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When George was younger, before he moved a sea away, his mother would make him blueberry pancakes. They were a mark of something important happening, a birthday, a good test grade. They were sticky batter spread over sizzling butter with blueberries bleeding purple. Drowned in sticky syrup that swirled with butter, they became a mark of love.
It was cheesy, but that had always been Geogre. He was once told he could fall in love with anyone who loved him, and it was true. The cute boy who threw paper at the back of his head became his first boyfriend. When they broke up, his mom made him the same blueberry pancakes to dry his tears.
And he learned that if he could fall in love with anyone, it meant anyone would be able to take his heart and throw it over a cliff. He would only be able to stand on wet grass with dew soaking into his shoes and watch. George became a person who was scared of love.
He knew it was a sad moment with his beating heart, for it to stop beating for someone else. He missed the phantom taste of pancakes, someone to pet through his hair and tell him his ears and tail didn’t make him any different, and the teasing was just insecure kids who were bullies. He missed sticky syrup that never left his fingers even after he washed them with watermelon soap.
He moved a sea away, without love and pancakes, cold as the night with a storm rolling in.
He completed the first few years of college, fading into the background of his classes, not the loudest or smartest, but there. And he was okay with that. He settled into the dull serenity of waking up with bitter coffee instead of sugared batter, going to class and dragging his feet back to his apartment.
A small shoebox with hardly enough room for him to move in. But it was cheap and didn’t smell like a broken pipe, like all the others he looked at. There was a floppy couch with stuffing poking from the armrest, and a small table he rarely sat at with scratches on the top. Water stains in the shape of glasses covered the surface, looking like bubbles of air popping at the surface, a drowning man’s last sight.
His room was simple, a bed far too big for the four walls, and a closet, filled with sweaters and hoodies, sweatpants folded under them. He didn’t have any need to dress nice. He only had classes and occasionally dragged to his friend’s house for late nights that were filled with salty food and bright laughter.
He had met Sapnap on the first day, a loud boy with a wide smile, hot as fire. He was energy that bloomed and sparked, eager to drag George to parties, to movie nights. He was the sole reason George ever left his apartment, and tonight was no different.
A day before Valentine’s day, he was pulling on an extra large hoodie and sweatpants with a hole for his tail to flick out of. He grabbed his keys, and walked through humid air that didn’t smell like rain and never felt the shade of thunder clouds.
The sidewalks were empty, cracked with weeds growing between them. They were sparse green among the grey, but all he had to do was look up to see vibrant grass and flowering bushes. There were no seasons in Florida, and that was something he missed most from home.
The walk was short to Sapnap’s, significantly larger, apartment. He had roommates, so with the price split among three of them, there was actual room to lay down on the floor of the living room. He was always a floor person, well hybrid. It was the cat part of him, preferring to spread out on the carpet in a patch of sun than on a couch. It was probably why his was so old and lumpy.
He reached the red door of Sapnap’s apartment, painted against his landlord’s wishes. It was fire engine bright, and perfectly striking for boisterous Sap.
He knocked once, and the door swung open.
“George! You made it, right on time, as always. Come in,” Sapnap said brightly, stepping back to let him in. “Everyone’s here!”
“Thanks,” he said with a small smile. When he entered their living room, loud yells greeted him.
“Georgie!” A short man with a navy beanie screamed from the couch, a bag of chips in his hands.
“You’re here! Welcome!” A smiling man with a color patch sweater cheered, raising a can of energy drink that would kill him if he had too many. It was Karl, Sap’s first roommate and unlabeled boyfriend. But by the way Sapnap plopped right next to him, hand on his thigh, they were closer than ever.
“Gogy, the cat of the hour,” a deep voice said, Sapnap’s second roommate, and George’s self-proclaimed nemesis. It was Dream.
He sat on the floor, in George’s usual spot, closest to the door. A juice box, a fucking juice box, in his hand. He gave a wolfish grin to him, tilting his head. He had long hair, long enough for George to run his hands through, which he had done.
Once, after too many drinks a few months ago.
Dream didn’t remember, and it was a relief, but made sugar burn on his tongue.
Dream’s cocky arrogance wasn’t helped by the silver piercing through his tongue, lolling out in a way that made him want to suck on it and feel it on his chest, down his arms, on his thighs in a path of warm tongue in a wet trail, cooled by the sharpness of metal. It brewed a storm in his stomach, dark and dangerous.
“Come sit down, Georgie.” He loathed the nickname on Dream’s pierced tongue. But with the only open seat next to him, he had no choice but to lower himself to the ground.
He curled his tail around his waist, holding the tip like a lifeline in crashing waves with salt water that went up his nose and stung .
“Do you want anything to drink?” Sapnap said from Karl’s side, his leg thrown over his lap. He didn’t want to disturb their bliss, their love.
“I’m okay.”
“No, really, do you want anything?” Dream asked, turning to George. He shook his head, looking to the carpet.
He liked sitting with all of them, listening to their stories of crazed thunderstorm nights like rainwater on a tin roof. However, with Dream so close, warmth coming off his body in waves like a hot pan ready for batter, he couldn’t focus. He was on edge.
“Well, now that we’re all here, we have something to tell you all,” Sapnap said. There was a cloud over his words, a seriousness George didn’t know he could have.
“We’re… together. We’re a couple!” Karl blabbered eagerly, nearly falling off the couch in his excitement.
The room erupted, and it was thunder booming. He wanted to cover his ears. Quackity jumped up.
“Let’s go! I knew it! I fucking knew it!” He laughed, lunging onto the couch and tackling them in a hug. They dissolved into laughter, as Dream wolf-whistled.
George flinched at the sharp sound.
“Congratulations,” he mumbled, too quiet no one, but maybe Dream heard him.
“How long?” Quackity beamed, wiggling himself between them.
“Officially, a month.” Karl’s smile was infectious, and it made him feel like perhaps he could have blueberry pancakes again.
“Unofficially, as soon as we met.” Sapnap’s grin sparked like lightning. They reached across Quackity, holding tight to each other.
“Congrats, we’re happy for you.” Dream sounded genuine. “Really.”
He could only nod along. Dream had a way of stealing his voice.
“Enough gooey, let’s celebrate!” Karl bounded up, grabbing a bag of wooden rectangles. “Jenga!”
He dumped the bag onto the coffee table, better described as a trunk with stickers covering it, found on the side of the street.
Dream leaned forward, helping to stack on the rectangles together. He was reaching across George, bringing his smell wafting over him. Syrup and fresh fruit, sweet, but not overly so. It was perfect, but of course it was.
He wanted to gag, but inhaled deeply, letting the smell settle in his ribs, covering them in sugar.
He sat back, settling closer to him, thigh pressed against him, warm and large, bulging under his grey sweatpants.
“Jenga’s boring, let’s spice it up,” Quackity yelled.
“Truth or dare?” Karl suggested, leaning back into the couch, hand back clasped over Quackity and entwined with Sapnap’s.
“Yeah! My turn!” He leaned forward, breaking their hand holding and taking a block and setting it on the top of the tower.
“Truth or dare?” Dream asked, eyebrow quirked up. It would look good with matching metal sticking through it.
“Truth.”
“Last time you got laid?” Dream gave a sharp smirk, setting his hand on George’s knee.
It sparked over his skin, warming it as if lightning struck from Dream’s fingertips. With the question, it danced like a dark cloud in his stomach, coating it in arousal.
“A couple days ago? Why do you want to know?” Quackity stuck his tongue out at him and wiggled his eyebrows.
A flash of something akin to jealousy struck.
“Freak,” he laughed, letting his hand fall from his knee. He hated how he missed the warmth despite the air thick with the heat.
Home was never so hot.
