetables he’s meant to be chopping. Some part of him stays hyper-aware of Dream’s presence, but he isn’t sure whether it’s part of situational caution or more of a subconscious reaction ingrained in him after weeks of extreme closeness. Either way, he can’t help but let his gaze linger on Dream when he is sure neither he nor his mother is watching. He seems so content, joking around with his mother and telling her how much he’s missed her cooking while whizzing around the kitchen to fetch various spices. George’s chest gets all warm the longer he watches them – Dream is a bit of a mama’s boy, but it’s sweet seeing him like this. He almost feels bad for mentally accusing him of bad intentions upon entering the kitchen.
But then Dream catches him staring, and George’s expression must betray a good amount of the fondness he’s feeling because he proceeds to give George the most shit-eating grin possible. George feels heat creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks, and he turns his head quickly. It’s not how this is meant to go – he’s supposed to stay unaffected.
Get a grip on yourself, he mentally chides, Dream isn’t even doing anything.
Which is only half true, since more often than not George feels Dream’s eyes on him as well, and at times they’re intense enough to almost equal physical touch. It’s agonising in a way that would normally thrill him, which makes it all the more distracting. In order to actually concentrate on what’s going on around him, he has to violently squash down the loud part of his brain that preens under his boyfriend’s attention.
But there’s no way he is going to get swayed from his determination simply because Dream keeps looking at him. He’s better than that, he reminds himself, even if old habits are hard to shake. This is exactly why he’d come up with their pact in the first place, and his pride forbids him from showing any sort of weakness.
That and the fact that Dream’s ego is already inflated enough.
It becomes easier once Dream’s siblings join them to help finish up dinner and set the table. The irony isn’t lost on George, but he finds that it’s much easier to exchange playful quips with them than he expected, and with more people around his attention isn’t so easily caught by Dream’s presence. It’s still somewhat nerve-wracking, taking time to sink into the different dynamics, but he does his best to be entertaining, to give as good as he gets, and the effort keeps him preoccupied enough that he doesn’t get a chance to get lost in his head again.
By the time everything is ready and Sapnap and Dream’s father have been dragged away from their repairs, it’s completely dark outside. A few lone fireworks occasionally soar through the cloudless night sky like overeager harbingers intent on reminding everyone of what’s to come in the next few hours. Dream tuts disapprovingly every time another one goes off. George knows it’s because he is concerned about Patches whose ears swivel nervously every time another explosion rings from outside. She is curled up on an empty dining chair at the end of the table, right next to Dream’s seat, and he pets her comfortingly every time she shows the slightest sign of distress. George understands it all too well – his pets back home were the same, and it made him considerably less excited for New Year’s Eve in a very similar fashion.
Over dinner, he learns that Dream’s family isn’t particularly big on New Year’s traditions anyway. He listens to stories about their occasional trips to theme parks or the beach to watch firework shows and he laughs along when Dream’s father does a dramatic retelling of the time a young Dream and his older sister had gotten lost on a busy pier during one particular celebration.
“Maybe we’ll do something special next year if the circumstances allow it. Give you boys some excitement for New Year’s Eve instead of sitting you down for a boring dinner and movie night,” Dream’s mother quips at some point, smiling brightly at George and Sapnap. It’s a lighthearted joke, but George’s chest nevertheless fills with a pleasant warmth at the fact that she already welcomes them into future plans with such ease. She seems certain that from here on out, where Dream goes, Sapnap and George go, and George can’t help but marvel at her trust.
Nevertheless, both he and Sapnap scramble to assure her that they are more than okay with uneventful New Year’s celebrations. Dream smirks at their uncharacteristic tameness, and George briefly breaks his no-touching resolution to deliver a swift kick to his ankle under the table. That’s what he gets for very loudly insisting on sitting next to George earlier as if anyone was going to fight him on it. Dream shoots him a very dirty look that George pretends not to see while smiling benignly at his mum.
Truth to be told, George’s own family never really had particularly special traditions for the holiday either. He himself had been to some New Year’s parties during his time at uni, and he gladly tells the table about the few times he’d been to the New Year’s celebrations in central London, watching the fireworks from Westminster Bridge and barely being able to move through the masses of people. “But I’m not really big on, like, super extravagant celebrations for the occasion. As long as I get to light some sparklers I’m fine,” he concludes with a shrug, and, alright, the way Sapnap is nodding along emphatically kind of makes him want to smirk as well. George very carefully schools his features.
“Still,” Dream’s mother insists, “if neither of you has ever been to a proper beach celebration, we definitely have to take you at least once, just for the experience.”
The rest of the family chimes in as well, and eventually the discussion moves on from plans for future New Year’s celebrations to other festivities – birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas and eventually fun day trips to undertake once Dream face reveals at some point and things calm down a little.
It’s nice to map out the new year like this, knowing that he, Dream and Sapnap will finally have the chance to do everything they’ve been dreaming about for years. And George thinks that the excitement becomes even greater with Dream’s family being so happy for them, giving tips and suggestions and offering to look after Patches and the house during extended trips.
It also becomes easier to let his guard down the longer he spends time with them, George notices. He makes Dream’s dad laugh a few times, and subsequently finds out that his wheezes do actually sound exactly like Dream’s, which is as wholesome as it is unnerving. Dream’s mother has hundreds of questions about the British education system that he tries to answer as thoroughly as possible, and Dream’s siblings are nice enough to show him every meme they’re giggling over while simultaneously trying to hide their phones under the dinner table. It’s fun to simply hang out with them, and nothing like the formal, perfunctory first meeting he secretly dreaded.
But he still finds it impossible to melt completely into the relaxed atmosphere. His nerves may be settled by the obvious approval of Dream’s family, but his mind most certainly isn’t. Instead, everything seems to be tainted with a looming sense of incompletion.
As evening bleeds into night, George becomes increasingly aware of just how heavily the lack of physical affection from Dream weighs on him. And he loathes to admit that it becomes a tremendous distraction. After his initial awkwardness around Dream’s family dissipates and his alertness starts to wear off, he’s pretty much helpless to the force of his own longing for the touches he’d grown so used to, and it feels like his perception has become warped, somehow – like he’s been staring at a picture for so long that the negative spaces have begun to stand out more than the actual subject. And now the damage has been done and there’s no way to unsee it.
He notices it after dinner, when Dream is being annoying while they’re all playing cards, accusing George of cheating and just generally slandering his good name, and on more than one occasion George has to stifle the instinct to simply lean over and shut him up with a kiss.
He notices it when he’s unable to reach one of the kitchen shelves while putting away dishes and ends up lingering on his tiptoes for a few embarrassing seconds too long, half-expecting Dream to crowd up behind him with a sly remark and large palms grabbing at his hips.
And there is no way of not noticing it when they all eventually settle down to watch some Disney film George has never seen before and he’s sitting next to Dream in their usual corner of the couch. Even though the lights in the living room are dim and everyone’s attention is on the screen, he keeps fighting the urge to lean his head against Dream’s broad shoulder or completely burrow into his side for the entire duration of it.
He feels, quite frankly, a bit deranged. And the worst part is that Dream seems to pick up on his internal battle, judging by the sidelong glances he shoots him ever so often. George keeps his eyes resolutely averted and his hands clasped in his own lap to avoid breaking any of his principles. As a result, he spends the first half of the film staring off in disbelief at just how much the lack of tiny kisses and touches really unsettles him, and the other half enraged at the fact that he’s gotten so soft and clingy. A voice inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Dream’s notes that he is behaving like a spoiled house cat, forbidding physical contact with vehemence and turning into a big baby when he doesn’t get it once he changes his mind.
George really wishes he could break something.
Before he realises it, the credits are rolling and he’s essentially spent the entire film carrying out a shouting match inside his head. Jesus Christ. His hands are cold where he twists them together, and his nose is incredibly itchy, which puts him further on edge. Maybe he’s finally getting that stress-induced nosebleed.
He subtly brings his fingers up to his nose to check. It comes away clean – small mercy.
Dream’s mum goes to turn some of the lights in the living room back on, and Dream’s dad switches the program to a live broadcast of the Times Square ball drop. A big countdown display in one corner of the screen shows that there are just under ten minutes remaining until the new year.
George heaves a little sigh of relief. Another small mercy. Not much longer until he can focus on fireworks and cheers and dropping the obligatory ‘Happy New Year!’ text into various group chats and private messages.
Next to him, Dream stretches dramatically and lays one arm on the back of the couch in the process. George shoots him an unamused look. Really smooth, Dream .
But his boyfriend only smiles innocently and cocks his head. “You good? You look kinda constipated.”
