Archive of Our Own

It starts in L.A., this thing between Dream and George.

They’re there for VidCon a few months after the face reveal, Dream and Sapnap and George all having flown out to attend the convention and spend some time with their friends. Quackity is there, of course, and Tina comes, too. Ant and Velvet are there, as well as a bunch of other people from the SMP. And Karl is there, too, with his bright smile and frenetic energy.

Dream loves Karl. He loves him so much.

But Karl is the type of guy who can’t keep his hands to himself. It doesn’t mean anything, Dream knows. He gets that it’s just how he is, but it still bothers him when he looks over to catch Karl draped over George’s shoulders, pressed to his back. He tells himself he’s being irrational; even if it did mean something, George is, as he once put it, a free man. He has no right to be jealous.

In front of him, Jack Manifold is talking about– honestly, he’s not sure. He stopped listening a while ago, around the time Karl walked over to George. He apologizes to Jack, claiming to need to use the restroom, and he makes his way across the dark, strobe-lit room, getting to George in five seconds flat.

“Hey, can I borrow you?” he asks, grabbing a small hand and not bothering to wait for the answer before pulling him out from under Karl’s arms and leading him toward the exit.

“What’s wrong?” George asks as they step out into the night air, all the noise from inside muffled behind the door.

They’re alone. Dream feels like he can breathe better like this.

“I was just tired of pretending to care what Jack was saying,” he answers, only half-lying. “Needed some fresh air.”

George squints at him, scrutinizing. “And you needed me for that?”

Dream shrugs and leans back against the brick wall next to the door. “I didn’t want to be alone. Is it so awful that I wanted you to keep me company?”

“Not awful,” George says, rolling his eyes. “But you see me every day. We should be hanging out with people we don’t literally live with.”

Dream feels a pang in his chest, the words hurting more than they have any right to. “Would you rather?” he asks. “Do you want to leave? Go back to Karl or whatever?”

He doesn’t mean to draw attention to it, but that’s exactly what he’s done. As soon as he says the name, George’s eyes spark with understanding, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Oh,” he chuckles. “Are you jealous, Dream?”

“No,” Dream lies.

But George doesn’t buy it. “You are, oh my god. What, do you think Karl is going to replace you as my best friend?”

“It’s not that,” he says before he can stop himself.

“It’s not that,” George repeats, clearly trying to figure him out. “But it’s something. Are you jealous of how, like, clingy he is?”

Dream is usually a pretty good liar, but there’s something about George’s eyes, something that peels away all of his defenses. Instead of trying to claim that he’s not jealous, he shrugs, looking away. There’s a lamp a few feet away with a garbage can and ashtray next to it. Dream stares at the few cigarette butts there, hoping that George will move on.

Instead, he moves closer. “Dream,” he says, lower, softer. “Why would you be jealous of him touching me?”

Dream swallows. He tries to say, “I’m not,” but the words crack and die in his throat.

“Dream.”

The temperature is surely rising, a wave of heat sweeping in and engulfing him. It doesn’t mean anything, none of it does. It’s just the LA air fucking with his head. This is George. His best friend, his roommate.

He meets his gaze and instantly, he knows that he’s given himself away. There’s no coming back from this, no laughing it off.

“I–”

The door next to him opens and Ant is there, almost as surprised to run into them as Dream is surprised by the door opening.

“Oh, hey,” he says. “Have you guys seen Velvet?”

Dream shakes his head, both to answer and to clear his head. “Not since earlier, when he was with you.”

“Okay, if you see him, tell him to find me,” Ant says, turning to go back inside.

Dream is afraid of what will be left behind when Ant is gone, awkward silence or something else, so he reaches out and stops the door, keeping it from latching. “I have to pee,” he says to George, not bothering to cover up the lie with a better excuse. “You coming in?”

George is silent as he studies him, grabbing the door and following him inside. He doesn’t say a word as Dream turns down a back hallway to head toward the restroom. He barely has to pee, but he takes the excuse to get away, relieving himself at the urinal and washing his hands. By the time he comes back out and walks into the main room, George is back next to Karl, but Dream notices that they’re not touching now.

There’s a surge of relief that floods him when he notices that, but he tries to ignore it. For the rest of the night he keeps George at a safe distance, but he keeps him in the corner of his eye, too, not letting him drift too far.

Maybe in a way it starts there in that club, but where it really starts is a luxury hotel a few blocks north of it, in a shared suite fourteen floors up.

-

It’s past three in the morning when they make it back to their own room. After the club had closed down, they’d gone back to the room Karl and Sapnap are sharing a few floors below their own, hanging out until people started yawning or, in the case of Punz, fully passing out on the bed.

George had been the first to say they should get going, to Dream’s surprise. The elevator ride had been silent, though not uncomfortable.

As they step out of their shoes inside their own room, a large suite with separate bedrooms and an adjoining seating area, Dream doesn’t even think he can sleep. He’s got too much adrenaline pumping from meeting so many people, from being in LA, from that stupid moment with George at the club. He’d seen right through Dream when their eyes met. He’d seen things that Dream isn’t even sure he’s seen in himself.

He’d seen, and he hadn’t looked disgusted.

“You tired?” he asks, unsure if he should go to his own bedroom or if George wants to hang out.

But George stops a few steps into the room, turning around to peer at Dream. “Why were you jealous, Dream?”

Dream freezes, his heart pounding as he realizes he hasn’t gotten out of this conversation after all. He tries to come up with some reason, some excuse that will make a little bit of sense, but nothing forms in his mind. He’s not even sure of the truth, just knows that he hated seeing Karl’s arms on George, that he would hate seeing anyone’s arms there.

Except, maybe–

“Tell me, idiot,” George pushes when Dream is stuck gaping wordlessly. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t–” He stops, appearing to try to think of the words, and suddenly Dream needs to know what the end of that sentence is.

“You can’t what?” He asks, taking a step closer, putting George within arm’s distance.

George looks down for a moment and by the time he’s looking up again, he seems resigned to what he’s going to say. “If you tell me why it bothered you,” he says slowly, clearly, “maybe I can do something about it.”

And if Dream’s heart was already pounding, it practically explodes now.

He doesn’t even know what that means, but the seriousness of his tone and the look in his eyes sends a thrill down his spine. It sends a thrill elsewhere, too, deep in the pit of his stomach and lower, fire burning. He almost forgets that there’s a question there, that George is waiting for him to answer. He’s even less prepared to do so now that they’re edging so close to the thing that he thinks he wants.

He swallows, tries to clear his head, and says, “Maybe I don’t think he’s good enough for you.”

The mood lifts just a bit when George rolls his eyes, pointing out, “We weren’t going steady, Dream, he was just touching me.”

“And he’s not good enough to touch you,” Dream answers before he can second-guess or overthink.

It sounds a little rude and he definitely doesn’t mean it that way, but it’s just George here and he knows that George will understand.

George looks him straight in the eye when he asks, “Are you?”

Dream’s hands betray him, not waiting for a signal from his brain before they reach out and touch George’s waist, testing out his hypothesis that his hands are the only ones that should be on George. Because that’s what this all boils down to, isn’t it? George deserves to be touched, but Dream wants to be the one doing the touching.

And that thought confuses the fuck out of him.

“I think so,” he says, his voice dropping in both volume and pitch, almost like he’s drunk. “You tell me.”

His offending hands curl around George’s sides, flesh separated from flesh by the wrinkled cotton fabric of his t-shirt. Immediately, George’s own hands come to rest on Dream’s biceps, steadying himself as Dream pulls him closer, his fingers crawling around to his back.

“I don’t know,” George answers, only the slightest bit fainter. “I think you should prove yourself. Prove you’re better.”

If Dream is nothing else, he is a tryhard; when he wants to learn something, he puts all of himself into it and he does not give up a centimeter short of being an expert. So when he hears George telling him to prove himself, he thinks, oh, George, I hope you know what you’re asking for.

“Did Karl touch you like this?” he asks, dancing his touch across the small of George’s back. They’re so close that he can feel the puff of air against his chin as George exhales a scoff.

“I mean, yeah, kind of.”

Dream smirks and brings one of his hands up to slide the pad of his thumb along George’s lips. “I know he’s touched you here,” he says, and the thought of it burns at his insides, in his gut and up to his throat. “You told me.”

George juts his chin out a bit, just enough to make Dream feel like he’s being dared. It’s a dare he’s happy to take, leaning in to press his lips to George’s, light and brief before asking, “Is that how he kissed you?”

George’s voice isn’t quite as strong when he says, “Something like that.”

With that, Dream decides he’s done playing. He hauls George in, pressing their lips together, finally kissing him exactly how he wants. If he had any doubts about them being on the same page, they’re erased as George kisses back, hands sliding up behind Dream’s neck and pulling him closer.

George wants him. George.

Between kisses, Dream rasps out, “I’m gonna make you forget his name,” and he knows he’s being ridiculous and petty, but it feels good. And George isn’t exactly complaining.

“You’re an idiot,” George mumbles back, but he kisses deeper, tongues sweeping together.

George tastes nice, a little bit sweet, probably from the candy he’d eaten earlier. Or maybe that’s just how he always tastes, Dream isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t mind finding out.

Suddenly, George steps back, the kiss broken, and he hesitates a moment like he’s trying to decide something. Before it can make Dream self-conscious, George grabs his hand and pulls him across the room and into his bedroom. The door is open and he leaves it that way when they walk inside, the advantage of locked hotel doors.

He flips on the lamp next to his bed and the room bathes in warm light. “We’re doing this, right?” George asks.

Dream pulls teeth over his bottom lip, closing the space between them. “I hope so,” he says.

“Is it—” George starts, but he stops and thinks before trying again. “It’s not going to, like, ruin our friendship, right? If we do that?”

“Not if we’re on the same page,” Dream points out.

“And? Are we on the same page?” George asks, like that’s clearly the question he’s been asking from the start.

Dream doesn’t even know what page he’s on, much less if George is on the same one. All he knows is that he just kissed his best friend and he wants so much more and he has no idea what that means.

Luckily, George takes the initiative, impatient when Dream can’t come up with an answer. “I want to do this,” he explains, “but I don’t want it to be some serious thing. Is that okay?”

Again, Dream isn’t sure what it is that he wants beyond getting George into the big bed next to them, spreading him out and touching him, tasting him. He wants things he’s never had, even if he’s thought about them, dreamed about them.

“I wasn’t planning to propose,” he ends up saying, not wanting to delve too deep into his own inner thoughts. “If you just want it to be tonight, that’s okay.”

George studies him like he’s trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth and then, finally, he grins and kisses him again, hard and confident. Dream’s hands scramble to get on him again, slipping up underneath his shirt now to find warm skin. As soon as he’s touching it, he wonders how he went so long, living in the same house as this man without giving in to this need. It’s like seeing Karl all over him unlocked some hidden desperation, like it let loose a ravenous jealousy.

It feels so good touching him, like an itch scratched.

“Can I take off your shirt?” he mumbles, his words nearly wiped away by the soft drag of George’s lips.

“If you do too,” George answers, his fingers tugging at the material in encouragement.

Dream is a confident guy, but his confidence has always been tied to his abilities more so than his looks. He knows that he’s not ugly, but there are lingering self-image issues from his childhood that he’s never quite shaken. And no one has seen him naked in a very long time. Not that he’s going to let that stop him.

“Go easy on me,” he murmurs, backing up just enough to reach down and pull his t-shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. “I sit at a computer all day.”

George’s lip is bitten as he scans Dream’s chest, down to the soft flesh of his stomach. “So do I, idiot,” George counters.

Having held up his end of the deal, Dream finds the hem of George’s shirt and tugs it up over his head. Once it’s off, George instinctively pushes his hair back from his forehead as if he’s streaming to thousands of people and not just standing alone with Dream. It’s cute. He’s cute.

Actually, he’s a lot more than cute.

“It’s different with you,” Dream explains as he drifts fingertips over George’s chest, dark hair scattered across pale skin. “You’ve got this, like, spindly twink thing going on.”

“Twiggy,” George says, an eyebrow raised, as he wraps his arms around Dream’s shoulders. “That’s what you called me before: twiggy.”

“Mhmm,” Dream hums, capturing George’s lips in another kiss, slower and deeper. Their bare chests press together and he melts into the moment, mind going blank.

He can barely remember what they were just talking about. It doesn’t matter anyway; nothing matters except the feeling of George’s body against his, the taste of his tongue, and the soft little sounds he makes that seem to be urging him along. He’s impatient and bossy and Dream really just wants to see if he’s as bossy when they’re in bed, when they’ve shed the rest of their clothes, when Dream’s mouth is on him.

“Can I suck your dick?” he asks, desperate for it, to feel the weight on his tongue.

George, ever the smartass, replies, “I don’t know, can you?”

“I can,” he answers, not playing into the joke. “I don’t know how good it will be, but I can and I really, really want to, George.”

He almost expects George to laugh at him. Instead, he tilts his head, eyes focused on Dream’s, and he says, “So do it already.”

And Dream doesn’t ask a single additional question, tucking shaky fingers into George’s waistband and sliding his pants and boxers down. In a blur, he pushes him back onto the bed, letting him scoot back enough to get spread out comfortably, and only then do Dream’s eyes slide down his body and land on George’s cock.

It’s just like the rest of him: long, thin, and so fucking pretty.

In all honesty, he’s been anxious to get to this for a long time. Not just with George, but with anyone. His sexuality has always been very fuzzy to him, not ever feeling like he fits into a specific box. But over the past couple of years, in his solitude at home, he’s been thinking about it more and more and it’s become clearer that this is a thing he wants. The fact that it’s George, at long last, is just the cherry on top of the sundae.

For maybe the first time in his life, George falls silent as he watches Dream, waiting.

