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So apparently, it was not only Quarantine time, no, now it was officially Christmas time too.
Worse, George couldn’t visit his Family – after all, all flights to England were cancelled and his father was part of high-risk group.
Even worse, George did not, as he unfortunately had to discover again, live in a single-family home. George, much to his displeasure, lived in a student dorm.
And that would have been fine. Really, he was accustomed to sharing kitchen and bath with a roommate. He didn’t mind the weirdly strict American rules. Hell, he didn’t even mind the dean. As an exchange student he could not have been happier with his accommodation.
Except, one tiny, little thing.
The guy above him had a new roommate.
When Sapnap first moved in – all smiles and Texan dialect and the carefree look of someone who did not know how to turn on a stovetop – he seemed so nice.
So nice even that George dared to hope he would give his roommate something to do, y’know, other than to annoy George to death.
The one thing George did unfortunately not anticipate, was, that with Sapnap staying in the dorm over Christmas, his Christmas music stayed too.
“…And when you walk down the street…” George hummed the rest of the line, not yet having been forced to learn all of the text. His foot tapped against the leg of his chair, the pen in his hand against his notebook.
“…you know…” his head swung around, refusing to listen to all rational judgment. “…and everyone you meet…” Ooh, percussions, who could hold their shoulders still with a beat like that.
The notes in front of him sighed forgotten as George took a deep breath, getting ready, just a moment, and now with passion:
“Ho ho the mistletoe, hung where you can see…” Yes, gotta feel it, it’s what his grandpa said time of his life, “Somebody waits for you,” a hasty breath, “Kiss her once for meee.”
He pushed his chair back with his feet, sliding through the small room till he hit the wall, jumping up and around, ready for his big finale.
“Have a holly jolly Christmas, and in case you didn't heeear”
Arms, pen-chair-drums, dramatic turn.
“Oh, by golly, have a holly jolly Christmas, this year”
Dance break, the music, the piano, percussions, trickling dull through the ceiling.
“Oh, by golly, have a holly jolly Christmaaaaaaaas…………. this yeeeeeeear.”
Ok, jumping through his room should not make George feel this out of breath, he should really do some sports. At least he would sit still now.
So, chair back to his desk, plopping down on it and shifting till he was comfy, pen in his hand, textbook open and go!
Let’s go. C’mon. Write. It wasn’t that hard. He just had to start. On One, two…three.
Have a holly jolly Christmas…
It started again from above.
No, George threw his head into his hands, burying his ears in fingers, desperately trying to block the sound out.
But a holly jolly Christmas was not one track that let itself be blocked out. Through the thin ceiling George could barely hear any melody, but the beat hammered into his eardrums, and the voice had long since settled down in his brain, living there as rent free as George had at his parents’. And it was just as annoying.
I don't know if there'll be snow, but have a cup of cheer
Oh, for fucks sake, what even were those words?! Why did the guy talk that weird? Had he just been lucky enough to not meet any American speak so stupidly. Or was that just Sapnap’s special Texan culture, unique to that cursed hellhole.
Why did the words sound so…wide? As if the singer had a hot potato in his mouth that he didn’t dare to swallow. Who talked like that, that wasn’t normal! Sapnap didn’t talk like that. Not even Dream did, and Dream was truly the most annoying American he had ever met.
But it was a holly jolly Christmas, and a holly jolly Christmas demanded to be celebrated holly and jolly and fuck – he was going to kill Sapnap.
And oh, there went his pen, split in the middle, the spring hopping out of its case and flopping down onto his desk. Right onto the title George had previously written on the page. Only the title. Because that’s as far as he had gotten. The title for the page of notes about the chapter in his textbook he had to prepare a presentation about till fricking tomorrow.
George was fucked.
He couldn’t think of any better fitting words. No way would he be able to even think about comp sci if this stupid torture device was going round and round.
Violin now, how great.
Urgh, whose stupid idea was it to pair country with Christmas music. Fucking ass stupid shit crap damn motherfucking holly jolly christm- no!
This had to stop. Right this fuckin second.
So George grabbed barely his phone, missed his key but didn’t come back for it, ripped the door open and stomped onto the hallway.
He knew exactly which apartment he had to go to. It was the same one he had to haunt at least twice a month for the last semester, thanks to a certain idiot. At least mentioned idiot didn’t have his room directly above George.
No time to wait for the elevator, the stairway was closer anyway, and subsequent it happened that five minutes later, a very angry George knocked aggressively on the door of apartment 205.
The music was even louder here, guitar really coming through with its country-ness. George wanted to gag.
His hand was getting kinda tired, after 3 consecutive minutes of knocking. But thanks to the fact that the song had started twice anew in these 3 minutes, it did not get any weaker, or less angry.
Actually, that could nearly count as a damn workout, now that George thought about it.
Right when the song went into round four, and George for that matter steeled his knuckles for an extra heavy banging, the door vanished.
That his hand met nothingness made George angrier, but the cherry on top of his huge ass sundae of suckiness was the face staring back at him.
It wasn’t Sapnap, a mildly (mildly!) rational human being that George could scream at and hope his message was understood, no, it was the devil himself. Dream.
