Archive of Our Own

Five days. 

Five days is how long it takes. 

George battles with himself for, like, two entire hours, practically ripping himself clean in half over his body’s desire to text Dream and his brain screaming at him not to. 

It just— he thought it’d be easier. He thought things would be weird between him and Dream, at least for a little while after they— after George showed Dream his porn collection just because he asked, and then they literally jerked off together. If things had been weird — if they’d spent a few days afterward avoiding each other, making painfully awkward eye contact whenever they did accidentally end up in the kitchen at the same time — it would’ve practically ensured that George never spoke of it again. They’d eventually go back to normal and George would know, really know, that they can’t cross that line. That the one time they did was a mistake. None of this is worth losing their friendship over. 

But, things weren’t weird. Or awkward. And surprisingly enough, it’s all to Dream’s credit. It’s strange, because Dream is usually the one stressing about things, particularly when it comes to George. So for him to knock on George’s bedroom door the next morning and act as if the day before had never happened…

Well. It was unusual, to say the least. 

Needless to say, that’s what permitted George’s mind to wander into places he knew it shouldn’t be. What’s one more time? It’s not like it’ll ruin our friendship. If it didn’t the first time, what would make the next time any different? We’re stronger than that, anyway. I crossed an ocean to be here. 

That’s right about when the rational part of his brain usually kicks back in and tells him to stop being stupid. There’s no way something like this ends without someone getting scathed. 

It’s been five whole days of this back-and-forth with himself, which is how he ended up here: lying in bed booty-call o’clock debating his own mind like an idiot, and certainly feeling like one, too, with his powered-off phone clutched in his hand like a vice. 

He sighs, and it’s like his body expels the whole five days’ worth of built-up frustration through the single breath. For what it’s worth, he pretends for at least a few more seconds that he hasn’t already made the decision to send his friendship with Dream on a stroll through a minefield. The faux dignity only lasts for as long as it takes to turn on his phone and navigate to his texts with the man responsible for his dilemma. 

Really, though, is Dream the one responsible, or are they both equally at fault? 

No. They had been equally at fault, but now, it’s George whose thumb is hovering over the send button, not Dream’s. It’s George who’s about to trigger the timer on a bomb that together, he and Dream will either figure out how to dismantle, or suffer the wreckage of. 

He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating. He made up his mind days ago. Pretending he has even an ounce of self-control has only served to prolong the inevitable. 

George - 1:53 am

Hey. You up? 

He can’t tell if he’s hoping Dream answers or hoping he doesn’t. He tells himself that if Dream doesn’t answer tonight, then he’ll leave it alone forever. He believes himself, too. 

Dream - 1:54 am

yeah

what’s up

It doesn’t take him long to type out his response. He’s spent hours picturing how he’d initiate this conversation. He’d eventually decided that it’s best to just be straightforward; no nervous over-explaining, no beating around the bush… and just vague enough that he has plausible deniability should this all backfire. 

George - 1:54 am

Remember how I said it was your turn next time? 

His heart is in his throat and his breaths are shallow. He tosses his phone somewhere to the side because he thinks he might actually vomit if he watches those three little floating dots torment him while Dream is typing. It’s like he’s trying to— reverse psychology himself into believing that he isn’t actively breaking out into a sweat by pretending he won’t jump up like someone who’s just been defibrillated the second he hears his phone vibrate. 

As if on command somehow, his phone vibrates. Repeatedly. Rhythmically. 

He sits up in a frenzy, patting around his bed for his phone. He swears he feels his heart stop cold for a split-second when he sees that, yep, Dream is calling him.  

He swallows, hands shaking just slightly. “Hello?” 

“George,” Dream says immediately, sounding breathless and nervous and maybe even hopeful and— “are you… what are you talking about?” 

George closes his eyes. It’s hard to think over the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. He swallows again, hoping it helps steady his voice. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” The words suggest confidence, but really they’re a cop-out. He just can’t— he can’t say it. And he knows that Dream knows. 

There’s a shaky exhale on the other end of the line, a pause, and then the call disconnects. Even with the pure anxiety zipping through every inch of his body, he knows he doesn’t need to worry. Dream has never just hung up on him. At least not intentionally. He knows it means— 

It means Dream is coming to his room. 

On top of that, considering the fact that Dream immediately knew what George was referring to, the way he sounded on the phone, and the complete absence of any hesitation to come to George’s room, there isn’t a single trace of doubt or uncertainty in his mind that Dream wants this, too. And that— that empowers George. 

The soft knock on his bedroom door startles him a bit, despite his knowledge that it was coming. He hastily runs a hand through his fringe and then feels stupid about it, so he sits up and clears his throat. “Come in,” he calls out. 

Dream opens the door softly, just enough for him to slip inside and close it again. He laces his fingers together in front of himself and fiddles with them nervously. It takes him a moment to meet George’s eyes. 

When he does, it’s clear that he’s nervous, but his expression is open. His pupils are wide in the dimness of George’s bedroom, lit only by the lamp on his nightstand. The light is warm, accentuating the freckles on Dream’s face and the slight flush to his cheeks rather than washing him out. 