There’s no hurry as he reaches up and touches it, fingertips first, easing in. It’s warm, the skin soft under his touch, and he gets a thrill when he sees George shiver. He gets another thrill when he wraps his hand around him and feels his cock start to thicken in his grasp.

“Dream,” George finally whispers, like rising water overflowing, unable to stay contained any longer. “Dream,” he repeats, “fuck, Dream.”

He’s already falling apart and Dream hasn’t even gotten his mouth on him. It’s an ego boost, hearing his name repeated like a prayer as he moves his hand, stroking him curiously. But he wants more than the feeling of George’s cock against his palm, so he inches up and leans in to kiss him, soft against the tip.

George lets out a little squeak at the press of Dream’s lips, body going still and taut. Dream kisses again, taking his time, tasting a bare hint of bitterness when he licks his lips. It’s not a bad taste, necessarily, though he wouldn’t call it good either. It’s more intriguing than anything. He wants more of it on his tongue, wants to let it linger on his palate.

When he licks out again, pressing the surface of his tongue against the tip of George’s cock, that’s when George’s muscles loosen. He sinks into the bed with a groan and Dream takes it as a good sign, licking again. He knows from experience receiving blowjobs that it can be nice when they work up to it instead of just choking it down in one go.

He tries to imitate the best head he’s ever gotten, running his tongue down the length and pressing his lips just under the head. It’s already a little sloppy, spit smeared around his mouth, but George is staring at him with fire in his eyes and Dream doesn’t feel self-conscious.

Mine, he thinks as he opens his mouth and takes George in properly, sliding down until his mouth is stuffed full. George’s brow is furrowed, mouth agape like he’s in awe. The fire hasn’t left his eyes, need flickering like flames, and Dream stares up at him until George hits the back of his throat and his eyes start to water. Closing his eyes, he backs off and drops down again, letting himself get used to the stretch of his lips, fighting to keep his teeth covered.

It’s not easy; he thinks it’s called a job for a reason. But Dream is nothing if not a workaholic and he’s happy to put in the work.

“That feels nice,” George tells him, his voice sounding unlike Dream has ever heard it. He thought he had fully explored George ages ago, thought there was nothing new left to discover. Now, he wonders how much there is left to uncover.

He bobs up and down a few times, slow and steady, and then he backs off enough to suck at the head, tongue flicking over his slit. There’s more precome leaking out and Dream spreads it over his tongue, inexplicably drawn to the funky taste. George reacts beautifully to his mouth, arching his back and reaching for him, fingers digging into his hair.

Replacing his mouth with his hand, Dream takes a few ragged breaths and asks, “How am I doing?”

“How are you doing?” George repeats back, like he doesn’t understand the words. “Stop fishing for compliments, Dream.”

Dream chuckles, his throat already a little raspy. “But, like, tell me,” he insists, dipping down to wrap his lips around the head again, his fingers working over the rest of him. He pops off again to ask, “Is it decent?”

“I hate you,” George answers, his hips involuntarily bucking up. “Fuck, fuck, your tongue is crazy.”

“You like my tongue?” Dream asks, his confidence bolstered.

He licks from the base to the tip, watching George pant above him, and then he drops down to lick his balls, checking for the reaction. It seems to be a positive one, George’s legs spreading just a touch, the fingers in his hair tightening. And then he keeps venturing, curious to see where the line is, where he’s allowed to explore. He makes it below George’s balls, tongue lapping at his perineum before George stops him, pulling at his arm until Dream starts crawling up.

“Too far?” he asks, but George kisses him before he can worry about the answer, rolling him over onto his back.

George kisses him like he’s hungry, teeth and tongue and his whole body joining in. Dream can only take it and try to give back a fraction as much as he’s getting. It’s probably the best kiss he’s ever had.

“Not too far,” George mumbles. “But it’s your turn.”

Dream slides his hands over George’s body, sliding over his hips and grabbing the flesh of his ass. “How is it my turn? You aren’t done.”

“I’m not in a rush,” George answers, and he starts making his way down Dream’s body. “Are you?”

Dream shakes his head. “No, no rush,” he stutters out, swallowing a gasp when George scrapes his teeth over one of his nipples.

He seems to hit every little spot on his way down, swiping his tongue over Dream’s chest and flicking it against his nipples. His lips press into kisses across Dream’s stomach, kisses that are almost too sweet, that make him ache a little. But then he’s at the hair leading the below Dream’s pants, nimble fingers unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling.

It’s all a blur. A beautiful, beautiful blur. And then his cock is in George’s mouth and reality comes into sharp focus.

George is giving him a blowjob. His best friend, his business partner, his roommate. The guy he’s known since he was a teenager, whose voice he’s had in his ear most days since then, who sleeps in a messy bedroom right down the hall from him.

George, who so many people think he should date. Or, in some cases, think he is dating. In secret.

Dream watches his cock disappear between sweet pink lips and wonders how anyone could think that he would keep George a secret. If they were dating– which, of course, they’re not– he would want the whole world to know. He’d never shut up about it.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, in awe as George pushes down, trying to take him all. He chokes a little and backs off, blinking open his eyes and looking up at Dream through long, wet eyelashes.

Fire rips through Dream at the sight, at the feeling of George’s mouth. It’s incredible, better than anything he’s felt. He’s so fucking hard, so fucking hot that only a few minutes in, he feels like he’s getting close.

“George, holy shit, I– I might come, dude,” he says, head thrown back.

Before he can come, though, George pulls off, wiping the spit away from his lips and chin. Dream wants to complain, his dick aching to be back in the warmth of George’s mouth, but at this point, he’s just following George’s lead. Wherever he wants to take this, Dream is happy to go there.

“I want to come with you,” George tells him as he encourages Dream to scoot up, sitting against the headboard.

As soon as Dream is in position, George throws a leg over his lap, straddling him. Their dicks don’t quite touch, but they’re close enough that Dream could barely shift and slide them together. He almost wants that, to feel George’s hot length against his own, pulsing and spilling with their climaxes.

“Touch me,” George says.

Dream looks up and takes in the sight of him: pupils blown wide, cheeks smeared red, lips dark like they’ve been stained with crushed berries. He looks sinful like this. As Dream wraps his fist around George’s dick, he can’t even think to ask for reciprocation; all of his focus moves to George, to finding just how he likes to be touched, making him feel as good as possible. It’s like making him come is the goal and Dream becomes singularly focused on achieving it.

“That good?” he asks, trying to find the perfect spot, the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm.

George nods, eyes squeezed shut. “A little faster,” he directs, and Dream quickly complies.

And then, when he looks like he’s really getting into it, his chest shuddering with shaky breaths, he reaches between them to grab Dream’s cock. He strokes it, matching Dream’s rhythm, and Dream fucking falls apart. He’s already so hard, so hot, but having George’s noticeably smaller hand jerking him off, he can’t take it.

“Wait,” George rasps, the nails of his free hand digging into Dream’s shoulder. “Almost there. W– wait for me.”

He doesn’t slow his hand, but Dream stares into George’s face, watching for signs that he’s ready. The sign comes when George’s eyes pop open, wide as they stare back, and he comes. And that’s when Dream lets go, somehow managing to squeeze George’s orgasm out of him even while his cock is spurting between them, their come mixing on his stomach and their hands.

“Oh my god,” he groans as he empties himself, finally letting go and pulling George’s hand away, too. He’s never been able to handle contact after an orgasm like some guys can, the sensitivity too extreme.

George slumps against his chest, the mess between them nearly forgotten, and Dream circles his waist, holding him there. He knows that this is it, that it’s over now; George had made that very clear and Dream is fine with that. But he can’t help but hope to stretch these moments out just a bit longer, to sit in stillness and soak it in.

“Well,” George says, and then starts giggling against Dream’s shoulder. “That was nice.”

Dream smiles and agrees, “It was really nice. Very fun.”

“Fun,” George repeats, his giggles turning into a yawn. “Yeah, I had fun. I’d leave a good review.”

For some unknown reason, this makes Dream incredibly happy. “Oh, yeah? Would you?”

“Mmm,” George agrees, obviously getting tired now that their activities are over. “George’s sex reviews. They’re going to replace George’s food reviews.”

Dream gives him a squeeze and presses his lips to George’s shoulder. “As long as Karl doesn’t get a review.”

That just makes George giggle more, the soft, sleepy giggle he does when he’s trying to stay awake. Dream has heard it many times before, but it’s never been pressed into his neck, warm breath spilling like honey. It’s actually enchanting up this close, when he can feel it.

“What did Karl ever do to you?” George asks.

And Dream knows the answer even before the words find their way to his mind, like it’s been there all along without him paying any attention to it.

“He kissed you,” Dream murmurs, honest and a little embarrassed by the admission. Because George can kiss anyone he wants. George is not his.

But in a way, he feels like Dream’s. It’s like a long time ago, it was decided, when they sat on call together constantly and decided to do the YouTube thing. Sapnap was there, too, of course, but every one of them understood that Dream and George were different. And it was only confirmed when they started streaming and posting and the whole world seemed to see it too.

Luckily, George seems too tired to want to discuss it or to point out any of the things that Dream already knows. He mumbles, “You’re such an idiot, Dream,” and leaves it at that.

Before he can actually fall asleep, Dream rolls him onto his back and goes into the bathroom to find a washcloth. He wets it with warm water and wipes himself clean, and then George. It’s somehow more intimate, wiping the come from his skin, his dick softening as he drifts to sleep. By the time Dream has finished and thrown the washcloth back in the sink, George is knocked out cold.

Dream wants to stay, but he doesn’t want to blur any lines. Instead, he gives George a quick forehead kiss and he makes his way back into his own bedroom on the other side of the suite.

The next day is the first day of VidCon, something Dream has been looking forward to for years. It’s been a long time coming, waiting for George and the face reveal, and now finally getting to experience it all for the first time. He’s been counting down the weeks and days to get to this point, but as he lays in bed and tries to fall asleep, the only thing he can think about is what just happened.

So, that’s where it starts, in that hotel room. But as he falls asleep, he has no idea that it doesn’t end there too.

–

It’s surprising how normal things feel in the morning. George laughs about how quickly he fell asleep after he came and thanks Dream for cleaning him up. They speak about it as if it’s nothing different for them, as if they’ve done that a hundred times before. It almost throws Dream off, but he forces himself to be chill about it, to laugh it off right along with George.

At the convention, Dream, George and Sapnap are shuffled backstage into a private area. Karl and Tina are already there, talking to Sykkuno, so they join them, hanging out until it’s time for them to go to their Dream Team panel. Dream notices that George sticks closer to him than the night before, not quite as physical with Karl. He wonders if it’s on purpose and feels a little bad about the satisfaction it gives him.

The panel goes well. No one asks anything overly intrusive or inappropriate, as he’d feared, and seeing the crowd standing, applauding for them is unreal. He gets a little bit emotional but manages to keep it together as they walk off the stage to find Quackity and Punz waiting for them.

The day is amazing. His meet and greet isn’t scheduled until the next day, so he mostly talks to other creators, friends and new faces alike, until they’re taken to another club for that evening’s festivities.

It’s all great until Dream glances over to see George and Karl dancing together. They’re laughing, having a good time, but Karl’s hands are on George’s waist, their bodies are touching far more than Dream would like. He fights the jealousy, remembering that it was him making George come last night, not Karl, but then George looks up and meets his gaze.

He looks right at Dream and he pulls Karl closer, a dare in his eyes. Dream understands what the dare is and he is happy to take it.

Once the song ends and George and Karl separate, Dream swoops in, pulling George to the side.

“Want to head back to the hotel?” he asks over the music, into George’s ear. “Make it an early night?”

George looks up, searching Dream’s face for a moment, and then he asks, “Didn’t we say one night?”

Dream shrugs, confident that they want the same thing. “We could just make it an L.A. thing instead.”

And that’s how they find themselves stumbling into that same hotel room fifteen minutes later, barely making it inside the door before George’s hands are on him and their lips are pressed together in a greedy kiss. They don’t go to bed this time, barely making it to the couch before George’s hand slips into Dream’s pants, wrapping around him.

It’s hurried and it’s messy, but it’s heaven. Dream comes with his pants pushed down around his thighs, George’s fist unrelenting as it pulls at him. He breathes a moan into George’s mouth as his cock pulses with his release, come soaking the space between their bodies.

He only gives himself a couple minutes to breathe before he’s slipping off the couch onto his knees and directing George to sit in front of him. When he gets George in his mouth again, it’s every bit as good as the first time. With his own orgasm out of the way, he slows down, lets himself enjoy the fullness of his mouth. He can feel the twitches of pleasure against his tongue, the way George’s cock strains for more when Dream takes him deep.

He’s addicted to this already. And they only have two more days in L.A.

When George comes, Dream swallows every drop, even when he gags. The way George is looking at him makes it all worth it, the heat and admiration in his gaze. Dream would gladly fall to his knees anytime, just to have George look at him like that.

After, they take a shower together in the spacious hotel bathroom. They kiss under the hot spray of water, pressed up against a tiled shower wall, and even though Dream can’t bring himself to go again, it makes him dizzy with want.

They still sleep in separate beds, though, like that will keep the lines between them from smudging. In reality, they may as well be lying beside each other anyway; Dream’s thoughts are so completely filled with George that the distance between them is useless.

—

On their last night in L.A., the day after the conference ends, they spend the day out exploring the city. Quackity and Karl take them around to a bunch of their favorite spots, shopping and the tourist hot spots, and then they meet Ant and Velvet for lunch at Jollibee.

As they’re sitting around a pile of fried chicken and a giant tray of spaghetti, Karl gets a text from Hasan, inviting them all to his house for a lowkey party that night. Dream is pretty exhausted from the few days of constant meeting people and doing things, but he agrees to go anyway, knowing he should make the most of his time here.