Dream with his dirty blonde hair that looked absolutely like a rat’s nest, and a stupid probably green sweater, though George couldn’t be too sure.
Breathe, George, breathe. You’re on a mission.
“Dream,” he snarled, trying hard to contain the scream that dared to escape, and instead dragged the vowels out.
“George…”
No. No, absolutely not. No fucking way. Dream did not get to be that smug and smiley and smug. Oh, George would make him regret that!
So he pushed Dream out of the entryway, striding into the living room, his anger still written on his face.
“Ouch!” Dream said. He rubbed his arm where George had pushed him and let the door fall closed with a heavy bang. Yeah, no one here cared for calm in the slightest.
George looked frantically around the living room, searching. Where the fuck was he? The first door to the left, the only one that was closed, that’s where the crime was committed.
Neither the various knickknacks on the floor nor the couch were safe from his wrath. Without much ado he climbed over the sofa, too caught up to walk the longer way around it, trampling over clothes, some pieces of paper and possibly a small plant – but that was just Dream fault, who hadn’t bothered to keep his flat clean. Stupid idiot.
Though not as stupid as Sapnap, whose door was now subjected to George’s boiling anger as well.
Because, even if it might have been locked, no door was safe in matters like this – as they said, all was fair in love and war.
George did not bang on the door, he punched it. Time and time again, till it rattled, and he only stopped once he realized something horrendous – he hit the door to the beat.
Holly jolly Christmas this year, fuckwad.
Defeated but passionate George turned back to Dream, and immediately felt the need to rage again.
Dream chuckled.
“Oh my god, what is even going on…?” He held his fucking stomach, curling over from laughing. Wheezing his fucking wheeze, making George’s blood boil.
“Make. It. Fucking. Stop!” George tried his best to make his voice low and threatening, but Dream only laughed harder.
“If only you could-“ he spluttered between wheezes, “see your face-“ his face was already going red, “you’re like a little bunny whose paw got stepped on.”
Breathe George, he is not worth it. Composure, dignity, don’t you lose even more of it.
“You’re so angry, it’s so cute!” The lilt in his voice at the word cute made George want to stuff Dream’s mouth with his fist. “Aw, angy smol Georgie.”
And that was it. Names on the Kill List: Two. Sapnap was going to die slowly, tortured just as long as he did to George. But Dream, Dream’s death would be quick and brutal.
George set one foot in front of the other, slowly stepping towards Dream, who was hoarse from laughing by now.
“What is going on with him, why won’t he stop?” Yeah, that wasn’t very composed, that was decidedly desperate and audible on the edge of insanity.
And Dream, well, Dream probably already was insane. He had to be with the way he’d drive George crazy three times a week, with his stomping, his screaming at 5 AM on precisely the days George had to get up early.
Dream was despicable in everything he did. He was infuriating and so, so loud. How people could be so obnoxiously loud, George did not know. And how a little noise could make him that angry, George was scared to find out.
Maybe its climax came when, well, Dream started to do another thing very audibly, and George was left to eavesdrop whether a…second…voice was involved. No George, bad thought, back to the matter on hand. At least that had gotten better when Sapnap moved in.
Sapnap brought his thoughts where they were needed most now: back to the horrible torture he was forced to endure for well over three hours now.
“It’s been so long, Dream. What is he even doing?” He could guess how flabbergasted he must look right now.
Dream looked somewhere between smug, overwhelmed and just desensitized. Of course. What else could he be feeling in this situation?
“He’s studying for an important test, and misses his family, I guess,” Dream finally said with a shrug and his voice sounded exactly the way his expression looked.
“Studying?!” Ok, that was too loud, “Studying,” Yeah, that was a better volume, “He can study with this bullshit on?”
“Nah,” Dream drawled his vowels a bit too close to the way the singer did, and it made George’s brain glitch. “He says he has to have it on.”
“To concentrate,” he added after he saw George’s expression. By now, George was pretty sure, his right eyelid twitched and the only thing holding his brain together was the single goal of making it stop.
“To concentrate?”
“To concentrate,” Dream nodded.
George sighed. Deeply. Then he sighed again just for good measure and additionally chose to ignore the fact that Dream was approaching him slowly.
“Is he aware of the fact that it is 10 PM and I have to give a presentation tomorrow?”
“Oh Georgie,” urgh, smug wheezes, the nickname, George’s skin was getting so hot by now he was scared it would fall off. “You and I,” and this he whispered, just loud enough that they could barely hear it over the music, “We both know it’s your own fault you don’t have it done by now!”
George was almost, almost sorry for the small frog figurine that barely missed Dream’s cheek and shattered against the wall. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, just that it suddenly was in his hand, and the next second thrown in Dream’s direction.
“You little bastard!” Ohoho, this was getting interesting.
“What, Dreamie, starting to swear? Am I getting to you?”
“Getting to me? Fucking asshole, my fist will be getting to your face in about a second if you don’t cut the bullshit.”
“You’re a condescending asshole,” George spat as a retort, before scrambling around the sofa to search for more munition.
