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“I discovered porn,” George whispered, breaking their spun glass breaths.
Sheets hung over them with candles flickering over their faces in angelic light that made George look ethereal. The shadows of his face made the angles sharpen, eyes darker with chocolate brown. His lips were pressed tight into a thin line.
He sat across from Dream under their pillow fort, string lights hung around them, barely working with a dying battery.
Yet, no matter how beautiful George looked, his soft words snapped Dream from his reverie.
“What? Okay?” There was a beat, and eager to fill the awkward silence he coughed. “Women are….hot.” Although he preferred the flat chest of a man, their stubble and full lips, dusty eyes.
“It was gay porn.” His own throat tightened uncomfortably, cotton on his tongue in pillow softness.
“Women are….yeah,” he said, voice fizzling like a candle wick dipped in wax.
“The other, the other gay porn.” George paused in the words, holding them on his tongue.
“Oh.” He wished he came up with something more, something else beyond the single syllable. Ivy curled in envy that wrapped around his collarbones and over his shoulders. “Is there, is there something you want to tell me?”
He watched George’s cheeks darken, and his eyes darted around as if following the iridescent wings of a hummingbird.
“I think I’m gay,” he whispered. It was silken words that danced around his head, making it spin.
“I’m proud of you for telling me, thank you.” Sugared words he wanted to kiss over his skin.
“It’s not a big deal, please don’t make it a big deal,” he pleaded, eyes finding Dream’s. They were darker than night, a cloak that settled warm over him. His heart skipped a beat. He smiled.
“Not a big deal.” He bit back a love confession. “So gay porn?” He teased. George laughed, reaching to shove his shoulder. The feeling of his small palm on his skin sent butterflies fluttering.
He had, of course, watched porn, and images of men looking far too similar to George whining under men look far too much like Dream flashed in his mind. Men with dark hair bobbing their heads with a dick in their mouth, or moaning with a cock in their ass.
“You’re an idiot,” he giggled, making heat curl. “Can you let it go?” He said with trepidation, eyes wide.
“Of course, you don’t have to worry.” He resisted the urge to press his lips to his forehead, smooth out the wrinkles with his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered, looking at the computer, where a movie had been quietly playing, neither paying much attention.
“Can I ask what kind of porn?”
Crimson was a beautiful color on shadowed cheeks.
“Dream, you can’t just ask that,” he grumbled, maybe in a whine that sent dirty thoughts spiraling.
“Why not? Too dirty? Scared I’d judge?” A tease. “I would never.” It was the truth, barren.
“You're the worst.”
“Only for you,” he said with a wink, that made George squirm. It was so easy to rile him up, to tease him with the sight of thighs pressing together.
“I’m not telling.” He crossed his arms, determinedly looking away from Dream.
“Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just guess until you tell me.”
“Go ahead, I won’t say a thing.” There was a dare, a tease to ask. With a sideways look, he knew George was taunting him to take the bait. And he did.
“Did you like seeing them tied up, left to the other’s mercy.” He knew he was toeing a line, a dangerous one, when he pitched his voice low, making it husky and rough. But George writhed where he sat, looking, oh, so delectable. He shook his head, biting his lip. “Size difference? Watching someone fall apart on a cock that broke them? Did you watch them thrust in with breathy whines?” He knew he watched that, far too many times, imagining it was Goegre’s voice floating out of the speakers.
“ Dream~ ” Like that. High pitched, breathy.
“What did you watch, Georgie?” It was too far, George wasn’t looking at him, but he couldn’t stop. Watching him become a mess without doing anything, it was intoxicating. “Was it someone teasing themself, a hand on a dick, a dildo in their ass. Did you watch them moan someone’s name, someone who wasn’t there?”
Nothing had made George snap, but it was heating under the sheet over their head. Their words were slurring in hot wax arousal.
“Did you watch someone get filled over and over, panting and whining, forgetting their own name. A large hand on their cock, helpless under their partner. Did you watch someone relinquish control, cum until they forgot their own name?” He shifted, an obvious bulge growing in his pants. It made Dream grin at him with sharp canines. “Is that what you watched Georgie?”
That broke him, shattered him in a cascade of stained glass that looked so pretty under the dim light.
“Dream,” he outright moaned. “Fuck!”
As quick as elation saored, realities crashed over them in a salty wave, citrus burning the cuts on their lips from ivory biting back loving words.