George sputters. “Excuse you?” They hadn’t even had a proper one-on-one conversation since Dream’s family arrived, and this is the first thing Dream chooses to say to him?
His indignation must be written all over his face because the smile on his boyfriend’s face only grows. “Just saying! I thought I should check in, cause with you it's hard to tell whether it’s from food or emotions.”
“How is that checking in when you’re literally insulting me?” Absolutely incredible. A moment ago George was filled with impossible, fragile longing, and now that his boyfriend has opened his mouth any chance of tenderness is gone.
“It’s not an insult, it’s an observation,” Dream defends obliviously, “and you know I don’t mean it like tha—“
George cuts him off before he can finish explaining. “Well, I’m observing that you look like an idiot, but I don’t exactly go around asking whether that’s just your face or caused by an actual lack of brain cells.”
Dream feigns hurt with big puppy eyes and a dramatic hand over his heart. “Jeez, okay, that’s harsh. What’s gotten you so riled up? Don’t tell me you’re angsting about our New Year’s kiss?”
Oh fuck. The kiss .
Suddenly, George feels like the biggest dumbass on the planet. The past few hours were spent internally panicking about appropriate behaviour and whining about his self-inflicted yearning, and yet Dream’s end of the bargain had still slipped his mind entirely. He almost slaps a hand to his own forehead in embarrassment.
The shame only worsens when he feels excitement bubble up deep within him. After an entire evening of introspection and deprivation, he can’t help but crave contact. If only to ease some of his tension. On a more surface level, worry still clouds his mind. He spares a quick glance around the room, at Dream’s siblings on the floor, Sapnap sprawled out at the other end of their L-shaped couch and Dream’s parents chatting in the armchairs across the room. No one pays them any special attention, but George can’t help but make sure.
When his eyes find Dream’s again, he sees them brimming with amusement. He’s enjoying George’s suffering.
The realisation makes him bristle instantly. Fine, his boyfriend may be onto him, but that doesn’t mean he has to admit to anything. Regardless of any inner turmoil, George is a man of his word. He has agreed to the kiss, so that’s what they’ll do, whether it’ll ease his swirling emotions or not. At the very least it will probably satisfy the spite threatening to overtake his lingering excitement – he’s never more motivated than when Dream looks at him with obvious laughter and an unspoken challenge in his eyes.
He gives a very deliberate eye-roll and scoffs, “Why would I be scared? It’s just one kiss.”
Dream is undeterred. He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Remember when I said one kiss is all it’s going to take to win you over?” The tone sparks something very dangerous in George’s stomach, but he pushes it down forcefully before it can spread.
Instead, he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re so full of yourself. One kiss is not going to change anything, believe me.”
“You’re no fun, you know that?” Dream huffs, removing his arm from the backrest and rubbing it over his eyes tiredly. “You were practically vibrating out of your seat the entire movie, and I have eyes, you know. Come on, Georgie, you gotta realise at this point that my family likes you. Relax a little! They’re not going to think it’s inappropriate if we kiss and cuddle a bit, even while they’re around. I’m not asking you to make out with me.”
George pays him no mind and turns his chin up haughtily. He’s not caving now. Not when it’s so obvious Dream wants him to, not when he’s spent the whole evening figuring this out and feeling like an idiot. “I know that’s not what you’re asking, but that doesn’t mean that we won't get carried away eventually. We made a deal, Dream, one kiss is all you’re getting.”
His boyfriend groans. “You’re an idiot, oh my god. Literally the most exasperating, exhausting person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
“Thank you,” George replies pleasantly.
“I’m going to kiss you so hard you’re going to forget about your stupid sense of pride.”
“No shot, we said we’re going to keep it short and simple.” Sensing a chance to rile Dream up a little and take the focus away from his own conflicted feelings, he flicks his tongue out slightly to wet his lips, watching as his boyfriend zones in on the quick movement. A grin spreads over his face. “Don’t let your desperation take over now, Dreamie, you’ve been so good this entire evening.”
He knows this sort of taunting praise has always been Dream’s weakness, and George delights in the tiny hint of pink that begins to tint his cheeks. It’s his favourite method of distraction, and it works like a charm every time.
Dream shakes his head slightly to clear his thoughts. “Shut up,” he snaps weakly, “I told you, don’t pin this whole thing on me. You can’t fool me, I know you’re tempted. My point still stands – you’ve been on edge this whole evening, and it’s not just because you were nervous earlier.”
It’s a fair assessment, but George is not going to admit that, of course. His decision has been made and he’s going to stand by it, if only out of pure spite. Feigning disinterest, he merely shrugs his shoulders. “Even if that’s true, I’m not going to do anything. If you know me so well, you should know that, too.”
Dream’s responding mutter (“Incorrigible idiot.”) is almost drowned out by the excited voice of his younger sister.
“Guys, look, the last minute has begun!”
Immediately, all eyes in the room turn to the TV, where the countdown has just hit 00:00:56 and the giant, glowing ball in Times Square is steadily making its way down a metal pole. Dream’s father turns up the volume so that the accompanying ticking noise of its descent and the elated shouts of the surrounding crowd are more audible.
The sounds are enough to make George’s stomach swoop with similar excitement and forget about his little spat with Dream. Buzzing anticipation fills his mind instead, spurred on by the palpable elation on screen. He keeps his eyes glued to the television – it’s his first time watching the event live, and although it’s not all too different from any other big New Year’s celebration he’s witnessed so far, sentimentality nevertheless compels him to pay special attention.
His focus is interrupted when Dream nudges him to offer a glass of something that looks suspiciously like champagne. He shoots him a confused look but before he can ask Dream is already explaining, “It’s non-alcoholic, don’t worry. Just for tradition’s sake.”
George nods slowly, only now realising that everyone else is also holding a glass. Cautiously, he brings his own closer to his face to get a whiff of its contents, scrunching up his nose when some of the fizz prickles his skin. The beverage itself smells surprisingly sweet, not really like champagne at all, although it does carry an acidic note as well. He’s pleasantly surprised.
“You like it?” Dream asks carefully, and George melts just a little bit at his soft, earnest expression.. He gives him a sweet smile and revels in the one he gets in return. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess I do.”
A moment later, the last ten seconds of the year commence. Sapnap starts chanting along with the thousands of people counting down on TV, and the rest of them join in with equal enthusiasm. George has to stifle a small giggle, which in turn makes Dream wheeze ever so slightly, and for some reason it makes his heart explode with emotion. He has a whole new year of this in front of him – a whole new year of making Dream laugh and hearing it right next to him, unfiltered, without audio lags and cracks. A whole new year to finally get started on the seemingly endless bucket list he’s spent ages creating with his best friends, a whole new year of everything he’s ever wanted.
The countdown hits zero, the clock strikes midnight, and for the first time in many years, George is right where he belongs.
Outside, firework after firework starts to go off, and the TV screen is filled with smoke and confetti. George can barely hear anything through the overlapping sounds of music, explosions, cheering, clapping and their own chorus of “Happy New Year!” as they raise their glasses in a toast and drink to the new year.
The ‘champagne’ slides down his throat in a rush of sparkling sweetness and stinging sourness, and he decides that it tastes even better than it smells – and better than the real thing anyway. It leaves his stomach prickling just a little bit, a sensation that mingles well with the fizzing bubbles of excitement that are already compiling there.
He smacks his lips contentedly once he’s emptied the glass, setting it back down with slight reluctance. The taste is really growing on him. He makes half a move to turn to Dream with the intention of asking him whether it would be rude to ask for more when a strong hand is wrapped around the back of his neck and Dream pulls him into a bruising kiss.
Oh. This is–
His eyes fall shut automatically, and the startled sound he lets out gets lost between them. Dream’s lips are soft and warm on his, and it hasn’t been more than a few hours, not even half a day, but he’s instantly, achingly aware of just how much he missed this. For the first time tonight, his mind goes pleasantly blank, and he lets himself succumb to the pull that leads him back to Dream – to the lingering taste of sweetness on his lips, the warm cradle of his hands on George’s neck and jaw, and the content little hum he lets out that makes butterflies erupt in his stomach.
It’s perfect, and for a moment he forgets his aspiration to keep the kiss short and simple. Instead, his resolve wavers dangerously with every passing second that he stays like this, kissing Dream and petting the soft strands of hair at the back of his neck.
Evidently, Sapnap has other plans, judging by the way he crashes into George from behind, effectively interrupting their kiss in the process. In the end, they both end up half-sprawled on top of Dream, who only wheezes. George can’t tell if it’s from laughing or the sudden weight of two grown men laying on him.
“Stop sucking face, assholes, where’s my New Year’s hug?!” Sapnap demands uncomfortably close to George’s left ear. George has half a mind to whack him in the back of the head for his audacity, but before he can act on it, he’s already being enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. It’s probably a testament to how much his brain is still lagging from Dream’s kiss that he simply goes limps and endures it.