“Says the fuckwad who just comes stumbling into my apartment just because he has no time management skills.”
Dream swiftly avoided the packet of Oreos that came flying through the air.
“Your aim sucks, George. You fucking suck so bad, it’s ridiculous.”
“Godfuckingdamnit, Dream, how on earth do I deserve you. I’d rather live below a vent in which a raccoon died three years ago than you!” And that would’ve been a good blow if George hadn’t stumbled in exactly this moment and fell over as if someone shot him with a load of ketamine. Stupid ass feet, useless, fuck, fuck fuck fuck.
“You’re so stupid George!” Oh, that was closer than it was a minute ago, wasn’t it?
George tried to stand up with at least a sliver of dignity (hah, yeah, no, that was lost before he even came here) to see where Dream was standing now, but he barely was on his knees before a big hand grasped his wrist and pulled him up, just to push him away and restore about two feet of distance between them.
“Are you inferring I’m incompetent?”
“There’s nothing to infer when it’s in plain fucking sight. You come into my apartment, you annoy my roommate who has to concentrate, you annoy me, you throw stuff at me, and you can’t even do it right. I am,” and here Dream took a heavy breath, “convinced. Convinced you are the stupidest person alive.”
“I think you’ve forgot someone, looked into a mirror recently?”
“Oh my god, George, you are so fucking annoying. You annoy the hell out of me, and you don’t even make up for it. Why the fuck do I have to deal with you?!” And wow, that was a step closer, ugh, being angry made him so warm.
George suppressed a giggle.
“Make it up to you?” He intentionally tilted his voice higher, and cherished the way it made Dream twitch, “What, want a little kiss from me?”
Oh, Dream was so close to snapping. His chest expanded with every intake of breath, his face was red, and the look in his eyes might have killed him instantly, if not for the nagging, stupid, stupid desire to let this, whatever it was, explode into a thousand pieces.
“Hitting too close to home, huh?” He underlined it with a few kissy noises and the smuggest, dirtiest smirk he could muster, and then world was spinning and he was not facing the wall anymore, but pressed against it, and Dream was not two feet away, but none, and ouch, his back hurt, and actually his shoulder too, and that was when he realized that Dream had him pressed against the wall with one hand against his shoulder and the other next to his head.
“You,” a rattling exhale, “You stupid fucking- You are so infuriating. You are the most infuriating person ever, George.”
Ooh, drawing out his name, he could do that too.
“Oh no, what will you do, Dream?”
“You’re making me go crazy. You’re everywhere I go, and I can’t get rid of you, you just won’t leave me alone. And now, now you even invade my living room. I can’t fucking stand it!”
Dream couldn’t stand it!? What couldn’t he stand? George? But that wasn’t what he said, was it? Well, if George made Dream crazy, then Dream must’ve disintegrated every last bit of George’s mind ages ago. Whatever. It didn’t matter.
Fucking let it burn, asshole, what else was left to do then to fuel the fire.
“Oh yeah, and what will you do against it?”
George was half aware of the expression he made that moment. He could guess based on the flames that shot through his veins. Hotter, the longer Dream was pressed against him. Or the way his mind cared less and less about the 300th repetition of the song, and more about the beat, that was almost matched by his heartbeat by now.
And if he needed any other clue, it would’ve been the way Dream’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed George’s bait.
“George, you need to shut up. You need to shut up so bad!”
So the flames overtook him.
“Make me!”
One moment of silence. Breath, stutter, halt.
Two eyes, pupils blown wide, as if they had never possessed color. Brace, tension, grip.
Three impossibilities. Eyes sharpening, head forced against the wall, lips colliding.
Dream’s lips were slightly chapped and scratchy against his, but nothing compared to his teeth. They were sharp and dug into his bottom lip to pull on it, leaving it red and sensitive, before Dream let his rough tongue glide over it – just to nibble at it again.
George nearly wanted to feel betrayed, robbed of a cheesy smooch, but unfortunately, his body had a different opinion. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. This wasn’t planned. This was…
“Fuck-“ His voice was nothing but a soft breath, one that was now missing in his lungs, leaving him lightheaded. It spread from his chest into every piece of is body, every bone, every nerve, and god, Dream pressed closer.
So it was no fucking wonder that when Dream moved his hand from his shoulder to his waist, George’s knees wobbled.
Standing should not be that difficult. But desperate times called for desperate measures – and oh boy was George desperate - and so the nearest thing he could grab had to substitute as support. The nearest thing, that meant his arms around Dream’s neck – and George was grateful as fuck he couldn’t see Dream’s smug face at that.
The hand on his waist was everything but soft. Dream had him in a steel grip, and it hurt.
There was no escape. Not when Dream put his lips back on George and bit just a little harder than before and in the matter of two seconds, all of his blood was in two locations.
A quiet whine escaped him, unable to stay down and hidden and where George wanted it to be. It was out. Not coming back – back to where he could pretend that this was doing nothing for him, that this was still a joke, that he couldn’t feel himself getting hard for-
Dream pulled away. Why’d he pull away? The pressure on his lip vanished, leaving them cold and him hot, and everything burned, come back!