“I’m sorry. I can’t, I have to go.” Before Dream could say anything, apologize, George was gone.
He was alone in a pillow fort with quiet dialogue and broken glass cutting his palms.
He stood up, turning off the computer in a daze. He cleaned up the living room, folding the sheet and turning off the fairy lights. Their haven was put back under the coffee table, and the room was bare.
He dragged his feet to his room, not hearing a sound as he passed by George’s closed door.
He ruined everything.
He took paper trust and tore it into tiny pieces that fluttered like dandelion seeds. They burrowed into the carpet, so Dream felt them with every step.
He sat on the edge of his bed, mind in a fog. A dark cloud that tasted of gunpowder and smoke. It was shattered crystal dusting his tongue coating his throat. Every breath hurt, dragging on sensitive skin.
He knew he had to talk to George, drag the line back into the sand, correct where the wind, where he , had blurred it.
But the night dragged on with crystalline sharpness, and nerves were exposed. They stung with every breath of wind, and he should let George settle.
He had pushed too quickly, moved too fast. He spoke with too much suggestion for him, for someone who had just come out to him .
Why did he think with his dick?
It never ended well, that this was proof.
He groaned, dropping his head into open hands he wanted to hold George. He wanted to feel icy skin against his own; popsicles melting on the beach.
Dream fell back onto his bed, letting the cold sheets swallow him, too cold and too quiet. It missed the beat of a heart.
Somehow, he fell asleep on the bottom of his bed, curled in on himself on top of his blankets.
He didn’t want to wake up.
But he did, and the morning light flowed from curtains he forgot to close. It shone directly onto his face, blaring my bright into his eyes.
His back was sore from being cramped into himself, knees tucked to his chest and elbow under his head.
He deserved the pain, the ache in his spine. His legs felt weak when he stood, his arms flimsy when he pulled off yesterday’s clothes and changed into a soft hoodie. A comfort hoodie, one he wore when his heart fluttered rather than beat. It was stained with tears.
There were distant sounds of George in the kitchen, probably making breakfast. Cinnamon and nutmeg floated through the air, intoxicatingly sweet.
Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything, so he forced himself to get up, brush his teeth, so he was somewhat presentable. So it didn’t look like he spent the night at the end of his bed like a dog .
He entered the kitchen, met with the sickeningly domestic sight of George making pancakes on the stove. His back was turned, covered in a thinning t-shirt far too big for him. If Dream wasn’t trying to bite back bile, he’d notice how that same t-shirt had gone missing from his closet a couple days ago.
He couldn’t bring himself to destroy George’s peace, not as he hummed to himself. His hips swaying to the melody floating with gentle breeze.
Dream inhaled, setting his shoulders back. He had to fix this.
He coughed, and George yelled.
“Jesus, fuck!” He spun around, spatula held out like a weapon. His eyes were wide and cheeks flushed. He looked delectable.
He cursed himself internally. This is what he needed to fix.
“You have to warn me, shit,” George said, settling back into the drowsiness of the morning. He faced the stove again, oblivious to Dream’s turmoil.
His heart hammered, and his plans were sweaty. He felt like was swaying where he stood in their kitchen.
“George,” he said slowly. His voice was a low rasp in the morning, and George turned over his shoulder, cheeks slightly more pink than before. “Can you, can you sit? I need to apologize.”
George tilted his head, reminding him of a cat. Sweet with claws. Feisty.
However, he didn’t question him, merely turning off the stove and sitting at the stool at their kitchen island. The one closest to Dream.
He could smell the vanilla that settled into George’s chocolate hair.
He looked at him with wide eyes, trusting.
“George, I’m sorry.” He breathed in and out, trying to stop his heart from thundering out of his chest. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I made you uncomfortable last night, and I pushed. I shouldn’t have teased. You said you wanted me to leave the subject alone, and I didn’t. I kept prodding. I saw how you were squirming, couldn’t make eye contact with me. I scared you away, and I’m so sorry. Georgie, please forgive me.” He felt close to tears. He couldn’t watch his face, choosing to see where his socked feet sat on the stool’s footrest. He wore grey, fuzzy socks Dream had gotten him for Christmas.
“Will you look at me?” George didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound upset. Dream could work with that. Slowly, he brought his watery gaze to meet mocha eyes. “Dream, you’re such an idiot.”
“I am?” He saw George’s lips pull up in a small laugh, as he nodded.