He was burning in the living room, surrounded by Dream. He held tight to his tail. It was all he could do to stay seated there, a person away from the door.
A tall, strong person that burned like too much cinnamon.
“Gogy, your turn!” Karl screamed. He felt his ears twitch at the sharp sound.
“Okay, okay,” he forced a laugh, and prying his fingers from his tail to lean forward and take a block. It fell easily from the tower, and he stacked it on top next to the other block.
“Truth or dare?” Dream’s voice was dark clouds, bringing a storm. He fell back to spot, turning to watch as he licked his lips, like a predator.
Fuck instinct, fuck the cat part of him for wanting to bow his head and submit, to present himself to Dream whose sage eyes bore into his with a glint of more .
Instead he locked his eyes to Dream, meeting his gaze, daring him to make a move.
“No fair, you asked last time! My turn,” Karl butted in. Dream broke their eye contact, raising his hands in surrender, palms up.
His fingers were thick, far more than his. They’d grip tight, leaving blueberry stains everywhere they touched. “George, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Dream smirked in the corner of his vision.
“Are you vanilla?” Sapnap butted in, talking over Karl’s small question.
“Last time you were kissed?”
“Um, vanilla? I guess?” To some extent.
He wasn’t opposed to marks of lips, teeth, fingers . Dream’s fingers. He wouldn’t mind the bite of rope either, nor toys buried deep.
He felt a strawberry blush cover his cheeks, down his neck.
“Oh, Georgie, what kind of things?” Dream teased. He felt the words as if they were whispered against the shell of his ear.
“Only one question!” Karl cackled, as Sapnap leaned forward to pluck a block and set it on top.
“Truth or dare?” Quackity laughed. Dream’s hand found its place on his thigh, squeezing once before falling away.
“Dare,” Sap said, resting on their couch. Dream leaned close, words brushing the fur on his ear.
“I want to know what you like.” It was sticky promises between sheets.
“Kiss Karl!” Quackity yelled.
Maybe it was because it was their first kiss in front of them, the first of many, maybe it was the shining love in their eyes, or the way they met so tenderly across Quackity who whistled and clapped loudly.
Whatever it was, George felt lonely sitting on the floor, missing the taste of morning pancakes.
“Yeah!” Dream yelled, pumping his fist. It made his veins pop on his forearm, and George let himself clap, smile for them. It wasn’t so bad with Dream next to him.
The night dissolved into silly dares and sinful truths. He found himself with a juice in his hands, put there by Dream, who’s arm had found itself around his shoulders, pulling him against his side. The hand was woven through his hair, stroking the strands and pulling them enough where he couldn’t forget whose hand it was threading through close to his ear. Dull nails ran on his scalp, and shivers hadn’t stopped racing down his spine. His mind was clouded with warm arousal. It was heavy on his shoulders in a comforting blanket.
His tail was now wrapped around Dream’s waist, flicking up his side, tapping on his ribs.
Dream waved with his free hand, laughing at something Sapnap howled while Quackity cackled, falling onto his side.
“That’s not a truth! That was a dare!”
“It still counts,” Karl said around his third energy drink. “Truth or dare, it was both!”
“Two for one! Two for one!” Quackity cackled.
“Too loud, quiet down,” Dream laughed, gesturing to George, who lightly hit his chest. It was firm under his hand, steady and filled with the thrum of a heartbeat. His ears twitched under Dream’s jaw.
“I’m not a baby,” he groaned.
“You’re my baby, and I want to take care of you,” he cooed while squeezing him tight. It should feel demeaning, like he was a child, but he felt cared for.
His arm was warm, a strong force tethering him instead of his tail. When it flexed around him, he wanted to kiss where the muscle pressed around him. And the name baby on his tongue was as alluring as the silver.
He wanted to whimper, melt into Dream’s lap and feel the hand combing through his hair everywhere.
He glared up at Dream, trying to look angry, but often he was told he looked like a feisty kitten. He smirked down at him, flashing canines George wanted to dig into him. He bit his cheek to muffle the whine building in his throat.
“Stop staring like you want to fuck each other!” Sapnap yelled, breaking their trance and shattering the sugared bubble they had breathed around them.
“We’re not, I…,” George mumbled, trying to excuse the way heat settled low. It was pointless, Karl just laughed, and Dream gave a knowing smile.
“Truth or dare?” Quackity interrupted. The tower had long since toppled, and blocks spilled over the chest. They had been spitting truth and dares like darts that stuck with delicious pain.
“Dare,” he conceded, leaning against Dream’s broad chest.
“I dare you to go on a date with Dream,” Sapnap suggested slyly, sipping his drink with a knowing flash in his eyes.
“That’s not fair! The dare was for George, you can’t drag Dream into it!” Quackity laughed.
“Done. Georgie, we’re going on a date,” he said with the warmth of summer rain that sprinkled into him and made his hair stick to his forehead.
“What?” His neck hurt for how he snapped his gaze to Dream. He was already looking at him.
“It’s a date, and just in time for Valentine’s Day.” He made a silly face, lifting an eyebrow and sticking out his tongue. Spit slicked the jewelry and made it shine. It glinted on his pink tongue.
“Fine.”
The room cheered at his surrender, clacking their cups together in celebration and spilling sticky juice over the chest. He closed his eyes, and shook his head against the shoulder of Dream. His hand snaked up, scratching his ears.
He immediately began to purr.
“The fuck?” Dream pulled his hand away. He could feel the fear plague his scent. He started to pull away from George, but he dug into his chest and stopped him from moving.
The loud yell, however, had startled him enough where the purr died in his throat, rainwater caught in a glass jar.
Karl burst into laughter, collapsing into the couch, face red with mirth.
“He’s purring! It means he’s happy, stopping freaking out,” Karl managed through the bright laughs.
He shrunk under the eyes skirting over him and Dream, fully taking in how interlaced they were. His tail, something he was protective over more than anything, was wrapped around him.
“Purring, like a cat?” Dream hesitantly asked, settling back into his spot with George in his arms.
“ Cat -hybrid, I purr, sometimes,” he said sheepishly, tucking his face into Dream’s neck to hide his blush, and also where his scent was thickest. He drowned in syrup and butter, inhaling deeply. It melted over him, with the tang of strawberry, bitter and melting on his tongue.
“Oh, I didn’t, I didn’t know that.”
“I know,” he whispered against heated skin. His lips brushed against his pulse point. He heard Dream’s breath hitch and his hand twitch where it was buried in the waves of his hair.
“Stop that, whatever you’re doing,” Sapnap said, waving a hand at them. He faked a look of disgust, but had a poorly hidden smile.
“You can’t stand anyone else’s happiness,” Dream spit back, voice laced in the joking tone reserved for everyone else, everyone but George.
He had his own lilt to Dream’s voice, the way is teased, poked, and prodded, making the hair on his arms stand on end like there was static in the air when a storm was approaching.
“I can to!” He rebutted, sticking his tongue out, childishly. Karl pulled him back against the couch, and they landed on Quackity. He squealed loudly.
“You fuckers, get off me!” He tried to push them away, but both of them joined forces and tackled him onto the couch. They held his hands down and tickled him, so his screams of laughter echoed around them.
His ears twitched, and he sunk into Dream.
“Be quiet! George doesn’t like loud noises,” Dream managed to speak over them, but kept his voice soft enough so close to his ears.
“I’m Dweam, and I bend over backwards for my boyfwiend, Gogy,” Quackity mocked from under the pile of Karl and Sapnap.
“Shut up.” His hand found its place back to scratching his ears. Dull nails on silken fur. It was soft sprinkles of mist from light clouds that refracted the light into a kaleidoscope of colors.