“Uh uh uh, that’s not what good boys do, chasing after me,” he chuckled, pulling his hand from George’s waist and reached up to cup George’s face, and George did not nuzzle into it, he did not, he did no- he was going crazy. “But you’re not good, aren’t you?”
There was a soft sheen on Dream’s lips. Not quite red, but on the cusp - and good fuck did George have to finish his task.
“You’re insufferably easy, Georgie, it’s embarrassing…”
George saw red. This was still Dream. The same asshole keeping him awake at night, such a jerk, such arrogance, stupidity, incompetence, annoying, so annoying.
He conjured up every piece of strength remaining in his limp body, and forced his hand up to Dream’s, gripping as hard as he could, harder, tighter, until Dream pulled a pained grimace. Ripping it away from his face, pulling and pushing and swirling and oh, oh wow, how easy it was to maneuver Dream once he got his leverage right.
Dream with his back against the wall? Yeah, that was a look. His green hoodie against the bright blue wallpaper made a nice contrast and he didn’t have to look Dream into the eyes to know how shocked he was.
Time to finish his task from earlier and shut this asshole up.
He didn’t get that far. Before George could even begin to lean in, Dream gripped his neck, pulled him closer and let them crash together.
Oh god, his brain must be fried from the constant high voltage shocks cursing though him.
Chapped lips, moving against the wounds made by Dream only a minute ago, and how on earth could a burn feel that good. God, they were so soft. So malleable.
Dream released a shaky breath, trying to catch some air but ultimately getting lost in the nonexistent space between them, instead left to share their air, stealing it directly out of George’s lungs. Jolly, that was not enough Oxygen.
It couldn’t matter less. Another kiss. And another one. George had to take everything he could. When else did he get to see Dream like this –
Hands roamed through his hair, pulling it, making George gasp with the sting. Fuck that!
– Free and unbound and willing to let it all go, and take George with him – with him, not battling going against him –
Bodies pressed against one another, following a strange beat without actually moving much. Not enough space in their heads to coordinate another thing. Just, being close, closer, skin pressed against skin, desire imploding in the lack of space between them.
– Not speaking up. No word, just rumbly, desperate sounds. Being so pliable.
Lips pushing against his. Heaving for a sliver of breath between movements. Nipping at each other’s mouths, no teeth this time, just- soft…warm…hungry…never- never enough.
Dream’s tongue slipped between his lips, licking cheekily against his, and that was it, that was all oxygen left in his lungs, he was going to faint if he didn’t pull away for breath now.
Well, pulling away was relative, the two inches barely counted, foreheads pressed against another, and still breathing each other’s air.
Now that George could look at Dream – all glassy eyes and swollen lips – his pride got the better of him. He did this. He made Dream look like that. Feisty, obnoxious, loud Dream. Hell yeah.
“Not so cocky now, huh, Dreamie. Cat got your tongue?”
He laughed curtly, mentally congratulating himself for that comeback. How the tables had turned. There, pressed against a rock and a hard place was just where George wanted him.
All Dream could do was take a deep breath. George chuckled, he knew he was breathtaking. The proof lay right in front of him.
And look how desperate Dream was. Reaching for him to come back, sliding his hands all over George’s back, his neck, his waist, his thighs-
The world shifted. Before George knew what was going on, he was up in the air, clasped in two, big, hands and slammed back against the wall – no floor contact.
Actually, he wasn’t even sure if he could reach the ground if he tried, but his head felt too dizzy to risk trying.
Ok, ok, Dream was strong. Really- really strong. Lifting-George-Up-strong. Holding-Him-Up-strong. With one hand. The other one- oh dear- he was fainting-
Dream laid his thumb against George’s bottom lip, way too soft considering the position they were in, and lifted George’s chin with his pointer and middle finger.
“George,” His voice was unrecognizable, too gravely, too raspy, too much, way too much, that was unfair. “You’re not the one in charge here.”
His voice cradled George like a spider web, sticky, gooey, entangling him from all sides and trapping him in the net his predator created. His predator – he gulped – Dream.
“In charge…” Fuck, he sounded so meek. Goddamn it Dream, unfair, unfair, fucking unfair, that was so unfa-
“It’s not you,” he shook head. The confidence leeched out of his voice and coated George’s body in sugar. Sticky, gooey, syrupy – like a fly caught in a Venus flytrap.
George shook his head, following Dream’s rhythm.
How were his eyes that captivating? Dream kept his head in a tight grip, but even if he didn’t, no chance George could’ve escaped his stare.
“George…”
“Hng, uh-uhn, no-“
“George.”
“No- ah- I won’t-“
“Who is in charge, George?”
Dream’s voice was as dark as his eyes, and it made his knees weak. Dream looked ready to crush him.
“I-“
“No, George. Go, say it.”
“I can’t-“
“Say it!”
Crush him between his two big, strong hands-
“Say it!”
“It’s-“a last whimper. His voice was barely a whisper when he continued “It’s you…you’re in charge.”
A mix of condescension and pride flashed in Dream’s eyes. He leaned closer, nuzzling into George’s neck. His breath flared against George’s pulse point, and the shiver it elicited was anything but dignified.