“You don’t need to apologize, I mean, yeah, I did get a little uncomfortable, but-“ he quickly added, seeing Dream’s face drop. “Only because I’m so new to all of this. I don’t know much of anything when it comes to, um, that. But I want to learn. I was nervous being there with you.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay… I just… when you were describing everything, I couldn’t breathe.” His heart plummeted. He had truly ruined everything, threw salt into the wound. How it had burned. “It was these people I had seen, every way you said, but I wanted it to be you .” And the salt water didn’t sting, not so bad. George blushed with strawberries covered in crystallized sugar. “I know you don't feel that way, but I couldn’t sit there and listen to you say those things . Not if there wasn’t a chance of you doing them.”
He sounded so defeated, laying his heart bare and expecting rejection. His palms were full of sand, and it fell from his fingers.
“George,” he put a hand on George’s shoulder, and he looked up with watery eyes. “Breathe, please.”
He inhaled deeply, making his shoulders rise.
“I like you. I want to do everything I said. I really do. I’m sorry I chased you away, I’m so sorry. I thought I came to you with all these dark ideas. These dirty ideas. I was too much. Georgie, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, standing and wrapping him into a tight hug. He felt his ribs were breaking, but he didn’t care when he held George just as tight. He held him, never wanted to let go.
“You’re an idiot,” he whispered from where his head was tucked into the nook of his neck.
“And I’m in love with you.”
They were firefly words, dancing lights over swaying grass and creaking trees. It was their own forest.
And George was bathed in candle light.
“Can I kiss you?” Dream whispered, and George pulled away, looking up at him with mocha eyes.
He nodded shakily, once. His eyes were wide, but never broke contact.
With slowness that felt agonizing to himself, Dream inched forward, carefully pressing their lips together.
It was only a brush of lips, hardly touching. They were a whisper of a breath apart.
Dream pulled away, shifting to kiss the side of his lips, then moved to kiss the tip of his nose.
He scattered featherlight kisses over his freckles.
Dream moved back to his lips, pressing against them fully, drinking in the taste of George. He tasted like cinnamon nectar, honey sweetened nutmeg. Domestic in every breath, every wrinkle of pink pressing against tender pink. He didn’t pull away, just settled against him, not moving, not trying to press of more.
He wanted to savor George, worship him.
“Dream?” A whisper against his lips.
“George?”
“I want you to do all those things you said,” he murmured, pulling away. Dream tried to look into his eyes, but they focused on the tongue swiping over his tingling lips.
“Yeah? Which one?”
“I want to…to feel special.” He sounded embarrassed, but he couldn’t have that. Dream grabbed his hands, bringing them up. He gently kissed each knuckle. “I want you to be…in control. Tell me what to do.”
“Yeah?” George nodded, quickly. “Do you know the color system?”
“Green is go, yellow, pause. And red is stop.”
“Good boy.” George squirmed, cheeks flushing cherry with the kiss of pomegranate. “Go to the bedroom, take off your shirt and wait for me.”
“Okay,” George choked out, and Dream loved to see him so ruined already.
George leaned forward, surprising him, and kissing him. Hard.
A taste of what to come.
He broke the kiss and rushed to Dream’s room.
He took a beat to breathe. Whatever he expected, it was not fucking George. But he couldn’t complain.
His heart was hammering as if a drum of a soldier. Yet, he was no soldier. He was a man in love and he was going to care for the man he loved.
He took a deep inhale, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of stone in water. The ripples cooled his heated cheeks and calmed him slightly.
Dream wanted to love George with everything he had, but as he walked to his room, he realized he already had.
When he opened the door, George sat on his bed, smiling innocently at him, shirtless with pale, smooth skin. It begged for his lilac touch.
He crossed the room in quick steps, scooping George into his arms. He let out a delicious giggle, falling back into the bed, and dragging Dream with him. They collapsed in a fit of smiles and touches trailing over George’s back.
Dream captured his lips in a hungry kiss, with the passion of the one he was left with in the kitchen. He didn’t hesitate to press tongue into George’s mouth, and he took him in. Dream explored the sharp curves of his teeth, the rich taste worthy of the gods. It was George, through and through.
His to desire, to love, and to worship.
He laid chest to chest on the bed, George’s hands roaming up his chest as they messily kissed, lost in the sense of what they couldn’t have.
“Off,” George whined, tugging on his sweatshirt, and he pulled it off. He threw it to the ground, disconnecting their lips for only a second, and in that second George whined.