But making the most of his time here also means wanting a little more time with George. He’s going home with him, of course, so it seems strange to want to prioritize him over all of the people he’s never met before, but that’s the situation they’re in. Once they’re home, they’ll go back to being friends who don’t suck each other’s dicks.

And Dream will miss it.

Hassan’s house is big, but not as big as theirs. It’s really nice though, and it’s packed with a lot of streamers and content creators that Dream recognizes and some he doesn’t. It’s mostly a different crowd than the one he usually runs in, but everyone is nice enough anyway and he has a good time.

He loses track of George for a while and when he finds him again, he’s talking to Austin in the corner. His jealousy flares again, but only a little. It’s not like Austin is hanging all over him; they just appear to be having a pleasant conversation like two perfectly platonic people do.

Maybe he should leave them alone, but he makes his way through the crowd anyway, approaching them as they’re laughing about whatever Austin has just said.

“Hey,” he says, stepping next to George like he’s choosing a side.

“Oh, hey, Dream,” Austin says, already getting into the bit. “Uh, George and I were just talking and, uh— no— no funny business or anything.”

Next to Dream, George rolls his eyes, shaking his head. But Dream feels like fucking with Austin, so he wraps a possessive arm around George’s waist, tugging him closer.

“Better not be.”

Austin’s face almost makes Dream drop the act; he clearly isn’t sure if they’re joking or not, caught between playing along and apologizing.

Dream turns to George, biting back a smile when he sees that George is about to laugh, and he says, “Having fun, baby?”

Finally, George loses it, punching Dream’s arm and telling Austin, “He’s joking, oh my god.”

Relief spills across Austin’s face, his hand going to his chest. “Fuck, I really thought— wow, you got me there. I thought I was in trouble.”

Dream reassures him that he and George are both very much single, but he makes no effort to move his arm away from George’s waist. After Austin has made a heartfelt plea to get Dream on Love or Host, he’s called away by Hasan yelling for him from the kitchen.

Once they’re alone, Dream turns to George, finally dropping his arm. “When did you want to head back to the hotel?”

George shrugs, eyes glancing around the room before meeting Dream’s again. “Are you tired?”

“No,” he answers, though he is a bit. That’s just not why he wants to go back to the hotel. “I think we should leave, though, unless you want to talk to Austin some more.”

George snorts a little. “First Karl, now Austin, Dream? Who’s next?”

“No one,” he says, dropping his voice to ensure he’s not heard over the murmur of the crowd. “If we can go back to the hotel and give each other mind blowing orgasms one more time then I will spare everyone else.”

George rolls his eyes a little, but there’s an excited glint in them when he says, “Deal.”

—

Back at the hotel, they shower together, washing the city from their skin. Things start there, kissing and touching, George dropping to his knees to suck Dream off for a couple minutes as hot water pours down on them. Dream tries to picture the same scenario in his own shower at home and, strangely, he can’t. It only seems to make sense here, in a hotel room far from home, a place they’ll never return.

This thing between them began here and it will end here, too, left behind in the City of Angels.

When Dream is fully hard, quietly moaning from George’s mouth on him, George pulls off and stands to stop the water. Then he leads them back into the bedroom, pushing Dream down onto the bed.

“Can I do something different?” George asks, crawling onto the mattress between Dream’s legs.

The answer is probably yes, but Dream still asks, “Like what?”

“Like,” George draws out, running his hands up Dream’s legs, skimming over his thighs and landing at his waist, “eating you out.”

Dream’s heart nearly stops at the words. “Really?” he asks, feeling himself ride the line between excited and anxious.

“Yeah,” George answers, shrugging his shoulders once. “I think you’d really like it.”

“What makes you think that?” Dream questions, curious as to what he’s done to plant this idea in George’s mind.

George drops down to kiss him, a soft press of lips, and he says, “Just a hunch, I guess.”

They kiss again, slower than they have yet, like they’re not on a clock, like their time together isn’t almost up. It’s nice, though, even if it’s not reality; Dream is happy to play out a fantasy tonight, one where this doesn’t all have to end in a few hours.

“Do it,” he decides after a few minutes, mumbling the words into George’s lips. “I want you to.”

Still, George doesn’t hurry. “Yeah?” he whispers. “You want my tongue in you?”

The words hit him like lightning, shooting from his ears straight down to his dick and igniting everything in between. He moans, a pitiful strangled sound, and he almost wants to complain when he can feel the curl of George’s lips against his, a satisfied smile pressing into his mouth.

“Oh, he likes that,” George says, and starts working his way down. At Dream’s neck, he sucks a soft bruise into sensitive skin and says, “Too bad I don’t have any lube. Could have given you more than just my tongue.”

Dream’s skin flashes with heat, his head tipped back. He thinks back a few days, to when he was packing his bag for the trip. He’d considered packing his bottle of lube, thinking that he might want it to use alone, but he figured he wouldn’t have the time or privacy to do much. Still, he’d packed it. It’s in the front pocket of his suitcase, not a drop used since their arrival.

The idea of George fucking him right into this bed drives him crazy; he wants it so desperately, to feel George inside him, filling him up. He wants it, but a voice in his head tells him that it might make things harder. It might blur their lines just a bit too much, making it hard to go back to how things were. It will be hard enough to forget what George looks like when he’s choking on Dream’s cock.

So, he doesn’t speak up. He lets George shuffle down between his legs, mouth ghosting over his cock, hands spreading Dream’s legs, pushing them back. Dream takes a deep breath, his nerves sizzling, and then he feels it: the slippery warmth of George’s tongue licking out.

It’s insane.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses when George licks again, gentle as he circles his rim.

“You good?” George pops up to check then, breath spilling against Dream’s balls.

He’s so good. He’s so fucking good. “Yeah, keep going,” he answers, his voice hoarse.

This time, George doesn’t mess around. He laps at Dream’s rim, the feeling so different than anything else that has touched him there. His tongue is thick and soft and wriggles in a way that fingers never could. Dream is panting from the feeling, his dick hard and his mind gone when George pushes his tongue inside, dipping the tip of it into Dream’s hole.

“Oh my god,” he groans, feeling the way his body opens to George as he wiggles his tongue in deeper. He can feel George pause, like he’s hesitating, and before he can stop to ask any stupid questions, Dream tells him, “Don’t you dare fucking stop, George.”

He can feel the soft air against his ass as George chuckles, but he doesn’t stop. He works his tongue in further, thrusting in and out, and Dream thinks it may as well be his dick. He feels like he’s being thoroughly fucked, even though it’s just a couple inches of muscle. He can’t imagine how his dick would feel.

Dream has experimented plenty on his own, first with his fingers, and then with some toys he’d worked up the courage to order. He’s still very much a beginner when it comes to sticking things up his ass, but it’s not like he has no idea what it feels like to be filled. Somehow, it’s just wildly different when it’s an actual living, breathing person shoving their tongue in him. It feels like so much more.

George is taking a break from tongue-fucking him, backing off to flick his tongue over Dream’s hole and up to his balls, when Dream decides.

“I have lube,” he says, and his voice sounds embarrassingly wrecked. “In my bag, I brought some if– if you want to use it.”

George’s head lifts up and Dream opens his eyes that he hadn’t even realized had fallen shut, looking down at him. His mouth and chin are messy, wet with spit, and he’s never in his life looked better.

“You brought lube?” he asks, eyes squinting curiously. “Were you hoping to hook up with someone?”

“No,” Dream answers, his cheeks flushing. Luckily, he knows they’re already so red that it would be impossible to notice the change. “I brought it for me, dude. Like, to use alone.”

“Oh,” George says, the information processing. “Oh, like, to finger yourself?”

Dream drops his head back onto the bed. He and George don’t really talk about this type of thing usually. Even with George’s tongue freshly removed from his asshole, it feels awkward to talk about his masturbatory habits.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, trying to sound cooler than he’s feeling. “Now I have you to do it for me. If you still want to.”

Before he can blink twice, George is crawling up and kissing him heavily, licking into Dream’s mouth. Maybe it should bother him that he’s tasting his own ass, but it doesn’t at all. It just makes it all hotter, knowing what they’re sharing, this dirty little secret they’re writing together.

“Can I fuck you?” George asks, breathless, teeth scraping Dream’s lip.

Dream doesn’t have to think about it anymore. “Yes.”

It takes no more than a few seconds for George to hop off the bed, for Dream to direct him to the lube in the front pocket of his bag. And then he’s back, between Dream’s legs, pouring clear liquid onto his fingers.

He can’t help but wonder what it would be like the other way around, their places switched. It would be good, he knows. It would be so much more than good, really, but he’s glad they’re doing it like this. It’s something he’s always been curious about and, as much as it worries him that it might be hard to wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened, he couldn’t think of a better person to do this with for the first time than George.

George, who he trusts more than almost anyone.

“Ready?” George asks, a slick finger rubbing at his entrance.

Dream nods, says, “Yeah, go on,” and gasps as George pushes a finger inside.

Dream has seen their fingers next to each other; he knows that George’s are tiny compared to his own, but it feels so much bigger than when he does this to himself. Maybe it’s the angle or maybe it’s just that he can’t predict it like he can with his own, but either way, one of George’s fingers feels better than three of his own.

“Fuck,” he moans, spreading his legs wider, until his hips ache. “Fuck me.”

George holds onto him with his free hand, gripping onto Dream’s hip, and he pumps his finger in a few times to loosen him up before adding a second. It doesn’t hurt at all, just takes a minute for Dream to get used to. And George is good at giving him that time, moving slowly and carefully until Dream’s muscles relax and he can sink into the feeling.

George takes him up to three fingers, opening up with so much care and attention that Dream can’t think too hard about it or he’ll get overwhelmed, read too much into it. George hasn’t even gotten his dick in him and already the walls are eroding, the lines blurring.

That’s a problem for tomorrow though. For now, he just wants to let himself have this.

“I’m ready,” he says when he feels certain that if George keeps it up, he won’t last long enough to get to the main event.

“I know,” George answers, a lust-filled smirk playing on his lips. “I’m just having so much fun with this.”

Dream tries his best not to whine. “George, come on.”

“You look good like this, you know?” he replies, seemingly ignoring Dream. “Like, this is really hot. Seeing you spread out like this, taking my fingers.”

“George,” Dream says sharper, George’s words not helping him out. “Come on, don’t make me come like this.”

George finds his prostate, jabbing soft fingers against the spot, and Dream lets out a dry sob, his cock dribbling precome. “I could,” he says, his fingers slowing. “I could make you come just like this if I wanted to.” Finally, he sighs and pulls out his fingers. “But we both know that’s not what I want.”

Reaching for the lube, he squirts some into his hand and spreads it over his dick. Dream can see for the first time since the shower that George is just as excited as him, hard and curving up toward his stomach.

“I don’t have a condom. Is that okay?”

Dream huffs out a laugh. “As if either of us has gotten laid in, like, years.”

“True,” George concedes. “Still seems polite to ask.”

As he positions himself, the head of his dick swiping between Dream’s asscheeks, Dream tells him, “I’m good. Just fuck me, dude.”

George gives him a funny face and in an American accent says, “Okay, dude.”

It’s the least sexy thing he possibly could have said, and it still does absolutely nothing to tamp down the flames of desire spreading under his skin as George finally pushes in, stretching Dream wide around his cock.

And then George is inside him. He’s having sex. They’re having sex.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” George says, pausing for a long moment before giving him more, pushing in deeper. The dumb American accent is gone, thank god, sincerity replacing it in his tone.

Dream shakes his head quickly because, even if it’s a little uncomfortable now, he wouldn’t want to stop for anything. “I’m good,” he insists, and he is.

He’s not sure when the discomfort starts to fade into pleasure; it’s a gradual change, the two feelings bleeding together until he lets out a soft moan and realizes it’s just fucking good now, just really fucking good.

“More,” he says, his hands reaching to pull George closer, to get more of him. “Fuck, George, more.”

George drops down, holding himself up with his hands on either side of Dream’s head, and he starts working his hips faster. Dream moans again, unable to keep the noise in. He wouldn’t even if he could because every time he makes a sound of pleasure, George’s gaze burns a little hotter.

Dream reaches again, for George’s head this time, and he pulls him down to smash their lips together, panting hot breath into each other’s mouths. It’s even better like this, their bodies pressed together, kissing as George fucks him.

And god, he fucks him. Dream never could have guessed that George would be so good at this, so skillful at getting the right angle, at snapping his hips in the perfect rhythm. Dream feels like he doesn’t have to do a thing, like he could just lay there and let George take care of him completely.

“You feel so good,” George tells him between breathless kisses and low moans. “You feel so, so good, Dream.”

I do, he thinks. I have never felt better.

He slides his hand between their bodies to grip his cock and he starts stroking himself in short, quick movements. There is no precision in it, but it’s the best he can do while George’s dick is getting so deep, making him see stars. He doesn’t need precision anyway, can tell this will be more than enough.

He feels it building, his nerves sparking, pleasure swirling near the base of his cock. He’s getting close, but he remembers that first night, George wanting to finish together.

“I’m gonna come,” he grits out as his muscles tighten. “Can I come?”

George kisses him and says, “Fuck, Dream. Yeah, come on, let’s see it.”

The approval is all Dream needs to let go, his orgasm erupting, sending waves of pleasure through his body. In his hand, his dick spills between them, wetting their skin, and George curses above him.

As Dream rides it out, George tucks his face into Dream’s neck, his thrusts getting sloppy. Within a couple minutes he’s groaning into Dream’s ear, his hips stuttering, and Dream swears he can feel the pulse of it as George comes inside him.

And then they’re still, quiet except for heavy breaths, and Dream can barely believe this is real. He touches his hands to George’s hips, sliding over his skin to make sure it’s not all just an elaborate fantasy.