Dream’s laugh felt soft against his neck, too caught up with skin – and hunger – to put any real energy into it.
George couldn’t deny it, Dream had broken-
“You’re such a sub!” Soft words, whispered into his skin, their meaning concealed by soft lips and a streak of his tongue – but not lost to George.
This was not the first time George noticed that he was truly stubborn through and through. After all, he came up here, didn’t he?
George, with all his desires and discoveries, was not a sub. What really gnawed at his pride though was the way Dream said it. Arrogant, confident, certain in himself. It made George remember one important thing: if he had to go down, Dream would go down with him!
His teeth landed on Dream’s neck, somewhere between carotis and shoulder, and vanished into the skin. George bit down hard. He half expected to break skin, but apparently, skin wasn’t quite as easy to rip apart as he thought.
Still, Dream’s reaction was glorious. He had expected a variety of things – from screaming to letting George fall down completely. What he got was better.
Dream moaned. Breathy and loud and so not his usual voice. And in the matter of seconds George knew he would do everything to hear that noise again.
Still panting with an open mouth, Dream gripped George’s thigh harder. Was that what they called bruising? It had to be, considering George could barely take the intensity.
“You fucking brat,” Dream spat out, voice filled with poison, and god, George swallowed it willingly.
“You’re going to regret that.”
“Will I? You really think you have that much power over me?”
Hehe, yeah, he was so going to regret that.
“George…” Dream’s tongue grazed the spot behind his ear, before biting down below it. George bore his nails into Dream’s shoulder, crossing his legs harder behind Dream’s back.
He enunciated every word carefully, “I. Will. Make. You. Cry.”
And without a single doubt in his mind, but rage in his chest, George believed him.
George was pretty sure he usually was quite the smart guy. With a brain that worked? Being able to recall literally any information. Yeah, that quality was apparently something that horny George did not possess. Talking? How did talking work? His mouth had other uses.
Time to put them to those uses. He put his lips over Dream’s pulse point, reveling in the clean smell of fresh sweat and erratic breathing. God, that sounded so good.
Everything about Dream overwhelmed him in the best way possible. His body could not possibly contain this much feelings, and it did the one thing it could to alleviate it. His vision got blurry- no, not yet. Not fucking yet. Dream would have to fucking work for that.
“That a promise?”
“Oh Georgie,” Dream shook his head, “That’s a threat. You better get ready.”
And with that he grabbed George tighter, lifting him up and away from the wall and carried him through the living room.
Fucking goddamn it, no, fuck, fucking fricking stupid hell, George’s Brain screamed at him.
Dream- Dream carried him. As if he was no heavier than a basket full of laundry. Not even breathing heavier (though it was admittedly kinda hard to breath heavier than they already were.)
Dream’s thighs pushed against his crotch while walking, and it make George realize how stupidly aroused he was. Yeah, that was a full blown boner, that was not going away from alone anytime soon. Luckily, he suspected it wouldn’t have to.
Just, it made him slightly desperate to have some kind of stimulation, without Dream actually paying attention to him.
Carefully, as to not fall, he snaked one hand between his and Dream’s stomach. The waistband of his sweats were all too convenient, and he could feel how hard Dream was, surely a treat would make him pliable again.
But before his fingers could dip under the fabric, Dream growled, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Oh, dangerous.
“Why not, Dream? Scared you’ll come on the spot? How embarrassing!”
The shoulder below his hand tensed, shoulder blades rolling, and his annoyed deep breaths were audible, surprisingly loud over the percussions coming through the walls.
“I will shut you up!”
George felt Dream change positions, moving his leg, before he heard a loud crash and a door hit a wall.
Dream carried him through the doorframe, slamming the offending piece of wood closed behind them, and George’s back against it.
Goddamn, his back was gonna be so sore after this.
“As if I would ever obey you.”
“Oh, you don’t have a choice,” Dream roamed into his ear, “Be a brat all you want, but you can’t change the fact that brats have to be punished.”
He didn’t give a warning before letting go, resulting in George clutching at Dream for a few seconds and Dream forcefully pushing him down.
“Kneel.”
Oh, how bad he wanted to argue, to fight, to make Dream kneel before him, but they both knew it, didn’t they? That George had already lost? That he could barely look angry as he lowered himself on to his knees?
A self-satisfied grin settled on his face. He leaned down, letting their lips brush for a second before kissing his way up to George’s ear.
“Slap my thigh three times if you need to stop, ok?”
George hummed, turning his head over what was going to happen now. The door in the back, Dream in the front, and since apparently Dream’s bedroom was right next to Sapnap’s, the music was way amplified. Ok, kinda weird if he was honest, but it really didn’t matter. His senses were overloaded anyway. What more would a little Christmas music do?
George’s focus was turned back to Dream when he slipped down sweats to reveal what was very obvious before. Ok, Dream was big. That was fine. George wouldn’t be sore at all after this.
He prayed Dream couldn’t see the way his whole body twitched at the new sight. George was so fucked.
“C’mon George, take what you want.”