“Hi,” George says. 

“Hi.” 

At least George isn’t the only one who’s nervous. It’s weirdly reassuring that it’s like this for Dream, too. 

“You can— um. You can sit down, if you like.” 

“Okay,” Dream says. He takes soft steps as he walks toward George’s bed, like if he’s too loud he’ll pop the little bubble they’re in, where time has slowed down. He perches on the edge of the mattress and it’s so unnatural for them that it makes George laugh, and Dream whips his head over to him, scandalized. His expression quickly melts into something more familiar when he sees George’s smile. 

“What?” he asks, pretending to seem offended. 

“Get up here, idiot,” George says, giggling. “Why are you— you’re sitting so, like, timidly. Are you afraid the bed is going to break, or something?”  

Dream rolls his eyes and scoffs, all good-natured. He mumbles something under his breath as he shuffles up the bed, settling beside George so they’re both leaning against the pillows he’s got stacked against the wall at the head of the bed. There can’t be more than five inches of space between their thighs, and George swears he can feel Dream’s body heat radiating off of him.

“No,” Dream tells him, “I was just… I dunno.” He lifts one shoulder in a shy, half-hearted shrug. 

George looks down at his own hands in his lap. He’s not sure what to say to that. He gets what he means, on some basic level. This is… strange. 

“So…” he drawls, with absolutely no intention to say anything else. 

Dream falls right into his trap. “So,” he says. “You, uh—” he pauses then, and George can practically hear the gears turning over in his head as he carefully chooses the words he wants to say. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Were you serious about that? About—” he shifts awkwardly, “about me showing you my— um. The porn I watch?”

George feels his throat start to get tight, but he reminds himself that Dream isn’t trying to embarrass him. Dream’s the type of person who needs expectations laid out in front of him, needs things explicitly stated so that there isn’t any confusion. George can do that for him. He can and he will. 

“I— yes, I was serious. Am serious. But only if you are, too.” He tacks the last part on as a result of a brief surge of insecurity.

Dream scoffs, like he’s being absurd. “George— really?” 

He can feel the weight of Dream’s gaze on the side of his face, but even with the playful hint in his tone, he can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. 

“How could you— of course I’m serious. Are you kidding me? Last time was like— twenty-two-year-old-me’s wet dream. Fuck, I mean—” he cuts himself off then, cheeks darkening when he notices George staring at him in disbelief. His voice is softer when he speaks again, his amusement replaced with complete sincerity. “Yes, George, I’m serious about this.” 

“Dream, what did you mean by that?” 

“What? Nothing. Just forget about it. I’m—”

“No, Dream,” George interrupts him, trying to make himself sound firm. “Tell me what you meant. You said…”

Dream’s eyes roam over his face as he purposely trails off, like he’s searching for something hidden there. Whatever he’s looking for, George doesn’t know, but eventually he sighs and bites at the inside of his cheek, and that’s when George knows he’s won. 

“I mean, is it really that surprising?” Dream asks. A small, shy smile tugs at his lips, and he shrugs a shoulder listlessly. “Are you— like, do you even know what you look like?” 

George rolls his eyes reflexively. 

“I’m serious, George. You— you’re insanely attractive. There’s no way you haven’t heard that before.” He pauses, and George shifts under his gaze. “Anyway, I mean, you— I wouldn’t even be surprised if you’ve had someone tell you this before. That you were their— their gay awakening, or whatever.” 

Dream’s trying to keep things light, it’s obvious, but this is— this is news to George. This is… big, he decides. Meaningful. 

“Dream,” he breathes, slightly awed.

“It’s not— it’s not a big deal. It’s not a thing.” 

George doesn’t believe him, not for a second, but the look on his face is a clear signal that he wants to drop this. At least for now. It’s not what he came here for, George supposes, which is fair. 

“Okay,” he says. A beat passes. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Dream gives him another small smile. Then, a deep inhale, like he’s getting back to business. “Okay. So, just making sure, you want to do this? Like, what we did last time?” 

George swallows, nodding. “Yeah.” 

Dream mimics his nod. “Alright. Uh… do you just want me to, like, pull it up? On my phone, or something?” 

George’s tone is all sarcasm when he answers. “I don’t know, Dream. It’s your porn.” 

Dream looks at him, frozen for a second, and then he rolls his eyes. “Okay, I— whatever,” he mumbles, blushing. He reaches a hand into his pocket, presumably fishing for his phone, but stills once his fingers wrap around it. 

“I don’t— um. I don’t really have, like, very many videos saved. I mean, I have a few, but not—”

Dream cuts himself off, but George hears what he was going to say. But not nearly as many as you. That exciting kind of shame he’d felt last time they did this starts to trickle down the length of his spine. 

“Now that I’m about to say it out loud, I know this is so dumb of me, but I have— hold on, I’ll just show you.” 

Dream pulls his phone out of his pocket, and George tilts his head so he can see the screen. He watches as Dream unlocks it and navigates to— his fucking notes app. God, what a dumbass. 

He tells him that. “You’re a dumbass.” 

