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Autumn arrives with a gentle downpour that promises a stifling summer’s end. A lamp placed alongside the couch casts an arc of delicate gold in the blackness of the room. George, reclined in his seat and smiling, notes the tapping of Dream’s close steps until he is looming before him. George stares at the drink in Dream’s hand, then peers to his face.
“That for me?” he asks, raising a curious eyebrow.
Dream huffs in amusement, “Depends,” he plops himself by George’s side and dangles the cup by its rim, “I have to check with the third-party who’s so clearly around. Between you and me? He seems to be in desperate need of a pick-me-up.”
“Shut up,” George humorously rolls his eyes and extends an open palm towards Dream, signaling him to just hand over the beverage because he’ll be damned if this night of supposed relaxing is spoiled. A hearty laugh escapes Dream before he slides the solo into George’s hand, and if it weren’t for the soft darkness, perhaps the slight pink of his cheeks – emerging when George’s slender fingers curl around the red plastic – would’ve been apparent.
At one particular moment, throughout spirited conversings and annoyed looks, Dream’s eyes flicker down and trace the light spilling across George’s jaw and the bare, open expanse of his neck. His breath hitches at the rising thought of landing kisses on where the gold slices over creamy skin, of subtle yet exhilarating touches, of whispers laced with sweet declarations of affection.
Dream bites his tongue and recoils the effervescent heat in his stomach, threatening to rise and skitter through his ribs at the images he could make real, but doesn’t. His gaze shifts upward when George tilts his chin to take a sip from his drink, lamplight sharpening the hint of collarbones beneath the lose-scope of his long sleeve. The glow reflects and emphasizes a once transparent speckle. Dream catches the peculiar feature while failing to recognize his own lingering stare.
George takes notice of Dream’s fixed look and sets down his drink with a clunk. He tips his head coyly, “What is it?”
Dream’s gaze softens, and he doesn’t drop his eyes for a moment, “Hm?”
“You’re staring at me,” George voices, and Dream wants to believe a light blush settles on his cheeks.
Despite the meager sense of awkwardness that unsnarls in Dream’s chest, he can’t bring himself to look away from the definite yet unfamiliar detail, “Is that a freckle?”
George’s eyes flutter in surprise and golden-shadows turn them a shade of amber, “Oh…yeah,” he rotates his head for the elegant light to better display his skin, exposing his finest yet most concealed details all for Dream to see, to know, and to memorize, “I have a few freckles on my right cheek, but they’re faint. Barely noticeable unless you really pay attention.”
Trust me, Dream thinks, I am.
A flicker of boldness edges Dream forward to more clearly pore over the scattered dots, “I see,” he states.
“Mm,” George affirms and shifts in his seat. Dream watches as a glow emitted from behind traces George’s body, and with his heart thrumming a tender rhythm, something in him kindles with a mellow click.
Dream’s pulse rises as he leans forward and, with one swift slide, brushes his thumb over George’s fair freckles, “I never knew,” he says, voice falling to a gentle lull. George glances to the side to avert Dream’s gaze, but the dawning of rosiness under the light rippling across his skin give him away. Dream hangs still, fighting back the smile that wants to break out. He then glides his palm up to rest on George’s cheekbone, thumb continuing its gentle, sweeping motions, “it’s cute.”
And George, like habit, like instinct, leans into the warmth pressed onto his face and liquifies beneath it - as if it were the most pleasurable feeling. His large, dark eyes skitter back to meet Dream’s, “Thank you,” he softly speaks and smiles in a privated way Dream knows is only meant for him.
Something bright and blaring glows in Dream’s chest when golden slices flicker over the newfound freckles in quicksilver patterns. It makes him stupid, so goddamn stupid, and his lips touch George’s cheek.
George sways back in surprise, but not enough to oust the penchant hanging in their gleamed ambience. His breath is low and sound against Dream’s ear, almost shuddering, but Dream’s latent hand circles around George’s waist and settles on the small of his back, half to keep him steady and half to reel him in to kiss a different, lamp-lighted fleck.
Dream picks up a sedate giggle, and a grin instantaneously curves against George’s skin as his lips find another subtly gilt speck, another, and another, until his kisses are embossed with the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into one moment.
George’s freckles do not fall under the conventional description of constellations. They hold no vibrance nor twinkle, but in them lies a delicate and golden elegance that mirrors particles of dust enveloped in a ray of sunlight; they have Dream enraptured, dazzled, and completely infatuated.
He can feel the slow rise of George’s cheek as his lips tug upward, revealing the fervent truth that he’s allowing this. George likes the impassioned, light contingence that’s going to leave his skin tingling and burning.
A tingly thrill zips through Dream, and he can’t help his grin stretching wider – because despite this contact being simple and innocent, a rich flare seems to pulse through him, relieving whatever hesitance rested on his semblance.
Dream pulls away silently and meets with George’s doe-eyed and benign gaze; their eyes have a private conversation of their own before Dream mutters, sotto voce, “Thirteen.”
In a hushed tone, George responds, “What?”
Dream twists the hand lain upon George’s cheek to stroke the flushed feature with gentle knuckles; he feels George shudder in delight under his touch, “I’ve kissed thirteen of my freckles,” he clarifies while staring longingly at George, who’s swallowed in folds and curves of ember lamplight, with eyes reciprocating the compassion Dream imbued with thrilling contact.
God, Dream thinks while reveling in the sight of amorous pupils, I’m so absurdly in love.
George’s look turns into something smug as he raises his eyebrows, “Your freckles?”
“Mine, each and every one of them.” Dream presses his thumb to a particular, more evident speck, “In fact, I’m naming this one Jim.”
A playful smack to Dream’s hand is paired with a chortle from George as he quips, “And you say I have issues.”
“I just want to know every freckle on a personal level,” Dream pouts.
“You’re weird as hell”
“Weird enough to let me plant thirteen kisses on you?”
“Weird enough to let you plant more.”
Dream’s visage is suddenly kissed pink at the sudden yet direct comment. He heatedly exhales and attempts to hide his fluster by burying his face into the crook of George’s neck, “Your cheeks are going to end up swollen if you’re not careful.”
George threads a hand through Dream’s hair, “Why just my cheek?”
There’s a pause as that sinks in. Dream moves back sharply, eyes wide with astonishment, as if the sweet gold limning George has turned a graceful red, and he’s swimming in embers of passionate revelation.
And then George is reaching for Dream, with tender desire, with the soft pads of fingertips trailing down Dream’s neck and pulling him closer, closer – close enough to feel him tremble when they kiss, languid and searing, like he’s falling to pieces in the warmest dark.
They’re melting in their own, undulating glow
Upon breaking apart an insignificant amount, Dream licks his lips lightly, which now taste like George. His blush burned through his cheeks and face felt as hot as the flares coursing through his veins, “What- “ Dream’s lips brush against George as he searches for the rest of that statement, and the sparking connection sets his nerves ablaze.
Fuck it.
With that thought, Dream shoves George shoulders-first into the couch and seals their mouths with a kiss, eager to the point of frantic, like he can’t help himself.
Dream is presented the opportunity to grasp George and shroud him in unrestrained, invigoratingly mindless affection.
And he will take it. He will take it again, and again, until the feeling of George – in his precious, golden demeanor is engraved in his mind and skin, never to be lost or forgotten.
And to think, this passion has been contrived due to freckles illuminated in exquisite amber, just waiting to be explored and loved.