He felt the purr build again, and when it filled the space between them, Dream didn’t flinch away.
A proud smile slipped onto his pillowy lips, and fuck- he was cute . Lovable.
But George didn’t love. He hurt when it did, and he learned to stop years ago. Maybe when he left fogged windows and raindrops that slipped down glass. Dark ink over clean skin, spilling over syrup. Pancakes burned with bitter sugar and rotten fruit.
He didn’t mind when his scent enveloped him. It was so warm, with the steady thud of a heartbeat and rise and fall of breaths. George didn’t feel like cold nights and distant stars. He felt like the sky astronomers saw.
What the sun chased when it brought dawn. He was the man on the moon, mapped out by artists and in paintings in museums. They were worthless compared to the feel of thick arms bleeding warmth into his spine and ribs.
“Look, Gogy’s falling asleep.” He heard Karl’s bubbly voice float over him through a haze of sleep.
“Shh!” Dream snapped. “I’ll take him home, you guys keep going.” They were having fun, and Dream cared .
His nemesis cared, and maybe hate looked like love, but shit-
George didn’t know how to love.
He was willing to learn.
He decided to feed hate between them when it was so warm and intoxicating. He wrapped it in the cold darkness of night, forgetting how warm the sun was.
Dream was sunshine reincarnate. It burned where he held him, and he pulled away when the flame got too close. He licked at fingertips, turning them black. It singed the tufts of hair at his ears and tip of his tail.
It was deliciously sinful.
The devil had to burn to find his home in hell.
Maybe George was such a sinner, and Dream was the saint. He was wrapped in silk and silver, warmth and everything George wanted.
He was breakfasts with syrup and blueberries that left purple around his mouth, bruised from how he kissed Dream. He was life beating under his ear, and why did he chase it away?
Ribs creaked with every breath, lengthening with whispers around him, so quiet even he couldn’t hear.
He smelled that breakfast of his childhood, sticky and perfect. It wouldn’t be too bad to go on a date with Dream.
Maybe he never hated him at all.
He felt himself be lifted from the floor, wrapped in arms he used to hate. He was carried to the sound of hushed goodbyes, out the door.
He felt the air of night surrounding him, stars pressed where Dream’s skin met his.
He jostled with every step. Dream’s soft whispers of sweet nothings filled the space where rain was gone and his feet met pavement.
His eyes were closed, and tail wrapped over Dream’s strong forearm, steadying the feel of being carried home.
Home.
When did it become his home ?
When Dream carried him there and knew where his keys were. He reached into his pocket, careful not to brush any closer to his thighs or dick. He wanted him to. He wanted deft fingers caressing him, filling him better than George ever could.
His door swung open with the creak of a too old building. He was carried inside, and the door was shut.
“I’ll get you to bed soon,” he whispered, moving them to the bed and laying him down with such gentleness.
He laid his head on his pillow, taking a blanket and wrapping it over him, tucking it around his chest and legs.
He brushed through his hair, pressing a kiss to the space between his ears, lips nestled in his hair, far too tender.
“I’ll be here, all night. Don’t worry.” A soft whisper, a flick of a light switch, and he was alone.
His bed were the gentle clouds after a storm, and he soaked into them, falling asleep.
The next morning, he dragged himself into the living room, where Dream was curled on the lumpy couch, far too big for it. It was uncomfortable, George knew it. If he had been in any better of a sound mind, or more awake, he would have offered the other half of his bed. It would be a night wrapped in rope, silken as his ears and digging into his skin, leaving rose marks. It would be Dream’s arms around him, burning on him, and George would feel like a candle’s wick.
“Dream, um, hello?” He said, trying to be loud enough to wake the sleeping giant, who was bent in half to fit on a couch that wasn’t worth it. “Wake up,” he said a bit louder, and with a grunt Dream turned over. His mind ran loops with the sound, imagining it as he thrusted into-
He had to stop those thoughts before he got hard in his pants.
He slowly blinked sage eyes open, blearily looking around.
“G’morning,” Dream grumbled, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. The rasp of sleep clung to his voice, making it low and gravely. It was browned butter in a cast iron pan, and George felt himself twitch in interest.
“Morning,” he coughed awkwardly. “I’ll make us breakfast.” He quickly turned from Dream before he did something stupid and regrettable like pounce on him and kiss Dream dumb.
His apartment was empty of any sustainable foods. Breakfast would have to be served as cereal and milk. It was that or Mac n cheese from a box.
He poured out the plain cereal and milk into two chipped bowls with mismatched spoons. He returned to Dream’s side, handing him the bowl with the fewest cracks. He had sat up fully, hair mussed up. It looked as if lightning struck his hair, making it stand on end. He wanted to run his hands through the strands, smooth it out.
“Thank you.” It was thunder in his chest, a low rumble.
“No problem, sorry it’s not much.” He sat on the floor next to the couch, staring at the soggy cereal floating in the milk. It really wasn’t much, and he was feeling embarrassed by his state of living, making him sleep on the couch. “Sorry, also. I know the couch is the worst, and making you sleep on it.”
“It’s okay. I’ve slept in worse places. Sap’s floor is worse than your couch.” He could feel Dream’s smile, even as he forced himself to look at his warped reflection in the spoon’s handle.
“I’m still sorry.”
They finished their makeshift breakfast in silence, and Dream collected their bowls, placing them in the sink with a clink of cheap ceramic on metal. He turned to watch Dream’s back as he shifted and turned, making the muscles flex under his shirt.
“So, there’s the dare,” Dream began, tilting back on the counter with his hands out to lean on them. He was a picture of poison, delectable in his kitchen.
In his voice, was a sharp edge pressing on his skin with the promise of blooming pleasure. But he could say no.
He didn’t want to.
“And I want to take you on a date.”
“Really?” He breathed, close to hope.
“Yeah. It can be something simple, dinner and a movie?” Dream looked nervous. He kept shifting on his feet, moving his fingers around, tapping on the counter.
“I don’t like public places,” he whispered, an admission rarely told, or needed to tell. “People stare.”
“Then let’s stay home. We can go shopping, get food, make it here?” He was sweet, and suddenly looked so small in his kitchen. A strawberry syrup blush painting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He gave a smile, kind without the usual biting tease George learned to taste with blueberry bruises.
“I’d like that.”
“Maybe we can have dessert later.” There was the tease, the remark that made him unravel and thunder bloom in cloudy arousal.
“Shut up.” There was no bite, not yet.
Dream pushed away from the counter, walking to George, staking him out with darkness glinting in his eyes. It was a storm he wanted to feed.
He leaned down, brushing warm lips on his ear. His breath tickled the hair curling around them.
“I’ll pick you up later, okay?”
The warmth was gone, and Dream left him a flustered mess. He was a puddle of batter yet to cook. He was definitely hard now.
The door shut, and George collapsed from where he had sat next to the couch, splayed out with a hand shoved down his pants.
When his palm met his dick, he stroked once. It was dry and rough. He wanted more.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t cum so soon in the day. He wanted, needed, to cum with Dream inside of him.
He whined, pulling his hand from his pants, and laying it on his stomach. He panted with shallow breaths in the wake of his lust drifting away, settling in the back of his mind.
He had a date to get ready for.
- ••••
“Hey baby.”
Dream had texted him he was here, and George, dressed in his only pair of nice pants. Denim, dark as storm clouds with a place for his tail, a lifeline. He wore a sweatshirt, simple, warm. It was loose around his shoulders, slipping over the slopes. He stood on the sidewalk when Dream pulled up.
His stomach churned, a mess of waves in the storm when he leaned out the window with a messy smile and wave of his hand. He stuck out his pierced tongue, sharp and metallic.