Then again, if his arms weren’t literally immobilised, he’d probably be tempted to raise delicate fingers to his still-tingling lips like some sort of rom-com character, so maybe it’s for the best that Sapnap is currently trying to strangle him.
Dream eventually manages to regain his breath and joins their hug with very pointed and very obnoxious cooing that George manages to tolerate for all of five seconds before he starts fake-gagging and forcing himself out of the tangled mess of arms around him.
“You had your ten seconds of wholesomeness, that’s all the Dream Team content I’m willing to participate in for free,” he decrees, although it’s hard to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up just the smallest bit.
Twin looks of betrayal are sent his way, but he ignores them in favour of taking a quick look around the room. The TV is still showing the crowd at Times Square dancing to Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York, but no one in the room seems to be paying much attention anymore. When he lets his eyes wander, Dream’s mother unexpectedly meets his gaze with soft eyes and a small smile. George feels himself flush immediately, even though her expression speaks of nothing but approval and assurance. He isn’t sure if it’s a reaction to him kissing her son or him hugging his best friends, but the sincerity in her face catches him mildly off-guard either way. Still, he makes sure to return a timid smile of his own – he might not always be able to handle such genuineness, but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate it.
Well, unless it’s his friends trying to hug him a little bit too genuinely, he muses, turning his head back to the mess of limbs next to him on the couch. As if to prove his point, Sapnap uses that exact moment to start whining while Dream starts to get up from the couch. “What the hell, dude, why are you leaving?”
“Relax, I’m just gonna go find Patches. She’s probably hiding under a bed somewhere, my poor baby,” Dream says, half of his sentence distorted through a giant yawn. George immediately feels a yawn of his own creep up his throat. Now that he thinks about it, he’s really fucking tired, all the excitement and overthinking catching up to him.
Sapnap only sighs. “Fine, but don’t take too long. We’re going to watch some fireworks from the garden, and your dad said he brought sparklers.”
Okay, scratch tiredness. Immediately upon hearing about the prospect of getting to light stuff up and watching it burn, George feels more awake. He turns to Sapnap with eager eyes. “We have sparklers?”
Dream gives them both a knowing look. “Figures that would get you two going, you pyromaniacs. Just go without me, I’ll join in a bit if Patches isn’t going crazy.”
As George watches him go, he contemplates, for the tiniest split-second, going after him. He isn’t sure why — to steal another kiss, maybe, or to ask him whether that first one, their first New Year’s kiss, was to his satisfaction. Maybe his lips are still tingling as well.
But the thought is gone before he can dwell on it, and so he resolutely diverts his attention back to the celebration at hand.
***
Nearly three hours later, George lies in his bed and stares at the ceiling with bleary eyes.
Occasionally, a single firework will go off somewhere outside, briefly illuminating the smooth night sky with some last traces of euphoria. He listens as they come to life with a sharp whistle and watches as they find their death in explosions of crackling colours while apathy weighs him down into the mattress.
His eyes are sore, stinging with tiredness, yet sleep seems to evade him all the same. Instead, he finds himself tossing and turning in a bed that feels too big, and thinking about the fact that it has taken a scarily short amount of time to become entirely too used to the warmth of another body wrapped around him while he drifts off.
As the night had drawn to a close, George rather stubbornly insisted on his decision to sleep in his own bedroom. Partly because he’d trotted up the stairs not too long after Dream’s parents went to bed, and partly because he was determined to spite Dream’s earlier words.
It was a matter of principle, really.
After all, he doesn’t regret his approach to the evening, and he definitely doesn’t want Dream to think he does. Dream’s family might be easy-going, but George still stands by his decision to avoid overt displays of affection around them. A least during their first meeting. He knows he likes to be in control of these things anyway, careful with how much of himself and his relationships he shows to others.
And the meeting had been a success, in the sense that George is fairly sure he’s made a splendid first impression — even if it also showed him the humbling reality of being far more used to Dream’s constant attention and affection than he’d originally thought.
But despite his overall satisfaction, the looming sense of incompletion that had crept up on him earlier in the evening had returned with full force once George went to bed alone. Only this time it’s sharper, more persistent. It gnaws incessantly at him while he shifts in yet another fruitless attempt at finally getting comfortable enough to fall asleep.
The sheets rustle. The noise grates on his nerves. He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the world. It doesn’t help.
He has a terrible suspicion that his New Year’s kiss only amplified the feeling and ultimately sealed his fate. After spending the entire evening trying to maintain a neutral distance from his boyfriend, he can’t help but want and wait for more than that one fleeting taste of normality. Thunder has struck and now he’s left anticipating, counting the seconds until lightning hits — because it will, eventually. Inevitably.
George sighs again and opens his eyes. He would be mad at his own weakness if he weren’t so busy losing himself in longing to care.
For all intents and purposes, this should be his opportunity to prove his boyfriend wrong, to come out as the victor of the silly little competition, but all he can think about is how much he misses Dream, how hollow he feels in his absence. The silence of the night presses uncomfortably on his eardrums and he can’t help but yearn for the sound of Dream’s steady breathing, the comforting thrum of his heartbeat when George presses close to his chest, and the occasional bouts of incomprehensible muttering.
And so, as the seconds tick by, he inevitably begins to start reasoning. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to fall asleep any time soon anyway.
He’s sure Dream isn’t faring much better than him. In fact, he’s probably doing worse. If anything, it would be irresponsible of him to not at least check up on his boyfriend.
It doesn’t have to mean anything at all if George were to sneak into Dream’s room right now. Not if he did it for the greater good. Dream can’t possibly rib him for that. And besides, George thinks as he detangles himself from his blankets, he only ever talked about not sleeping in the same bed as his boyfriend tonight. There was never any talk about not visiting.
This doesn’t count as a surrender, George promises himself as he flings his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor is cool under his feet and he hisses quietly at the uncomfortable feeling.
This is a necessary mission to accomplish a truce, he assures himself while slowly shuffling down the hallway. He strains his ears for any possible noise, but everything is quiet.
He is doing them both a favour and therefore Dream can’t make fun of him, he tells himself, hesitating for a brief moment in front of Dream’s door. At the very least, he’s restless and unwilling to wait for the other shoe to drop. He’s taking matters into his own hands. He knocks.
There is no response.
His heart starts to beat a little faster. In the dark hallway, with cold feet and sudden uncertainty twisting his stomach, he starts to feel a bit foolish. Maybe he had been a bit too cocky in his assumptions. Maybe he’d read the entire situation wrong, had read Dream wrong.
The knot in his stomach tightens painfully, and George suddenly feels cold all over. What if Dream decided he’d had enough of George’s schemes? What if he’s trying to give George a taste of his own medicine?
Desperately, he knocks again.
A second passes. Then another. He starts to become hyper-aware of the blood rushing in his ears, so much so that he nearly misses the soft voice coming from inside the room. “Yeah?”
George almost sinks to the floor right then and there. Almost.
Relief floods his body so quickly that he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself. He needs to get out of the hallway, this grey zone between conviction and certainty. Softly, he pushes the door open, just enough to poke his head through.
The room is dark save for a few muted LEDs blinking slowly by the desk. They illuminate the space just enough for George to make out the dark shape of Dream sitting up in his bed, dimly lit phone in one hand. Immediately, he wants to be closer, dignity be damned.
“Hi,” he whispers. His voice is almost inaudible.
Dream recognises it anyway. “George?”
Compared to George, his voice is rough, but he sounds fairly awake. He relaxes – Dream hasn't been sleeping. His next breath comes easier.
“Yeah, ‘s me,” he confirms softly, shuffling slightly on his feet to ease the numbness settling into them. “Can I come in?”
There’s a beat as if Dream is considering something. Then George can just barely discern his responding nod.
He doesn’t waste another second in the cool, dark hallway and hurriedly steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Upon turning again, he finds that Dream has put his phone to the side, his full attention on George. His face is hard to read in the dark, but the smile is apparent in his voice as he murmurs, “I told you you’d come back to me.”
George snorts. The words dismantle what remains of his anxiety because apparently, Dream’s getting straight to the point. Fine by him, he’s come prepared. “I couldn’t sleep, and I figured you probably weren’t any better off, so I’ve decided to call a truce.”
“Oh, nice try,” Dream drawls, leaning forward to cross his arms on top of his bent knees. His tone is smug, and it makes George’s stomach flip just a little bit. “But I still think that’s admitting I was right. You’re just trying to mask it under the guise of reason.”