“I know! I know, okay?” Dream huffs, clearly embarrassed but still indulging George in their regular banter. “Whatever, I don’t even care. If I get hacked and the hacker leaks the… four porn links I copied and pasted into a locked note in my notes app, so be it.”

George huffs at him, and he’s aware that mumbling out an idiot is weak in comparison to his regular witty remarks, but he’s— he’s distracted. By the links in the note that Dream has unlocked. George is trying to read them, maybe get a hint of what they entail, but unluckily for him they seem pretty randomized and don’t include the title names of the videos. 

“Only four?” He can’t help but ask. It’s such a low number that he wonders, why save any videos at all? 

“Yeah,” Dream answers, shifting. “I like— I mean, I like… taking my time,” he explains. George suddenly has to swallow. “I kind of… browse, I guess. I don’t always watch them all the way through, but I— I start multiple videos. I’ll watch one until I get bored, and then click on another one and repeat the process until I find one that’s, um— one that I really like. I— I draw it out that way, I guess.” 

George swallows again. It takes him a moment to process all of that. 

So Dream… teases himself, essentially. Gets himself worked up until he— until he finds a video that’s good enough to make him cum. 

George hears how his next exhale shakes. He thinks Dream hears it, too. 

“So—” George clears his throat. “So what are the, uh, the four you have saved?” He tries to move as subtly as possible to hide the way he’s already starting to chub up in his shorts. 

“Well, uh,” Dream chuckles dryly. “Those are videos that I can never, like, go wrong with. For example, if I need to be fast, or whatever, then I’d— I’d watch one of these.”

Oh. Okay. So these videos are what gets Dream off every time. George’s heart is going kind of fast. Did the temperature in his room just go up? 

“I see,” he says. He throws his arms over his lap as casually as possible. “Go on, then.” 

“You want me to— right, okay. I’ll just— I’ll just play the first one, I guess. Here, hold on.”

Dream clicks on the first link in the note, and then rotates his phone to the side so the video will expand and take up the whole screen. He tilts it toward George so he can see, and it’s hard not to lean in a little closer — the screen is so small compared to his monitor, which they’d used last time, but George is hyper-aware of himself right now and lying in his bed rather than sitting in his office like last time is already so… different. It feels more, like, intimate somehow. And with just the lamp on his nightstand to provide any light, it’s almost like he was trying to set the mood, or something— 

His worries are cut off by the press of a button; Dream starts the video, and instantly it’s all George is able to focus on. 

The camera is focused on a man sitting on a chair, from the tops of his thighs to his shoulders. His hands are behind the chair, presumably tied together, and his cock is hard and flushed at the tip. There’s nothing notable about him; his cock looks to be a couple inches above the average size, and he has a nice body — toned, but not overly muscular. 

Just as George is finishing his assessment, a woman’s hand comes into frame. He knows it’s a woman’s hand because it’s small and soft-looking and her nails are long and painted a dark red. He feels a flash of disappointment, but he pushes it down and focuses on the way the woman in the video drags a single finger up the length of the man’s cock. 

It jumps under her touch, and George feels himself fill out a little further. 

Delicately, she wraps her hand around the base of his shaft and delivers a slow stroke up to the head and then back down. The man’s abdomen tenses as he groans and fights against his restraints, clearly already having been worked up before the video began. A bit of pre-cum leaks from his slit and beads prettily at the very tip of his cock. 

Dream releases an incredibly shaky breath, and George feels himself twitch against the material of his briefs. Slowly, and carefully, he turns his head the slightest bit further so he can look at Dream’s face without drawing attention to himself. 

His breath gets caught in his throat momentarily at the sight of him. Dream’s eyes are wide and wet, shining under the light of his phone screen as he watches the video. His bottom lip is drawn between his teeth and his chest rises and falls shallowly, slightly quicker than usual. George trails his gaze down the length of his body and sees that on the other side of him, the hand that isn’t holding his phone is fisted into the material of his shorts over his thigh, almost like he’s— like he’s trying not to touch himself. With the way the phone is angled, George can’t see his lap, but he’s fairly certain Dream is hard. 

A loud moan draws George’s attention back to the video, and he hears his own breath hitch when he sees both of the woman’s hands on the man’s cock; one holding the base, and one wrapped around the head, jerking him off in short, fast strokes on his most sensitive bits. The man’s thighs flex repeatedly, the muscles in his stomach jump with every strained moan he lets out, and his hips tilt back and forth like he can’t decide if he wants more or less of the woman’s touch. 

“Jesus,” George comments, unable to stop himself. His face had already felt warm, but he thinks he flushes an even deeper shade when he hears how breathless he sounds. 

Dream exhales audibly. “Yeah.” He sounds sort of distant, like he’s distracted. 

George is helpless but to look over at him again, a clawing urgency to see the look on Dream’s face taking over his mind and body. He doesn’t try to go undetected this time; he openly admires the display of sheer arousal on his features, feeling confident in a way he hadn’t last time. He feels more in-control this time, despite the way his cock strains against his shorts — there’s something powerful about this, like he’s seeing into a part of Dream’s brain that he’s never been given access to before. 

George swallows against the lingering nerves and insecurity. “You picture yourself as him?” 