He car was a beat up thing, where one of the back doors didn’t work, and something rattled when going too fast, but between him and Sapnap, Dream drove.
He winked when he opened the door for George.
“Ready for our date?”
He couldn’t control the way his heart skipped a beat, but he stuck out his tongue.
“It’s not a date, it’s two dudes spending any normal night together.” It was a dare .
“You wound me Georgie,” Dream sighed dramatically, clasping hand over heart into the driver’s seat. He turned his head with a wolfish grin with darkness in his eyes. “But it’s okay if you want to just call it a booty-call.”
“It’s not,” he muttered, clicking his seat belt into place. He wanted it to be more.
“Then it’s a date.” And he was okay with that.
Dream pulled away, tires burning rubber on asphalt.
Dream gave an animalistic laugh that curled in his stomach, and he had to clench his thighs together.
Dream played his music loud enough where they could feel the bass in the hollow of their bones.
As much as it terrified him, he also felt alive . Maybe he just felt that way because of Dream.
He glanced over to him, who was smiling with the wind blowing through his salted caramel hair. He was mouthing along to the lyrics of the song. He looked carefree as they drove, taking the last turn into the parking lot.
He was sunshine with the night, chasing away the cold.
George had yet to tear his eyes away. Dream met them with a cocky waver to his smile.
“Were you staring, Georgie?” He cooed, reaching across to hold his chin. He melted into thick fingers.
“Maybe,” He grumbled, but it only served to make Dream laugh.
“It’s okay, you can stare. I don’t mind, baby.” He got out of the car.
The name was hot flames licking up his sides. Smoke clogged his throat.
When George went to follow, his seat belt was stuck. He pressed the button, but it stayed locked in place. He pulled on the belt, but there was only the sound of plastic. “Are you stuck?” Dream opened his door, and looked at George.
“The seatbelt won’t come undone.”
“Oh, it started doing that.” Dream shrugged, before quickly reaching over and unlocking it. He leaned back out and beckoned for George to get out of the car with a small bow. George, however, was stuck to his seat; his brain had stopped working entirely.
Dream had leaned up against him, so warm, and smelling of blueberries in sugary syrup. He was breakfast at home with flour in his hair. He had pressed on his chest, a hand on his hip for balance. It was so big against him. It would be so easy to be held down. He would just have to lay there.
“-orge. George, are you coming?” He snapped his attention back to where he was, and immediately learned he hated how those words spilled like honey from Dream’s lips.
He shook the dirty thoughts from his mind and got out of the car on slightly unsteady feet.
“Let’s just get what we need and leave.” He brushed by Dream, determinedly towards the carts. He felt eyes on him, but Dream caught up to him, placing a hand on his lower back. Heat spread from the palm up, to the tips of his tail and ears, and lower, dangerously so.
“What do we need, again?”
“Stuff for dinner and movie snacks. I think that's it,” he said, stepping away from Dream’s large hand and picking out a cart that looked like it didn't squeak too much, and Dream took the cart from him because of course he knew it would be too loud. It was kindness with the tangle of sunshine warmth Dream offered him with grace. He gave palms on his shoulders, petting into his hair. He was taking them on a date, even if for a dare, but they were staying home because the outside world was cruel.
It was mean and cold, and that’s where George learned love hurt . And he learned he didn’t know what love was.
“Georgie,” Dream turned back, already pushing the cart into the aisle. He gave a dry hum, not trusting himself to speak, as he slinked behind Dream. His hands fell to his tail, holding the end of it with a tight grip. He bit his cheek, eyes flashing around.
In public places, he tended to earn stares and second looks. He hated the attention when it was from strangers. Hybrids weren’t rare , but weren’t common. Many people had a friend who was a hybrid, or a family member, but they stared at him all the same. Little kids, who didn’t know better pointed at his ears and tail.
He glanced around, clouded panic running loops in his head, and hurried to Dream’s side.
“Hey, you can wait in the car if you want?” Dream spoke quietly, pausing in the middle of an aisle to fully turn to George. He looked around, waiting for a rude comment about how he should “fix” himself. He couldn’t stay focused on more than one thing, barely able to catch what Dream had said.
“No, I want to help. And you’ll get the chips I don’t like if I don’t stay.” He smiled, trying to show he was okay, he could do this. Dream looked at him for another moment, wanting to say something more, but he turned and pushed the cart again. He trailed behind, ears flicking everywhere just as much as his gaze jumped from the displays to the people walking by, and back to Dream. His tall presence was calming among the bright lights and overhead announcements that tasted like thunder that shook windows.
He led them to a quiet aisle, empty aside from them. It was full of noodles, rice, and Mac n cheese. He automatically added two boxes to their cart, as Dream went to find the right type of noodle for their dinner. He insisted on making pasta for them, something special for their “date.”
He was bent over, looking at all the different kinds. His back sloped in the crescent moon, George had become. He arched down to see the types of pasta.
“George, I need your opinion,” Dream called, waving him over. Butterflies soared to his sternum. He felt like a lovesick fool. “Which kind?” He pointed to really thin noodles called angel hair and the bowties.
“Bowties, easy.” He didn’t wait for an answer, snatching up a bag and tossing it in their cart.
“Mac n cheese, really?” Dream laughed, gesturing at the boxes. He crossed his arms, trying to glare at him, but, feisty kitten.
“Hey, don’t judge. It’s not enough just to go to the store. I deserve a reward.” It was stressful, more than he wanted to share. Dream made it easy to spill his secrets he would keep under golden locks and a key made from the color of the sky.
“I can give you one, later.” Dream’s voice dropped lower, sending a rush of heat through George. He shivered at the darkening look in Dream’s eyes.
“Don’t, don’t joke about that.” He tried to swat at Dream, but he easily caught his hand.
“Or what?” It was a joke. It had to be. Right?
“I’ll make you have to give me scratches.”
“I was already planning on it, baby.” With a wink, he released his wrist and pushed the cart down the aisle. “We need sauce, now,” he threw over his shoulder. George was left dumbstruck and flustered in the middle of the aisle with a red face and heart beating so fast it may brust from his chest.
He was utterly fucked , but didn’t seem to mind, as long as Dream was doing the fucking.
He hurried behind him, always chasing. They picked out plain sauce for George, but something with enough flavor for Dream. The jar sat beside their Mac n cheese and noodles. It was a barren cart, so George dragged him to the candy aisle.
It was blissfully empty, only them surrounded by the sweet smell of chocolate and processed sugar, fully worth their stomach aches after too many movies.
“What do you want?” Dream stood beside him, so much taller, as they faced the brightly colored wrappers. He tilted his head, hands back to the end of his tail.
“Chocolate covered raisins, microwave popcorn, whatever you want, so you don’t steal.”
Dream chuckled, fetching the needed items and adding them beside bowtie pasta.
“You need what you want.” George said, gesturing to the array of colors.
“You.”
“What?” His neck hurt from how much it snapped to glare at Dream.
“Nothing, at all.” He gave a smirk, knowing exactly what he did. He stepped to the shelves, plucking a bag of chocolate candies and tossing them against the metal grid of the cart.
He grinned back to George, flashing his canines. His body flushed with the dark glint in otherwise sage eyes.
“You’re the worst,” he grumbled, shoving his toe into the dirty, tiled ground.
“That’s why you love me.” Dream went back to their cart, George had no option but to follow as they snaked into the chip aisle. Without a word, Dream grabbed a bag of pre-popped popcorn and potato chips. His ears twitched with the crinkle of the bags, and George followed him to the next aisle.
It was some weird combination of cheap sex toys and cotton balls. It didn’t belong in the grocery store otherwise filled with food. He felt out of place in the aisle. A cloud in an otherwise clear day.