A flash of annoyance shoots through his body, closely followed by some mild embarrassment. George mirrors Dream’s crossed arms, lowering his eyes to study the floor intently. And here he thought he could escape any pesky talk about concessions.
“I’m not admitting to anything,” he proclaims dismissively, because he's not about to let Dream corner him just like that, “ I’m acknowledging the mutual need for sleep.” He pauses for a second before adding, “and attention.” It’s as much as he is willing to acknowledge right now, and only then does he lift his gaze again, trying to find his boyfriend’s eyes in the dark. He takes a few steps closer to the bed. “This is all for the greater good – you know me.”
“Yeah,” Dream responds, and this time George can actually make out his grin gleaming in the dim light emanating from the LEDs. “I do know you. Which is why I can tell that you’re just trying to make up motives where there are none, idiot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m literally here to check up on you.” He’s not sure how effective puppy-dog eyes are in the half-dark, but for the sake of his cold feet and bruised pride he hopes they’re enough for Dream to forget about this whole argument altogether and simply let him under the covers.
“Right, this is completely practical. No emotions involved.”
George nods emphatically, hovering at the edge of the bed, hands tucked neatly behind his back. “None whatsoever,” he confirms and rocks on his feet. Just the tiniest bit, in case his boyfriend didn’t get the hint yet.
Standing this close, with his eyes somewhat adjusted to the dark, it’s easier for George to hungrily take in the familiar angles of Dream’s face. In return, he can almost physically feel the weight of Dream’s own heavy gaze where it glides along his body and ends up resting on his face. The urge to get closer persists, sprawling out in fine tendrils from George’s heart until his entire chest is seized by the sensation. He wills Dream to see what he isn’t ready to admit with words.
After a moment, his boyfriend chuckles softly and shakes his head. “You’re so dumb. Stop bullshitting and just come here already.” Long arms open in a clear invitation, and George’s body sings at the promise of blessed touch and affection. He doesn’t waste another second before scrambling over.
The second he climbs into Dream’s lap, arms wind tightly around him and they both breathe a content little sigh. It’s a position that’s become achingly familiar to them over the past couple of weeks. George had learned quickly that Dream’s lap might just be his favourite spot in the entire world, and now that he’s gotten used to the luxury of simply plopping himself into it whenever he wants to, he’s sure he won’t survive without it ever again.
He hooks his chin over Dream’s shoulder, pressing close to the side of his neck, and Dream responds by resting a soothing hand on the back of his head, playing with the hair that’s beginning to curl there. The tendrils in his chest finally loose, and he feels the pressure recede gradually. For the first time since the prior evening, he feels properly relaxed.
Dream must feel the way he is slowly turning boneless in his arms because he gives a near-silent laugh. The breath that leaves him sends a pleasant shiver down George’s back and he shifts forward slightly, nudging closer from where most of his weight rests on Dream’s left thigh.
“You’re awful at calling truces, by the way,” Dream tells him, amusement dancing in his voice and warming the air between them. “Because usually, it involves at least a willingness to talk in order to settle things. Meanwhile, you just want to reap the benefits without doing the work.”
George grimaces, burying his head further into Dream’s neck. How the other can even form sentences right now and not simply melt away into the mattress is beyond him. He himself can definitely feel the tiredness catching up. His response comes therefore as more of a petulant grumble. “What do you want from me?”
“Admit that I was right,” Dream retorts immediately, lips brushing against the side of George’s head. “You’re just as clingy as I am and that’s why you’re here right now. We both know it. Look at you, as soon as you’re with me you’re nearly falling asleep.”
George draws back from the comfort of Dream’s shoulder to wordlessly contradict his statement, although the action is weakened by the fact that he stays in his boyfriend’s arms. Still, he can’t help but point out, “Well that doesn’t sound like you know how to call a truce either. You just want me to surrender.” Which is exactly what George promised himself he wouldn’t do. But then …
Dream rolls his eyes, the action full of glaring affection. George laps it up greedily despite himself, even as his boyfriend chides, “Oh come on now. You already essentially surrendered the second you stepped into the room. You can just admit you missed me.” He nudges his nose against George’s cheek and the gesture makes his heart clench almost painfully. “I know I missed you. It’s just us now, there’s no need to pretend.”
And, well.
It always comes down to this – to the fact that George hides behind layers upon layers of cryptic answers and evaded questions, only to find that Dream has already made a home behind every last one of his carefully crafted barriers. That’s what he likes to think at least, because it would certainly explain why Dream sometimes seems to know things about him before he himself is even aware.
It should be scary, but it isn’t. Not with Dream. Never with Dream.
Instead, it’s enticing somehow, to be known so completely. To be loved so obviously he almost becomes unsure of it, understood beyond his own understanding. George starts to feel a little silly for his earlier denial, but there is no new rush of anxiety to accompany the sensation this time. It’s like his heart has already declared full victory over his head, long before he was ready to acknowledge it – and Dream smiles like knows that, too.
“Fine,” he sighs, at last, giving up the fight and burying his head into Dream’s neck again. From there, he can feel the vibrations of his boyfriend’s muted laughter. They both know he isn’t one for admitting his vulnerability, especially not in the form of verbal confirmations. But more than that, they both know that Dream isn’t going to let the issue go.
“Fine, you’re right. I miss you, and I guess I can be clingy, too.” George breaks off for a moment, just because Dream is squeezing him so tightly the worrisome lack of air in his lungs sends him reeling. “Okay, I’m– Calm down, I’m still– Dream, stop– You’re not allowed to clown on me for that, okay? Cause it doesn’t mean I regret keeping it down in front of your family,” he wheezes out as quietly as he can once Dream lessens his hold and lets him pull back within the circle of his arms. “It was only appropriate.”
The look Dream shoots him is almost quizzical, complete with a small tilt of his head. “I never said you have to regret anything. I agreed to the whole thing, didn’t I?” He reaches up and strokes a piece of George’s hair away from his forehead, smiling when George leans into the touch. The familiar brush of warm, calloused fingers against his skin sends warmth flooding through George’s body, washing away any traces of short-lived insecurity that had previously accumulated in his chest.
Dream’s eyes crinkle, and his voice lowers like his next words are particularly confidential. “Nah, I just wanted to have a real confirmation from you. Since you were so insistent on making your whole reasoning about me and still ended up in my bed, you menace.” He makes a move to jab a finger into George’s side, but George stops him lightning-quick, interlacing their hands instead.
“Don’t you dare– you’re actually so annoying. I’m gonna break up with you,” he huffs, but his wry little smile betrays him.
“You would never break up with me,” Dream grins, not bothered in the slightest, “you would miss threatening to break up with me too much.” His shoulders shake a little with barely suppressed laughter.
George scoffs, but before he can come up with a comeback, Dream is tugging him closer, his free hand coming up to cradle George’s jaw with gentle determination. He barely gives George a second to process the featherlight touch and the sudden, hot wash of Dream’s breath against his mouth, before soft lips are pressed to his and his eyes fall shut.
Their kiss starts out soft, achingly tender and almost timid. It tastes slightly like toothpaste, making George's mouth tingle a little, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. The easy familiarity of Dream’s lips softens the mild sting of mint, and he becomes pliant under the warm, welcoming touch.
His free hand wanders to the nape of Dream’s neck, digging his fingers into it to press closer and move more insistently. As if in response, Dream’s fingers on his jaw tighten and he nips at George’s lower lip teasingly before pulling.
George only just manages to hold back from chasing after him. Already, his treacherous heart is hammering and his face feels hot with elation. This is better than the New Year’s kiss, he thinks deliriously. Instead of dancing around the tension between them, they can let themselves indulge in it for a little bit – away from any prying eyes.
Dream’s fingers are still firm on his jaw, but he’s using them to tilt his head to the side now, nosing at the exposed skin of his neck until he moves up and gently bites at George’s earlobe.
George lets out a tiny gasp at the sensual touch. His hand at Dream’s neck spasms, and he lets it slide up to fist in the curls at the back of Dream’s head for leverage.
“God, I’ve wanted to kiss you senseless so many times tonight,” Dream mutters into his ear, making the hairs at the back of George’s neck rise so quickly that it feels like thousands of little pinpricks racing across his skin. “You drive me crazy.” He moves lower, starts pressing wet little kisses all over the side of George’s throat.
For a few moments, George can do nothing but pant as waves of pleasure seize his body. Coherent thought seems to slip his mind gradually, and all he manages to get out is “Yeah? One New Year’s kiss not enough for you?”
Dream grunts, mouthing at George’s collarbones. The hand still clasped loosely in George’s leaves to rub slow circles into his waist before sliding upwards. “Not nearly enough. We’ve got a lot to make up for.”