The question seems to surprise Dream, or maybe remind him that he isn’t alone. He turns his head and meets George’s eyes, and it sends a hot spark of arousal throughout his torso. 

This is— they’re so much closer than they were last time. He can see the light reflecting in Dream’s eyes, and the way his blush accentuates the freckles that dot his face. His eyes look somewhat hazy and lidded, but his desire is wide-open within them. They’re like dark pools of curiosity that George wants to plunge himself into. 

Dream releases his bottom lip from between his teeth, and George’s eyes drop to it instinctively. It’s a darker shade of pink than normal from his biting, and it shines with his spit. George feels the sudden urge to lick it; maybe take it into his own mouth. 

“Yeah,” Dream tells him, voice soft with the confession. 

It takes all of George’s strength to pry his eyes away from Dream’s lips so he can meet his gaze again. His expression is nothing but open, behind the lust; George wants to stick his fingers into Dream’s skull and prod around in his brain. 

He ignores his heart pounding in his ears. “Have you ever— with someone?” 

Dream searches his face, becoming more alert as he processes the question. His throat bobs when he swallows. “You mean— have I ever had someone… do that to me?” 

George nods, ignoring the way his dick throbs at the phrasing. Have I ever had someone do that to me? George wants— he wants to do all kinds of things to Dream. He probably knew that before, but he never let himself acknowledge it. The realization is sudden and overwhelming. 

Dream glances at the video briefly, shaking his head when he looks back to him. “No,” he says. “No, I— no.” 

“Would you want to?” George asks, instantly and completely against his own will. “I mean— is that something you’d actually want to try? Or is it just, like—”

Dream cuts him off before he can finish. “Yes,” he answers, breathless, like he’s thought about this a million times before. “Yeah, I— it is. I mean, I’ve—”

He pauses, wincing like he isn’t sure if he should continue. George tries to look encouraging and inviting as he waits, but ultimately Dream still has to shy away from his gaze in order to speak. 

“I’ve tried to, like, do it myself, but it’s not— it’s not the same. I mean, not that I’d know, but from what I imagine, it’d be… different. More intense. With someone else.” 

George is so turned on that he can’t feel anything besides his cock throbbing in his briefs and his heartbeat thumping against his chest. He laces his fingers together on top of his stomach so he doesn’t mindlessly grip himself over his shorts to relieve some of the pressure. 

“Oh,” he says, embarrassingly weak. 

He realizes then that he’d tuned out the sounds coming from Dream’s phone, but only because they abruptly stop. He glances over at the screen and sees that the video has ended. Dream closes the tab, returning back to his notes app. 

“Should I…?” 

“Yeah,” George says, feeling his face heat up again — although at this point he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about his lack of subtlety. 

“Okay, I’ll just—”

Dream clicks on the second link in the note, below the one they’d just watched. It takes a second to load, and then the screen fills with the opening frame. George digs his nails into his hand momentarily where they’re still intertwined on his stomach. 

“It isn’t anything, like, crazy,” Dream needlessly explains. “It’s a compilation. You might find it boring, but— I dunno, it’s just…”

His words taper off as the video begins. There’s nothing that indicates right away what type of compilation this is, so George decides he’ll have to figure it out as they watch. There’s a man lying on a bed on his side, facing the camera. Everything from about mid-thigh upward is visible, including his face — he’s cute. He’s lean, George appraises, sliding his gaze down the length of the man’s torso and then landing on his dick — which is sheathed inside of a clear fleshlight. 

It doesn’t seem like a professional video — the camera is propped up right on the bed with him, and the audio is occasionally distorted by the sound of fabric rubbing against the microphone. It’s definitely homemade. 

He’s holding the fleshlight with both hands, fucking into it with long, gentle, evenly paced thrusts. With the angle of the camera, they’re able to see the vague outline of his cock sliding in and out of the toy, blurred by the silicone. It’s clear he’s already been going for a while, but that’s common with compilations, George has come to learn; the length of the individual videos are often cropped to capture the best part. 

He’s making all these sweet little noises, his bottom lip captured between his teeth the same way Dream had been doing. His face is so… expressive; his eyebrows are pinched and upturned, and his eyes flutter each time he sinks back into the toy, his mouth occasionally falling open around stuttered breaths. George can’t decide whether to watch his face or his cock. 

After about thirty seconds, his whimpers grow a little louder and his eyes fly open to look at the camera. His hips stutter, and he moans I’m gonna cum, but the pace of his hips doesn’t change. His breaths get heavier, and then he moans fuck, I’m cumming, while thrusting into the toy. He starts to pull his hips back again, but he barely makes it a few inches before his hips stutter and surge forward again, plunging himself as deep as he can inside of the toy. He moans and whimpers as his hips twitch repeatedly, filling the fleshlight with his cum. 

It’s rather soft compared to what George usually watches, but he can’t deny that the pure pleasure on the man’s face is doing something to him. 

Before he expects it, the video cuts to the next clip. This one is dark — he can’t make anything out beyond some faint shadows. Soft moans filter through the speakers, undoubtedly a woman’s, and they don’t sound fake and over-the-top like a lot of porn does. Between her moans she whines little things like please and I’m so close and feels so good, I need to cum. 

