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Dream loves living with George. He loves being able to walk down the hall and knock on his door, knowing that he can get in touch with him day or night because he's right there. He loves that they're finally finally together, but when George goes to L.A. for a few weeks and they're back to phone calls and discord messages, he can't deny the nostalgia he feels.
It's not that he doesn't like being around him all the time, because he does. He just likes the pining feeling he gets when they're separated, that desperation that claws its way up from deep in his belly whenever they talk. He remembers that feeling when George was in London; it was uglier then, more brutal without an ending in sight. Now, it's bearable, knowing that they'll see each other again soon. Knowing that either of them could get on a plane at any moment and they could be together within a few hours.
When he steps back, he realizes that these thoughts are strange thoughts to have for someone who isn't actually a romantic partner, but their relationship has always been unique. It has always towed the line between friendship and romance, love and lust. Sometimes it swings a little bit further in one direction than the other, like Dream can feel it swinging now. It wouldn't be the first time he lost himself to his wants.
"Why are you being so quiet?" George asks, his tone accusing.
They've been on a call for a few hours, mostly editing and eating and, for a little bit, napping. Now Dream is lying on his bed, pining.
"I'm just thinking," he answers.
"Idiot," George replies like a reflex, no meaning behind the word. "What are you even thinking about?"
Dream hesitates, unsure if he should take the step that he wants to take tonight. But he decides that, if George doesn't want to go down that road with him again, he can always hang up. "Remember that call we had a couple weeks before you got your visa?"
There's only a brief pause to let Dream know that George knows what he's talking about. "Which call? We had, like, a million calls."
"George," Dream admonishes softly. "Come on, you know which call I'm talking about."
They'd had many close calls by that point, but this was the first time they actually followed through. It was the first time Dream got to hear what George sounds like when he's falling apart, when he's coming into his own fist.
“Oh,” George says, in an exaggerated knowing tone. “That call. I see.”
“I hate you,” Dream says.
“What about that call?” George asks. “Hmm? What about it?”
“It was… you know,” Dream says. “A call.”
“That it was. Indeed it was,” George says. “Is that all?”
“George!” Dream laughs. “I was just… reminiscing.”
“About that specific phone call?”
“Maybe,” Dream says. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
George’s voice drops a little lower. Dream isn’t sure if it’s on purpose or not, but it goes straight to his gut, and… other places. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s fine, Dream. Dreamington.”
“You’re dumb,” Dream says, soft and full of fondness.
“What else am I?” George asks.
“You’re… not here.”
“No, I’m not. How observant,” George says. “What else?”
“Annoying. Frustrating. Hot.”
George makes some kind of little sound of intrigue. “Am I now?”
“You’re also fishing for compliments.”
“I think you’re the one fishing for something,” George says.
He's not wrong. Dream didn't start this conversation with any real intentions, but it would be a lie to say he didn't want it to go anywhere.
"What if I am?"
George is quiet for a minute, just long enough that Dream starts to worry he's pushed too far. It's been a while since they've done this after all. Over the phone or otherwise. Maybe that's all behind them.
But then George says, "That call - that was all I could think about when I met you. Like, what you sounded like."
The sound that spills from Dream is embarrassingly high-pitched. "I was trying so hard not to think about it," he admits. "I didn't want people zooming in on my fucking boner in the meet up footage."
George laughs at that, but it does nothing to dispel the sexual tension building between them, across the distance. "You should have jerked off before I got there."
"Who says I didn't?"
"Oh," George breathes. "That's, um. That's interesting."
Dream bites down on his bottom lip. He can feel himself starting to get hard, reacting to the sound of George's voice and the topic of conversation. "When's the last time you jerked off?"
George scoffs. "None of your business. Wait, when did you?"
"Yesterday," Dream answers, seeing no reason to lie. "Tell me. Have you today?"
"No," George answers quickly. "I was - I was going to before bed."
Dream swallows, letting a hand drop to his pants, resting it next to the slight bulge there. "It's before bed now," he points out.