His words send dangerous heat sprawling in George’s stomach, and he can’t help but tug Dream upwards with urgent hands to crash their lips together again. It’s less tame this time, a heady edge to it that makes them both more reckless.
“You’re desperate,” he breathes after they part for air once more, but his legs keep tightening on either side of Dream and he does nothing to stop Dream’s hands from restlessly exploring his body, rubbing at his hips and squeezing his thighs before settling on his chest, thumbs dangerously close to George’s nipples. He feels overheated already, even in his loose boxer shorts and thin cotton t-shirt, and it doesn’t help that Dream’s palms seem hot enough to brand his skin where they rest.
His boyfriend smiles against him, nosing at his cheek and pressing a few quick kisses to the corner of his mouth. “I thought we already established I’m no more desperate than you are, baby,” he murmurs, and it’s really unfair how George’s heart still flips at the dumb pet name like it’s the first name Dream has ever tried to sweet-talk him.
“Shut up,” comes his automatic reply, “we’re not doing this.” It’s a half-assed attempt to appear composed and mature in all of this, but he can’t stop himself from kissing Dream again, so his words definitely lack both meaning and conviction.
It takes longer and longer to pull away from the intoxicating push of their lips each time, with the way Dream keeps breathing him in so greedily, one of his thumbs languidly rubbing over George’s left nipple through his shirt. It’s one of George’s weak spots, and Dream clearly enjoys the way he arches up against the touch, swallowing his quiet moan by eagerly licking into his mouth.
And George is not the best at keeping his focus at the best of times, but under Dream’s clever hands and insistent tongue he simply melts into a puddle of twitching muscles and desperate noises. From the moment they’d first met in person he’d been entirely too receptive to Dream’s touches, and right now he is already keyed up from an evening of anxiety and abstinence, so it doesn’t take long until he feels the last bits of his resolve crumbling. There hadn’t been much of it left in the first place, but he finds that surrender doesn’t taste as bitter as he feared it would when it comes in the form of Dream’s burning kisses.
By now, the heat in his stomach has swelled into a raging fire that threatens to consume him entirely. Sprawled in Dream’s lap as he is, legs already spread and most of his weight pressing down on his boyfriend, it doesn’t come as a surprise that his hips start to ache with the urge to move. Within seconds he’s rutting forward against one firm thigh, hissing a little at the filthy relief it brings. Dream encourages the movement by sliding one of his hands down to grasp firmly at George’s ass, making his back arch as he mindlessly grinds his pelvis down.
He can’t help but let out another whine at how good it feels, and this time the sound is only barely muffled by Dream’s lips. Dimly, he registers how it rings quietly in the silence around them. It makes him slow down for a second, and then freeze completely.
Dream pulls away a moment later. They’re both breathing heavily, and George takes a second to hazily appreciate how ruined his boyfriend looks with shiny, swollen lips and messy hair, before looking down at his lap where his cock is starting to strain against his thin boxer shorts. He shifts slightly, biting his lips harshly to prevent any noises from escaping, and hears Dream inhale sharply – from the looks of it, he’s not far behind George in terms of evident arousal.
“Fuck,” George mumbles, “Dream–” but his words get stuck in his throat when Dream grabs at his ass again, this time with both hands, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling him forward against his own straining dick. “Dream,” he repeats, but he chokes pathetically on the name and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels like he’s burning up, lust and horror coursing through his veins, because, “your family –”
“Is sleeping,” Dream replies lowly, still fondling George's ass. “I haven’t heard a single noise outside my bedroom for the past hour or so.”
George knows it’s true. Apart from the occasional firework outside and the faint noise of cars passing by in the distance it had been absolutely silent around them. He’s heard no wandering footsteps or lingering whispers in the house, not even when he went through the hallway earlier.
“Besides, none of my siblings are even on this floor, and my parents are staying at the other end of the hallway.”
Which is also true, George tentatively acknowledges. He chews on his lower lip and lifts his head from where it has lolled forward into the crook of Dream’s neck. His entire body is so alight with desire and desperation that it’s difficult to stay still for more than a few seconds at a time, so much so that he can barely refrain from shifting his weight back and forth in a primitive attempt to get some relief for his aching dick. “But …” he tries to counter nevertheless, even though his words are more air than voice, “what if someone wakes up and hears us?”
“They won’t. Not if you stay quiet,” Dream responds and scrapes his teeth against the side of George’s neck.
George’s cock twitches in interest.
Oh.
He shouldn’t find that hot. It shouldn’t turn him on this much – the confidence in Dream’s voice and the implied challenge of staying silent while getting off, coupled with the filthy irony of ending up a desperate mess in Dream's lap after acting all appropriate around his family the previous evening. It shouldn’t fuel his arousal, but it does. He swallows thickly.
And for the hundredth time tonight, he begins to reason, the hedonist inside him rearing his head.
He’s been good the entire evening. He withheld touches and kisses and made Dream do the same. They had both been perfectly well-behaved and the meeting had gone better than George could’ve anticipated. In fact, he’s willing to argue that his plan worked out splendidly, despite the slightly embarrassing truths he’d been forced to acknowledge along the way. Both he and his boyfriend ultimately got what they wanted.
It’s probably reasonable to want to let loose a little, to celebrate their success while the rest of the house is fast asleep and none the wiser, he concludes. They thrive in moments like these anyway, when it’s them against the world, in their own little bubble and doing their own little thing.
(And technically, the glaringly horny part of his brain supplies, they hadn’t had sex since last year, so that should be reason enough to justify their little escapade.)
“Do you want me to stop? I’m not doing anything you’re not comfortable with, no hard feelings,” Dream begins after a few seconds of George’s silence. He leans back to look at him, and George marvels at the look of his eyes in the low light, dark with desire but still so earnest, so open.
Suddenly, his decision suddenly couldn’t be clearer.
“Don’t stop,” he breathes, fondness bubbling up in his chest, “just kiss me.”
Dream doesn’t waste another second, surging up to continue right where they left off, kissing George for all he’s worth. It sends him reeling just like before, every coherent thought slowly slipping from his mind, and he gives Dream’s hair a hard tug to show his approval.
The other responds by angling his hips slightly, shifting in a way that puts pressure on George’s half-hard cock. The friction is heavenly, and George can’t help but roll his hips forward again and again until he feels the front of his boxers slowly grow sticky with precum. Already, he feels almost embarrassingly out of it – overwhelmed, overheated, overeager, and all he’s done is rut against Dream’s leg.
One of Dream’s hands leaves his ass to palm at his erection, and George bites down harshly on Dream’s bottom lip, greedily swallowing the responding whimper. Their kiss becomes uncoordinated, teeth clashing painfully as they pant into each other’s mouths. Dream toys with the head of George’s cock through the thin fabric covering it and the sharp zing of sensitivity zapping through his body is so intense that George has to pull back completely to bite down on his fist frantically.
“You’re so fucking wet already,” Dream whispers, “so desperate, huh?”
George doesn’t respond – couldn’t, even if he wanted to – and puts all his energy into stifling the multitude of noises threatening to break forth from his throat instead. His chest starts to hurt with how much air he is holding back, but Dream thankfully takes mercy on him and pulls away after another second or so, letting his hand slide down to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of George’s thigh. George lets his fist sink down slowly, and heaves a big breath in a futile attempt to calm himself down.
Dream only chuckles in the face of his agony. “So easy,” he mutters against George’s lips, “so perfect for me.”
George swallows back a whine. His head is spinning with lust and his cock is throbbing, swollen and tender in its confines. The brush of damp fabric over it sends little crackles of electricity through his lower body every time he moves. He feels raw like this, tethered to the whims of his boyfriend’s playful hands and a wicked mouth.
“Bet you could come just from this, hm? Just from riding my thigh and kissing me, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
He already knows the answer to that question, of course. They both do. Because George’s sharp senses only heighten his sensitivity during sex, and Dream loves nothing more than to drag out his responsiveness until he is crying and completely spent, and then push him some more. It’s the sweetest form of torture George knows, but it’s not what he needs tonight.
Dream pinches his thigh softly, startling George out of the haze that has begun to cloud his mind. “I asked you a question, baby,” he whispers, and the hint of sharpness creeping into his previously soft tone sends a jolt of arousal through George’s core. “But maybe I need to be clearer: do you want to come like this? Rubbing against my thigh like a dog in heat because you’re just that desperate?”
George is helpless against the way his hips twitch forward at his boyfriend’s words, but he forces himself to put his jumbled thoughts of need, want, desire into words. Tonight, he craves more.
“No, want you to … want you inside,” he mumbles into Dream’s mouth, leaving little spit-slick kisses everywhere he can reach. Dream lets out a surprised little sound.