It isn’t something that would necessarily do it for George in regular circumstances. But these aren’t regular circumstances, and when he sneaks another glance over at Dream, he’s mesmerized by how intensely aroused Dream is just from listening to the sounds of someone else’s pleasure. 

George distantly registers the woman’s moans getting louder as she cums and then hears the video cut to the next clip, but he isn’t watching anymore. It’s funny, he thinks: it’s rather voyeuristic of Dream to enjoy a video like this so much, but George is just as bad, if not worse. If watching Dream watch someone else turns him on, what does that make him? 

He’s simultaneously hornier than he’s ever been in his entire life, and fascinated by the lust dripping from Dream’s features over a video like this one. He wants to know everything that’s running through his mind. He wants to know why this does it for him, if it’s a voyeurism thing or simply that he likes hearing someone else feel good, if he’s ever recorded a video like one of these— 

Dream clears his throat and looks at George. He averts his eyes, flames rising to his cheeks as he’s caught. He sees that the video has ended, but it doesn’t do much to soothe him. 

“Next one?” Dream asks, a little bolder this time, either not realizing George was staring at him or feeling kind enough not to mention it. His voice is rough and breathy and it makes George twitch hard in his shorts. He nods even though he’s starting to worry his dick might fall off if he doesn’t touch himself soon. Honestly, he has no question whether Dream would be okay with it or not, but he— he can’t ask. He can’t quite tell if it’s a shame thing or a pride thing. Probably a bit of both. 

Having been distracted by his ever-growing need, he misses Dream navigating back to the notes app, and the video is already playing when he finally looks over. The shot isn’t that far-off from the first video; a man sits on his knees in the middle of the frame, thighs spread just enough to see his semi-hard cock lying between them. The image cuts off just above his collarbones, concealing his identity and leaving everything else on display. He’s lean; his pale skin is unblemished, brushed with light shadows of muscle and sparse hair on his chest and under his navel. It trails down to his groin and spreads out over his thighs. His pubic hair is neatly trimmed, though he’s nowhere near bare, which George likes. 

He isn’t naive enough to deny the similarities between the man and himself. 

His breathing goes shallow again as he watches the man reach a hand behind himself, and although they can’t see what he’s doing, his cock is front-and-center and it jumps with whatever he’s doing. Fingering himself, George presumes.  

It doesn’t take long for the man to grow fully hard, and by the time he’s essentially riding his own fingers his cock is flushed red at the tip and glistening with pre. George’s eyes are drawn to it; he doesn’t understand how the man has enough self-restraint not to touch himself when he so clearly wants to. 

The man’s hand comes back in-view of the camera and then reaches for something behind it, and George watches as Dream squirms in anticipation. He still can’t see his lap, but he’d be shocked if there wasn’t a wet spot on the front of his shorts. It certainly feels like there’s one on his own.

Dream audibly exhales through his mouth when the dildo comes into sight. It looks like it’s made of silicone, the high-quality kind that has details like veins and small folds to feel like foreskin. It’s got a suction cup on the bottom, and the man seals it to the floor directly in front of himself, drizzling lube onto the tip and stroking it down the length. 

His cock bobs when he rises to his knees and shuffles forward, but he still doesn’t touch it. It’s almost impressive, George thinks: the man just fingered himself open and didn’t touch himself once, and George is barely holding on just from watching a bit of porn. 

He makes a lovely sound when he sinks down onto the dildo, guttural and deep and dripping in satisfaction. He doesn’t waste any time — he rotates between rolling his hips and grinding the toy into his prostate, and rising up and down on his knees to ride it. The noises he makes sound raw and wanton, a contrast to the controlled way he moves his body. 

He’s leaking pre — a drop of it falls from the ruddy head of his cock and lands in a little bead on the floor. George can’t tell the difference between his dick bobbing with his movements and it twitching with need. 

He starts bouncing on the dildo a little faster, dropping down with a bit more force as his hands begin to wander along his torso. It looks like he’s just doing what feels good for himself and not worrying about the camera sitting in front of him. With the hand holding his phone, Dream’s fingers start to tap along the edge of it with impatience, back to gnawing on his plush bottom lip when George looks to check. 

He soon understands that Dream has watched this video enough times to know the sequence of events, and that he’s been anticipating a particular moment. All of his fidgeting and squirming comes to a halt when the man in the video drops back down to grind on the dildo again, causing constant stimulation to his prostate. Slowly, his hands trail up his torso until they each find one of his nipples, and he rolls the buds between his fingertips unkindly until his back arches and his movements stutter. 

It’s then that George realizes the man is about to cum without having touched his dick once. He drops his hands to his sides and forms fists in the sheets until his knuckles go white. 

The man’s abdomen tenses as he rocks his hips harder. With another harsh pinch to his nipples, a groan rips its way from his chest and his cock twitches violently a couple of times before cum pulses out of it and splatters onto the floor in front of him. 

George feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. He almost can’t believe the man cums so much without touching himself once — it has to be one of the hottest things he’s ever seen in his life. 