It was a beautiful sound he could hear for the rest of his days.
Dream trailed featherlight kisses over alabaster skin, trying to stain it with rose petals softness. He kissed down collarbones, nibbling at the tender skin, making George keen under him, back arching in his warm mouth. His hands tangled in the blond hair, pulling in a spark that fluttered down his spine.
“So pretty,” he whispered into the dip of his collarbones. The words were followed by a tongue, licking the spot then blowing cool air over the wet patch. George whined a sweet sound that danced on his skin.
Dream continued to nibble a path from his collar, pressing lips with a hint on tongue to his sternum. He licked a wet stripe up the bone, feeling George’s heart skip a beat. He smirked up at him. His cheeks were painted red, eyes blown in heady lust.
He continued down, sucking and biting the skin. Teeth bit into the skin, digging ruby into pale skin. With wet suction, he bruised amethyst marks onto the spaces between his ribs. He kissed the gaps, feeling them expand under his touch; bone shuddered under his mouth.
His canines were sharp on sensitive skin, eliciting delicate sounds from George that flowed with syrup sweetness.
He moved back up his bare chest, pressing on the marks he made with the flat of his tongue.
His hands roamed up George’s sides, nails scratching lightly, pulling beautiful gasps. He reached his lips, settling there with a tongue that licked between George’s lips.
They kissed languidly, moss growing on their lips, and flowers blooming with their breath. Arms wrapped around each other.
One of Dream’s hands found the back of George’s head, threading into the hair, and pulling him closer. He wanted to taste every part. The other was holding his jaw so tenderly, running the pads of fingers along his bone, mapping out the sharpness and scruff.
George held him just as sweetly. He held tight to the back of his neck, a lifeline in crashing waves. His fingers were intertwined, but thumbs pressed soothing circles into the nape of his neck.
Every sensation was multiplied in misty freshness, walking into a greenhouse. The smell of fresh soil enchanted them. It was mint and sage that flooded their senses. Lilac and lavender burrowing under fingertips. They stained George’s daisy skin.
The humidity clung to their foreheads, pressed against the other.
They wanted to feel everything. Chest pressed to chest, their heartbeats moving in tandem.
Their kiss was soft, gentle as their mouths were open and tongues lolled out. They tangled together, wanting the taste they had so long denied themselves. They wanted to devour, but as if it were a feast.
Dream wanted to take his time unraveling George piece by piece, petal by velvet petal.
Lithe fingers followed the contours of his back, feeling every vertebrae under their touch. He keened under the pressure, the
attention
Geogre gave him.
His fingers traced over white lines that curved from his lower back, stretch marks from growing too fast.
His heart expanded, and he had the foolish thought there may be stretch marks on the organ, imprints of what George did to him.
He scattered kisses on his lips, over his cheeks, on his eyelashes. He pressed lips on his smooth skin.
He trailed back to lips, pressing his tongue into the seam of George’s lips. A gentle whine, and his mouth opened. He mapped out his mouth, licking over the top of his mouth, feeling every groove of his ivory teeth.
He nibbled over the rosemary lips, tasting the garnet smoothness.
He extended his hand, moving it from the back of his head to wrap around his torso, pulling him closer.
George hummed into his mouth, throwing a leg over him. They tangled together, a mess of amethyst smoke and mist.
He still held his jaw, tapping his pinky on where blood thrummed under his skin. He could feel George’s pulse, where his heart skipped a beat when Dream rolled his hips once.
He whined, and the sound was swallowed eagerly. It was saccarchine dripping over the skin of a fresh strawberry. The taste of George.
Heaven melting on his tongue.
Spit slipped between them, pooling on teeth and lips kissed raw in tender touches.
It was a candle whose wax cooled in the space tongue could not reach. Vanilla cooling into hardness that did not bite, did not hurt.
It dripped onto skin, gathering in the gaps of ribs, covering marks left under eager teeth and silken nibbles.
He opened his mouth, lolling out his tongue that flattened to meet George’s. It was memorizing every part, scared it would slip away with salt water cupped in shaking hands that would rather be entwined in fingers.
And they were.
Dream held George, pressing on his lower back, running fingers on his waistband. He teased the skin under sweatpants, but didn’t indulge.
“Is this okay,” whispered against George and his strawberry vanilla taste.
“More than,” he said breathily, arching into his touch. “Just, can you be slow?” A kiss more sweet and warm than any other.
