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They made it back to the small home within minutes, the horses in their wind blocking coats only briefly looked at before Ink was twisting and turning through the routes he’s learnt from Dream.
There was so much mystery to Ink. The hairstyle, for example, was one mystery. It was difficult to care for and, in technicalities, was a mullet. However, it hardly looked bad against the artist’s thin eyebrows and coaxing eyes.
“ Hold still .” Ink bothered, adjusting the taller one on the stool in his room.
The air was no longer thick with chemicals and the blinds had been opened, letting soft lighting fill the room. Ink’s eyes were a bright crystal blue.
“Okay, okay, I am.” He chuckled. He wasn’t sure how he agreed to being a model for Ink, the artist had a small sketchbook in his hand. In the other, he coughed into for a while, but hardly noticed as he stayed engrossed within his set up.
“You don’t have to rush.” Dream subtly suggests Ink take his time, however, mid cough, Ink speaks with his full chest.
“I don't want your aunt being upset, Sunshine.” The nickname made his heart hurt and body ache. The words weak and raspy made him clench his fist.
“She won’t be.” He insists, although she would be.
Dream’s entire family had an issue with lateness from the very moment he could remember. Whether it be stories about his ‘bastard’ of a father or his brother’s insistence in punctuality.
The whole irony of the matter was from the simple fact, they hardly were ever on time for things themselves.
But that wasn’t something to fret about. Dream wanted to spend time with Ink. He left for a moment, before being back three cups of water. One is placed next to the now-model, one was being used as a place to wash his brushes while the last one was for Ink himself.
He grinned, eyes glinting blue as light continued to stream into his room. Dream let him watch and enamour at the artist's hand as he sat himself up onto his bed. His sketchbook rested between his legs and he grabbed his paintbrush.
On his paint pallet, 3 colours rested. Yellow, red and white.
“Don’t you need more than that?” Dream asked, raising an eyebrow as Ink laughed.
“Art isn’t about accuracy.” He explained “it’s the human emotion that goes into it- an exploration of both imagination and intent.”
His paintbrush swirled around the pallet, like a ballet dancer, drifting across the stage. His hand held delicately onto the brush and far from the bristles at the end.
“Your brush, why do you hold it so far away?”
Ink shrugged “it feels comfortable” he explained. “And I get better, broader strokes.” He grinned and pressed his paintbrush to the page.
They sat there in silence, every so often, Ink would compliment a mole or his eyelashes. His skin, slightly dotted with red spots from the terrible showers they had at the coast.
Their voices were only quiet muttering and would grumble in frustration a few times if Dream would move too far to the left.
The artist stood to correct Dream but froze in place the moment he stood and held his chest. He made a terrible rasping noise before he began coughing violently.
Ink’s coughing fit didn’t stop. His legs buckled from under him, smudging yellow-gold over the sketchbook. His paintbrush clatters to the ground, leaving the same golden yellow along the wooden flooring.
“Ink?” Dream muttered calmly, before panicking and jumping up, pulling the artist to his chest. “Breathe, breathe.” He partly begged and mostly soothed, rubbing his back.
He didn’t know what to do or say, Ink was hardly breathing and instead was coughing up half a lung.
At the end of it, Ink had spat blood into his palm and he collapsed into Dream’s side. He heaved, eyes burning slightly, forcing his chest to rise.
“Are… Do you need your dad?” He mutters. He should have known to call Gaster in and bit his tongue in an attempt to scold himself.
Ink shakes his head, leaning into Dream further. “No.” He rasped, “water.” He gestured for the glass he had brought in with him just a few moments ago.
“Y-yeah, yeah I got you.” He nods, propping Ink against his bed and then grabbing his glass. Gently he kneels down next to him and the smaller weakly takes the glass.
He drinks with a wince.
The artist puts down his glass and leans back, looking at Dream. “Are- Are you okay? Do you need anything else?” The taller frowns, waiting to be told to do something, anything to help.
He watches Ink’s eyes. The gentle crystal blue eyes had turned a hazel green as the sun had long left the room and it was now firmly midday.
Whatever the reason was, Ink searched Dream’s eyes, lingered on his lips and then back to his eyes.
That was awfully familiar.
His ex-girlfriend, her name long forgotten, had done this and sighed her wishes for a kiss. Dream looked at the closed door of Ink’s room.