“Holy shit,” he says. 

“I know,” Dream groans. 

“He came so much. Holy shit.” 

“I know.” 

They pause for a moment when the video comes to an end. There’s nothing to drown out the sounds of their heavy breathing. George presses his legs together to try and put some pressure on his dick — which is now so hard that it’s becoming, like, actually uncomfortable — but it doesn’t provide any relief. 

“Play the last one,” he demands, breathless. They need to get through this last video so he can finally jerk off, whether Dream stays here for it or not. 

Dream hesitates, only for a split-second, but George still catches it. 

“Okay,” he says. George brushes off his hesitation. His brain, like, isn’t functioning normally anymore. 

As soon as the video opens on the screen, it’s obvious why Dream had paused. If George thought the man in the previous video looked similar to him, he was in for a fucking surprise with this one. 

It starts with a couple making out on a bed. George is… sort of shocked by how much the actor looks like him. He isn’t clueless — he knows Dream thinks he’s attractive — but this is next-level. He might actually think it was creepy if he didn’t have a subsection in his own porn collection dedicated to videos of men with an undeniably similar build to Dream. 

The other actor in the video doesn’t look especially like Dream, but he’s proportionally bigger than the brunet, much like he and George are. The taller man guides the brunet onto his back, never breaking the kiss as his big hands roam up and down the expanse of his torso. Their difference in size is so dramatic that it almost looks like he could hold the brunet’s entire rib cage in his hands. 

Clearly, this is a professional, edited video, because they don’t do any prep on-camera. The taller man — the top, George now knows — pulls away from the brunet to sit up on his knees, guiding the smaller man’s legs apart so he can line his cock up to his rim. He pushes inside all in one go, and the bottom’s mouth drops open around a gasp as he’s held flush to the other man’s hips by the hands gripping his waist. 

The top pulls back out slowly, and then he slams back inside and knocks a loud moan from the brunet. Big, he whimpers, and that one word alone has Dream making a soft sound in his throat, likely accidentally. 

The taller man starts fucking the brunet with vigor. George thinks his dick is going to explode. 

He can’t help it. “Well, this was expected.” 

Dream’s head turns toward him quickly. He looks dazed. “What?” 

George shifts. “You. Having a size kink. Like, basically everyone knows by this point. You’re not subtle,” he teases. 

Dream huffs. “Shut up. Whatever.” Then, he tacks on, “I told you it wasn’t piss.” 

It surprises a laugh out of George, and it’s a nice reminder through the thickening tension that this is them. 

“I mean, you did cum the literal second I said you were big.” It’s meant to be teasing, it really is. The moment the words leave his mouth he knows it doesn’t sound that way. 

He isn’t disappointed, though. If Dream’s pupils weren’t already swallowing his irises whole, George is sure he would’ve seen them expand in real time. 

“George,” he says. He might mean it as a warning, but if he does then it’s lost within the breath of air he pushes out with the word. 

He licks his lips, reveling in the way Dream tracks the movement. “What?” he asks. “You did.” 

He feels like he could be consumed by the look in Dream’s eyes alone. 

“George,” he repeats. 

Very slowly, almost like he’s trying not to spook a wounded animal, Dream finally moves his arm, never looking away from George’s face. And it’s reflexive, really. There’s no world where George doesn’t immediately stare down at Dream’s lap now that it’s uncovered. 

His next inhale takes effort. 

Dream is straining against his shorts, tenting he material obscenely, and just like George had thought, there’s a wet patch right where the head is. He literally starts salivating, like a dog with a fucking bone. Dream presses the power button on his phone, locking it, and consequently stopping the video. George wasn’t watching, anyway. 

Without meeting Dream’s gaze, he pulls the hem of his hoodie up a bit, revealing where he, too, presses hard against his shorts. 

Dream releases a breath so soft it almost sounds like a sigh. Feeling bold, George looks back up, blinking innocently when Dream tears his eyes away from his lap to meet his eyes again. 

“George,” he says again, urgency laced into his tone. 

“Dream,” George responds, and his voice is so gone that really, it’s more like he purrs. 

“I need— can I—”

Dream looks helpless, rubbing at his own thighs and pleading with George through his expression. 

“What, Dream?” he asks, just to be an ass. 

“I need to touch myself. I’m so— George, can I—”

“Are you asking me for permission?” he interrupts, emboldened by Dream’s desperation. 

Dream hesitates with his response, searching George’s expression. When he answers, it’s clear that he knows exactly what George was asking him. 

“Yes,” he whispers. 

George hums. “Okay. Go on, then.”

Dream’s hands find the waistband of his shorts instantly, fumbling to get them down around his thighs along with his underwear. His cock springs up and hits his stomach with an audible sound. 

“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping a hand around his shaft. “Thank you. Thank you.” 

The words send electricity coursing through George’s body. He likes having this kind of power; this kind of control. 

“George,” Dream pleads, his voice pitching up into a whine. He has to close his eyes for a moment. 

“Stop,” George instructs. Dream is obviously taken aback by the demand, and honestly, it’s a surprise to George, too. He hadn’t processed what he was about to say. 