“Dream,” he hissed, catching up to him. “What are we doing here? Can’t we check out?”
“Georgie,” he said slyly, “we can’t let you go home without your reward.”
“What the fuck?”
“We can get you some lube, a toy.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and George felt like he melted. He became a puddle of goop on the ground.
“Dream,” he whined.
“That’s a good look on you.”
Lightning rushed in dark clouds and heavy rain. He wanted to drown in the taste of Dream, and take everything he wanted to give.
He let go of his tail, and it flicked wildly behind him, begging for attention.
“You are the worst. The actual worst.” He stepped to the lube, picking a generic, unflavored bottle. As he did, he turned to glare at Dream, the insufferable idiot. He stood there with a proud little smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
He turned back to the limited options of vibrators available at their neighborhood supermarket.
When did they start to carry things like that?
He grabbed one with a flared base and detachable remote. It was by far the one with the best quality and highest price, but go big or go home, especially if Dream was paying.
“There? Are you happy?” He asked, throwing the vibrator next to the lube. He picked up the bag of pasta, dropping it onto the items, covering them from already stray eyes. Dream had stopped bouncing, his grin slipping as he tilted his head, staring at the condoms.
“What are knottable condoms?”
George froze , staring at Dream. He had a wrinkle between his brows, three little lines scrunched together. He wanted to kiss the area smooth.
“You, um, you know how I have feline qualities?” Dream nodded, sparing him a small glance and reassuring smile, before looking back at the condoms. “So do other hybrids.” Everyone, especially Dream, had always been caring and attentive in regards to his cat side, but some things George didn’t mention and they never asked, or didn’t remember the answers in the morning. “More ‘dominant’ hybrids have a trait when, um, fuck.” He didn’t want to be explaining knotting in the middle of a grocery store aisle. He took a deep breath. Dream was just curious, that’s all. It was a lie laced in sea salt, he knew it. “When some hybrids cum, part of their dick swells up and that's a knot. It locks their partner to them. It was a survival tactic or something to make sure their partner had a higher chance of getting pregnant. Some things like that stay with hybrids. I mean, I’m sensitive to sounds, but you know that. Stupid survival instincts. There’s dildos for knots and fuck, sorry,” he rambled, staring at the ground. He could feel his cheeks on fire, blush spreading down his neck.
“Oh.” It was a quiet whisper of contemplation.
“Yeah.” They stayed silent for a moment, before Dream shrugged and went to the cart.
“Time to check out,” he chirped, and George felt so unbelievably lucky to have found amazing people in his life. Even if he thought he hated the man standing next to him. He didn’t linger on the subject, curiosity satiated. They carried on, checking out and loading the bags into the car without any awkwardness or averted eye contact, at least from Dream. He seemed to give more sharp and teasing grins, promises of more.
George, however, felt something crawling over his skin like bugs burrowing into him. Lost in his thoughts, Dream looped his hand over the back of his seat to reverse from the parking spot. A wave of sticky batter on buttered syrup wafted over him. He wanted to melt into the seat and stay there forever, just inhaling the calming scent of Dream. It was just as comfortable as the night at Sapnap’s, wrapped around him, and a hand buried in his hair.
They drove in comfortable silence, soft music playing over them. Dream drove slower, and he could admire the view from his window. He leaned his head against the cool glass, knowing it would make half his face all red, but he didn’t mind. He stared at the manicured lawns with perfectly cut grass and tall trees that weren’t crooked at all.
It felt like stale people and cardboard houses, but it wasn’t Dream.
Dream was fresh fruit in sticky honey. His smile was infectious, and his hands were warm. He gave George butterflies that raced down his spine in shocks of electricity that made his fingers twitch.
“We’re home,” Dream announced, turning off the car and climbing out.
Home. They were home, and George wouldn’t have it any other way.
Luckily, his seatbelt didn’t get stuck again. His poor heart, or dick, could take another close encounter like that again. Dream carried in the bags, leaving George to follow him and close the door, locking it. It still creaked.
“Do you want to help me make dinner?” Dream said, snapping George from his thoughts. He looked to where he stood in the kitchen, groceries put away, except for the lube and vibrator, which sat proudly on the counter.
He didn’t seem to notice them, smiling at George and leaning over the counter top slightly, resting on his elbows. Why did he look so attractive doing anything?
“Okay,” he whispered. He walked to Dream’s side, grabbing the lube and toys. He held them up. “I’ll put this in my room.” The unspoken for later echoed like heavy rain. He left Dream, blushing in the kitchen of his small apartment where he towered over him.
The simplicity of how big he was, how strong, haunted him, plagued his mind in a symphony of water on cement and flashes of lightning.
He set the lube and toy on his made bed, with fresh sheets he scented even if Dream wouldn’t notice. It was the more primal part of him that was proud of all the work he did to get ready for the unspoken dessert , reward, later .
“Where do you keep your pans?” Dream yelled through the short hallway to his bedroom.
“I’ll be there in a second.” He returned to the kitchen where Dream looked lost.
“I can’t make us dinner if I don’t know where anything is.”
George shook his head with a light laugh. Pots are stacked in the cabinet next to the oven.” He leaned over, opening the door and pulling out the largest one.
“Here.” He held it out to Dream, who looked as if he saw a ghost. “Are you okay?” He set the pot on the stove, taking a step closer to Dream.
“George, you can’t just do that.”
“Do what?” His tail flicked nervously behind him, as Dream took a step closer. He looked like he wanted to devour him.
“Stick your pretty ass up and sway your pretty little tail. I can’t do anything until we eat. It wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing.” His voice was a low growl sending rushes of thunderous arousal. “So stop teasing, Georgie.” It was a threat. He wanted to ask ‘so what?’ He stayed silent, swallowing with a thick throat.
“Okay. Later.” The unspoken promise of electric lightning and powdered sugar.
Dream reached behind George grabbing the pan and turning to fill it up in the sink.
His buttery smell of pancakes wafted over him, not helping his arousal. He had to swallow a whine.
Dream went to work pouring water into the pan and setting it on the stove. He turned it on with a click, and they waited for the water to boil.
George was happy to watch, crossing to sit on a rickety stool by the kitchen island.
His ears twitched, as Dream leaned back on the counter to face George. He crossed his arms m, making his muscles bulge. He wanted to lick his arms. It should be weird, perverted, but he was only hot. Everywhere.
“I think we should skip the movie,” Dream said, casually, as if he wasn’t proposing toppling into bed together with heated skin and lust.
“I’m, that’s okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. It didn’t work. and Dream gave him a knowing smile.
“We don’t want to stay up too late.” He fucking winked.
George stared at the counter, counting the flecks of blue in the cheap granite. It was cracked along the corner, held back together by a previous tenant.
“George,” Dream said, and when he looked up, he was fidgeting, tapping his fingers, eyes darting over the apartment.
“Yeah?”
“The, um, knotting thing, do you?” A blush sparked on his cheeks, warm and sticky.
George shook his head.
“No, I was fortunate enough to not fall into that gene pool.” He should tell him. He’d find out anyway, and better to have him run when there was still light in the sky. “But I produce slick.” A beat and curious look. “It’s a lubricant, natural and a survival instinct. And I’m sorry.”
Dream was silent. Lightning had struck, and they waited for the crash of thunder.
“Fuck, Georgie, the things you do to me.” Dream’s eyes had fallen dark, hunger reflected in them. His hands were still, except for where they twitched, as if he wanted to grab something. George wanted it to be him.
His tongue licked along his lower lip, and the flash of silver made George let out a small mewl.
It was lightning struck arousal, sand turned to glass from the heat of the strike.