“You want me to fuck you? Properly?” A broad grin starts to spread on his face. “My, my, Georgie, I didn’t know you were that horny – you sure you could stay quiet during that?” George sees the flicker of interest in his eyes, but the overall amusement in his tone tells him that Dream knows very well that George didn’t mean it like that. He just wants George to spell it out for him. Asshole.
He briefly nips at Dream’s lower lip for his troubles before pushing at his shoulders so he’s fully reclined against the pillow behind him. Dream’s expectant gaze never leaves him, but his eyebrows knit upwards in pleasure as George very deliberately steadies himself with two hands on his chest and scoots up in his lap a bit, briefly pressing their straining dicks together.
“I do want you to fuck me,” George murmurs, humouring Dream and nosing up his jaw until he can whisper directly into his ear, “but I want your fingers. Less effort.” He lays a soft kiss to the sensitive skin where Dream’s ear meets his jaw and revels in the tiny shiver he elicits.
Before he knows it, plush lips are pressed against his again, and he melts into the kiss with a pleased hum. Dream’s hands start to wander towards his ass once more, gripping and squeezing with such delicious force that George doesn’t even register he’s started to rut his clothed dick against Dream’s again until his boyfriend parts from him with a wet sound.
“Yeah?” Dream smiles, pupils so dilated they make his eyes look black in the dim light. “Want me to take you apart with just my fingers? Fuck you nice and deep until you’re begging to come?” He lets one of his fingers stray between George’s clothed ass cheeks, pressing a teasing finger to his hole and rubbing it slightly, just to see the way George shudders at the friction.
George kisses the stupid smile off his face. “ Yes,” he replies, rolling his hips back to further emphasise his answer, “yes, Dream, I want that, now shut up and actually get on with it instead of asking me all these questions.” He thinks he might actually go insane if Dream doesn’t get inside him soon.
“You’re so impatient. I’m just trying to set the mood,” Dream rolls his eyes, but he is careful as he flips them again so that George’s back lands against the pillows with a soft thud. A moment later, he’s beginning to rifle through the drawers of his bedside table for some lube.
“Don’t care, just want your fingers,” George retorts, already wriggling to get his boxers off but leaving his shirt on. He hisses quietly as his cock is released from its confines and reaches a hand down to touch himself, just to take the edge off.
The relief it brings almost has him moaning out loud, but he quickly muffles any noises by pressing his face into the pillows.
Dream is having none of it. He bats George’s hand away from his aching cock with a disapproving tut. “Hey, no touching yourself. You already got to dictate where I could put my hands last evening, tonight I think it’s only fair that I get to decide the same for you.”
George huffs, a sound so soft it nearly gets drowned out by the silence surrounding them. “You’re taking ages to actually do something thou–” he breaks off with a choked-back groan when Dream delivers a sharp, warning squeeze to the swollen tip of his dick. His eyesight starts wavering for the slightest second at the intensity of the sudden stimulation. For a moment, he can do nothing but blink.
“Keep talking like that and I’ll show you how long I can really drag this out, brat,” Dream mumbles, and his voice has taken on that raspy edge that always tells George he’s playing a dangerous game.
Arousal hits him so hard it leaves him disoriented. On any other occasion, he would’ve seen the words as bait, an incentive to push back even harder and see if Dream truly means them, but tonight they have to be careful, have to be quiet, so instead of biting back, George just swallows, croaks, “No, I won’t– just touch me, please,” because dignity be damned, he can’t take any more waiting.
His pleading earns him a satisfied smile and a quick kiss. Dream occasionally likes to ‘teach George manners,’ as he calls it, but George can’t really call him out on it when he himself plays along willingly. Especially if it gets him this – Dream spreading his legs with gentle hands, pushing at the underside of his thighs until there is enough space for him to kneel between them – he’d be a fool to deny them both this pleasure any longer.
“Look at that,” says Dream, taking a moment to appreciate the sight under him, “you really need it badly, begging so nicely for me …”
Anticipation and excitement bubble up restlessly within George as he watches his boyfriend drizzle lube over his fingers, rubbing the digits together to generate a bit of warmth because he knows how much George detests the feeling of cold lube.
He takes a deep breath to try and calm his fluttering heartbeat, to at least lessen some of the tension that is keeping his body taut, but then Dream starts to gently circle his rim with one finger, simply rubbing him teasingly and massaging some of the lube into the twitching muscle, and George gasps at the sharp sensitivity that sparks in his stomach and all thoughts about relaxing his muscles leave him.
Immediately, he puts a hand over his mouth, trying to prevent any more noises from piercing the relative silence. Dream seems to have a better idea. He pulls back and lets his clean hand run up George’s flank, grabbing the hem of his soft oversized t-shirt and bringing it to George’s mouth in a silent offer.
George complies after a moment of contemplation, deciding that it’s probably better than having to use his hands or the pillow the entire time. Plus, he quickly realises, it has the added benefit of Dream having free access to his chest, which he doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of.
The teasing slide of his boyfriend’s warm, wet tongue over his nipples has him groaning into the balled-up fabric in his mouth in no time, a barely audible sound that only encourages Dream further in his ministrations. Because if there’s one thing George has learned two weeks into the physical exploration of their relationship, it’s that Dream is insanely talented at memorising exactly what George likes during sex and how to give it to him until he is utterly satisfied. It’s the reason he knows he can be as rough as he wants to be with the sensitive buds on George’s chest, sucking and biting at them until they’re bright pink and puffy and George’s groans have transformed into muffled whines.
His devotion to George’s pleasure is simultaneously both the hottest and most endearing thing George has ever witnessed, and he knows, deep down, that he is already ruined for anybody else. Dream reads him like a book and treats him like royalty, and George blooms under his reverent touch, fisting his shaking hands into the soft, golden strands of Dream’s hair they’re both swallowing back moans.
Once Dream is satisfied with his work, he makes a show out of leaving a gentle kiss on each abused nipple. The soft, soothing touch elicits a shiver from George, sending even more blood rushing south to where he is twitching and aching with arousal.
His chest probably looks like a mess, shiny from Dream’s cooling spit and littered with little love bites that George will secretly admire in the bathroom mirror come morning, pressing into them throughout the day to remind himself of how good Dream is to him, giving him just what he needs.
He’s brought back from his little reverie by the return of Dream’s slick finger between his legs, tracing gently around George’s hole and echoing his earlier massage around the fluttering muscle. This time, George’s responding gasp is muted by the fabric in his mouth.
A muscle in his thigh spasms as his lower body stiffens for just a second, then he starts to rock his hips in encouragement. Burning need takes a hold of him.
“You ready?” Dream whispers, looking up at George from under his lashes and nearly taking his breath away in the process. His features are soft, blurred out by the low light of his room, but his eyes are as clear and captivating. George can do nothing but nod wordlessly, taking in the sight before him with slow blinks and a hungry heart.
His boyfriend smiles, ducking his head slightly to press a sweet kiss into the soft skin of George’s thigh before starting to work his finger past the tight ring of muscle. George tilts his head back with a stifled whine, taking care not to let the shirt slip from his mouth while the thick digit slides inside him. The slow glide of it along his walls sends tingles up his spine and he lets his eyes flutter shut with a pleased little sigh.
His body feels so alive, nerves thrumming under Dream’s skilled touch. He wants to bask in the sensation until it takes up his entire awareness, wants to bottle this feeling up and get drunk on its potency every day.
Once he’s worked his finger inside George, Dream halts his movement for a moment, letting him get used to the feeling, before he slides it back out slightly to mess with George’s rim. His calloused fingertip feels heavenly as he stimulates him with practised motions, pushing and pressing until George feels his muscles clamp down uncontrollably. His eyes fly open at the continuous stimulation and he jerks his head to the side with a gasp.
Dream chuckles and stretches up to leave a smattering of kisses along his jaw, the side of his face and up to his ears. “That good?” he murmurs softly, grinding his finger in a rather provocative manner and keeping a close eye on George’s face the whole time. There is, of course, no need for him to ask because they both know that Dream knows exactly what he’s doing and the reactions he’s eliciting rather speak for themselves, but George recognizes that he thrives on the explicit affirmation.
And although he can’t exactly speak through his mouthful of fabric, he meets his boyfriend’s warm gaze with fast, emphatic nods, trying to pour every ounce of his frantic need into the gesture and hoping it’ll do the job. Dream’s face lights up at the enthusiastic answer and he presses another lingering kiss to George’s rosy cheek. “Perfect,” he whispers against the warm, dewy skin, “so pretty for me, open up so nicely.”
George screws his eyes shut at the reverence dripping from Dream’s voice. It’s almost too much to handle, the sticky sweetness of Dream’s words combined with the obscene squelching sound of his finger working in and out of his fluttering hole, and he’s helpless to the hot flush it brings to his face.