“What? Did I do something—”

“Dream,” he says, with meaning. 

So, Dream stops. He stops moving, letting go of his cock despite the way it looks like it pains him to do so. He stops talking. He watches George, waiting. 

Even though he knows in his core that Dream won’t push him away, George’s heart still leaps up into his throat as he pushes himself up onto his knees. He positions himself at Dream’s side, knees barely grazing his hip. 

“What are you—”

George shushes him. He needs to say this now. “Dream. I want to touch you. Is that okay?” 

The outright admission stuns him for a moment and he just blinks up at George, but then he seemingly remembers he needs to provide an answer and does so by nodding enthusiastically. A small smile tugs at the corner of George’s mouth. 

“Yeah, you can— yes. Please.” 

George grins at his eagerness. “Okay. Are you ready?” 

“Please. George, I need—”

His sentence breaks off into a gasp when George wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, just holding him for a moment. He feels heavy in his hand, and much thicker than George is used to with his own dick. 

“God,” he remarks. “I wanted to blow you, but I dunno if you’d even fit in my mouth.” 

It’s like he’s being rewarded when Dream’s cock twitches in his hold. 

“Holy fuck, George.” 

“Yeah?” he teases, giving him a single, slow tug. “You know, I— never mind.” George cringes at himself, face burning with the almost-admission. He tries to distract Dream from his fuck-up by stroking him a few more times. Of course, he doesn’t let it go. 

“No, tell me.” 

His voice is strained and George takes that as a win. 

“No, it’s stupid.” 

“George,” he says, grabbing his wrist to make him pause. “C’mon. This is— you literally have my dick in your hand right now. Just tell me.” 

George scoffs. “Fine.” He squirms a little bit, feeling exposed despite being fully clothed. “I was just going to say that I, like, prepped. Not— not for this,” he gestures to the minimal space between them, “but I— um. I was going to get off earlier. With, like, toys. But I didn’t. So.”

Getting the words out makes him feel like he’s back in secondary trying to talk to his crush, though he supposes that telling his best friend that his asshole is clean and stretched probably measures out to the same level of excruciating that talking to his crush as a teenager was. 

“Oh,” Dream says, his grip on George’s wrist going slack. 

George bites at the inside of his cheek. 

“You want to…”

“I mean, we don’t have to,” George backtracks. “I was just saying.” 

“No, I—” Dream swallows, idly rubbing his thumb along the bone of George’s wrist. “I want to. God, are you kidding? Of course I want to. I just want to make sure that— that you want to. Like, actually want to.” 

“I do,” George confesses. “I’m the one who texted you.” 

“Well, yeah, but— that doesn’t automatically mean you want to have sex,” Dream quips. 

George rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’re an idiot. Are we doing this or not?” 

“Why’d you say that like we’re about to commit a crime together?” Dream is giggling, and George swats at him playfully. 

“Fine. Sorry, gosh. Are you going to put your dick in me, or not? Was that better?” 

George’s evil plan works, and Dream’s laughter dies down immediately. He clears his throat. “Uh, yes. Yeah. I am. I am going to do that, yes.” 

George giggles, pulling his hoodie over his head, shivering as his skin becomes exposed. “Hurry up, then. Chop chop,” he teases, poking a finger into Dream’s side. 

“So bossy,” Dream murmurs. George ignores it because he listens, sitting up and pulling his shirt off, and then sliding his pants the rest of the way down his legs. 

Dream is naked. Dream is naked, in George’s bed. Holy shit, he’s sexy. 

“You kinda have to take these off in order for me to…” Dream pulls the waistband of George’s shorts and lets it snap against his skin. Normally he’d continue the banter; George thinks Dream could get him to do anything he wanted, as long as he was naked when he asked. 

“Yeah,” he agrees distractedly, scrambling to rid himself of his clothes. 

He lies flat on his back when he’s successfully flung his clothes onto the floor, spreading his legs just enough to make room for Dream between them. He kind of thought he’d feel shy — not that he’s pictured this before, or anything — but when Dream settles into the space between his legs, the way he looks at him doesn’t even leave the tiniest bit of room for insecurity. His face is dripping with awe. 

“George,” he whispers, bringing his hand to his stomach. He places it right in the center, stretching his fingers wide. He covers so much of him, just with one hand. George’s prick throbs. 

“Dream,” he urges. 

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck, George. You’re so beautiful.” 

George has to close his eyes for a second. He can’t find the right words to respond with, so instead he reaches up to put his hand on the back of Dream’s neck and pull him down, tugging until their lips are pressed together and George’s fingers tangle in his hair. 

It’s heated instantly. Hungry. There’s no sweet, innocent first kiss — they’re all tongue and teeth and spit from the start and George wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He bends his legs and brings his knees toward his chest so Dream can slot against him, licking into his mouth and memorizing the shape of his teeth with his tongue. He’s ravenous, now, tightening his fingers in Dream’s hair with one hand and clawing at his shoulder with the other. Dream moans into his mouth and he wants to swallow the sound whole. 

“Lube,” Dream pants between kisses. 

“Fuck,” George groans, annoyed at the pause, regardless of its necessity. “Bedside drawer.” 