“You’re getting come on me,” George finally says, with a tired laugh.

“I already got come on you,” Dream points out. “A little more won’t hurt.”

“Different,” George argues, half-assed. “It was hot when you did it before.”

Dream purposely takes his hand— which honestly is almost dry now— and wipes it down George’s arm just to be a dick. “This isn’t hot? Really, George?”

George laughs, the joke landing nicely, and he grabs for Dream’s wrist, pinning it to the bed. “Stop, idiot!”

The position is interesting, Dream will admit. He’s not sure he’d be upset to find himself in it again. But there is no 'again,' he reminds himself. Tomorrow they go back home and all of this ends.

It’s sad, but he knows it’s for the best. He looks up at George now and thinks he could easily fall too deep into this. It could easily mean too much to him.

“We need to shower again,” George tells him. “I don’t want to fly home covered in crusty come.”

Dream frowns. “Did you just call my come crusty?”

“Oh my god,” George laughs, pushing himself up. “I can’t believe I had sex with you. You’re literally so dumb.”

“My come is crusty and I’m dumb?” Dream replies, then pretends to cry, sticking his bottom lip out dramatically.

They keep up the back and forth as George finally slips out of him, as they walk into the bathroom and step into the shower again, the walls still covered in water droplets from their earlier shower.

They don’t kiss this time, and Dream can’t tell if it’s a purposeful decision or if they’re both just too tired to focus on anything but getting clean and getting to bed.

After the shower, though, George stops by Dream’s bed, looking at it and then back to Dream. “Do you want to sleep with me? Your sheets might be a little gross.”

In the space of about five seconds, Dream has a war with himself. On one hand, he really wants to go to bed with George, to not fall asleep alone again. But he thinks about how that would feel, holding him as he drifts off. He wonders what his unconscious mind would say, if he would make a fool of himself.

So, he says, “It’s okay, I’ll just cover it up with one of the blankets. I’ll be fine.”

George shrugs, unbothered. “Okay. Wake me up in the morning if I snooze my alarm too long.”

“I will,” Dream says. “Goodnight, George.”

“Goodnight, Dream,” George echoes, turning to leave. He stops at the door, though, glancing back. “And, hey, thanks for tonight. And the other nights, too.”

Dream smirks. “You’d still leave a good review?”

George grins back at him, sleepy but amused. “Five stars, Dream. Would highly recommend.”

Dream wrinkles his nose at the idea, but he can’t help but laugh anyway. “Thanks, I guess,” he says.

And then George is gone, his laughter disappearing as he walks across the suite to his own bedroom. Left alone, Dream lays a blanket out over their sex sheets and lies down, pulling the other blanket over him. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, but he can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened this week.

His ass aches, but it’s a weirdly pleasant sort of dull pain that he kind of likes. With each throb it’s like a reminder of what just happened. It’s like George is still there, in a way, still filling him.

Dream finally falls asleep with the ghost of George inside him, wondering if he’ll ever really leave.

—

Dream will admit that a part of him expected them to break their “only in L.A.” rule on day one, but they’ve been home for a week now and if Dream didn’t know any better, he would guess that George doesn’t even remember what happened between them. There’s no awkwardness, which is great, but there’s nothing else either. No tension, no close calls, nothing. George seems to be completely fine going right back to how they were before the trip.

Dream can’t help that he’s a little disappointed.

And then he gets a message from Austin saying, I meant what I said about loh, I think it would be really fun if you ever decide to do it.

He’s lying on George’s bed, scrolling through his phone when he gets the message. George is on the floor going through some stuff from the P.O. Box, trying to decide what he wants to keep and what he wants to donate. Naturally, as it is with any task involving decision making, George is taking forever.

“Austin just messaged me,” he says, thinking. “He wants me to do Love or Host.”

George scoffs out a dry laugh between sniffing a few different candles. “Of course he does. Imagine the viewer count.”

Dream locks his phone and presses it to his chest, rolling his head to look at George. Whatever candle he’s holding up now has him scrunching his nose in displeasure.

“What do you think?” Dream asks him, surprising himself by even considering it.

It’s just so not his thing, going on a dating show. If you can even call it that, of course, since no one actually goes on with the intention of finding someone to date. It’s all fake, all for views. Dream would rather just play Crab Game.

“Are you serious?” George asks, twisting a cap back onto the offensive candle. “You’d want to?”

He sighs, a little dramatic, torn as to what the best move is. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

George takes the lid off yet another candle. “I don’t think you should,” he says, and then sniffs the candle, his face twisting in confusion. Before Dream can ask why he shouldn’t do it, George is up on his knees, crawling over to the bed. “Smell this,” he says, holding it out to Dream. “Tell me what you think it’s supposed to be.”

Dream sniffs at the candle, white wax in a clear jar, and his senses are filled with an odd mixture of things. First, it smells like flowers, that overpowering artificial scent of roses. And then it smells like citrus, like lemons or oranges. There’s other stuff in there, too, creating a truly chaotic overall smell that he couldn’t pinpoint if he tried.

“God, I have no idea,” he says, coughing and turning away.

George sniffs it again and pretends to gag. “It’s called Florida Sunrise.”

Dream chuckles at his acting. “I’ve seen plenty of Florida sunrises. They don’t smell like that.”

“What do they smell like, Dream?” George asks, more teasing than curious. “Tell me.”

There are moments now, seemingly random flashes when his mind slips right back to L.A., to George on his knees or George above him, looking at him with searing intensity. Dream is helpless to it, carried away by these memories against his will. All he can do is try not to show it, how much the memories affect him.

“They smell like,” he starts, and his brain is only half here, the other half still time-traveling, “...your mom.”

It’s the saddest attempt at a joke, but it works at distracting George, at getting him talking about something else: mainly, how bad Dream is at mom jokes.

As George is laughing about it, Sapnap joins them, sitting on the mattress next to Dream, and the two of them start talking about some show they’d watched without Dream. While they’re distracted, Dream opens his phone, face still burning, and he messages Austin back.

I think I’ll pass on it for now, sorry. It was nice seeing you in la though.

There’s no going back to L.A. for them, that much is clear. George is moving on and Dream is not going to get stuck in the past, pining for his best friend who doesn’t want him in the same way. It’s too pathetic.

But a dumb internet dating show is not the solution to his problem. He isn’t sure what is yet, but he knows it’s not that.

–

Over the next few days, he realizes that he needs to date. It’s been so long since his last relationship ended and between Covid and being faceless, he hasn’t so much as had a single date. Honestly, he hasn’t really felt the need until now and looking back, he understands that the reason he’s been so content being single is George.

George is always there. He’s Dream’s person, the one he can confide in and trust more than most. They’ve always been there for each other, their friendship testing the bounds of platonic intimacy, but never overstepping that line.

Not until last week anyway.

And now that he’s had that, however briefly, he knows that going back isn’t going to work. He needs a distraction, something to focus on so he stops thinking about his best friend so much.

They had a good thing in L.A. But they’re in Florida now. It’s a different world here and he needs to figure out how to be happy in it.

He talks to Sapnap about it first, his need to start dating again. He doesn’t mention George, or what happened between them, but he asks for advice on where to meet people. Now that he’s no longer faceless, a dating app isn’t exactly an option, but he’s not sure what his other options are.

“Dude, let’s go out,” Sapnap says, his eyes lighting up. “Let’s go to a club, oh my god, this is epic.”

“I didn’t say yes,” Dream points out. Sapnap’s enthusiasm is sweet though, like a little kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

“But you will,” Sapnap dismisses. “Dude, I know you guys missed a bunch of it because you left early, but that one club in L.A. was awesome. Remember, when George and Karl were dancing together? After you left it got crazy. I even got some phone numbers.”

Dream tries as hard as he can to not blush, remembering what he and George had gotten up to when they got back to their room. It was the second night they hooked up and it’s mostly a blur now, all of it happening so fast. He remembers the heat of it and the urgency, not even getting out of his clothes before George was making him come into his hand.

“Sorry I missed that historic occasion,” Dream teases, hoping to breeze past the subject of L.A. “But really. You think a club is the best place to meet someone?”

“Trust me,” Sapnap tells him, reaching out to pat Dream’s arm. “I’ve got this.”

Dream already regrets asking him.

–

It’s not until the next night that he brings it up to George. Dream is trying to edit his next video, but George is on the floor next to his desk, playing with Patches. He has a wand toy that Dream’s mom had gotten and he’s waving it for her, laughing as she tries to catch it. It’s distracting, George’s bright laughter and Patches’ cute little jumps. Dream’s progress on his video has been minimal.

“I think Sapnap wants to go out sometime,” he says, trying to bring it up as naturally as possible. “Like, to a club. Would you want to come?”

“You want to go?” George asks, disbelieving. “You, Dream, want to go out to a club?”

Dream sighs and swivels his chair away from his computer. “I was asking him, like, how I should try to meet people. He thinks going to a club is a good idea.”

“Meet people?” George asks. The disbelief is gone from his tone, replaced with something that sounds smaller. Quieter.

Whatever it is makes Dream’s throat feel dry when he answers, “Yeah, George. Meet people. For dating.”

George’s hand stills for a moment and Patches seizes the opportunity to pounce, grabbing the wand out of George’s grasp. He watches her carry it away, frowning, and says, “Rude.” Then, turning to Dream, he asks, “You want to meet some random person at a club, Dream? Really? Surefire way to get crabs, but whatever.”

Dream groans, dropping his head back. “Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do, dude? I haven’t dated anyone in years and I finally can, but I don’t know how.”

There’s a moment of silence, only punctuated by the fuzzy hum of his PC and the jingling bell on the wand that Patches is still playing with in the corner. Usually George would have some smartass remark for him, but either he can’t think of anything good or he’s distracted. Probably on his phone, probably scrolling through Twitter or Reddit while Dream pours his heart out.

That would be typical George.

With a sigh, he lifts his head to see if he’s right, but instead of finding him with his nose in his phone, he’s watching Dream. He’s obviously thinking, a slight furrow in his brow, but when Dream looks at him, the thoughtfulness disappears, replaced by a veneer of nonchalance.

“Dream,” George sighs, “if you want to get laid so bad, we can just break the ‘only in L.A.’ rule.”

He offers it like it’s nothing, but there’s a little bit of tension in his mouth that Dream recognizes, telling him that George feels awkward, maybe nervous. Dream wonders if he actually wants this, if he wants it nearly as much as Dream does.

And Dream wants it. Maybe more than anything.

Giving voice to his thoughts, he asks, “Do you want to?”

“Sure,” George answers, shrugging. “It’s not a big deal or anything.”

It’s not a big deal, Dream reminds himself, and he nods. “Okay.”

What he doesn’t expect is for it to happen right then and there, but George gets up onto his knees and crawls the few feet to Dream’s chair. Dream looks down at him and wonders if he should pinch himself to see if this is real. It doesn’t feel real.

“Okay,” George echoes, and he lifts his hands to slide his palms up sweatpant-clad thighs until his fingers tuck into his waistband. “Okay?”

“George,” Dream rasps. “Yes.”

He pulls the material down, along with Dream’s underwear, and Dream lifts his ass just enough for George to slide them down to his knees. Dream isn’t hard, but he’s already on his way, just from seeing George kneeling at his feet. And, fuck, he looks so beautiful there, a little smirk playing at his lips as he touches Dream, gets him even harder.

He’s stunning. Dream is stunned.

“Have you been thinking about this, Dream? Be honest.”

If he could lie, he would. But his head nods before he can stop it, his hand reaching out to comb fingers through George’s soft hair. “I’ve thought about it,” he admits. “It was really fucking good.”

George smiles, satisfied with the answer, and he leans down to press his lips to Dream’s length. “I figured,” he mumbles, lips dragging against sensitive skin.

When he finally takes Dream into his mouth, when that heat engulfs him, Dream gasps softly, his fingers tightening in George’s hair. “Fuck,” he hisses, watching George swallow him.

He’s slow at first, barely bobbing his head as he sucks, his tongue moving against Dream. It’s like he’s sucking on a sucker, like Dream is just a piece of hard candy for George to taste. He’s not complaining about the objectification; he’ll gladly let George leisurely taste him anytime he wants.

“H-have you thought about it?” he asks a minute later, when he finds his voice. “About L.A.?”

George hums around him and, fuck, that’s insane. He throws his head back, the question almost entirely forgotten when George pops off to answer. “Once or twice, maybe.”

Dream’s heartbeat skips. “Yeah?”

George doesn’t answer again. He looks up at Dream as he takes his cock back into his mouth, lips stretched now that Dream is fully hard, aching against his tongue. Dream stares back, bewildered, and watches as George starts moving, sucking him in a steady rhythm. Unsure what to do with the hand that isn’t in George’s hair, Dream tangles it in his own t-shirt, holding it up so it’s not in the way.

“That’s good,” he says, his voice shaking. “God, that’s– that’s so good, George.”

As much as he wants to watch George, to see every second of this, he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Dropping his head back, he just lets himself feel it, every one of his senses shutting down that isn’t focused on the way George’s mouth feels on him.

Then it’s not just George’s mouth, but his hand, too, reaching down to touch Dream’s balls. A moan spills from his mouth at the feeling, because he didn’t realize it could get any better, but it is. It’s electric, currents of pleasure shooting through him. George seems to understand just what he wants, what he needs, because he pulls off, using his hand to stroke Dream’s cock instead, and he moves down to use his mouth on Dream’s balls.

“Oh fuck,” Dream moans, slipping down in the chair, giving George more access. His legs can only spread so far with his pants still around his knees, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

“George,” he says, all breath, and his nails scratch against George’s scalp. “Tell me when you’re close,” George tells him, words muffled.