They were interrupted by the sound of water hissing as the water boiled over the pot and spilled onto the stove. Steam billowed in a cloud, as Dream cursed.
“Fuck, how do I?” He gestured wildly to the stove’s knobs. George laughed, sliding next to him, maybe purposely pressing in front of him. He bent enough to turn the stove down and lift his tail to tickle under Dream’s chin.
“There,” he said, turning to look at the giant behind him, and his breath caught. They were close .
Close enough for him to reach up and kiss him senseless. He wanted to, he really did. And from the way Dream’s eyes flicked to his lips and up, he wasn’t opposed either, but there was dinner, and he pulled away.
“We have to stop. Food,” Dream whispered. With every word, a puff of breath fanned over him in minty freshness that stung with sharp peppermint.
“Right,” he nodded. “Of course.” He stepped back, returning to his stool, bending his foot under his other leg.
“So, how do you deal with the cat stuff?” Dream asked, stirring in the bowtie noodles. He smiled reassuringly, glancing over his shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“The ears, the tail, slick?” He stuck out his tongue, flashing silver.
“I don’t know, I grew up with them. Never know what it meant to live without them. I like my tail, it’s soft.” He whispered the last part, another admission he gave to Dream.
“That, yeah, makes sense,” he hummed. “And your ears?”
“Sensitive to sounds, but you know that.” He couldn’t help the tender tease, and Dream revived it happily. He smiled, bright and full of sunshine.
“I care about you.” It was his own admission, hanging with syrup in the small kitchen of his even smaller apartment. “I’m trying to learn everything I can about you, what your favorite food is, your favorite color, what it means when your ears twitch, and your tail sways. Like that.” He pointed with the wooden spoon that was dripping onto the floor, and he felt the swish of his tail behind him.
He smiled, looking at his hands clasped in front of him.
“I’m happy. I like your company,” he mumbled.
“I didn’t hear you,” Dream’s husky voice was closer than before. When George looked up, Dream was leaning over the counter, just as close as in front of the stove.
He could almost taste the metallic sting of his piercing or salt sprinkling his hair.
“I think you did.”
“You should come closer, so I can hear you better.”
And he did. He inched over the counter, and pressed his lips to Dream’s.
Velvet pressed on him, soft where there was firm pressure. He wasn’t hesitant, letting George know he was there . Yet, he waited for him to move, to deepen with sugar, stirring it into sour lemon able to be spread over sweet batter. His hands found a place, one on his cheek and the other the back of his neck. They rested with heavy clouds, thick with rain. Steady.
Then, George took things into his own hands. He pulled Dream closer by his hair, tangling fingers into caramel waves like he had done many nights ago. With a soft tongue he pressed against the seam of lips, aching to taste a silver kissed tongue.
The counter dug into stomach, and his foot was falling asleep under his thigh, but he didn’t care.
Dream was just as delicious as he thought. Blueberries and peach, purple ink swirling onto pink flesh. It sunk into the grooves of his teeth, the space under his tongue. Dream mapped out his mouth, running the piercing over ivory. It clicked like the knob to a stove turning on, and it echoed.
Dream was warm under his aching fingers, and he held tight .
Every stroke of fluid tongue spiraled fire down his throat and thighs. They collided in a mess of sparks and oil. It stung where it splashed on his skin. The sparks consumed him, stars dancing on lips that were strawberries picked too early.
He writhed in the chair, pulling enough on thick hair for Dream to spill a delicious sound into his mouth. He swallowed it greedily, drinking in the glorious warmth of the sun when it waved goodbye to the moon.
Dawn danced under their eyelids where they shut. A thum, calloused on his skin, caressed his cheekbone, as if Dream could feel his bone, remembering it to carve later. He would like to be remembered in marble, and etched with care that took time to know every part of him.
“Dream~” he whimpered, and he felt a smirk that was beautifully sour against sweetness that flooded his senses. The taste of rain was never so welcome.
“Dinner,” he gasped, as George sunk sharp canines into his lower lip, pulling it.
“Forget it, bed.”
“Georgie.” It was spoken with the deepening echo of his voice in a hollow cave with waves splashing on sharpened rocks the sea had yet to smooth
“Fuck you.” He pulled away, fully seeing Dream’s blown out eyes and strawberry lips, stained by his. He wanted to swallow him while.
“Dinner, baby.”
“Forget it. Eat it when it’s cold.” He pouted, sticking out a lip that Dream had sucked.
“Darling…”
He had to stop with the pet names if he didn’t want George to drag him to his bedroom. But by the grin with piercing canines and moon-cut tongue, he wouldn’t mind at all.
“Please?” He leaned up on his knees, leaning over the counter, reaching to Dream, sticking his ass up and letting his tail flick. Dream’s eyes caught the end of it, following the movement.
“ Fuck, ” he breathed. In swift movements, the stove was off and George was being lifted under his knees, carried to his room with ease that made his head spin. “I’ll take care of you, baby. I’ll make you feel so good, fall apart with me inside of you.” He sprinkled kisses on his face, knocking open his door, and kicking it shut. “I’m going to make you scream.”
“So much, yes, please. So much.” It was a whine in the cave of Dream’s voice.
“We’re going to have so much fun, baby.” Dream kicked the vibrator and lube to the ground before he dropped George on his mattress, and he bounced, staring up.
He blinked, slow and purposeful. He brought his hands down his chest, catching the hem of his sweatshirt. He brought it up, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Dream drank in the sight of his moonshine chest. Hunger glistened in his eyes.
“Your turn,” he whispered. Hands he so loved, raised the fabric of his shirt and dropped it to the floor in a puddle. George’s eyes followed the tips of his fingers, but dark ink bloomed from under Dream’s pants, curling to whisper against the bottom of his ribs.
George could fall in love with any part of Dream, his eyes, his hands, but the tattoo he wanted most. He wanted to taste the ink in bitter stripes of a design spiraling lower. He wanted to follow it as it wrapped around tanned, warm skin.
He met Dream’s eyes, forcing himself to look away from dark skin.
“I’m going to make you feel good,” he whispered, kneeling between George’s legs and leaning down. He hooked his ankles around his back and pulled him closer. Their hips barely brushed against each other, but his breath hitched at the contact.
Dream’s breath ghosted over his sternum and neck until it settled over his lips. A low whine settled on his tongue, spilling from his parted lips.
Thick hands ran over his skin, leaving a wake of shivers as they etched a path up his ribs and over the curve of his shoulders.
They tapped out the hollows and dips of bone against skin, then before he could think, Dream and flipped them over. George sat on top, knees balanced on his bed, framing thick thighs. Dream was splayed under him, grinning cockily.
“You look good from this angle.”
He whined in response, falling forward. His hands snaked to his chest, holding tight, grounding himself from the warmth radiating off Dream.
“Do you want to taste?” Dream gestured to himself with a self assured glint that sent him tumbling into foamy waves. He could only manage to nod, ducking his head and pressing his lips at the skin over his collarbones. He wanted to map out every part of Dream, memorize it, but strong hands had intertwined fingers with his, holding them, so he had to make do with his lips. He brushed them over skin, tracing down his ribs and kissing each one. He peppered light kisses down with the sweetness of fruit.
He didn’t touch the tattoo, not yet.
Teeth followed gentle presses of strawberry. He nipped lightly with sharp canines, leaving a blueberry bruise in the shape of him. He nipped and bit along bone, pulling at the thin skin, and making Dream groan.
Ivory imprints bloomed in amethyst constellations, a night sky of George’s creation. Stars of rose and purple, footprints of where he had been. They littered the tan chest, phantoms of George’s mouth.
He bit on his hip bone, avoiding where ink stained and would melt on his tongue in syrupy sweetness. He nipped at the skin, making it flow with blood, but he never broke the petal-soft skin.