A considerably big part of his brain begged his muscles to lean forward, get his mouth on Dream’s cock and do anything, please, this was killing him. But his pride kept him from a great number of things, including this one. Eyes trained on Dream’s, far above him, George licked his lips and slowly, slowly shook his head.
Congratulations, he thought, you just signed your death sentence.
With a whump his head was back against the door, Dream’s thump pulling his bottom lip down, then forcing two fingers into his mouth.
Dream’s fingers alone were thick, his force ridiculously strong. And the way he pushed down on his tongue, collecting spit and simply toying with George made his mouth water.
He didn’t tell George to open up. Instead, he simply pulled his fingers back, laughing at the small whine, and pulled his boxers down.
Then, he leaned forward, pushing the tip of his cock against George’s lips.
It wasn’t a conscious choice to open them.
Dream’s cock lay heavy on his tongue, only an inch in his mouth but overwhelming every of George’s senses. The musky smell, the slightly salty taste, that George just knew would get so much stronger, and the feeling of soft skin on his lips. Yeah, ok, that wasn’t too bad.
Carefully, he stretched his tongue, licking the underside of the head. A moan from above rewarded him. Oh hell yeah! If he could get Dream to moan again, that wasn’t bad at all.
He knew from experience how sensitive the area around the slit could get, so he laid the flat of his tongue against it and pulled it upwards.
Dream’s hands shot into his hair, keeping his head locked and tight and fuck, ok, hair pulling, new kink on the list.
Even better though, Dream’s cock hardened further in his mouth. And while it had been big before, he was now unsure how the fuck this was supposed to fit down his throat.
He shouldn’t have worried. Dream had told him so, he didn’t have a choice, and he held his promise.
George noticed the shift immediately. First slow and passive, focused on the pleasure George would give him. Then impatient – taking.
Dream’s hands held George’s head securely. He caught his eyes to make sure it was fine, before slowly pushing more and more of his cock in.
Once it touched the back of George’s throat, about halfway in, and George began to gag, he stopped.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth now.”
And maybe this was the real breaking point. The moment in which Dream determined how far he could go, and George set his boundaries. A look straight into Dream’s eyes, a blink, then he swallowed around Dream, pulling him in deeper, and they were gone for.
Dream pulled out slowly, till only the very tip laid on George’s lips and they got smeared with pre-cum.
Sticky, gooey, salty. George was addicted to it.
Then he pushed forward, way faster than before, harder, demanding and George let his eyes fall closed.
He kneeled in Dream’s bedroom, caught between a door and a warm body, and let him take everything he wanted. It wasn’t George’s fault, it just felt too good. What was he supposed to do?
Dream’s cock hit the back of his throat faster now, harder, and he did his best not to gag. Though it was electrifying to notice that every time he did, Dream pulled his hair a little harder.
And while he was able to mostly suppress his gag reflex by concentrating, there was nothing he could do about the way his eyes started to go watery again. Not. Yet. George.
Just to test it, he hummed around Dream – and was rewarded with the same low moan as before. Fuck yeah.
God, he couldn’t stand this, he had to. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared back up at Dream.
His hair was messy, chest heaving erratically, and his stare was trained onto George. What was Dream thinking right now? What did he have to see in George to make him look so…wrecked?
Whatever it was, eye contact amplified it a thousand-fold. George felt it, his desperation creeping up on him and he knew Dream felt it too. In the way he pushed further, more noises, but foremost, he started talking.
A liturgy of praises and degradations alike rained down on George.
“You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty.”
“Look at you, taking me down your throat, I can see it bulging, it’s so filthy.”
“You’re so desperate, such a stupid sub, you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
George wanted to punch him, and at the same time, agree so hard. But he was gagged with a cock, and besides that pretty sure he forgot how to talk.
His view got blurry, and he wished he could sniff his nose, but breathing was too hard to concentrate on anything but pulling air in as controlled as possible.
With the next thrust, Dream buried himself completely in George’s throat, and stayed there. No space for airflow beside it. His esophagus closing around the cock, bulging out where it was stretched by it. His stuffed nose gave him the rest, no way of breathing now.
Not yet, George tried to tell himself. But on what he was waiting, he was not sure. It was a lost battle anyway. His vision got heavier, blurrier, eyes burning with the tension of keeping it back – before he just let it go.
The tears jumped down Georges cheeks, leaving their trails, clearing his vision to show him Dream’s awed expression. Once the dam was broken the tears didn’t stop. They fell to the ground, onto his jeans, on his shirt, all over his lower face – and onto Dream’s cock.
George tried to swallow in realization, but Dream grabbed his hair and pushed his head up the last bit to look George in the eyes. Bewilderment and desire were equally heavy in his eyes.
Dream took a hand away from his hair and laid it against his chin, stroking the tears away with his thumb. Then he moved it lower, and wrapped it slowly around George’s throat, right where it bulged.
“Fucking hell George, you should’ve come up to me way earlier. Just- god, if you could see yourself right now.”
Yeah, if George could see himself right now he’d probably straight up die. He felt utterly wrecked, getting worse with every second of his constricted airflow.