“Of course, sweetheart.” He loved the pet name, showering George in his love, and from the way cherry spread on his cheeks, he didn’t seem to mind the name.
He pulled the pants down, leaving boxers covering his modesty, but they had tented up, darkening with pre-cum. He wanted to kiss the wet area, and in doing so, he earned a gasp from George. He smirked up at him, lips pressed to his dick, only fabric separating them. The cherry blush darkened, and he let his head fall, closing his eyes.
Dream laughed to himself, fully tugging off his pants and tossing them aside, his following. They were dark heaps on the floor, and their attention was on each other.
He pressed another kiss to the wet spot on George’s boxers, earning a whine, pale hands falling to his hair and tugging. He was happy to indulge his love, even if he had said he wanted him to be in control.
When he held him so tightly, as if scared he’d fall away, how was Dream supposed to refuse? It was a losing battle, and he was happy to surrender to his velvet touch.
He moved up, guided by lithe hands, pressing wet lips to hip bones and tender skin.
Teeth followed, nibbling along the skin at the edge of his boxers. It was meant to make his head dizzy. As teeth and mouth worked to plant a garden of lilac and lavender, gasps and whines rained upon his ears on heavenly choir, rain over a tin roof.
They echoed in his mind, locked with golden key, so Dream would never forget the sound of George falling apart.
He took his time plucking at every loose thread, pulling it with crimson glory, leaving a burning trail up George's chest. The man under him whined, aching for more, and he wanted to give him the world.
“Can I make you scream?”
“Fuck~” It came as a breathy moan of high-pitched desire.
“That’s not an answer,” he cooed, resting his lips on George’s collarbone.
“Pease, Dream, please…”
“Good boy.”
He mewled at the praise, a gorgeous gasp falling from his lips, and Dream took that as a chance to sneak a hand down, under his waistband, brushing on his dick. His fingers brushed the velvet skin, pulling a soundless scream from the writhing man.
His thighs were shaking on either side of Dream. They trembled, and Dream set a hand onto his muscle, gripping it, so it bulged beautifully.
He looked down at his angel, eyes shut and lashes kissing his rose cheeks. His mouth was parted, lips slick with spit.
Dream’s heart beat heavily at the thought it could be his spit covering George.
He slowly pumped George, letting him adapt to the feeling, spreading his leaking pre-cum over him. It glided easily, and the lewd sounds of skin upon sticky skin echoed in synchrony with George’s pants. His chest rose and fell quickly, arching with every twist of a hand on him. His fingers wrapped around him, tightening and loosening his grip around George.
“Color?”
“Green, so good… want more…”
He hissed a breath between clenched teeth. “Fuck, want to ride me, baby? Have control over everything?” It was blooming sincerity, care Dream had for him.
“Want to, want to- fuck, ride you,” he said, as Dream ran the pad of his thumb over his slit. He grabbed at Dream’s upper arms, holding tight.
It grounded them both.
“You can do that, baby. Fuck.” He was more than happy to feel the bounce of his ass on his thighs every time he came down. “I need to stretch you first. Do you have lube?”
“Top, top drawer.”
“Do you finger yourself, Georgie?” He was met with a high whine of dulcet cherries.
“Dream~”
“I need to know, baby.” He didn’t need to know, but teasing was so tempting. He liked making a blush spill over pale skin, and gasps of embarrassment that made George twitch in his hand.
“Yes.” It was a small whisper.
“Louder,” he said.
“Yes, Dream…”
“That wasn’t so hard, right? You’re such a good boy.” George was rewarded with a thumb gliding over his glistening tip. He thrust his hips up, looking for more simulation, but he was not granted such a treat. Dream grabbed the lube, somehow keeping a hand on George.
With lube uncapped and poured over his fingers, he slowly slid over his hole, giving enough pressure to make him squirm, but he didn’t enter.
“Please, more, in me…”
“As you wish,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the sharp curve of his hip. He inched a single finger in, slowly, letting George have time to adjust.
They laid there, breathing in the other, settling.
“You can, you can move,” George said quietly, as if scared. He started to move his hips, wiggling them around Dream’s finger.
“Are you sure?”
George looked at him, between his pale thighs, and nodded.
“Yeah, it’s a good sting.” Dream didn’t want to linger on the weight of those words, the dirty cotton candy suggestion of what a ‘good sting’ could mean. He, instead, pumped his finger at an excruciating pace. George started to move his hips back in time, pushing down with every movement up, soft breaths that sounded like his name fluttered in periwinkle butterflies.