Dream fumbles with the drawer hastily, digging around in it until he finds what he’s looking for. 

The next few moments pass quickly. George thinks he might be delirious. Or, like, hallucinating. That thought dies instantly the second that Dream sinks a finger into him, testing the stretch — it feels so much better than it should. There’s no way a hallucination could manifest this sensation. 

“Dream,” he whines, impatient. 

Dream doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he pulls his finger out and lines the head of his lubed cock up to George’s rim, and fucking spears him open in the best way possible when he slowly pushes in. 

“Oh god,” he whimpers. “Oh god, oh god, fuck.”

Dream leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along every inch of George’s neck that he can reach. He bites, just once, and George groans. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls. “Are you sure you prepped well enough?” 

“Yes,” George answers truthfully. “You’re just— fucking massive.”

His voice sounds angry, and it makes Dream chuckle. 

“Almost there, baby. Just a bit more.” 

A few seconds later, Dream’s hips press into George’s, his cock buried all the way in his ass. George feels— he feels— 

“So full,” he groans, obscene. 

Dream’s forehead makes contact with his shoulder, a huff of air leaving him. 

“You’re, like— in my stomach,” George moans, feeling completely out of his mind. 

“Fuck,” Dream moans, humping into George. He doesn’t even think he means to do it. 

“Dream, give me more. I want more.”

Dream pulls out until just the tip of his cock is inside, and then he fucks back into George so hard that it moves him up the bed an inch. The sound he hears himself make can’t be human. 

“Yes,” he groans, reaching up to put his hands on the wall, pushing himself down onto Dream’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Dream pants, leaning back up onto his knees to look down at George. “Look at you,” he coos, gripping his hips and pulling him into each thrust. The flip in demeanour makes George’s stomach twist into a knot full of lust. “Taking me so well. So tight around me, like you were made to take my cock.” 

He shifts to change the angle just slightly, and suddenly he’s rubbing directly against George’s prostate every time he fucks into him, and his body absolutely lights up with the pleasure. 

“There,” he nearly yells. “Oh my god, Dream.”

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Do you feel me, baby?” Dream lays a palm flat on George’s stomach, like he had not long ago. “All the way in here?” 

Okay— the size kink was supposed to be Dream’s. But fuck, his cock throbs with the words. 

“Yes,” he whines. “So fucking deep, feels so fucking good.”

Dream makes an animalistic noise, and George immediately knows he’s going to cum. He looks up at him with alarm. 

“Dream, ‘m gonna cum. Please, don’t stop, I’m so close.”

The hand Dream has on his stomach slips down to wrap around his dick. He pulls at him in time with his thrusts, making George’s back arch away from the mattress. 

“Fuck. Look, baby. I cover so much of you.” 

Helpless, George looks down, and the sight of Dream’s hand covering more than half of his prick shoves him over the edge instantly. 

His vision whites out as he cums, registering nothing but the waves of pleasure shooting throughout his body. Dream works him through it, relentless as he fucks him and playing with his cock until he flinches and pushes him away. He slows, then, like he’s going to pull out, and George grabs his wrist to stop him, still trying to catch his breath. 

Dream looks at him questioningly. 

“In me,” he pants, making his eyes big the way he knows that Dream likes. 

“Fuck. Yeah. Okay.” 

Big hands wrap around his thighs as Dream’s pace picks back up. His curls hang in front of his face and his chest shines with a thin layer of sweat. George needs Dream to cum before he starts to get hard again. 

“C’mon, Dream. I want it. Cum in me so I can feel it.” 

Like he’s following a command, Dream groans deeply, pushing himself all the way into George and going still. He fucks him shallowly to ride out his orgasm, and George can’t really feel it aside from the warmth, but he likes knowing that he’s filling him up anyway. 

He pants as he comes down, his grip on George’s thighs loosening to rub them soothingly instead. 

“Holy shit,” Dream says. 

George giggles. “Agreed.” 

Like a gentleman, Dream volunteers to fetch cleanup supplies from the bathroom once he pulls out. He’s gentle and caring as he wipes George down, shooting him an apologetic look when he brushes over the sensitive areas. All in all, it takes maybe five minutes, but George feels so peaceful that he swears an hour could’ve passed already. 

He’s sleepy, and Dream pulling him into his warm body doesn’t help, but there’s a lingering thought itching to come out. 

He tilts his head where it’s resting on Dream’s chest, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Twenty-five-year-old-me felt the same, you know.” 

He feels Dream go still as he processes what he’s saying. George can’t suppress his smile. 

“George,” he whispers, sounding emotional. 

“You said it’s not a thing, but it is to me. It… means something. To me. I just wanted you to know.” 

Dream pulls him tighter against his body and kisses the crown of his head. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

George nuzzles his face into Dream’s chest. “You’re mine now. No more Tinder for you, sorry.” As silly as he’s being, there’s vulnerability there, too. 

“Wh— George!” Dream flicks his forehead, and it sends them both into a fit of laughter. When they eventually quiet down again, George apologizes by pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to placate Dream instantly.

That’ll be useful to know in the future, he thinks, smiling to himself.