Dream wants to cry with how good it feels, George’s hand jerking him off while he licks Dream’s balls, pulling one into his mouth and sucking gently before moving to the other. He finally opens his eyes again to watch, and his breath catches when he sees George with his eyes closed in pleasure, like he’s enjoying this as much as Dream is.

This is so much better than it would be with anyone else. No dating app or hook-up with someone he meets at a club could compare to this. This is so good because it’s with George, the person he’s most comfortable with.

There’s a faint thought in the back of his head that he is so completely fucked. George has ruined him for anyone else.

But the thought comes and goes, not enough brain power available for him to spend any time on it. “I’m close,” he says, feeling his orgasm build under George’s touch.

In a fluid motion, George tips his head up and slides back down on Dream’s cock to suck at the head. His hand keeps working, quick little strokes that take him over the edge until he’s coming, right onto George’s tongue.

George sucks him dry, pulling back to swallow and then sinking down again, not stopping until Dream hisses at the sensation, pushing him away. When he looks up, he’s a mess, spit and come spilling from swollen pink lips, dribbling down his chin. Dream wants to take a picture of him, just like this. He’d never stop looking at it.

George wipes his face clean and sits back on his calves with a sigh. “There,” he says, his voice as wrecked as his face. “Now you don’t have to go pick up chicks or whatever with Sapnap.”

Dream wants to point out that it’s not necessarily chicks he’s looking to pick up. He wants to point out that getting a blowjob doesn’t automatically mean he’s no longer interested in dating someone.

He wants to ask if it will happen again, if George wants it to, if he can kiss him.

There are so many things he could say, or ask, but nothing comes to his mouth except, “Thank you.”

George laughs and leans down to bite Dream’s knee, a cute, playful gesture before he stands up. “No problem, weirdo,” he says on his way out of the room.

Dream sighs and watches him leave, momentarily wondering if he should have been concerned about the door being open that whole time until he remembers that Sapnap had gone out. Next to the door, Patches is sitting, staring at him, the wand toy sitting beside her.

He cringes as he thinks about what she’s seen.

–

“You just changed your mind?” Sapnap says later that week when Dream lets him know that he’s no longer interested in meeting anyone. He’s pissed, having gotten his hopes up for a fun Friday night out.

“I told you, dude. I’m just not ready.”

Sapnap’s nostrils flare, a sure sign that he’s about to yell. “Your last relationship ended, like, a million years ago. How can you not be ready?”

“It’s not that,” Dream explains, trying his best to calm him down. “It’s just a trust thing. Like, I’m not used to the world knowing my face yet. It’s– it’s still weird.”

It’s only a half-lie, to be fair. It is something he hasn’t gotten used to yet, even if that’s not the primary reason for his change of heart.

“Look, I’ll still go out with you, okay? We can go out and I’ll be your wingman. I’ll get you laid.”

“I was gonna get you laid,” Sapnap sulks. “I was gonna find a hot girl and hook you up and then you’d forever be in debt to me for finding you the woman of your dreams.”

Dream laughs at that, glad when he sees Sapnap crack a smile too, against his will. “Oh, I see how it is. Now I don’t feel so bad.”

Sapnap’s smile finally turns into a laugh, his anger gone. They discuss the plans for that weekend, now that Dream has agreed to go out with him, even if the purpose of the evening has changed.

Sapnap tells him about a club he found online that seems like a good choice and they decide to ask Punz if he wants to come, too.

When Sapnap starts to leave the room, to head back toward his bedroom, Dream stops him. “Hey, Nick?”

Sapnap stops and looks back. “Yeah?”

Dream raps his knuckles against the countertop, fidgety. “You know it wouldn’t have to be a hot girl, right?”

He watches the brief confusion pass over Sapnap’s face before the understanding settles. But he smirks and says, “Oh, like, it could be an ugly girl too?”

Dream rolls his eyes because he knows that Sapnap understands what he’s saying. He’d told him a long time ago, even if they haven’t talked about it much since.

“No, I know,” he says before Dream can reply. “Sorry, dude. Just a habit, I guess. But you know I’d totally be your wingman to pick up a hot guy, too, right? Like, we’ll hit up a gay bar and I’ll find you the cutest twink, bro–”

“Oh, god, shut up,” Dream laughs, waving him away. “Just go, idiot.” Sapnap shrugs, smiling, and he leaves the room.

Dream loves the hell out of him. Then and there, he decides to make it his goal to be the best damn wingman there ever has been.

–

There’s a reason George had been surprised when Dream had said he was going out to a club with Sapnap. The nights out in L.A. had been different; that had been a thing, the clubs booked by YouTube and filled with content creators. Now, stepping into a loud, crowded club, just for the hell of it, Dream feels so incredibly out of his element.

He suspects it’s the type of thing where you have to be drunk to enjoy it.

But, of course, he’s not drunk. He nearly caves and asks for a sip or two from George’s drink, just to take the edge off. But he abstains, watching George’s pretty pink lips sip equally pink alcohol, his smile coming easier as it sinks in.

“She’s cute,” Sapnap says, elbowing Dream to get his attention. When Dream looks, Sapnap points out a girl in a red top and black skinny jeans.

She’s definitely pretty, possibly out of Sapnap’s league, but Dream is being the world’s best wingman so he doesn’t point that out. “She is,” he agrees. “Go say hi, dude.”

“Fuck no,” Sapnap laughs. “I need, like, a plan.”

“You don’t need a plan, dumbass, you just need to be genuine.”

Sapnap thinks about that, tipping his drink back, something murky brown with a few ice cubes clinking around in the glass. Dream glances over to where Punz and George are talking, huddled close, and when Dream’s gaze falls on George, George’s eyes flick up to look back at him. Dream gives him a smile, multicolored strobe lights falling over their faces. He wonders what it looks like to George, if it’s much different without all the colors of the rainbow.

It’s something that’s always fascinated him: how George sees the world.

“She’s with another girl, see her?” Sapnap finally says, bringing Dream’s attention back to the red top girl and now, also, her friend in a blue dress.

“I see her,” Dream answers like a question.

Sapnap leans close to be heard over the music. “What if you go talk to her, just, like, see if her friend is seeing anyone or whatever.”

Dream can’t help but ask, “Is this just a plan to get me to go hit on someone?”

“No!” Sapnap yells. “No, dude, this is a good plan, okay? It’s, like, reconnaissance.”

It sounds dumb to him and it sure as fuck sounds embarrassing, but he isn’t here to question Sapnap. He’s here to be supportive and to help him get laid. For all he knows, this stupid plan could actually work.

So he sighs, sets his glass of water down on the table next to them, and makes his way through the crowd toward the girls on the other side of the room. He has his sights set on blue dress girl, making it a priority to find out her name so he doesn’t have to think of her as ‘blue dress girl’ anymore. It feels mildly sexist somehow. Though, he’s come to realize, most things do. Most things are.

“Hi,” he greets when he’s close enough to be heard.

She looks up, a curious smile on her face. She’s pretty, too, though very different from the red top girl. It’s interesting to him, how two people can look so different, yet both be more or less equally attractive. It’s kind of like how he can look at a guy and a girl and be attracted to both, even though they have so little in common.

Then he thinks of George. George is… different.

He’s not going to unpack that just yet, not ready to figure out how deep it goes. For now, it’s enough to know that he’s different.

“Hi,” the girl says to him, waiting for him to say something else.

Dream laughs softly, already embarrassed. “Hi,” he says again. “This is going to sound weird, probably, but hear me out, okay?”

She looks suspicious, but not put off by him. “Okay,” she says, like she’s preparing herself for the weirdness.

“My friend thinks your friend is cute,” he says, nodding his head toward the red top girl who is, thankfully, not paying attention. “He wanted me to come talk to you to get a read on the situation. Like, to see if she’s single or open to some guy coming and starting a conversation.”

“Like this?” the girl asks, amused. Dream nods. “Exactly. Just like this.”

She laughs, sizing him up. “She might be single,” she tells him and she crosses her arms across her chest. “But if she was, what would your friend be able to offer? What does he bring to the table?”

“Oh, god,” Dream laughs, “I wasn’t prepared to sell him.”

“Some wingman you are,” she scoffs playfully.

So, he decides to take this seriously, to win Sapnap a chance to meet this girl. “Okay, well, my friend– Nick, that’s his name– he’s just a really good guy. He’s 22, he– makes good money,” he says, stumbling just a bit as he makes it up on the fly. “He likes video games and anime and playing basketball. I’ve been friends with him for– god, like, over ten years, and he’s the most loyal, loving guy I know.”

She picks up her own drink, holding it to her chest, and she contemplates him for a moment before asking, “What’s the worst thing about him?”

“The worst?” Dream asks. He feels like he’s in an interview where they ask what your greatest weakness is and you have to make some shit up about caring too much or working too hard.

“Yeah,” she says. “If they were to date, she’d find out eventually. Why not put it all out on the table now?”

Dream considers her, leaning his elbow on the bar table next to them. “I’ll tell you if you tell me her worst thing too. Make sure she’s not going to, like, kill him in his sleep.”

“Bella— that’s her name, Bella— she needs attention. Not, like, in a bratty way, but when she was young her parents were kind of assholes and now she needs constant affirmation that she’s important. Her last boyfriend didn’t give her enough of that and it was really hard for her.”

Dream listens, amazed that this girl is sharing so openly with some random guy at a bar. He decides that if she can do it, so can he. It’s for Sapnap, after all.

“Nick sometimes lacks motivation,” he says, thinking about what he wants to say. “Not like he’s lazy or anything, he just— I think he gets a little lost sometimes about what he wants to do, so he ends up doing nothing. And then he feels shitty about not doing anything.”

She nods, thoughtful. “But you said he makes good money, so he must have a job, right?”

“Oh, yeah, he does. He works. It’s more, like, life stuff that he gets lost in.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” she says, head tilting. “If that’s the worst thing about him, that’s pretty good.”

Dream grins. “I promise, he’s one of the best. I wouldn’t be out here working so hard to get him a chance with your friend— or any other woman, for that matter— if he wasn’t a legitimately good guy.”

Setting her drink down, she reaches a hand out for Dream to shake, and he does, feeling the cold condensation from her glass between their palms.

“Okay. Your friend can come meet my friend.” When he tries to let go of her hand, she holds on, not letting go. “What about you? I have other friends if you want to meet someone. You seem like a decent guy.”

Dream laughs as she finally lets his hand go. “Wow, ‘a decent guy’. Don’t flatter me.”

Her laughter joins his and she shrugs. “I mean, for a random guy in a bar, it’s pretty fucking good.”

“True,” he admits. “At least I wasn’t trying to hit on you. Just… hitting on your friend. For my friend. Or something.”

“It wouldn’t have gone well if you had anyway,” she says. “I have a girlfriend.”

Dream can’t help but smile, his eyes darting back across the room to find George. All three of them are watching Dream, apparently watching his interaction unfold, but George is the only one Dream looks at.

“To answer your question, I’m not looking to meet anyone right now,” he says, turning back to look her in the eye. “But thanks for the offer. You seem decent, too. I’m sure your friends are also decent.”

When he goes back to grab Sapnap, George has a curious expression, watching silently as Punz wishes Sapnap luck. The introduction goes well, it seems. Bella is a little surprised when her friend— Violet, he learns, Vi for short— explains that Nick has been vetted, but she’s sweet and she thinks the whole thing is funny. Dream leaves them alone to talk then, making his way back to George and Punz.

“Oh my god, did that actually work?” Punz asks.

Dream shrugs, glancing back at the two of them, talking. “I don’t know, I think maybe it did?” George hums curiously, finally speaking up to ask, “What did you two talk about?”

“She asked what the worst thing about him was.” He picks up his water to take a sip, hopeful that they’ve been keeping an eye on it.

“Oh god,” George says, as Punz bursts into laughter. “No wonder you guys were talking so long.”

Dream can’t help but poke the embers, to see if he can get a flame. “She asked if I wanted to meet someone too,” he says, carefully keeping an eye on George’s reaction. “Offered to introduce me to one of her other friends.”

“What about her?” Punz asks. “It seemed like you two had chemistry from over here. Didn’t it, George?”

George glances up at Dream and he shrugs. “I don’t know. It did kind of seem like it.”

“Well, she has a girlfriend,” Dream tells them, rolling his eyes. “But the point is, she thought I was worthy of introducing to her friends.”

Punz scoffs “So, why aren’t you over there now, meeting girls?”

Avoiding George’s gaze is difficult when it’s burning into Dream’s face with such unwavering focus, but he manages it anyway, replying to Punz. “Not really in the mood.”

It’s only a half lie; he isn’t in the mood. But that’s mostly because he’s hoping that he’ll be spending the night with George.

When he finally glances to his side, he sees George staring back at him, something burning in his eyes.

—

“Come here,” Dream says when they get home that night, pulling George into his room.

Punz is staying in the guest room around the corner. Sapnap is downstairs. And George is locking Dream’s bedroom door, his fist gathering Dream’s shirt and pulling him in.

Dream kisses him, his whole body singing with relief after too many days spent not kissing him. It feels criminal to not kiss him; it’s like they’re depriving the world of something so perfect that it could cure all sadness, all illness, all grief.

“Hi,” George breathes out, his back arching when Dream runs his hands over him, pressing a palm to the small of his back to pull him ever closer. “It doesn’t mean anything, right?”

Dream laughs a little and he nips at George’s bottom lip before answering, “Okay, George. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

Shirts are stripped off, mouths mapping out warm skin, and then pants come off, too, and underwear. And then George’s naked body is pressed up against his own and they’re stumbling to the bed.

George gives him the best blowjob he’s ever gotten, a single finger slipping inside him a few moments before he comes with a moan, gripping onto the sheets.

He does his best to return the favor, to give as good as he got, but how could anyone ever be that good? George is unbelievable in bed, even better than Dream would have imagined. And if he’s being honest with himself, he’s imagined it plenty. Just in a hypothetical sense, of course.