“Can I add another?”
“Mhm, please~” George’s voice was sand upon stone, ruined . It made Dream’s blood hum with simmering arousal that boiled over.
He was not as kind, pushing in the second finger with little warning, but with a soft gasp of ‘ah,’ George didn’t seem to mind.
Again, Dream let his fingers lay heavy inside of George, waiting until he was okay.
“Feels so good, feels…” he breathed, arching his back in a crescent that the moon could not rival.
“Going to stretch you, make you beg for me to fill you better than my fingers. I’m going to make you beg like all those people you watch.”
“Please!”
He smiled to himself, beginning to scissor his fingers. He was gentle, even if his other hand gripped at his thigh, massaging the flesh with rose petals blooming from his fingertips.
When his fingers brushed his prostate, George’s mouth opened, letting an obscene moan fall in the choir of angels.
Dream wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life, and he thought himself too hopeful to think maybe George would be okay with that.
“There?” He teased, purposely avoiding the spot.
“Dream…please, again,” the man under him panted, twisting his back in an effort to make fingers draw pleasure in sinful white ribbons.
“Slow down, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.” The hand that had imprinted itself into his thigh, slid up his side, leaving feathered vines around ribs, and teasing George’s nipple.
“Dream~” he whined, and he was met with a harsh twist of cherry. His whine turned to a high gasp, and his back curved to further push strawberry into waiting hands.
“Oh, you like that?” A good sting .
“More…”
How could a saint deny an angel, so tender fingers twisted and pulled as fingers began to thrust in, brushing his prostate. He wanted George to feel everything heightened, but not grant him enough pleasure to cum. He would hang him off the edge, let his toes dip into the water before letting the current drag him under.
“Can I add another?”
He gave a messy hum, choked out when third met second and pistoned into his lover.
Heaven coated his ears with George’s panting whines of ‘more, more, more.’
“Good boy, so perfect,” he cooed, making George flush a gorgeous crimson, a color Dream wanted to paint him. He wanted to worship him, and he felt stupid thinking of a next time , but with him, it was hard not to think of forever .
George was the candy hearts given at Valentines, powder sugar crumbling under his touch. Dream held tighter, sure to leave lilac bruises of ‘be mine.’ He never wanted to let him go.
He wanted to keep feeling walls tightening around his fingers when he teased his prostate, the brush of ribs when George arched into his touch. They were flames drawn to each other, sure to meet in explosive fireworks.
“Dreamie-“ and he had died with the nickname bouncing around his head, forgetting how to function- “please, in me. Want you, need you!”
He snapped out of it, resuming his ministrations, and perfectly hitting the spot that made George kiss the sky.
“If you’re so desperate, beg.” It was a useless order, they both knew it, but the whimper George breathed was worth it.
“Please, please, please, Dreamie, want to feel you inside, feel me up so well, and I want to feel you everywhere, please,” he cried with glassy eyes. Tears kissed his lower lashes.
“George, color? Are you okay, my love?”
He sniffled, and Dream stopped moving.
“Green, I’m green, just. Can I have a moment?”
“Of course, do you want to cuddle?”
He nodded.
He pulled out his fingers with threaded care, wiping them on the sheets. He crawled over George, the warmth of their chests pressed together, crimson beating in tandem. With a hand on his hip, Dream flipped them around, so his angel laid on his chest.
George squeaked in surprise, but laid down, letting arms hold him close. The wetness of his eyes kissed his collarbones with the gentleness of rain, and soft breaths followed.
“You’re so good for me, doing so well,” he whispered, running hands over his back. He wove mindless swirls and patterns into milky skin, humming a soft song.
They laid there in the heat of the other, starkissed skin in blooming lilacs and orchids that shaped around biting lips and teeth. They were constellations of the other, stretching around the skin in dulcet tones of whispered praise. Chests rose and fell with tides of saltwater washing away their sins, for it was no sin when wrapped in the arms of each other. How could sin melt so delicately on the tongue if it damned them?
Dream would decay under the undying heat of Hell if he had the chance to kiss George every day until his heart stopped its melodic beat.
“Can we, can you still fuck me?” George’s voice was small, sharp contrast to dirty words, enticing words. Honey melting into bitter tea, sweet amber liquid in the morning chasing away the pull of silken sleep.
“Yes,” he easily replied, pressing a quick kiss to reddened lips. “Want to stay here?”