“Pants,” he kissed the waistband. “Off, please.” He mourned the loss of hands on his, but when they fell to his face and lifted so eyes met, he forgot about the cold.
“Only if you take off yours.” With sinful promises pooling on his tongue, how could he refuse? He nodded, rushing to pull off the restraining fabric and toss them to the ground.
Dream followed, but with aching slowness. He never broke eye contact, dragging the fabric down, over thighs and onto the floor.
He was just in his boxers where a stain was blooming over the tent. George wanted to taste every part of him, lick the spot darker than the black fabric, but he resisted. He pressed lip to above the band of his underwear, and began to move, avoiding where Dream was aching.
The tender care of teeth and lip trailed up, higher to his nipples, where Grogre passed the flat of his tongue over it and licked.
Dream groaned above him.
“George, fuck. ” His deepening voice was once again the seaside cave, and George felt he was drowning in the foam, crashing upon the rocks. He was choking, drowning in panic. His mouth was dry and throat was closed. His tail thrashed behind him. He pulled back, trying to tug his hands free.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s another cat thing, my tongue is rough. If you don’t like it, I can stop. I’m sorry,” he blabbered, but was cut off by the hickory taste of Dream. It was tender rather than the unrelenting passion of their last kiss. It still sent flames spirling in his chest and licking up his thighs, settling in the warm wax of relief.
“I love it,” Dream whispered against his lips.
“Yeah?” He breathed, head clearing.
“Every part of you.” It was candor in the night, truth on spit-slicked lips. Elation flooded his chest all the same.
George grinned and snaked down, to his other nipple and licked it. Dream groaned, arching his back into his mouth. The rocks were smoothing out. He shifted attention between them, licking and kissing over his nipples. He took care to blow cool breath of the hot spit that shone over cherry. Dream groaned every time.
“What do you do to me, baby?” He grinned with tongue lolling out. Silver struck in burning hot temptation.
Then he licked up one nipple, but trailed down, capturing it in his mouth and sucked .
“Fuck, kitten.”
And George shattered. Heat consumed him in lightning, smooth glass formed from sand melting in wake of the strike. He was sure that any contact to his dick would have him falling into the white bliss of release.
He was pulled from his spot over his chest, frozen by the weight of his voice dripping in filthy promises. Hands found his hair and guided his lips to his.
They met in a glorious blaze of thunder shaking their bones. Sparks danced over his skin, burning crimson stars for Dream to taste. Teeth nipped and pulled on lips. He sucked on George’s tongue, pulling a mewling whine from his throat. It settled on his teeth for Dream to lick off. He pressed in every part of his mouth, digging soft flesh into canines and meeting every sound George made with a smirk. It was messy, a cliff falling into the sea. It splashed cold water over them, but did nothing to curb the fire. They were consumed. Hands pull on the sensitive hair around his ears, and thumbs brushed over them. He whimpered, painfully hard.
“Please.” A beg on raspberry lips.
“Baby, what do you want?” He pulled back, eager arousal and the taste of more pooling under thick lashes and staining the ends of his fingers dark. Where he touched left fingerprints the color of the sky over George’s skin.
“You, please, hands inside, you inside, pet me, tail,” he rambled in senseless words that felt in honey-slick desire.
“I can do that, fuck,” he breathed into his mouth.
His fingers pulled on his hair, threading them deeper into the strands. He whined at the pressure. “Roll over for me.” He moved off his side, falling onto the bed. He laid next to Dream, hands intertwined between them. He held tight, moving to lean over George. He towered above him, grinning down like he was a predator , and George merely prey. He wanted to ruin him, and George would happily let him. He would give him every part if Dream would remind him how to love.
“Can I touch?” A quiet string of words, cold water against the heat boiling in his darkened eyes.
“Yeah.” A gasp and hands trailed down his ribs. Dull nails left shudders that wracked his body, dipping closer to his underwear, tempting the band, sliding under it, enough to tease .
With agonizing slowness, he pulled the damp fabric from his overheated body, and it joined the growing pile of clothes on his floor.
His dick hit his stomach lightly, cherry red and leaking.
“You’re a mess, and I haven’t even touched you.”
“Dream~” He whined breathlessly. He could feel slick leaking from him, pulling on his bed below and making his thighs stick where they pressed together. The end of his tail tapped at Dream’s thigh, begging for attention.
“So pretty, so pretty for me.” He trailed his lips down his jaw, leaving whispering kisses across his neck and ribs. He gave a soft press against each nipple before continuing down. He reached the head of his cock, dripping on his stomach and straining for any friction.
He gave it a tender kiss, smoothing his lips with the glisten of pre-fun. “Is this slick?” He tapped against the skin near his hole, where it was covered in his natural lubricant.
He nodded, throwing his head back into the pillows.
“Can I taste?”
“Yes, Dream,” he moaned. Delicious lips met his hole, and sucked. “ Fuck .”
“Yeah, kitten?” He could only whimper as a tongue pressed flat against him and licked up. Cold metal enhanced every feeling, catching on his rim and gave sharp contrast to the warm slide of his mouth.
He knew he didn’t taste like much, a curious night with slippery fingers sliding between his lips, yet Dream moaned as if he were dessert to a dinner left cold on the stove.
He devoured him, pressing his tongue over soft skin, nibbling around his thighs and leaving strawberry marks he would see in the mirror. Silver kissed every part, scorching him with the strength of a sunny day, Florida had an excess of.
He whined with every contact of Dream on him, sensitive and leaking.
He knew Dream’s lips would be covered with a sheen of him , his taste. It was a sinful thought, making him moan. His hands found soft hair, pulling, urging Dream to do more.
He wanted to be full, filled with his fingers, dick, cum. Whatever Dream wanted to give on a silver platter matching piercings through tongue.
“More, please,” he begged.
“Need to be filled, baby? Need my fingers?”
He mumbled something close to ‘please,’ and Dream leaned back with a cocky smirk, shining on his lips. He dragged two fingers up the inside of his thigh, pressing hard enough to leave lines of red, a pattern of his own design. He kept eye contact with George, sliding along his hole, passing it over with the pads of thick fingers. He knew he was slicking them up, but he teased .
He ran from the back of his dick to hole, tapping with dull nails dragging the sensation everywhere. It made George writhe.
His other hand gripped his thigh tight, sure to leave a blooming stain of amethyst in the shape of Dream’s palm. He pulled his legs apart, exposing him, but he didn’t care when a single finger slipped inside of him.
“Good, baby?”
“So… fucking good,” he panted. He squeezed his eyes shut, as Dream slowly pumped the finger in and out. He crooked his finger up, perfectly brushing the part of George that made him sing. He moaned loudly, making Dream smirk and press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, biting the skin and pulling away, leaving a blueberry mark behind.
He was stretched enough for another finger, but Dream kept moving the single one, hitting his prostate with every motion. Soft sounds were flailing from his lips in powdered sugar, settling over Dream due to the way his hand tightened on George.
It was deliciously overwhelming.
Another finger crept up, running along his rim. He didn’t push in, just letting Goegre settle with the weight. He slowly pushed it in alongside the first, and muscles relaxed, there was no burn of the stretch. There was a stretch. His fingers were so much longer, thicker, than his. They filled him better than he ever could.
“More,” he gasped, air filling the word.
Tortuously, Dream stopped moving, just resting the pads of his fingers on his prostate.
“You need to remember your manners, baby?”
His head snapped up, staring at Dream with wide eyes.
“Why’d you stop?” He knew it was a whine.
“You need to say please, honey.” He melted at the pet word, falling in the bed again.
“Dream, please more, please.” He wanted to be good for Dream, do what he said.