It couldn’t hurt.
Ink brought a hand to his shirt and Dream kissed him. The artist had soft lips although chapped from biting and picking at the skin. The water he just had was over his bottom lip, smearing the one above as he had pursued them.
It didn’t feel wrong, but Ink’s audible draw of breath was what tore himself away. It was like tearing cardboard apart.
“I’m- I’m so, oh Ink, I’m so sorry.” He begged, red in the face. However in return, the artist clutched his shirt and pulled him closer.
“Do it again.” He demands.
“Are- are you sure?”
“Sunshine, please.” So Dream complied.
Ink’s hands were strong, keeping Dream to him as the taller began to kiss further into the other. He pressed his back against his bed frame, taking Dream with him with ease.
He turned his head to the side just to cough for a few moments. The taller held the artist’s back, feeling the soft rattling of his lungs and he waited for it to pass. As Ink took in some deep breaths, Dream frowned. “I know you want to- uh.. you know, but-“
The smaller shuts him up by putting a finger on his lips. “Please let me have this.” Ink speaks below him, smiling softly. It’s gentle and not his usual expression. In some odd way, he looked distant and yet completely encompassed by the moment… enchanted.
Dream wanted to argue and to tell Ink to take a break, yet the gentle pleading and simple demands kept him from doing so. “Okay.” He warbled, letting Ink carefully guide his chin back over.
The taller could feel Ink’s hand coil around the back of his neck and the sensation was chilling. He shivered, melting from the attention.
He begins to lose track of time and moment hardly matters as the actions between them slowly become more active. Ink’s hands begin to trail up Dream’s stomach and he just about loses it.
A chill crawls up his skin from how gentle Ink is being and, besides himself, he trails kisses along the artist’s neck. Peppering him with soft and loving gestures.
The artist pinches him and on instinct, Dream reacts audibly. “Ah!” Then he bit his tongue, glaring at the smaller boy. “Seriously?” He whined, but smiled at Ink’s uncontrollable laughter.
“Sorry, sorry!” He snorted, “I just really had to!” He justified and Dream rolled his eyes, his hands holding Ink’s waist. He pressed his forehead against the artist’s shoulder and sighed.
He relaxed into Ink’s gentle hands, rubbing circles into his stomach.Dream let his mind wander as he closed his eyes. Ink’s frame was smaller, his bones were much more prominent and he was overall colder in body heat.
But, his eyes glowed with ambition and his hands soft yet all the while strong. They were snowy white, covered in yellow paints and likely were smearing colour along his skin. He continues to smile, grinning to himself as he returns to kissing Ink’s neck.
Ink continues giggling beside his ear. He could feel the short and tender breaths as well as he planted kisses along the curve of his friend’s neck. He could feel the murmurings of the artist against his lips as he pressed against his throat. It was only after a moment of fixation did he hear Ink speak.
“You focusing, Dreamster?” The words said echo through his mind and within moments he's sitting up looking away to hide his burning cheeks.
Ink had his usual smile, bright and loving. The fire behind his eyes, the sharpness to his teeth. “No…” He muttered, his breathing becoming laboured as Ink draws a nail from the back of his neck into his hairline.
“I think you were.” Ink clearly teases, his nails carefully scratching into Dream’s scalp. He was sure if he shivered anymore, his friend would think he was cold.
“Oh, shut it.” The taller mutters, releasing a breath he was holding and then focuses on running his hands along Ink’s waist.
“You pinched me.” Dream grumbles, as if to justify getting lost along the artist’s neck.
“You didn’t seem bothered.” Ink responds proudly. “In fact, you keep staring at my hands.”
“You keep running your mouth.” Dream huffed and the smaller kissed his lips in return.
“What you going to do about it?” Ink grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. They appeared brown now, warm in the dark light.
Dream kissed his teeth, yet looked down at his own hands that were swirling circles onto Ink’s waist. They were an ugly dark colour compared to the clear complexion of his best friend.
He wondered briefly if Ink would judge his body by how his skin appears and how he seemed so different from the artist. He carefully lifted Ink’s shirt, just slightly until he could see the end of the smaller’s snail trail. His mind conflicting itself as he moved.