A meek nod. George sat up, looking down at him with wide eyes, flushed cheeks. Kissed by Cupid’s arrow.
“Okay, so go on your knees over me, perfect, such a good boy. I’m going to guide you over me and down, okay?” A nod with tan hands on white hips. “And down.” A hand fell to guide himself into George’s waiting hole, lube and pre-cum shining on him.
Slowly warmth enveloped him, and George’s eyes sank shut, hands finding purchase on his upper thighs. His chest and stomach were pulled tight, leaving a clear bulge of Dream.
It was so fucking hot .
He held his breath, trying not to cum there, with George sitting on him, catching his breath with parted lips covered in a slick coat of saliva and reddened nipples from Dream’s own hands.
“I can move.”
“Be as slow as you want.” He gripped his hips, guiding George up, and down. He barely lifted himself, happy to let Dream do the work.
So, he raised and lowered him. When breaths became pants, he snapped his own hips up to meet him.
“There, don’t stop, there,” George moaned, starting to move himself down, grabbing at Dream’s thighs. His nails dug in with delicious pleasure. It was stinging citrus. Tangerine and lemon with sugar water.
Dream continued to angle his hips up, thrusting to hit George’s prostate. His tip hit perfectly, and they both cried in pleasure.
“So good, feel so good,” he gasped. His thighs burned where George was sitting on them, and he had to thrust up. It was a soreness that came after nights of candle smoke and sheets covering whines.
“Dream~”
“Baby?” He cooped, seeing hair sway with George’s movements. Shaking fingers pried themselves from him to brush the strands behind his ear. They fell back on his forehead in an instant. Chocolate against marshmallow softness.
“Close,” he whimpered.
“Cum when you’re ready, honey.” The pet name was just as sweet, melting between them where pre-cum dribbled onto his stomach.
Dream’s hands moved from bruising hips indigo, brushing his fingertips on skin that was slick with sweat. George whimpered when fingers met ribs and ran with featherlight tenderness over rosebuds.
A piercing whine when fingers ran over him.
Coffee hair and cream with sugar skin. It was hot and bitter, but the honey sweetness was pleasure simmering under their skin.
Dream pushed up, skin slapping in sinful sounds when hips met ass. He could feel the skin bounce with every thrust.
Wet heat embraced him as he pulled out and slammed back in, George bouncing on him, searching for more, more, more.
When George came, it was a strawberry tart with whipped cream sweetness. Aww on his face, mouth slack with a shine of syrup. He fully sank onto Dream, giving sporadic thrusts to ride out the wave of pleasure. He sighed with an orchid sound of bliss, velvet petals unfurling.
How could Dream not follow him?
He came with a groan, thrusting into him with stuttering pulses, feeling George clench around him.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” were murmured, as George fell forward, kissing Dream’s neck with open mouth and docile tongue.
“The world for you,” he whispered into chocolate hair. They caught their breath against sugared skin of candied lemons.
Dream roamed the pale expanse of his love, drawing the flowers he made bloom on the milky skin.
“Dr’m, I feel gross,” George groaned, wiggling on top of him, then immediately whining with the sensitivity of his dick trapped between them.
“I’ll clean us, don’t worry,” he said with a kiss to smooth forehead. He rolled them over and moved out of bed. He felt the warm weight of eyes watching his back, and maybe he flexed just to show off.
Dream returned to see George laying on the bed among crumpled sheets with a soft smile. He was covered in brushstrokes of plum and magenta, kissed by raspberry and blueberry tongue.
A masterpiece.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, not expecting George to hear. But he did, blushing a deep mulberry that spread down delicate collarbones.
“Clean me up,” he said, and Dream could not deny him. He washed away drying cum and sweat, leaving tender kisses over freckled cheeks and nose.
He quickly cleaned himself, tossing the rag aside for tomorrow’s Dream to deal with, falling back into bed with George. He pulled him against his chest, wrapping arm around him.
He was there, in his hold, giggling with hair tickling under his jaw.
“You know?” George hummed. “You’re better than any porn I’ve watched.”
Dream choked on his own breath, and George merely laughed, snuggling closer.
“You’re an idiot,” he managed to say.
“Your idiot,” George said, turning to press a kiss to his lips. It was tender, shared breakfasts and showers. It was waking up with light shining on both their faces because they forgot to close the curtains. It was sharing laundry days, and staying home to cuddle.
It was their domestic bliss.