When they’re done, Dream kisses him again and, even though he knows that it doesn’t mean anything about them, it does mean something to him. So when George rolls out of bed and starts putting his clothes back on, Dream itches to hold onto him, to pull him back into bed and keep kissing him.

“Hey, George,” he says instead, rolling onto his side, watching George stop at the door. “Can this keep happening?”

He blames his orgasm for the pure hope that’s evident in his tone.

Luckily, George smiles back and answers, “I think we can make that happen.”

When he slips out of the room, Dream flops onto his back, staring at the ceiling. It’s maybe the best he’s ever felt, being with George. It’s so insanely good with him, the sex and even the other parts, the before and the after. He feels lucky to have those moments, even if a tiny part of him is disappointed to be going to sleep alone.

—

And it does keep happening. And happening. And happening.

Dream has never had this much sex, not even when he was in an actual relationship. Having a friend with benefits under the same roof is very convenient, he’s finding out. And it’s fun, sneaking around, hiding it from Sapnap and everyone else, too. Quackity comes to visit for a week and he stays right across the hall, but still, almost every night, Dream and George are meeting in one of their rooms or offices or, once, the bathroom, to hook up.

And the sex is insane. Whether it’s hands or mouths or more, it’s all explosively good, so good that Dream can’t bear to think about it ever ending.

Because it has to come to an end; that’s just what friends with benefits arrangements do. They end, and the people move on, and that’s it. The idea of it, dating someone else, or George dating someone else, and letting this thing die, is a little more than he can stomach.

About three weeks into it, Dream is in George’s bed after they’ve finished. George’s come is still dripping from him when he rolls over to get up, to go back to his own bedroom. For once, a hand stops him, pulls him back down, and when Dream turns over to look, George kisses him again.

Kisses after sex aren’t unheard of between them, but they’re not common either. What is unheard of, however, is the word that George mutters. “Stay.”

He tries to tuck his face down, to avoid eye contact, but Dream nudges his chin up to make him look, to see what’s hiding in his eyes. “You want me to?” Dream asks, needing to hear it just once more.

George’s lips twitch like he might smile. “It doesn’t mean anything, right? If you stay?”

At that, Dream laughs. Their little running joke. Or maybe it’s not a joke, maybe he’s completely serious about it, but that almost makes it funnier. Only George could be so emotionally obtuse.

He’s drawn all these lines to separate what they can and can’t do, but they seem to constantly be moving.

“It means something,” he whispers, pressing a smile into George’s lips. “It means I use your bathroom instead of my own to clean up your come.”

George groans, laughing, and pushes Dream away. “Go clean yourself up, idiot,” he tells him. “Then come right back.”

Dream does as he’s told and when he gets back into bed, a little less sticky, he kisses George again and again, slower and slower, for what feels like hours. He whispers, “Stop, George, let me sleep,” and George whispers back, “You’re the one keeping me up, I’m not doing anything.”

It’s one of the best nights of Dream’s life. It’s also the night that he finally realizes, as he’s drifting off to sleep, that he is completely crazy about the man in bed with him.

–

In the morning, when Dream wakes up, George isn’t in bed. Dream looks around for his phone, finding it on the floor next to the bed, on a pile of his clothes, and he checks the time. It’s nearly noon. He wonders what time they actually got to sleep, knowing it had to have been the very early hours of the morning.

He checks his notifications as he eases into consciousness, a little habit he’s gotten into. It’s not necessarily a good habit; seeing bad news is never fun when you’re still half-asleep. Today, luckily, nothing horrible appears to have happened while he slept. Always a good start to his day.

The day only gets better when George pushes the door open, carrying two bowls and a glass, nearly spilling the contents of all of them.

“Help,” George pleads. “Take something. Anything.”

Dream jumps up and grabs the glass first, orange juice sloshing uncomfortably close to the rim, and then he grabs one of the bowls. They’re each filled with cereal and topped with too much milk for Dream’s liking, but he doesn’t focus on that.

“You made me breakfast,” he says, sitting back down against the headboard.

“Oh my god,” George scoffs dismissively as he sits on the edge of the bed, by Dream’s feet. “I poured cereal and milk into a bowl. I didn’t make you breakfast.”

Dream shakes his head, a wild grin lighting up his face. “No, you did. You made me breakfast. You asked me to sleep in your room and you made me breakfast.”

“Dream,” George warns, glaring at him. “Seriously.”

Dream wants to keep teasing, but he recognizes some sincerity in George’s discomfort. It’s not just a bit; it actually bothers him.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes. “It’s just cereal and milk. And juice.”

“The juice is for me,” George tells him. “Get your own juice.”

Dream snorts into his cereal. “By the way, I hate Grape Nuts.” He eats a big spoonful anyway, chewing the crunchy bits with a cheesy smile.

“Good,” George says, indignant.

If he had his way, he’d stay in bed with George all day, kissing and laughing and having meaningless sex that secretly means a lot. But he has a meeting that he can’t miss, so when he’s finished his cereal and drank half of George’s juice, he climbs off the bed.

Hesitating, he decides to press his luck and dip down to kiss George briefly, not surprised when George is almost too shocked to reciprocate.

“Thanks,” he says, not bothering to specify what it’s for. He’s not really sure himself. He leaves the room, laughing at the stunned expression on George’s face.

—

When Dream gets a text from Sapnap that afternoon, asking if he wants to go grab food, at first the request strikes him as odd. Even though they can go out to eat now that Dream has face revealed, they really don’t do it much. He’s used to making his own food and when he does want something from a restaurant, DoorDash comes in clutch.

But then he realizes that he’s barely seen Sapnap lately. If he’s not sneaking around with George, Sapnap is out with Bella, the girl from the club. Suddenly Dream feels guilty that he hasn’t been making more of an effort, so caught up in the thing with George.

He answers Sapnap, telling him he can go anytime, and he resists the urge to ask if George can come with them. He’s napping anyway, but even if he wanted to come, he’d just take all of Dream’s attention. Just this once he wants to catch up with Sapnap without the distraction.

They end up eating at a little Filipino-inspired sandwich shop that Sapnap has heard good things about. It’s not exactly the home cooking his stepmom would make, but it ends up being incredible anyway, plenty to tide him over.

Dream chews on his fried chicken adobo sandwich and, when he’s swallowed, he asks Sapnap, “Why do I feel like we’re on a date right now?”

Sapnap laughs, wiping a smear of sauce from his face with his napkin. “Because we have to schedule time to hang out now, apparently,” he answers. “You know, before George moved in, we didn’t have that problem.”

“That’s because I never left the house. Blame my face reveal, not George.”

Sapnap considers it for a moment. “No, I think I’ll blame George.”

Dream can’t say he didn’t try. Laughing, he gives in. “Whatever you want, bro.”

They finish their food and, when they’re just working on the last of their drinks, he asks, “What’s up with you and Bella? I know you’ve been seeing her a lot. That’s all good?”

Never in their friendship has Dream gotten to see Sapnap in a relationship or in love. He’s not sure if that’s what this is, but he’s smitten anyway, his cheeks pinking up at the mere mention of her. If it’s not love yet, it’s getting there.

“Yeah, it’s really good. She’s so sweet, dude. And we were out the other day and someone recognized me so I finally told her, like, about the whole YouTube thing. She was so surprised, like, genuinely had no idea, but she’s been really cool about it.”

Dream had wondered about that. The idea of meeting someone and having to tell them about it all

— it sounds stressful to him. It could go a couple of different ways; they could want to abuse it, to try to get something out of it, or it could scare them away. It’s intimidating. Dream wonders if he should feel bad, if he should have been paying more attention to Sapnap instead of getting his dick sucked to perfection every day.

He knows that Sapnap is a grown man now, totally able to handle his own shit, but Dream has always felt like a brother to him and he wishes he could have been more supportive through this.

“Hey, you should invite her over sometime,” he offers. “She could bring her friend, the one from the club.”

“You do remember she’s gay, right?” Sapnap asks teasingly.

Dream throws his crumpled up napkin at his face. “Yeah, dumbfuck, I remember. She can bring her girlfriend, too. We’ll have a little gathering.”

Sapnap takes a sip from his drink, thinking. “That would be really cool actually,” he agrees. “She’s been really busy with school lately, but she finishes exams in a couple weeks. Maybe then.”

“Whenever,” Dream tells him.

They get up and throw out their trash, walking out toward Sapnap’s car. When they get in and Sapnap has started the car, he pauses, turning to Dream. “Wait. If Bella comes and Vi and her girlfriend come with her, it would be like a triple date.”

Dream has to remind himself that it’s just a joke, forcing a laugh. “DNF together again,” he plays along.

“When were you ever not?” Sapnap snorts as he pulls out of the spot. “You two are, like, codependent. You may as well just date each other because you’ll never meet anyone else when you spend all of your time together.”

Dream reels back, hand to his chest. “Ouch, dude, brutal.”

“Shut up,” Sapnap says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a bad thing. You two are different, you always have been. It’s chill.”

“It’s chill,” Dream repeats. “Yeah, I’m going to die alone apparently. It’s so chill.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a drama queen?”

Dream smirks, looking out the window as they make their way back through the city, pointed toward home. “That’s homophobic,” he mumbles.

“Oh, fuck off,” Sapnap tells him, flipping his blinker on.

Dream goes quiet as they drive past a large shopping plaza and Sapnap turns his music up to fill the silence. It’s kind of crazy that Dream can do this now, just leave the house anytime, go grab lunch or see a movie. All of the things he’s been waiting so long to do, he can do them now. He could travel. He could see the whole damn world if he wanted.

He could do pretty much anything at this point.

How ironic it is that, now that he’s free, he’s got everything he wants right at home.

—

They’ve had enough sex now for Dream to know that George prefers being in control. He prefers being on top, prefers leading, and Dream is more than happy to let him do it. It’s nice not having to be the one in charge for once. But sometimes he wants to make George feel some of what he gets to feel.

So when he’s got George spread out in his bed the next night, giving him a lazy blowjob, he decides to test his boundaries. He starts just touching his balls, and then he moves a little lower, pressing the pad of his thumb to his taint.

The reaction seems to be a good one, George’s legs spreading just a bit, like an unconscious invitation. So Dream adjusts, replacing his thumb with his middle finger and creeping down.

George stays silent, but his hand grips Dream’s hair harder, a noise stuck in his throat when Dream finally touches him where he wants to.

He pulls off his cock, taking a breath before asking, “Is this okay?”

George reaches over, pulling open the drawer of Dream’s nightstand to grab a bottle of lube that has seen more use these past few weeks than ever before. It strikes Dream that George knows exactly where it is, not hesitating to grab it like it’s just as much his own as it is Dream’s.

And, really, isn’t it?

“Only one,” he says, tossing the lube down to Dream.

In a matter of seconds, he has a lubed-up finger sliding inside George and just the feeling of his silky smooth walls gripping his finger so tight makes Dream dizzy. He doesn’t even need to use his cock; it’s just as hot feeling it with his finger, searching around for all the right spots.

“Fuck,” George breathes, head dropping against the bed. “There, there.”

Dream can feel it, the slight swell of flesh, and he rubs it with his finger, amazed when it makes George moan louder, scratching at the sheets. Dream drops down to run his mouth across George’s inner thigh, sucking marks into pale skin, determined to make this as good for George as he can.

He moves up, biting the skin at the very top of George’s thigh, and then he latches onto it right at the joint of his hip. He’s slow and methodical about it, not wanting to scare George, but when he’s scraping his teeth down to his ass cheek, he finally stops and asks.

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

“You have been using your mouth,” George answers.

“No,” Dream says, and presses a soft kiss just above where his finger is carefully sliding in and out. “Here. Can I use my mouth here?”

George hesitates. Dream can feel his muscles tensing, just a bit, like a reflex. “I’ve never done that,” George tells him.

Dream kisses his thigh again, trying to rid him of the worry in his tone. “I don’t have to do it. But you trust me, right?”

When he looks up, George is looking back down at him, and there’s a shift. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he feels it in his bones; things are different. The look in George’s eyes is unguarded, open for Dream to walk right in and make himself comfortable.

“Do it,” George says then, reaching out to touch Dream’s temple, softer and sweeter than ever before.

Dream doesn’t hesitate to do as he’s told, dipping down to lick around his finger, reveling in the way George’s hand tangles in his hair, pulling him even closer. Dream laps at him as much as he can, the slickness of the lube spreading over his tongue, and he just wants more. So, carefully, he withdraws his finger, leaving George empty, and he presses his open mouth to his hole.

George lets out a squeaky moan, back arching at the feeling, and Dream has to press his hips to the bed to relieve the pressure building at the base of his own dick. He ruts against the mattress without shame and he licks and sucks and, finally, presses his tongue inside of George. It’s not much, not deep or fast, but George grabs his cock to jerk himself off and it takes no time at all.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, “I’m gonna– come, I’m– fuck.”

Dream can feel it in the quiver of the muscle around his tongue, clamping down on him. It’s insane, getting to feel his orgasm like this for a change. And Dream knows from firsthand experience how good this feels, so getting to give that to George is such a treat.

He brings himself off with a hand slipped into his underwear, face still pressed into the crook of George’s legs, panting hot breath against his hip. He feels disgusting after, sticky wet and in need of a shower, but as he crawls up to put his head on the pillows, he thinks he’ll be happy just wiping off and falling straight to sleep with George in his arms.

George clearly has other plans because not two minutes later, he’s getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Dream asks, sleepy and annoyed that George isn’t warming the space next to him anymore.

“I’m going to my bed,” George tells him as he pulls his boxers and t-shirt on.

He’s not mad exactly, not upset, but there’s definitely something off. “Stay here,” he pleads, frowning. “Come on, lay back down.”