His boyfriend laughs lightly at his obvious bashfulness. “Are you already going shy on me, angel? I haven’t even really started yet.” His voice quivers with mirth, and when George opens his eyes to shoot him an unamused glare, he’s met with a lazy smirk and hooded eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m just admiring how gone you are just from this. It’s cute.”
More heat gathers in George’s cheeks and the tip of his ears, but this time he doesn’t know if it’s from agitation or adoration. With Dream, these two are more often than not basically interchangeable.
Instead of entertaining the teasing any longer, he shoves at Dream’s head with an annoyed huff and rolls his hips pointedly. The message is clear: Less talking, more fucking. He’s not even half as ruined as he could be if Dream would just stop dragging this out for longer than necessary.
Distantly, he wonders if this is his punishment for denying Dream the touches and affection he’d craved the previous evening.
“Alright, alright,” Dream replies with a good-natured eye-roll, “you really are desperate for it, huh?” He leans back a little to kneel more securely in the twisted bedsheets. Then, without warning, a second finger slides into George’s hole, and the sudden stretch is enough to make George choke back a moan. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even burn that much after the amount of time he’s had to relax his muscles, but Dream’s fingers are long and thick, and they already take up much more space than George’s own ever could.
Dream watches him intently for any sign of discomfort, but George gives him an enthusiastic nod to continue after only a moment. He likes the stretch anyway, and at this point, he really is getting impatient. His boyfriend seems to sense his urgency, because when he starts moving his fingers again, they are more insistent, thrusting into him fast and hard the way George likes, searching for his sweet spot and just barely brushing past it with every other stroke.
The heightened sensation has George moaning into the soaked hem of his t-shirt, his thighs quivering as Dream denies him direct stimulation and instead starts scissoring the two digits inside him. The expert way with which he twists and thrusts them makes George pant and grind his pelvic down, barely able to keep up with the sizzling pleasure that grows and expands in his stomach.
Then, unexpectedly, just as George is starting to really move his hips in tandem with Dream’s strokes, both fingers press swiftly into that sensitive bundle of nerves within him. Immediately, hot sensory gratification burns through him so quickly it leaves his eyesight blurry for several seconds. A high, bruised whimper is ripped from his chest, and he is tremendously glad for the makeshift gag that is his shirt because the sound would’ve probably woken up the entire house otherwise.
Above him, Dream lets out a pleased little hum, repeating the motion and nudging up against George’s prostate just to see the way his eyelashes flutter and his body twitches. More sounds tumble forth from between clenched teeth and trembling lips. George is sure if he looked desperate before, he must look frantic now.
He can’t bring himself to care too much about it, too lost in the fire that rages low in his stomach and the deafening sound of his own rushing blood in his ears. His weeping cock jumps against his stomach every time Dream crooks his clever fingers against his prostate, and the intense stimulation is both agonising and gratifying.
He already feels so hot between his legs, wet and sensitive, and he wants to reach a hand down to provide some blissful relief where he aches and throbs, but Dream’s earlier instructions still ring clearly through his foggy brain. No touching.
He writhes deliriously, clenching his fingers into the bedsheets instead.
With the way red-hot tension holds George in a white-knuckled chokehold, it’s only a matter of time before a particularly firm stroke against his prostate has him throwing his head back with a startled cry and the soaked hem of his shirt slips from his slack mouth. Luckily, Dream is on him in an instant to prevent any further noises from escaping. He kisses George with deceiving tenderness, sucking gently on his tongue while his fingers keep grinding into him shallowly.
And God, George loves Dream’s fingers and the way they can make him fall apart with ease. He rolls his hips greedily, trying to take them deeper, press down harder, despite the fact that he’s barely able to breathe through his own frenzy. Much to his chagrin, Dream does the opposite, slowing his deliberate strokes to languid pumps, avoiding his prostate entirely. When George makes a fitful noise against him at the change of pace and lack of stimulation, he pulls away from their kiss with a soft, shushing sound.
“Breathe, baby,” Dream murmurs against his lips, one strong hand on George’s hips pressing him down into the mattress to still their impatient motions.
“ More,” George begs regardless, and his voice comes out crackly and hoarse from all his choked-back noises. He doesn’t care.
The hand on his hip squeezes once, playfully. “You’re insatiable,” Dream chuckles, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. He seems fairly composed still, but George can spot the lust blowing out his pupils and staining his cheeks red. George’s desperation and strong reactions clearly affect him.
Good. He can work with that.
Tipping his chin slightly and blinking up at his boyfriend from under long, wet lashes, George gives a little whimper. His hands find purchase on broad shoulders, digging into the skin there while he makes a show out of trying to free his hips from the unrelenting hand pressing them into the mattress. “Dream, come on, I– I need more, please, you fuck me so well– make me come, please, I need to co–”
He gets cut off when Dream forcefully stuffs the hem of his shirt back into his mouth. George splutters, grimacing at the unpleasant sensation of soggy and slightly cooled cotton. He has half a mind to spit it out again and scold his boyfriend for the sudden rough treatment, but that thought flees his mind a second later when thick fingers suddenly pick up speed again and start pistoning in and out of him with unprecedented force.
“You’re a mess,” Dream hisses into his ear as he starts to really fingerfuck him, sliding the hand on George’s hip down to his thigh to spread his legs even more, “but don’t you worry, I’ll take real good care of you. You just focus on keeping that pretty mouth stuffed this time, hm?”
All George can respond with is a frantic nod accompanied by a pathetic warbled noise that’s caught somewhere between surprise and pleasure. Dream’s fingers are stiff as they stroke over his prostate, pressing down and massaging with increasing firmness, and all of his previous playfulness is gone. George can do nothing but squeeze his eyes shut and arch his back, trying to push his pelvis down against every upstroke.
The world narrows down to the crackling feeling of sparking nerves and sensitive warmth gathering rapidly in his stomach. His breath comes out in harsh puffs through his nose and his jaw is starting to ache from gritting his teeth at the shockwaves of stinging pleasure coursing through his body. The direct stimulation is almost too much, and simultaneously not enough.
As if reading his mind, Dream starts kissing his way down his body again, stopping at his chest to lap at his nipples, taking turns to swirl his tongue around each sensitive bud until they’re both hard and swollen from the assault. The combination of slight pain and stinging pleasure burns through George like a forest fire, and he feels hot tears leak from the corners of his eyes. His neglected cock drools precum with every masterful swipe of Dream’s hot tongue and thick fingers, making a mess on his jumping stomach.
After what could be minutes, hours, days, Dream slowly moves further down George’s body, sucking the soft skin stretched over prominent hip bones, and then moving inward, further and further as George trembles and thrashes, until hot breath hits his aching dick. A second later, fleeting kisses are pressed to its weeping tip, and George has to stuff his shirt forcefully back into his mouth to muffle the multitude of moans threatening to spill from his slack lips.
Underneath his clamouring heartbeat and uneven breathing, he just barely becomes aware of faint rustling. It takes him a second to place the noise, but then it hits him and he nearly comes right then and there at the realisation that Dream is stroking himself, absently getting off to George’s near-unravelling. When he manages to fix his blurry eyes on him, Dream looks dazed, nearly as debauched as George feels, and the thought that it’s all from the mere sight and sounds of George sends a sizzling spark of arousal up his spine.
And he’s close, so close, abdominal muscles starting to burn from how hard he is clenching them, but Dream pulls off his dick with one last, teasing kiss, and George nearly sobs, pulled right back from the precipice.
“Dr’m,” he slurs through fabric and saliva, willing him to understand. Dream shushes him gently and stills his fingers completely over his prostate to rub down firmly.
George’s back snaps into an impossible arch, slamming his pelvis down to take Dream’s fingers deeper in frantic motions. His heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest and he swears he can see stars forming in front of his unfocused eyes as he barrels towards his orgasm. Static begins to fill his ears, but he can still make out Dream’s low voice praising him, encouraging him to let go.
“That’s it, baby, I got you. You can come just like this, just from my fingers, fucking you so well, stretching you so good. God, you take me so well, I wish I could fuck you properly, get you on your hands and knees and press your face into the pillows so no noise gets outside this room when I pound you into the mattress.”
Faster than George can realise, the tight coil in his stomach snaps and his entire body stiffens as he comes untouched all over his stomach and chest. His orgasm washes over him in crashing waves that barely give him time to breathe, overwhelmed by the raw sensitivity rippling through his body and spurred on by the mental image of Dream fucking into him from behind while he’s not allowed to do anything but stay quiet and take it.