“Maybe it is…” George says. “Interesting.”
“Know what else is interesting?” Dream asks.
“What?”
“The way I can picture you in person when I listen to you this time.”
“That’s-” George fumbles a little, breath hitching. “That’s my - I should be saying that. Because I didn’t know what you looked like before. It’s different now.”
“Different like better or worse?” Dream asks.
“Better,” George says quickly.
Dream switches tactics. “What were you going to do before bed? Just like… pull up some porn?”
“Maybe,” George says. “Maybe just my imagination.”
“You fantasize about people?” Dream is intrigued, slightly wary with his heart on his sleeve, and… very turned on.
“Not really,” George says. “I just think about how things would feel if someone was doing them to me. Or if I was doing them to someone. It’s not like, porn fantasies. I don’t imagine a pizza guy. “
Dream laughs. “A pizza guy? What? What?”
“Yeah, like, you know, porn,” George argues. “What about you? What did you think about when - yesterday?”
Dream licks his lips. “Can I be honest?”
“Yeah.”
“You,” Dream says. “This.”
"Shut up," George replies immediately. "You're - stop trying to rizz me up."
"I'm serious," Dream insists. He can remember exactly what he thought about, images flying in and out of his mind until George showed up and just stayed. He got off thinking about doing this again, hearing George whining into the phone. "I literally thought about you."
"Well, that's dumb."
"That's dumb? What - why is it dumb?"
When George answers, he sounds flustered, and Dream can picture the flush spreading across his cheeks like a telltale sign. "It's just - you could think about anything. Anyone. Why me?"
"Why you?" Dream asks with a soft laugh, in disbelief that he could actually ask that. "Why not you? You're - you know I'm into you. You - you know, George."
"Sometimes," George says.
"Sometimes? You mean sometimes you don't know?"
"I don't know. You're, like, complicated. It's hard to tell sometimes."
This is news to Dream. The way he sees it, he's completely transparent in how bad he wants George. He has to cool himself down sometimes, to remind himself that George has never shown interest in - in more than a few hurried hookups. From his perspective, it's George who's complicated.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"Well, I'm into you, George," he says, resigning himself to worry about all of that later. "Like, stupidly into you. Like, my dick got hard as soon as I thought about that call. About - like, picturing what you looked like. And your voice."
George's breaths seem to be coming a little quicker, his excitement showing itself just enough to drive Dream wild. "It's funny. We've literally gotten off together IRL and you're thinking about the time we had phone sex."
"Because you're in fucking California," Dream points out. "I can't get my hands on you right now. But I can do this."
“I’m home in like three days,” George says. “You can get your hands on me then.”
“Do you not want to do this now?” Dream asks, an uncharacteristic thread of doubt creeping into his mind. “Would you rather wait?”
He might actually die if this conversation doesn’t go the way he thought. At least of embarrassment, if not literally. He’s sure their friendship will survive it if this is some kind of soft rejection, of phone sex or of the other things Dream is sure his lack of filter will reveal. He’d rather not test the theory, though.
“I didn’t say that,” George drawls. He’s so unserious about it that Dream relaxes immediately. “Just… I think maybe you should tell me what you’re going to do to me when I get there.”
“Oh,” Dream says. “Oh. I mean… okay. Yeah. First, I’m gonna kiss you.”
“Original,” George says.
“Classic,” Dream corrects.
“So you’re kissing me…”
“I’m kissing you,” Dream confirms. “And you’re so into it.”
“I’m not,” George says. “I’m bored.”
“Kissing is boring to you?”
“Talking about kissing is boring to me.”
“What should I talk about then?” Dream asks.
“Talk about sucking my dick.”
Dream’s hand is on his dick now, over his shorts. He rests his hand there and presses down with his palm, letting the pressure service in place of friction for now. “I’d get on my knees so fast for you.”
George grunts. He must already be touching himself.
“You know you’re the first blowjob I ever gave.”