“Dream, I can’t,” George says, barely meeting Dream’s gaze. “I’m sorry, okay? I just can’t.”

Dream flops onto his back, barely containing an annoyed sigh. “Are we doing the ‘it doesn’t mean anything’ thing again?”

“It’s not a thing.” There’s a hardness in George’s tone that Dream has never heard before. It’s still not anger, but Dream isn’t sure what it is. It’s unrecognizable to him. “Dream you’re– you make it seem so easy, but it’s not.”

“What?” Dream asks, feeling lost. “What do I make seem easy?”

“Everything,” George huffs, tossing his hands in the air only to let them fall back to his sides, limp. “I meant it when I said this doesn’t mean anything because it can’t.”

Dream gets up onto his knees on the mattress, disgusted by the slow drip of come down his thigh. “You can’t be serious though,” he argues, wishing like hell that George would come closer, would let him reach out and touch him. “You can’t seriously tell me this means nothing to you, George. I’m not blind and I’m not crazy. I know it means something to you just as much as it does to me.”

George falls still. His lip trembles, just once. Dream aches to hold him.

When George speaks again, his voice is soft and so much more vulnerable than usual. “I never meant that it doesn’t mean anything to me, Dream. It means nothing as far as us, what we are.” He looks away, eyes darting toward the door like he’s planning his escape. “It always meant something to me.”

The beat of Dream’s heart pounds heavy like a drum, with the weight of a boulder. “Why can’t it mean something for us?” Dream asks, his throat blocked with worry. “What’s stopping it?”

George takes a deep breath and he looks up again, meeting Dream’s gaze. His eyes are wet. Dream watches a tear slip from the corner of one, falling and leaving a trail down the pale pink of his cheek.

“I am,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Dream. I’m sorry.”

None of it makes any sense to him. They’re so good together, so fucking good. In every way possible, they’re good. For the life of him, Dream can’t imagine what else could possibly matter.

“George, come on,” he says, climbing off the bed and wrapping his arms around George, desperation seeping in.

“I need some time,” George tells him in a rough whisper.

Dream’s arms unconsciously tighten around him, ducking to press his face to George’s shoulder. He wishes he was an octopus; he’d wrap all of his tentacles around him to keep him from running away.

“This is what I wanted to avoid.”

The words slice through Dream like a hot blade. They sound like they carry regret and Dream can’t stomach the idea of George regretting a single second of this. It’s one of the very best things to ever happen to him, falling for George. It breaks his heart, absolutely shatters it, to know that George doesn’t feel the same way.

Dream can’t find any words and he’s not an octopus, so George pulls away and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Left alone with his thoughts, Dream can only stare at the ceiling and wonder if he should have held on tighter.

–

It’s not a break up. Dream knows this. There was never anything to break, apart from Dream’s hope that maybe one day it could turn into something more. So even though it sucks, losing those nights with George, it’s not like he’s lost him. He’s still there, sharing the same space, still there as his friend.

But when Dream sees him in the kitchen the next day, he doesn’t even know what to say. He can’t convince George to let him in; it has to be George doing that himself. So he touches his arm, rubbing his thumb over his skin as some kind of reassurance that they’ll be okay, no matter what.

If this is all they are anymore, they’ll still be okay. Dream will make sure of it.

When George looks up at him from the sink where he’s rinsing out a glass, his eyes are bloodshot and puffy, like he’s barely slept. Dream can relate, having been up for hours overthinking it all, from that first night in L.A. to last night.

“Hey,” George says quietly.

Dream thinks about pulling him into a hug, kissing the top of his head and telling him not to worry, but the lines have all moved again. He has no idea where they are now, when he might cross one.

And George said he needed time. For what, Dream doesn’t know, but he’ll give it to him. Whatever he needs to figure out or work through, Dream won’t push him along.

He’s always, always pushing George. To work, to make decisions, to try new things. For once, he just wants George to meet him in the middle, on his own terms.

“You okay?” he asks instead, letting his thumb continue swiping above his elbow without making a move further.

George nods and clears his throat, looking back down at the glass in his hands, holding it under the stream of water. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Dream wrestles with himself, unsure what to say. It’s okay? No problem? It doesn’t feel genuine. Before he can figure out the right words, he hears Sapnap coming down the hall, so Dream gives George’s arm what he hopes feels like a reassuring squeeze and drops his hand. Turning away, he gives Sapnap a smile when he walks into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Dream says, even though it’s two in the afternoon. Sapnap has clearly just woken up anyway.

“G’morning,” Sapnap mumbles back. “Had the weirdest fucking night last night, dude,” he adds, launching into a sleepy story about his date with Bella and the restaurant they ended up at way outside the city.

Dream listens and tries to laugh at the funny bits, but George is wearing his exhaustion so obviously that mostly Dream can only focus on that. He swears that, just looking at him, he can feel it, too. Like George’s exhaustion settles into Dream’s bones.

When Sapnap finishes the story, more awake now, and George excuses himself to go back to bed, Sapnap asks in a low voice, “Yo, is he okay?”

Dream shrugs, not quite ready to give himself away yet. “Yeah, I think so. He said he couldn’t sleep. I think he’s just tired.”

“That’s more than tired, bro,” Sapnap argues. “He’s been crying. You don’t know what’s wrong?”

He feels pinned down, like Sapnap can see right through him. It feels like it’s written across his skin, what’s happened between them. He shakes his head, afraid that if he opens his mouth, the only words that will come out will be the truth. The horrible, heartbreaking truth.

“Well, figure it out,” Sapnap tells him, turning to open the refrigerator. “He’s your person, dude. Fix him.”

Fix him.

If only Sapnap knew that this is one problem that Dream can’t fix.

–

The days pass. Dream focuses on work to keep his mind off of the tension between him and George. He comes up with news ideas, records old ones, and he streams more than ever, just to keep himself busy. MCC is coming up and he decides to tryhard this month, practicing every day in the week leading up to the event.

George is not on his team this month. It’s the first time he’s ever been a little relieved about that.

And still, every day, they see each other. They smile and talk and pretend the air between them hasn’t grown thick with sweaty memories and hopeful could-have-beens.

Every day, Dream misses him. Standing right in front of him, he misses him.

Then, finally, Sapnap invites Bella over for the first time. Dream suggests they have a little barbecue and he gets some steaks and chicken to grill while Sapnap throws together a fruit salad.

She does invite Vi and her girlfriend along, the six of them sitting around a big patio table while the meat cooks.

George sits next to him and Dream’s hand itches to reach over and rest on his thigh. He has to try to remember how they were before they ever had sex; did they do stuff like that? It feels so natural to him now, to touch him, to hold his hand, to hold him. He thinks he would have done it before, but he’d never do it with anyone else, so he abstains.

Bella is sweet and Sapnap looks at her like she put the stars in the sky. Vi and her girlfriend are funny, making constant little jabs at each other and then smiling at each other with more warmth than the Florida summer sun. Dream looks at them all and then he looks at George and he knows.

He wants that with him. God, he wants it so much.

He has to excuse himself, pretending to refill the pitcher of ice water they set out, just to collect himself. In the kitchen, he fills the pitcher and then sets it on the counter, bending over it to take a deep breath and clear his head of those thoughts. He can’t keep thinking about that stuff, not when it’s not what George wants.

The door opens and Dream looks up to see Vi walking in. He smiles at her and asks if she needs anything, but she just walks over and leans against the counter next to him.

“What’s the story with you and the cute British guy?” she asks.

He stands up straight, eyes darting toward the back door. “The, uh— the story? What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, dude. Don’t play dumb. When we talked at the club, you said you weren’t looking to date anyone. And you’ve been making sad puppy dog eyes at him this whole time.”

“I have not,” he argues, frowning. “Not the whole time.”

She laughs and punches him lightly on the arm. “Yeah, right,” she says. “Seriously, what’s going on there?”

He hesitates, unsure how honest he wants to be with this virtual stranger. He’s only ever had one conversation with her before today; who knows if she’s trustworthy? And Dream is careful with strangers, wary of anyone who might have bad intentions.

She seems to understand his hesitation, adding, “Only if you want to talk about it, of course. No pressure. Just seems like it’s weighing on you.”

Even though he’s usually more careful, he gets a good vibe from her. He did in the club and he does now. And she’s here anyway, in their home. She’s already in, really, so letting her in a little more doesn’t feel like that big of a deal.

“The cute British guy,” he sighs, glancing out the window, where George is laughing at Sapnap, “is my best friend. And up until about a week ago, was a best friend– with benefits.”

She nods, unsurprised. “And now? No more benefits?”

“No more benefits,” he confirms, his throat thick with that fact. “I think we just got too close to something he isn’t ready for.”

He tears his eyes away from the window, looking at Vi instead to find her grimacing back. “But you were ready for it?”

Dream smiles sadly. Because he was, wasn’t he? He was ready to jump in, to figure it out as they went. It’s not something he ever planned for, being in a relationship with George, but he thinks that he knew even in L.A., probably that very first night. He knew that they were opening a door to something he wanted to explore. And he also knew that George would stay hovering in the doorway, afraid to take that step inside.

He knew then. And now he’s paying the consequences of not heeding the warning signs.

“I was ready for it,” he answers. “But he means everything to me. If he doesn’t want that, then I will get over him. I’ll figure it out.”

Vi frowns at him. “That’s rough, dude.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, and he shrugs, glancing back outside.

George is looking back at him, a curious expression, maybe even concerned. Dream smiles back to reassure him that everything is okay, but George doesn’t look away, so Dream doesn’t either.

This is it. This is all they have now, just longing looks through double pane glass and memories that threaten to fade.

“It’s fine,” he tells Vi with a deep breath, and he tries to believe it himself.

–

When the girls have left, Dream joins Sapnap in cleaning up while George takes a call from Quackity upstairs. Dream would joke that he’s just trying to get out of cleaning, but his expression is actually surprisingly serious when he excuses himself, so Dream doesn’t tease him.

When they’re alone, Dream rinsing dishes to put into the dishwasher and Sapnap cleaning up trash, Dream asks, “How do you think it went? Did we scare her off?”

“No,” Sapnap answers, smiling. “But when she meets Karl, we’ll see.”

Karl. Dream gets a flash of him in L.A., his hands on George’s waist, and he has to push that down. It’s stupid and petty and George isn’t– he isn’t Dream’s. He never was.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to laugh, but it sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

Next to him, Sapnap stops what he’s doing and he leans back against the counter, chewing on his lips. Finally, he asks, “Dude, are you good?”

The question takes him by surprise. “Um, yeah,” he answers, feeling a bit like a kid who’s been caught in a lie. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” Sapnap sighs. “Like, things have felt kind of off lately. I’m just worried something is wrong. Like, remember when I told you George had been crying?”

Dream’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Did you ever talk to him and figure out what happened? Because he’s been weird lately. I’m just worried he’s, like, regretting moving here or something. Or maybe you two are annoyed with me or something, I don’t know.”

“Annoyed– what? Why would we be annoyed with you?”

Sapnap shrugs and says, “I have no idea, dude. I’m just trying to figure out why things have been weird.”

Honestly, Dream thought they’d been doing a decent job of acting normal. They’ve been working together, interacting on streams, talking over scrambled eggs in the mornings. The only thing that’s changed is that they no longer hang out alone, in private. Dream doesn't lay on George’s bed when he’s bored and George doesn’t sit in Dream’s office while he’s working.

He misses those things, but the lines have moved again and now he’s completely lost them. So he’s careful.

But apparently he hasn’t been doing a good enough job keeping up appearances because Sapnap has noticed the change. Dream was hoping he could spare him the awkwardness.

“I promise, it has nothing to do with you,” he says, only realizing when he’s said it, what a mistake he’s made. “I mean, I don’t know what it is, but it’s not– we’re not, like, secretly annoyed with you.”

Sapnap goes back to work, collecting trash and wiping counters. “Well, there’s something,” he says. “So if it’s not about me, it’s still on you to fix it.”

–

Dream can’t sleep that night. He thinks about texting George to see if he’s up, to ask if he wants to play chess or just talk. But Sapnap is sleeping at Bella’s and they’re alone together in the house, so he’s not sure if that’s allowed.

He just can’t get his head right. His whole body feels like it’s on fire with the need to see George, to touch him. To hold him.

He goes down to the kitchen and mixes a flavor packet into a bottle of water, spilling a bunch of the powder in the process. When he tries to brush it from the counter directly into the bottle, he drops it and light purple water floods the kitchen floor. Cursing, he grabs the closest kitchen towel he can find and he tries to stop the spread of water across the white tile.

At least it wasn’t one of the glass bottles, he thinks miserably as he tosses the sopping towel into the sink and grabs another one from the cupboard. He may be killing the earth, but at least he doesn’t have to clean up broken glass at four in the morning.

With the water all cleaned up, he slumps on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, and he closes his eyes. His mind goes graciously blank until Patches comes along and rubs against his hand, looking for a head scratch. He cracks his eyes open and grants it to her; even if he’s tired, he’s not a monster.

And then he hears approaching footsteps and he looks up to see George walking in, head tilting in confusion when he sees Dream on the floor.

“Are you okay? I heard you yell.”

Dream stares up at him, his heart aching, and he nods. “I spilled water.”

George, to Dream’s surprise, sits down across from him. “It smells like grape.”

“It was grape flavored water,” Dream explains.

George nods in understanding, tucking his knees up to his chest. “At what point does adding stuff to water make it not water anymore?” he asks. “Like, tea is just flavored water, right? And so is coffee. Technically, soda is mostly water, too, right? So what defines water, I guess?”

Dream stares at him and thinks, this is why I like you. This is why I can’t get enough of you. Stupid fucking questions on kitchen floors at four am; that’s what I want.