“Good boy.” He keened at the praise, arching his back and trying to thrust down on the still unmoving fingers, but the tight hold on his thigh made him stop. He whined loudly.
“Dream~”
“Patience, I’ll make you feel good. Do you trust me?”
He opened his eyes, looking between his legs where Dream sat, perfect and warm.
“Yeah, always.”
“They, stay there, looking pretty for me, and I’ll take care of you.”
He sighed, forcing himself to stop struggling against Dream’s hand, letting him have control over his pleasure.
His obedience was met with a single long thrust in, hitting his prostate. He groaned at the spark of pleasure igniting and licking along his walls. Seeing his reaction, Dream continued to thrust with sure movements. He didn’t hesitate, angling his fingers. George was seeing stars, basking in Dream’s warmth.
“Can I add another?”
He nodded, mouth falling open.
“Words, baby.”
“Please,” he whispered with the sharp bite of rum, drunk on the feeling of him. A kiss to his thigh, over the mark Dream left before, and a third was pushed in with the other two fingers. The stretch burned, adding to the fire stirring in his stomach, but Dream paused, letting him adjust.
When he started to thrust back down again, Dream met him, pushing all three fingers in with a force that made him moan.
He stopped moving his hips and let Dream pump in his fingers, stretching him out while brushing his prostate all the while.
He was unraveling into a messy pile of string, hardly held together by anything, but the feel of Dream’s hands on him.
His own hand scrambled for a hold on anything, gripping the sheets tight, throwing them up behind him to brace against the wall.
“Do you want a condom baby?” Dream’s voice was smooth syrup, dripping down his throat in addicting sweetness.
“W-what?”
“Do you want me to wear a condom?”
“Want to… feel you, fill me,” he panted.
“Of course, baby.” Dream sat up, pulling off his underwear. George stared through lidded eyes, watching his large dick spring up, flushed the same intoxicating, strawberry pink as his lips.
And his tattoo, it continued in a river of black ink, spiraling down and across his thigh. He wanted to kiss it, lick along the near lines, drag his tongue over the darkness and up to the head of his cock.
One day, he would have the chance to worship every part of Dream, but he was lining up his dick, and slowly inching it inside. George could only focus on the feeling of being so incredibly full.
Dream settled when hips were flush, they both groaned at the feeling of the other. He leaned forward, so their chests were pressed together, George’s dick trapped between them.
“Can I move?” He whispered against his lips, and George nodded, wiggling enough to feel the tip of his dick brush his prostate. His head fell back, and he could Dream smirk with his words.
“There, baby?”
He whimpered a “yes,” and Dream pulled out before thrusting in. George cried out.
“Fuck!”
He continued to thrust, pulling out so his tip teased his entrance and pushed back in with fierce intention. He was thick, stretching him further with a burn that was desire up his spine.
Waves crashed, and thunder rumbled in a beautiful array of lightning falling over their bare skin. Strawberry slicked moans fell in rain upon mirrored water. Ripples cascaded where hips were flush. Sweetness breathed between their mouths, and the sounds whimpered.
Their lips touched with every thrust, jostling both of their bodies on sheets. Their groans of pleasure were gasping and desperate.
Dream rolled his hips slowly, brushing his prostate. He gasped and whined, writhing under the warm man. Every time they met, George’s dick was given delicious pressure under his firm chest, ink mixing with pre-cum in a spiral of light and dark.
It was light and day where they pushed against each other, and tug of skin and muscle.
He grinded his dick into George, rolling repeatedly. He was laying over him, panting into his open mouth.
Their tongues were messy lolled out of parted lips. Spit dripped from Dream’s mouth onto George. He swallowed the warmth, and he felt sage eyes follow the movement of his throat.
“You’re… so…. hot.” He punctuated the words with hips that moved in white waves.
“Dream.” It was the only word he could mutter, called after every lightning strike that was a brush on his prostate.
Rolls of hips became thrusts, sharp and pronounced, angled. They were fast, pleasure arcing over them.
Dream’s hand had held hips bruisingly tight. They ran up his sides with care not shown by the relentless pounding into him. They crawled up to his hair, digging into the strands
“More, please,” he begged. Dream was happy to listen, snapping his hips. With the constant simulation of his dick, trapped between them, and his hole, he was close.
He could taste his release echoing in his muscles. Under him, pinned to the bed, his tail twitched and quivered.
He felt drool pooling in his mouth and he climbed higher.
“Close,” he gasped. “So close.”
Another hand dropped from his hair, pressing on his chest. Fingers teased and tweaked his nipples. Shots of white-hot pleasure dragged down.
With a sharp scream, he came. The white of pleasure spilled between them, slicking their chests.
The aftershocks rippled through him.
He felt the drag of Dream pulling out, still hard. Instinctively he tightened his legs around his waist, pulling him back in.
“Finish inside.” A cocky smirk with the sliver of a devious piercing.
With frenzied thrusts, skin slapping in lust, Dream came, spilling addictive warmth into him.
He collapsed on top of George, panting into his ear. He was sure his hair tickled at his jaw.
They laid in silence, letting their hearts stop beating against their ribs in a symphony that could fill an auditorium in the hollow of a rainstorm.
Dream rolled over, arms tight against him, so he was pulled on top.
“Dream,” he giggled lightly.
“I want to stay here,” he whispered. “Just for a little. I’ll clean us up.”
George nodded, snuggling into his chest, resting his head on his shoulder, so his lips brushed his pulse point.
His hands ran up his back, dragging over the middle and end of his tail, up his ribs with featherlight touches, and over his shoulders. His palms laid flat, running up smooth skin.
A purr rumbled from his lips, thrumming on his skin. Dream pulled him impossibly closer, squeezing him tight.
He felt secure surrounded by the smell of pancakes.
But cum was drying, and he was hungry.
He started to squirm, tangling his legs with Dream. His hands traveled up his shoulders, with the pads of his fingers digging into soft skin.
“Goegre,” Dream mumbled. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry,” he whispered, lips brushing his ear. He groaned in response, but sat them both up, arms not leaving their place around him. It felt like home.
“Our pasta will be ruined,” Dream said. They were at the edge of the bed, George on his lap.
“Can we have blueberry pancakes?” His voice was a whisper, not daring to hope. Gentle and soft as summer rain soaking in the syrupy sweetness of strawberries with rich, red centers, matching the marks littering Dream’s skin.
“Of course, baby.” He smiled, hiding it in the crook of his neck, hugging him tighter.
He knew Dream could feel something shift, the world falling back into motion, but he said nothing, merely hooking his hands under kiss-ridden thighs and lifting them from the bed, carrying George to the kitchen. He set him on his stool, grabbing a blanket from the couch to wrap over his shoulders. He grabbed it, missing the warmth.
“Where is everything?” He asked, moving the waterlogged pasta from the stove and making room for the food of George’s love.
He talked him through the steps, pointing to where there was an unopened box of pancake mix. Fresh blueberries sat in his fridge, but he didn’t remember when he bought them.
Dream moved in domestic ease, laughing whenever George told a small joke. He gave glimmering smiles of starlight over his shoulder, and he felt warmer under his gaze than any blanket.
“For you, my love,” Dream said with a kiss to his forehead and setting a stack of purple stained pancakes in front of him. Syrup dripped off the sides in puddles that bled with butter. He would never admit to his mom, but they looked better than hers ever did.
“Thank you.” He hoped Dream could see all the unsaid words hanging on his tongue and reflecting in his eyes. From the way he smiled and stepped behind George to wrap large arms over him, Dream knew.
He understood everything he couldn’t say.
He ate his pancakes warm, skin still covered in cum, but so happy.
So loved.