He rolls his hips to ride out the intense sensation, milking the pleasure for himself as his hole clamps down on Dream’s fingers repeatedly. His mind starts to get fuzzy around the edges, entirely unable to form a coherent thought as he heaves breath after breath and quivers through the aftermath.
Dream crooks his fingers once more, and George lets out a tired little keening sound as his cock twitches weakly, spurting another dribble of white onto his slick belly. The shirt falls from his mouth without resistance.
“What is wrong with you,” he pants out weakly, limbs still shaky from the intensity of his orgasm.
The question remains unanswered, though, and when George manages to clear his cloudy gaze, he can see that Dream’s eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes screwed shut with the effort to keep quiet while he desperately jerks his cock. His shorts are barely pulled down enough to stay out of the way, and his hand moves so fast that George has trouble differentiating the upstrokes from the downstrokes. In short, he looks wrecked despite barely touching himself the entire time. George wants to push him further, make him come undone.
With tremendous effort and a soft groan, he gets himself into a seated position, reaching down to grasp at Dream’s wrist. “Let me,” he whispers, “I wanna be the one to make you come.”
Dream groans, letting his head fall forward on George’s shoulder and spreading his knees desperately as George gets to work on his aching dick. It’s an angry red and looks so hard that George can’t help but wince in sympathy, pressing a soothing kiss to the side of his boyfriend’s head when he lets out a small whimper.
“You did so well,” he praises softly into sweaty blond hair, speeding up his hand and paying special attention to the leaking tip. Dream burrows further into his shoulder, turning George’s shirt hot and damp where his slack mouth rests. Muted moans and whines are timed with the erratic thrusts of his hips, and George presses a quick, affectionate kiss to the shell of his ear.
His free hand settles at the back of Dream’s head, lightly tugging at his hair and smiling at the way his boyfriend shivers. “Took such good care of me, made me feel so good. Come on, baby, let go, come for me.” He swipes his thumb firmly over the head of Dream’s cock, smearing the copious amounts of precum and digging into the slit, and a second later Dream's hips snap forward and he comes all over George’s fist with a shudder and a strangled grunt.
He stays slumped forward into George’s shoulder while he comes down from the high of his orgasm with panting breaths. George rubs his clean hand absentmindedly up and down his back to ground him, and contemplates his other, cum-covered hand that’s resting on Dream’s thigh. He kinda wants to lick it, so he does.
It tastes only slightly bitter, because of course Dream is the type of guy to make sure his cum doesn’t taste like battery acid. But George is not about to make fun of him when he’s the one eagerly sucking it off his fingers. He’s probably enjoying this way too much anyway, especially when the slightly obscene noise is his cleaning makes Dream jerk away from him with a scowl.
“Oh my– George , that’s disgusting, what the hell!” he groans, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.
George grins and sucks on one of his fingertips with overexaggerated delight, as though he is simply tasting a dessert. “I would actually argue it’s more practical than anything,” he responds once he’s done, showing off his ‘cleaned’ hand, “cause I just saved myself a trip to the bathroom.”
Dream rolls his eyes. “A tissue would’ve done the job, idiot.”
“No it wouldn’t, this is way more thorough,” George shakes his head and shoots Dream a shit-eating grin. “Besides, I like the way you taste. We should reproduce the flavour and, like, sell it as an–”
“You’re sick in the head, do not finish that sentence,” Dream interrupts with a flaming face, shoving George when he starts to giggle. He waves a mocking hand to the cooling cum on George’s own stomach. “And now what, do you expect me to lick that off you in return, or do you think a tissue will suffice?”
George snaps his mouth shut, a spark of interest flickering in his abdomen. Heat rises to his cheeks unbiddenly. Dream shoots him an incredulous look.
“I mean,” he begins to defend himself, “I wouldn’t exactly mind – hey!”
Before he knows it, Dream has shoved him again, harder this time, and glaring all the while. “Shut up, George, that was a rhetorical question,” he scoffs, tucking himself back into his shorts and leaning over to get a tissue from the bedside table. George rubs his shoulder with a grumble, but his boyfriend shows no sympathy. Instead, he thrusts a tissue into his face with an eye roll and a small smile.
“Here, at least get your slobber off your hand, you nasty freak,” he says. George complies with minimal huffing while Dream gently pushes him back into the pillows to clean his stomach and between his legs.
“I don’t get why this is any more condemnable than swallowing after a blowjob, which we’ve both done before. Also, you literally shove your tongue up my ass like once a wee–”
The look Dream shoots him is murderous. “One more word from you and I’m kicking you out. See how you like that.” He snatches the crumpled tissue from George’s hand with a huff, standing up to throw it away with the rest of them.
George raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll drop it.” With a slight wrinkle in his nose, he takes in the state of his damp shirt and soiled boxer shorts. There’s no way he is going to sleep in these. “I’m not nasty though. A nasty person wouldn’t be asking to borrow some clean clothes from you, which I definitely am.” He pulls off his shirt with a grimace. “Please, I’ll take anything.”
Dream snorts, stopping briefly by his dresser to pull out some clean clothes for himself and George, unceremoniously dropping a pair of underwear and a shirt on him once he’s made his way back to the bed. “There you go, Mr Clean. Good job on shutting up about our sex life when my parents are literally down the hall.”
It’s probably a testament to the mindblowing orgasm George just had that he doesn’t rise to the bait. In fact, he’s almost surprised that the mention of Dream’s parents doesn’t spark the same anxiety as before. Instead, he finds himself laughing quietly at Dream’s ridiculousness. “Oh, so talking about sex is off the table, but literally doing it is okay?” Shaking his head with a smile, he finishes putting on the clean clothes. They’re a bit too big on him, and they smell good – like laundry detergent, like Dream, like home .
“Well yeah,” Dream answers with a self-righteous expression and a dramatic stretch, “because of plausible deniability or whatever. I could’ve just been comforting you after a nightmare if anyone were to ask about the talking and the noises.”
George’s mouth twitches with suppressed laughter. “You’re an idiot. Like, actually.” But he lies down next to Dream anyway, shuffling around until he is comfortably burrowed into Dream’s chest, head under his chin and arm securely locked around his waist. He supposes there’s no longer any need to pretend he is going to sleep in his own bed tonight.
“Says the idiot,” Dream replies once he’s settled. It comes out far more affectionate than he probably meant it to since his voice has taken on that impossibly soft quality that only ever comes out when he’s around George or Patches. George only yawns, too lazy to keep up their playful little argument. All he wants is to sink into Dream’s embrace and finally get some rest.
His wish is granted when his boyfriend tucks them under the covers a moment later and pulls him close with a content little sigh. The corners of George’s mouth quirk up happily. His eyes slip shut.
He is almost asleep by the time Dream speaks up next. From his place of rest pressed against Dream’s chest, he feels rather than hears the soft words. “Actually, I can’t believe you went through so much trouble to ‘act appropriately’ just for us to get off together with my family literally down the hall.”
George groans weakly. “Shut up, idiot. It was worth a try.”
Dream giggles. “You literally made me bargain for a simple New Year’s kiss, you’re so ridiculous.” But he presses a fond kiss to the side of George’s head all the same, so George can’t find it within himself to get defensive. It even makes him smile a little because, well, the entire situation is a bit ridiculous.
Besides, a different part of Dream’s sentence catches his attention. With slight difficulty, he pulls back from their embrace just enough to glance up at his boyfriend’s face. He looks tired, but in a deeply satisfied way, and it makes George’s heart soar with unbridled affection.
“Oh yeah, happy new year, by the way,” he whispers, allowing some of the tenderness fluttering in his chest to bleed into his voice.
Dream’s eyebrows rise quizzically. “Um, didn’t we already say that hours ago?”
George shakes his head. “Not just the two of us, just to each other. I wanted to, but then everything kinda happened too fast, so,” he trails off, feeling a bit awkward at the look of pleasant surprise on his boyfriend’s face, “um, yeah. Happy new year. Again.”
“Idiot,” Dream breathes and bends down to press a sweet, chaste kiss to George’s lips. “You’re a giant sap beneath that aloof exterior. I can’t believe you sometimes.” His arm around George’s waist tightens when he makes a half-hearted attempt to squirm out of Dream’s hold, and his big dopey smile should annoy George but it only makes his hopelessly smitten heart beat faster.
“Happy new year to you, too,” Dream murmurs, “I can’t wait to spend it all by your side like we always wanted to.” Another kiss is dropped, this time to George’s forehead, before he is being tucked securely under Dream’s chin again. “I love you.”
George sighs warmly and gives Dream’s throat a responding peck. “Love you, too,” he hums, revelling in the sweet promise of a new year that belongs entirely to them.
Outside, another lone firework illuminates the still night sky. He is asleep before the last of its colours have faded.