But it’s not all he wants, and that’s where the problem lies. He wants to crawl into George’s lap and kiss him. He wants to strip him naked and make a mess of him, right here, on cold, hard tile. He wants to hold his hand in the car and he doesn’t want to fall asleep alone anymore. He wants George next to him, warm and beautiful and his.

His stomach turns with how badly he wants it and how he can’t possibly have it.

“What were you and Vi talking about earlier?” George asks when Dream neglects to answer his water question. “It looked like you were talking about something serious.”

“What do you think?” Dream answers, incapable of coming up with a lie right now. He doesn’t even want to.

George twists his finger into the hem of his sweatpants. “Me?”

Dream nods, the weight of his fatigue heavy on his shoulders.

“What did she say?”

“She said— I don’t know, she said it sucks.”

Across from him, George snorts. “Well, she’s right about that.”

And that’s it. Between the fatigue and the late hour and George admitting that this sucks, Dream’s filter disappears. He reaches out to touch George’s bare ankle, fingers curling around it and thumb tracing the bone. George doesn’t pull away, but he freezes, defenses already going up.

“George, come on. We’re good together. Don’t you see that?”

Tension seeps into George’s face, sadness and fear meeting in his eyes, in the muscles around his eyes. “Dream, don’t.”

“No, listen— I know you said you needed time, but you have to see that. Right? That we’re good together?”

“We’re good as friends,” George says quietly. “And we’re good in bed. I don’t know if that’s enough.”

It hurts to hear it all over again, because Dream feels so sure of what he wants. George’s doubt feels like poison in his bloodstream, not quite lethal, but enough to make him feel sick.

“You said it means something to you,” he says, his fingers holding onto George’s ankle like he’s a fucking balloon, floating away, and if Dream can just hold on then maybe he won’t lose him. “Does it just not mean enough?”

“That’s— that’s not the problem,” George replies, his voice raising in pitch. “It’s not about how I feel about you, okay?”

Dream wants to ask, how do you feel about me? But he doesn’t. He’s not sure which answer would hurt more.

“Just trust me, okay?” George goes on. “It’s better like this for both of us.”

“It’s not,” Dream says, but George is already standing up.

Dream holds on to his ankle like a flimsy string, but his palms are sweaty and it’s slipping. “You should get some sleep,” George tells him.

And then he’s gone, Dream’s fingers falling away from his skin and landing on the cold tile.

He sits there for another hour before he finally takes himself to bed and, as the sun rises, spilling light into his room, he finally falls asleep.

–

It’s a week later when Dream is shaving after letting his stubble grow for a few days and George knocks on his bathroom door. It’s such a shock he nearly cuts himself, whipping around to see George standing at the door leading to his bedroom. They’ve been keeping their distance since things ended; George hasn’t stepped foot in Dream’s room since that night. And now he’s here and Dream’s face is covered in shaving cream.

“Hey,” he says dumbly.

George snickers, just a little bit, the tension still very much flooding the air between them. “Hey. Can I come in?”

Dream gestures for him to go ahead and he watches, stunned, as George jumps up onto his bathroom counter, sitting next to the sink. He must stand still too long, because George laughs at him again and reaches out, grabbing the razor from his hand.

“Come here,” he says, using his legs to pull Dream in front of him. He runs the razor under the stream of water flowing from the sink faucet and then looks at him, holding it up. “You trust me, right?”

With my life, Dream thinks. To the end of the world.

He steadies himself with a hand on either side of George’s thighs, letting his head be moved into position before George swipes the razor across his skin just under his jaw. It’s shockingly gentle, even more so than Dream would be himself. It’s slower, more calculated, and Dream’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“I don’t get how you do it,” George murmurs quietly as he continues to work, rinsing the blade between each pass.

“Do what?” Dream asks.

But George frowns and says, “Don’t talk. I don’t want to cut you.”

Dream opens his mouth to point out how unfair that is, like when the dentist asks you questions when their hands are inside your mouth. But he was told not to talk, so he snaps his mouth shut again and listens.

“I don’t get how you just let people in. After– after everything you’ve been through, you know? You’re still so, like, open to people. I don’t know how to be like that.”

Dream waits until George is rinsing the blade to answer this time. “With people? Or with me?”

George focuses on his neck next, cool metal carefully navigating around Dream’s Adam’s apple to remove the smattering of hair there. “Both, I guess. But I don’t care about letting other people in.”

But you care about letting me in, Dream fills in silently, staying as still as possible while George works.

“I’m sorry I got scared,” he says then.

Unable to move, Dream moves his hands from the counter to George’s thighs, squeezing them in what he hopes is a gesture that says that it’s okay. That he understands.

“I knew it was a bad idea, the whole friends with benefits thing,” he goes on, his voice still a low murmur. “I knew this would happen.”

Dream remembers the regret in George’s voice that night, when he’d said that this is what he was trying to avoid. It sounds different now, though, that regretful tone not quite so prominent. Dream has no idea what that means, but he keeps listening, silent, curious about what George has to say.

“Dream, I think you deserve better than me,” he says and when Dream tries to move his head, to argue, George holds him steady. “I said don’t move, idiot.”

Part of him wants to grab George’s wrist and pull the razor away, to make him listen to why he’s so fucking wrong, but George keeps talking and he misses his chance.

“I think you deserve someone who loves as easily as you do. Okay?” He has Dream’s chin in one hand while he rinses off the razor, then grabs a clean hand towel from the shelf next to them.

Dream lets George dampen part of the towel and wipe it over his freshly-shaved face before switching to the dry part, pressing soft cotton against his skin. He stands, holding George’s thighs, and lets it all happen, feeling like he’s about to lose him all over again.

But then George drops the towel and looks into his eyes, lifting his hands to cup Dream’s smooth jaw. “Is it okay if I don’t care if you deserve better? Can I just be selfish?”

Dream’s sinking heart jumps in his chest. He searches George’s eyes for a sign that he’s misunderstanding, and he comes up short. “You’re a dumbass,” he says, shaking his head, still trying to process this. “You’re literally so stupid, George, I swear to–”

He doesn’t finish, his words cut off when smiling lips press into his. And instantly, he has no idea what he was going to say. He truly couldn’t care less, not when George is kissing him again, finally, after too many days not kissing him. Every thought he had just slips away and all he knows is George, pulling him closer. George, sliding his hands into Dream’s hair. George, still smiling, like he feels some fraction of the happiness Dream feels.

“I want it to mean something,” George whispers, the words bookended with soft lips, a different kind of kiss than any they’ve had before.

Because it does mean something. This kiss isn’t the prelude to sex; it just is. And it’s perfect.

“George,” he breathes out, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

George smiles, biting the corner of his bottom lip. “I don’t promise to be perfect or whatever,” he answers, a flush creeping across his cheeks, “but that’s okay, right? I mean, you’re not perfect and I still–”

He stops short and the silence is filled with the heavy beat of Dream’s heart, echoing like a drum in his ears.

“You still?” he prompts, his throat dry.

George groans and tips forward against Dream, pressing his forehead to Dream’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I still, whatever,” he huffs, letting his head roll to the side, his lips grazing Dream’s neck.

Dream holds him, hopelessly infatuated with the emotionally stunted man in his arms. “I still want to be with you,” George finally says.

It’s not what he was going to say the first time, Dream knows. But he doesn’t call him out. There’s plenty of time for that later. For now, he doesn’t need big words or proclamations; he just needs this, the two of them, finally on the same page.

That’s where it really starts, he thinks. In his bathroom, with a freshly-shaved chin and his favorite person in his arms.

That’s where it starts for real.

–

“I missed you,” George tells him that night, their naked bodies slotting together under the blanket.

Dream cups his jaw, running his thumb over the apple of his cheek. He’s stunning, truly. It’s hard to believe that Dream gets to have this, that they’re each other’s.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Dream replies. “But I know what you mean. I’ve missed you too.”

“You know, I wanted this a long time ago,” George tells him quietly, like he’s suddenly gotten an urge to tell Dream his secrets. “Like, before L.A. I wanted it.”

“Yeah?” Dream asks, curious now. Because for him, L.A. was the spark that lit the fire. Looking back, it was probably hidden beneath the surface for a long time, like molten magma, but he never knew it was there. Not until he saw Karl all over him in person, right in front of him. “How long ago?”

George shrugs. “Long time. Like, before I moved here. Before– I don’t even know. It was like one day you were just my goofy teenage friend and then I blinked and you were this guy. And I just couldn’t get it out of my head. What it would be like.”

“This is very illuminating,” Dream murmurs, drawing his hand up George’s back. “Tell me more. What did you think about?”

“Stop fishing,” George tells him with an exaggerated eye roll.

Dream can’t believe there was ever a time when he didn’t want to kiss George every second, when a stupid eye roll wasn’t enough to make his heart flutter.

Tucking in closer, George presses his face into Dream’s neck. Dream kisses the side of his head and lets his gaze sweep down George’s shoulder to his back. He has three moles swooping down across his shoulder blade and Dream traces them with his fingertips. Someday, he decides, he will map out his whole body, learn every inch of him by heart.

“I was so hung up on you,” George says, his voice soft and muffled. Dream doesn’t ask him to speak up; he understands the trade-off, that this is George’s way of getting the words out at all. “But, like, I knew you weren’t. So I just– I just left it in London. I took it off the table. And then–”

“And then L.A. happened,” Dream supplies.

George squeezes him a little tighter. “L.A. happened.”

“But you didn’t want it to mean anything?”

Finally, George pulls away, scoffing, and he looks up into Dream’s eyes. “You idiot. Of course I wanted it to mean something. But I didn’t think it meant anything to you and, like, I had shut all of that down already. I was– I mean, I still am afraid, you know? Like, I’m worried it will end badly.”

Dream brushes his fingers through George’s hair. It’s one of his favorite things about him, his lovely, soft hair. His hair and his mouth. And his hands. And his laugh.

And his heart, so very guarded, yet so incredibly big. His heart is a fortress. Dream knows that he still has a lot to discover, but he thinks that he’s gotten past the first round of defenses. And for that, he’s grateful.

“You know I’m crazy about you, right?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Absolutely nuts.”

George snorts. “Deez nuts.”

Dream doesn’t even bother scolding him for ruining the moment. Because with George, this is what he’s signed up for. He’s signed up for deez nuts and your mom jokes and silly voices and all of the other idiocy that George brings with him.

Dream wants it all. The good, the bad, and the utterly stupid. He wants every last part of him.

–

In the morning, their phones lie uncharged and neglected on the nightstand while they sleep. The day ticks away and while Dream holds George against his chest, he dreams of that hotel room back in L.A., dreams that he’s there alone, sitting on the bed. He’s waiting for George to arrive in the dream. And he knows that he’s almost there. He’ll be knocking on the door so soon.

And then it happens. He hears the knock, but he’s afraid to move at first, afraid to get up and open the door.

Another knock. “Dream?”

He stands on shaky legs and walks to the door. With a deep breath he opens it and George is standing there, smiling.

“I came,” he says.

Dream-Dream says, “You also arrived.”

And then— then there’s another knock. Dream looks around, confused, because he’s already answered the door. He already has George. What else could he possibly need?

He’s torn from his dream when Sapnap screams at the top of his lungs, “What the fuck?”

Sapnap is in his room, standing in the doorway, and Dream sits up, his heart racing, shocked from the peace of his sleep to this. He really wishes he was at least wearing underwear.

Or that he hadn’t pushed the sheets off of him in his sleep.

“What are you doing in here, dude?” he yells, reaching for the sheet to cover his junk. Next to him, George covers his head with a pillow, grumbling about the noise.

“I’ve been calling you both all morning and I’ve been knocking for, like, a full minute,” Sapnap roars. “I couldn’t find— I was worried—”

As his brain catches up, Dream starts to understand. He can’t believe he was so deep in the dream, sleeping so peacefully that he didn’t wake up to the knocking. But it’s been a while since he slept well and, having George next to him, he’d finally been able to sleep soundly.

Sapnap’s eyes dance back and forth between the two of them, in their state of undress, and he puts his hands on his hips. “You two, put some clothes on and meet me in the living room. You have five minutes or I’m coming back with a bucket of water.”

With one last searing look, he leaves, closing the door behind him, and Dream drops back down onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, good, he’s gone,” George mumbles from underneath the pillow. “Back to sleep now.”

“No, idiot, we have to go talk to him,” Dream tells him, pulling the pillow away.

George squints with his face uncovered, bringing his hand to cover his eyes instead. “I’m your boyfriend now, shouldn’t I be, like, ‘babe’ or something instead of ‘idiot’?”

“Nah,” Dream says, dropping down to kiss his shoulder. “You’re still my idiot.”

From under his hand, George says, flatly, “L.”

Laughing, Dream shoves him gently and climbs out of bed to find some clothes. “Come on, babe, I’m pretty sure Sapnap was serious about the water and I don’t want my mattress getting all wet.”

George finally sits up, his eyes gleaming through his fatigue. “Yeah, that would be awful. And, like, it’s never happened before, right? It would be the very first time you—”

“Would you shut up?” Dream huffs. “Why did I agree to date you again?”

George swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Because I’m good in bed?”

“True,” Dream says, pulling on a pair of boxers. He turns to George and smiles; he can’t believe his luck. “There’s a little more to it,” he adds.

A lot more, actually. But they’ll get to that. In time.

When they’re finally dressed, they descend the stairs and find Sapnap waiting for them in the living room, sitting cross-legged on one of the armchairs. Dream drops onto the end of the couch, George sitting down next to him with a sigh, and they wait.

Sapnap eyes them curiously, a little smirk playing at his lips. “So,” he draws out, crossing his arms over his chest. “When did this start?”

Dream grins, breathing out a laugh, and he turns to look at George. His best friend. His boyfriend. His very favorite person.

“Well,” he says, and then looks back toward Sapnap, “it started in L.A.”