“Only, right?” George asks.
He sounds so greedy that Dream is tempted to lie, but he can’t. “Yeah. Only.”
“Only dick that’s been in your mouth.”
“So far.”
George doesn’t seem to like that. He makes a sound that’s almost a growl in the back of his throat. The possessiveness of it is almost as hot as everything else they're doing. If only he would be that possessive after they've gotten off, when it means something beyond sex.
"You can't be like that," Dream says, even though he very much wants George to be like that. "You've sucked other dicks."
"Not the point," George dismisses. "Just - keep going. Tell me what you'll do on your knees."
Dream's hips twitch up into the press of his hand. Wanting more, he slips his fingers under the waistband of his shorts and tugs them down. When he wraps his hand around his dick properly, he sighs into the phone, eyes fluttering at the contact.
"I'm on my knees," he starts, getting back to the scene playing out in his head. "I'd be too greedy to go slow. I'd pull your dick out and get it in my mouth. I'd - I wanna taste you."
George's moan is so soft that Dream wouldn't hear it if he wasn't listening for every little sound. "You like how I taste?"
"Fuck," Dream groans, sure that the memory is so vivid that he can taste him now. "You taste so good, George. It's not fair."
"Where else would you taste me?"
"All over," Dream answers easily.
George's breath shudders. "Like, literally? Literally everywhere?"
Oh. He's talking about - holy shit.
"Everywhere," he confirms. "I'd lick between your toes if you wanted me to."
"Ew," George says. "You freak."
Dream smiles, rolling his head back as he strokes himself slowly. It's George's fault that he's a bit of a freak anyway. He's never been able to control himself when it came to George.
"George," he says, letting his eyes fall shut. "I would eat your ass so fucking good."
They’ve never done that. They’ve never talked about it, even, for all the jokes about George’s butt that the internet makes. He felt weird just asking, because… how do you even ask that?
Apparently he knows how now, though. “You’d let me?” he asks, when George doesn’t say anything.
“Yeah,” George says.
Dream is shocked at how frantic he sounds. He’s used to George being unflappable, always one step ahead, ready to make a joke. He forgot… this. This George, the way he was on the phone the first time, crumbling once he gets what he wants, not submissive but seeking. He’s unafraid in a way that doesn’t feel purposeful so much as just honest.
“I’d bend you over the bed,” Dream says. “And spread you open with my hands. I’d lick at your hole. I’d get my tongue as far in you as I could and fuck you with it. I’d stay down there for hours, George.”
The more he talks the harder he gets. He squeezes just around the tip and feels the precome smear against his palm.
“More,” George says. Dream can hear the sound of him jerking off now, in the spaces between his own words.
“Use my tongue to get you ready for my dick. And then - can I fuck you, George? Will you let me fuck you?”
They haven’t done that before, either. Just handjobs twice and the one exchange of blowjobs. George put him to shame there, but Dream doesn’t care. He’s not a man with too much ego to admit when someone is better than sucking dick.
Just means he needs practice. And if George doesn’t want him practicing on anyone else…
Dream groans.
“Yeah,” George says. “You can fuck me. I’ll let you fuck me.”
“Maybe I want you to fuck yourself on me,” Dream says. “What if I want you to do some of the work? What if I want you to bounce that ass on my dick?”
George whines. It’s a toe-curling sound.
It lights something up in Dream, hearing George give himself over like this, his walls coming down. And he has so many walls usually, so Dream knows how special this is. He wonders how many other people have heard him like this. He doesn't think too long about it, because it would drive him crazy to think about George doing this with someone else, being so vulnerable, but he hopes the list is short.
"Tell me," he pleads when George doesn't answer. "Would you ride me? Take what you wanted?"
"Dream," George says, and it sounds like yes.
Dream can feel sparks shooting through his veins, his hand moving quicker despite his desperation to make this last. He knows he can't. Not like this.