His cock was painfully hard by now, begging him to do something, anything, and his throat hurt from the stretch and the friction. Still, it only made him more aroused.
Being at Dream’s mercy like that. Dependent on whether he’d allow him to breathe again. With his mindset he wouldn’t even mind dying like this. It’d be a nice death.
Still, apparently air was something his body needed, and he was getting lightheaded. Unfortunately though, Dream did not seem to agree with that.
“What’s up George, needing to breathe?”
George tried to nod, but it got lost in his constriction. It was a rhetorical question anyways.
“Don’t cry,” he cooed, “You know how to stop this, just tap three times.”
Oh, screw him, no, dammit, he didn’t want to stop completely.
Though, if he was being really honest with himself, George wasn’t even sure he wanted Dream to stop what he was doing right now. Electrifying. That was the word he thought about before, wasn’t it.
“Guess you don’t need to breathe,” Dream shrugged. He pulled out just a tiny bit, by far not enough to let George breathe again, to push back in right away, establishing a quick rhythm of short, quick thrusts.
It made George’s head bump against the door, now that one of Dream’s hands lay against is throat.
Ok fuck, sitting upright suddenly became increasingly difficult, his head pounding and dizzy, throat aching. His gaze lost any kind of focus, and gradually, black spots started to form in front of his eyes, until his muscles started to go lax. No, he could be good for Dream, he could take it, it felt so good to just take it, until-
Until he noticed that this new rhythm wasn’t just any rhythm. It was the rhythm of the stupid song. He’d forgotten about that ages ago. Dream, apparently, had not.
With as much force as he could muster, George hit his thigh three times.
The sigh Dream let out was more than noticeable, but he stopped immediately.
“Fuck, George, you ok?”
Thank fuck, Dream had bent down to hold him up, otherwise George would’ve straight up fallen over now.
He nodded softly, reaching for his neck and holding onto it. God, it really hurt by now.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to choke you like that.” And wow, that was a lot of guilt in his voice. Nice to know, but not necessary.
When he talked, George surprised himself with how raspy he sounded.
“That’s not the problem,” he interrupted himself to cough, “shitty ass song.”
And hopefully that was enough for Dream to understand, cause it was all George was willing to admit.
Dream’s face broke into a wide smile. Then a laugh, turning into his stupid, but so familiar wheeze.
“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. George, you’re- Oh my god. Can I kiss you?”
“What a stupid ass question is that? We sucked face for forever ten minutes ago?!”
“I’ll take that as a yes, yes?”
George was tired of answering. Instead, he pulled Dream close and kissed him. It was a lot softer than before, a bit more careful, slower, but deep. George feared he’d lose his breath again.
Dream’s hands were all over him. Softly stroking his back, through his hair, over the paths his tears were constantly leaving on his face.
They separated just enough to lay their foreheads against each other, breathing in their presence, still connected by glistening strings of spit between their mouths.
When Dream pulled away, he was still smiling. Without further ado, he picked George up bridal style and carried him to the bed. Stupid strong Dream.
The sheets were soft and smelled like laundry detergent. It was quite the contrast to the way his back had been slammed against various surfaces, and he sighed as he melted into the mattress.
George really was braindead at this point. Just, he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. He just wanted, and he wanted so much. His entire body screamed after Dream, demanding him, feeling so hungry for his touch. So much, he couldn’t help but cry out. And who was he to deny his body.
“Dream, please…”
“You’re begging-“ Dream kneeled down onto the mattress, “You’re actually begging. Sobbing. And I didn’t even have to ask you.” He slowly began crawling towards George. “I can’t fucking believe it. You are a work of art George, and I feel like the artist. You’re-“ he grabbed George’s hips and pulled him down, so that they were on one level, “You’re- I don’t- I-“
It seemed Dream was just as much at a loss for words as George was. So he discarded his earlier thought, and instead kissed his way up George’s neck.
Yeah, ok, that was good, he could keep doing that. All those quiet, fine shocks tingling up George’s skin, small nips that made him remember how destroyed his lips were.
Small kisses transformed into little nibs and bites. Tomorrow, hickeys would bloom all over his neck, and if he wasn’t flushed before, George definitely was at the thought of that. Hickeys…bite marks…bruises. No one had ever marked him up like that before.
But Dream? Dream was keen on it. His teeth grabbed the skin right under his jawline, worrying it between them, soft enough to not really hurt – hard enough push George further, making his breath hitch and his eyelids flutter. The moan coming out of his mouth once Dream let his wet, warm tongue rasp over it didn’t even bother him anymore.
Dream let his tongue travel upwards. When he reached George’s cheek and licked over dried tears, George’s hips bucked.
When Dream finally straddled him and pushed down, there was nothing left to do but let his back arch up the way his body craved.
“George?”
“Hm- ung, fuck, yeah?”
“Imma make you come now,” Dream murmured the words against his lips, letting them get lost between moans.
Coming, George thought, was just as far away as it was inevitable. His body was torn by aching muscles, sore marks, and an overwhelming desire for something more he never felt before in his life. Strung tighter than a bow and melting into the mattress. George felt infinite. Falling down into the never ending darkness, forever – for as long as he couldn’t see the ground, it couldn’t hit him.