“I like you a lot, Ink.” Dream murmured, it was a selfish sentence despite its truth. He focused on Ink’s body, the sickly structure of the man and the addicting way the artist held him in return.
“I like you too, buttercup.” Ink whispered in return, “you know, I didn’t think we’d ever get this far.” He murmurs above Dream, continuing the volume that the taller held. “Honestly, I didn’t even think we’d get this close.”
Ink drew Dream’s head to look up by tenderly lifting his chin. “You’re the- first person I thought about like this… it’s strange.” He admitted, his eyes a simple brown, yet made gorgeous by the flakes of green twisted within.
Dream hummed, “I want to say the same.” He muttered, staring into the ever changing pupils of Ink’s own and the fascinating way he breathed so carefully. “I dated a girl, once… I didn’t like her much…”
“Then why’d you get with her?” Ink asks, his words so simple and without judgement.
He thought about it for a while, feeling the gentle care of Ink’s fingers, gliding along his jaw. “She asked me out, I was just… I couldn’t say ‘no’.”
Ink blinks, then he smiles, sitting up and kissing Dream’s lips. The taller focused on it, closing his eyes and losing his mind for a few moments. “Get me up on that bed, my ass hurts.” The artist states, using such vulgar language wakes Dream up once more.
“Yeah.” He smiles, adjusting himself before picking up his friend and gently putting his body onto the mattress. He sits on the edge of the bed and Ink takes his hands, dragging Dream down towards him. “Okay, okay, hold on!” He chuckles, having to adjust himself so he doesn’t fall off the bed.
“Hurry up!” Ink grins, not letting Dream go, but allowing the younger to shift. They both lay there, breathing carefully and enjoying each other’s presence.
They had adjusted themselves to where Ink could press his face against the crook of Dream neck and surround himself over the taller. In return, Dream held Ink’s hand and focused on the starry night sky, painted on the ceiling.
“I don’t want to sleep with you.” Ink states and the words turn Dream ice cold. He nods, listening to the smaller talk, feeling the way Ink’s hands softly rub his back. “I really like you, but… I’m too tired to do that.” He explains.
“Is it more than that?” Dream asks, insecurity bleeding into his words.
“No.” Ink states, simple and clear. “I’d love you to be with me…” He chews his words intently. “But I don’t know if I… ever want to.” Then he grins, looking towards Dream. “I’d actually prefer not to experience it… it just seems… wrong.”
The taller doesn’t know what to say, just watching Ink softly.
“You look confused.”
“I am, a bit.”
The words swirled in his mind, delicately taking his thoughts from one place to the other, insecurities pressing deep against him.
“Are you sure it’s not something else?” He asked.
“No.” Ink says, once more string and stern with his confidence. “I wouldn’t- Honey, I adore you, if I did do it one day in the future, I’d prefer it with you.”
Dream thought about it for a while. “Okay.” He nodded softly, looking back up to the stars. He was forgetting something, it tugged at the back of his mind and wormed its way into the moment. Then, once more he was distracted by it as Ink ran a finger down his neck.
“Why’re you teasing me?” He grumbles, side eyeing Ink who looked completely innocent.
“Something the matter?” He practically purred, sitting up slightly.
“Stop.” Dream huffed looking to where Ink was completely out of view. Then Ink bit him on the precious area between his shoulder and neck, sharp teeth and all. “Ow!” He whined, looking back at the artist with a frown.
Ink looked proud, a little worried as well, as if he were worried if he overstepped a boundary. It was a ridiculous expression. As if Ink could overstep.
Rolling his eyes, Dream sighed. “I don’t understand you. At all.” He mumbles.
“That’s fine.” Ink smiled, “I think you do.” He said, nuzzling into the taller’s neck.
Dream indulged in the moment, his thumb tracing patterns over the back of the artist’s hand. “I like your hands.”
“I noticed.” Ink mutters into the Dream’s neck. “It’s odd, Dreamboat.”
Dream clamped his mouth shut, feeling himself shrink within himself. Yeah, it was pretty weird. Ink sat up, his body on top of Dream. It was almost humiliating how he suddenly felt so warm.
Ink took his hands. “Why do you like mine anyways?” He asked with loving curiosity.