"You could, you know. You could just - just use me. Get yourself off on me. Or I could - if you want me to take over, I can do that too. Fuck you so hard you can't speak. There's - there's no way I don't want to fuck you."
"Oh my god," George whines, like he's almost crying. "I can't - I wanna know what you feel like so bad."
"Three days," Dream reminds him. "Just don't change your mind, okay? Please don't change your mind."
"You don't change your mind."
"I've never changed my mind about you, George. I've never not wanted you."
"Fuck," George moans. "I'm gonna come soon."
"Would you," Dream starts before his brain catches up to his mouth and stops him. He can't ask that, not yet.
"What? Would I what?" George asks, hurried.
Dream can feel his precome slicking his cock with each stroke and he knows that he's about to spill over the edge. "Would you show me after? Send me a picture of yourself all messy with come?"
George doesn't answer verbally. The sound that comes out of him is enough to set Dream on fire, but there are definitely no words in there. Still, he thinks that his question has landed well when he hears what he knows is the sound of George coming into his fist.
He wants to be there to see it. He needs to be there, he needs to see it. He doesn’t even realize he’s saying George’s name until he hears George say his name back.
“Dream,” he’s saying. “Dream, I came. I came for you, did you come yet?”
“No,” Dream says, though he’s so close he can feel it in his teeth, in the tension of his bones, in his balls.
“Check your messages, Dream,” George says.
Dream almost comes before he can actually get Snapchat open. But once he does there’s the shot - George with his shirt yanked up and white streaking up his stomach. He’s still holding his dick in the picture and his thumb is resting against the head, white bubbling up between the press of his fingertip and the tip of his dick.
He needs to taste it. His mouth is flooded with saliva just imagining it. He thinks of George coming in his mouth before, because Dream wanted to try it, and the way the taste was so thick it made his eyes water. He wasn’t sure he liked it then but right now it’s all he wants.
He comes with that desire spilling off his tongue. His orgasm feels like it lasts forever, his dick spitting everything it’s got until it’s splattered all over his chest. He’s not sure how there was even so much jizz inside him since he literally jerked off the day before.
The power of George, he thinks, and laughs.
“What?” George asks. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Dream says.
“Tell me.”
“No,” he says again. “I can’t believe you sent me a picture.”
“You asked,” George says. “You asked for a lot of things.”
Dream grabs his shirt and wipes himself down. He’ll shower later. “I did.”
“Do you still want them?” George asks.
It’s such a blunt, George way of handling it. But Dream knows him better than that. He can hear that note to George’s voice, that little bit of vulnerability that most people would need a magnifying glass to even begin to detect. But George is Dream’s favorite subject, so Dream knows.
“Yeah,” he says. “I do. Is that okay?”
"I'll be home soon," George says, that note of softness lingering in his voice. "We can do them then."
Dream nods to himself, relieved. But he's left things on the table before and not followed through for whatever reason: fear, mostly. Of losing George, or of the opposite. Having all of him in a way that scares the fuck out of Dream. He doesn't want to do that this time. He doesn't want to let months go by before the next time something like this happens.
"George," he says, feeling sleepy and sated and aching to be where George is. "I want to do all of that stuff, but I want more than that too."
George hums and says, "Like what?"
Dream doesn't even know what his answer is. He doesn't know what he's ready to sign himself up for exactly, except: "Just more. I just want more you. Is that - like, do you want that too?"
George laughs, a soft little drunk sounding laugh that spreads warmth through Dream's chest. "What does that mean, Dream? Like, more than just sex?"
"Yeah," Dream admits, pushing through his nerves. "Like, I don't want to just get off with you a couple times a year. I don't know what that would mean exactly, but-"
"Oh my god, Dream, shut up already," George says, but Dream can hear him smiling. "Fine, I'll date you. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
That vulnerability is back, that thread of doubt that only Dream can hear after so many years of listening to his voice. George is nervous too.
Dream smiles, the warmth in his chest radiating from him. "Yes, George," he answers. "That is exactly what I wanted to hear."