But George wasn’t alone in this. The desire ripping him apart was as much his as it was Dream’s, and Dream did not plan on letting him fall forever.
He grinded down one, two, three times, and George was gone.
He didn’t fault himself he was hard since Dream had pushed him against the wall the first time, his throat and lips still ached so sweet, and Dream was looking at him like a lion about to attack his prey.
The ground hit him harder than hoped, but just as ferocious as anticipated. Every single muscle in his body twitched, loaded with electricity it needed to discard of. For a moment, the world turned white and everything was bathed in blissful silence.
Even if his orgasm didn’t take him by surprise, it did make him lose the last semblance of dignity and control. He couldn’t help it. Dream’s name fell from his lips between drawn out moans, and if anything, the way he felt Dream twitch at it made him only come harder.
(The fact he was still wearing pants that were now sticky was something he realized only later, and it made him shake his head in desperation.)
Only when George came down he noticed that the blissful silence had shifted into something very loud, but equally garbled. Blood rushed in his ears, concealing each and every one of his thoughts and making him dizzy. He tried to say something, but all he could hear were non distinguishable mumbles.
Dream’s expression when he opened his eyes, was, for lack of a better word, pure awe. It made George want to please him at all costs. No matter his only just returning hearing, his shaking fingers, his near painful relaxation after too much tension, his task had not been finished yet.
“Dream, won’t you finish what you started?”
“You mean- yeah, yeah I want to,” his words came out scrambled, rushed, as if he was scared George would change his mind.
He moved up George’s body, till his crotch was over George’s face, and smirked down at him.
“Ready?”
George nodded.
“Rough?”
George could feel himself flush. Still, he nodded, and reveled in Dream’s satisfactions.
Dream gripped his hair, didn’t even say anything, just waited for George to open his mouth, and pushed back in.
Dream was sweatier now, and twitchier. As if he couldn’t keep his hips still. As if he didn’t even try to. Starting slow and deliberate, the pace sped up after not long.
He never let George choke like he did earlier, but he did push in completely every time, fast and hard and so full of desperation it leeched off onto George. Fuck, if he hadn’t come two minutes ago, he’d be hard again just by the way Dream looked at him.
Dream didn’t warn him before he came, but George knew anyway – by the way Dream twitched, head lolling back, clutching George’s hair.
And while the first spurt landed on George’s tongue, making him wince at the bitterness, Dream pulled out for the rest of his orgasm, painting George’s face in thick, white, sticky stripes.
The second stripe his nose and cheek, the third narrowly missed his eye, the fourth one clinged in heavy drops to his lips. It stuck to his skin, feeling just as weird on his face as on his tongue. And even though he was pretty sure he didn’t like the taste, Dream’s expression made him think that possibly, having his face painted like this was not terribly bad.
Still, his tongue was heavy, and the salty tang overpowering – at least as much as Dream’s stare was – so George forced his tongue against the roof of his mouth, emulating the natural swallow motion. It pushed the cum down his throat, not without irritating the sore membranes, but did not go down as easily as George had hoped. A fool he was, something that sticky couldn’t go down like water. He swallowed a second time, stronger, intently, till everything was discarded and his tongue was clean again.
He had half a mind showing his tongue off, like he sometimes saw in porn, but the heavy gasp he heard from above him told him his show had been more than satisfactory. Good for Dream. Still, the cum coating his cheeks was starting to dry, and felt weirder with every second.
George lifted a tired hand, touching a shaking finger to the mess and pulling it through the drips. Yeah, that felt as viciously viscous on his finger as it had on his tongue.
He was a mess. A bitten, sore, aching, tear-stained, cum-painted mess. Clean-up would be fun.
“Uh, fuck- Dream.” George exhaled sharply, only as salty as his afterglow let him be.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Dream said while grabbing the box of tissues from his nightstand, “But it complements your eyes.”
______
A week later, not a hell of a lot of things had changed, but some had. For example, Dream was still stomping above George twenty-four seven. But also, George wasn’t exactly angry about it if it meant he could go up, scream at him for being annoying, and then proceed to fuck the fuck out of him.
He hoped sincerely that at least Sapnap had been able to get a good grade, because George definitely hadn’t. At least he didn’t have a presentation to even hold, because, if he had to talk to his zoom meeting for half an hour with the voice Dream’s attack had left him with, he would’ve just straight up died from embarrassment.
There was just one thing that George hadn’t bargained on.
George was on his weekly grocery trip, something he generally tried to get over with as quickly as possible. He’d been searching for the milk for well over five minutes now, when suddenly some very familiar notes came out of the grocery store speakers.
For one second, his life flashed before his eyes, his mind going in override, before everything boiled down to one very specific thought: Dream.
And oh- oh no. No no no no no no no no no. He was fucked. He was so fucked. That couldn’t be. That was not possible. Fuck Pavlov and his dogs, fuck that stupid singer, fuck Sapnap, fuck Dream. No wait, not fuck Dream, that thought did not help his problem.
Fucking hell, he had a bone to pick with Sapnap.