“I don’t know…” He mumbled, thinking back to watching his family make food, looking back on how the men who would come in and out of his life would always have harsh and rough callousness over them. His mother had sharp hands and sharp fingernails that stung his skin when he was hit. Nightmare’s hands were rough and he cut his nails to the nail bed.
“They’re just different.” He explains, watching Ink’s soft and pink-tinted, pale palms.
Ink snorts, grinning “give me more reasoning then that.” He demanded, clutching onto Dream’s fingers, pulling them closer to himself as he leaned over the taller.
Dream pulled his hand away and poked Ink’s side. “What more is there to explain?” He smiles, watching the other continue to avoid the hands poking at his side.
He begins to laugh, ticklish from the prodding. “Stop, stop! I mean!- Okay, stop!” Ink laughs, grabbing both of Dream's hands and pulls them off of him. “I mean, as in- what’s so different about my hands?” He asked directly.
Dream thought about it for a moment, “they’re soft.” He shrugs.
Ink thinks about it for a while, running his teeth along his lip in a smooth motion, picking off skin from where he could. “That’s it?”
The taller nods. “Yeah, that’s all.” He gently prys his hands away from Ink’s grasp. He’s allowed to do so, the artist moving ever so slightly to allow Dream to sit up.
“I like your eyes… and hair.” Ink said, his paint covered hands which had long since dried, come to play with his hair. The action would have been annoying if it were anyone else. The kids at his old school used to constantly touch and play with his hair and it frustrated him to no end. However, it didn’t matter so much when the artist did such a thing.
“My eyes?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “They’re brown.” He speaks with distaste.
“They turn gold in the sun.” What a thing to lie about. However, Ink seemed so earnest.
“And my hair?”
“It’s fascinating. I only met one person with curly hair before and he was much darker than you. His curls were tighter too.”
Dream started at the artist, then turned his head to the side as he looked into Ink’s own beautiful eyes. “Your eyes change colour.” He stated simply.
“They do, yeah.” The artist replied, clear in his response.
“I like it.” Dream said honestly.
Then he remembered what he had forgotten. It was like a bucket of cold water was thrown over him as he realised he was late to return to his aunts. He was so incredibly late.
He pulled away from Ink, cringing as he spoke. “I’ve got to go-“ he said, pulling his legs out from under Ink.
“Already?” He sounded miserable by the idea, staring at Dream from his bed.
Unfortunately, Ink took too long to follow and Dream didn’t have time to answer, he was already out of the door, fighting to put on his shoes and he made it towards his aunt's bungalow.
It was only when Dream returned home to Aunt Eve did he realise he acted inappropriately. His lips felt sore and chest lighter than ever.
His aunt had made beans on toast and he’s suddenly never been more grateful for a bland meal since Nightmare’s passing until today.
She had spent time in the back garden that day, clear by the collection of golden-yellow apples on the countertop. She didn’t even notice his absence and didn’t mention his slightly redder lips. He hoped she wouldn’t bring up how his day went.
They both ate in silence, like usual during tea time. Eve was never one for talking during supper- she had mentioned her father would keep a belt at the dinner table. Any time anyone spoke, they’d be whipped into silence.
Even passing the salt was denied words.
Laying in bed later that day did he finally be allowed to simmer in his thoughts. He looked into the popcorn ceiling and crossed his arms over his stomach.
Ink had been so demanding, grinning from ear to ear all while being compliant to the kissing they shared.
All he can think of is how Ink looked partially distant and almost beautifully blissful in some ways.
He turned over and put his pillow above his head. He was a queer, ‘batting for the other side’ as his mother would say. Not only did he kiss Dream, but was so incredibly indecent towards the attention.
Ink should hate him. No, Ink would hate him. His actions today were hardly legal and yet they upsettingly made him feel dizzyingly amazing.
His neck hurt. After a moment of delaying himself getting up to check, he lifted his head and placed it onto the pillow. Looking back at the crook of his neck, which was covered by the dark. He sat up, pressing his hand to the hollow. Bruised, maybe?
After a long moment of staring into nothing, he turned his legs off of the mattress and got himself out of bed. Dream turned on a light, only to find a slight mark on his skin.
He pulled and pushed at the area, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. Then he remembered Ink pressing his teeth against his shirt.
He sat back down on his bed, staring at his hands and feeling suddenly intensely warm. How was he supposed to sleep now?