Work Text:
When Dream hears the first terrified scream from downstairs, he knows immediately that Sapnap streaming Outlast was a bad idea.
Dream knows Sapnap. He knows what makes him tick and what makes his skin crawl. Horror fits the latter category. He knows Sapnap’s shoulders are raised, knows his fingers are tense against the keys, and knows he is incredibly uncomfortable all without having seen him.
He heads downstairs, eager to poke the bear just a little more. He presses his ear against the bedroom door that separates them, listens to the nervous chatter that spills from Sapnap’s mouth. His right-hand wraps around the doorknob, thick knuckles clucking the porcelain. His left splays across the expanse of wood near his chest. During a moment of quiet after heightening panic, he strikes. He pushes and pulls, rattling the door on its hinges, a screaming cacophony in the silence of midnight.
“Hello?” Sapnap asks, confusion and concern filling his voice.
In return, Dream grasps the knob with his left hand and swings the door open. He holds it there, open, as his eyes adjust to the light in the room. His chair is rotated, and Sapnap is huddled under one of their fluffy blankets. The warm ceiling light gives him a golden glow, adding to the rosy tint of adrenaline on his cheeks. The glow of the screen highlights the shape of rustled hair atop his head that surrounds his headphones. His eyes are wide, and his face is flushed.
Sapnap looks terrified . And unbearably pretty.
“You are such an idiot,” Dream laughs at him, words full of affection and adoration. As he speaks, he watches Sapnap’s shoulders lower as he relaxes in Dream’s presence. Sapnap removes his headphones, resting them against the desk. He looks away from Dream, hiding the dishevelment he’s made of himself. Dream’s laughter comes from his belly, shaking his lanky frame. When Sapnap looks back, eyes softer, adrenaline thick in his veins and making his pupils impossibly large and hypnotising, Dream’s laughter dies on his tongue. Sapnap’s fear and adrenaline make him look impossibly small, despite being the grown man Dream knows he is, and all he wants to do is protect him.
“Okay, well, have fun,” Dream taunts, hand menacingly sliding down the wall to cup the light switch. Sapnap’s eyes follow his hand as it moves, his tongue poking out to wet his lips.
“Don’t leave me ,” Sapnap pleases. “Don’t you dare turn off the lights,” he chuckles, fear lacing his words, “ Dream !”
Dream’s cheerful laughter is overtaken then by a soft smile and a wave of love for the fluffy-haired brunet. He flicks off the light anyway, waiting for Sapnap tp come. He knows he will like he knows the sun will rise each morning.
“I’m turning that light on,” Sapnap informs him, “I don’t care.”
Perfect .
Sapnap unravels himself from the blanket in his chair and launches towards Dream and the lightswitch he desperately aims for. As he leaps for the switch, Dream extends out his arms, wrapping them around Sapnap’s centre and forcing him close. They laugh, shaking one another’s chest with it, held by their soulmate in the dark of Sapnap’s room. As their laughter dies down, Dream pulls back to look at Sapnap.
“I’ll stay, it’s okay,” Dream concedes, voice quiet, as his eyes flit between each of Sapnap’s, bordered by wispy lashes and skin that crinkles at the sides when he smiles. Sapnap lowers his head and knocks his forehead against Dream’s chest.
“Thanks,” Sapnap grunts, shame and humility in his words, but love and want in his hands that grasp as the fabric of Dream’s t-shirt.
Sapnap revisits the light switch, flicking the switch down and illuminating the room. His hand then slides down Dream’s arms, brushing against the fine hair there, before slipping through his palm, intertwining their fingers.
“I’ll protect you,” he murmurs, quiet enough that Sapnap wouldn’t even catch it were he not so innately in tune with Dream’s voice. It feels like a vow, and he would let it be one if Sapnap asked.
Sapnap reluctantly tugs them back to his desk. He curls himself up under the blankets once more, headphones covering his left ear and offset on his right to let anything Dream says reach his ears. Dream crossed his ankles and sits on the floor to Sapnap’s right, crossing his legs criss-cross apple-sauce as he does. His left arm snakes around Sapnap’s shin, tugging it closer to him to make sure Sapnap knows he’s close by. Dream rests his head against Sapnap’s hip, pillowing the side of his head on the thick of Sapnap’s thigh.
For a little while, he stays like that. Dream listens to the sound of Sapnap’s nervous verbal runoff, high pitched whines and pleas for mercy filling the room. His fingers hook around Sapnap’s ankle, stroking the thin skin there, and smiling at the peaks of minor fear that cause Sapnap to tense his calves in anticipation.
“I do not like when he calls me little pig ,” Sapnap declares, voice louder than it ought to be in the quiet of the night, even behind the backing soundtrack of his own panic. “He shall refer to me as big daddy,” he jokes, breaking the tension he feels. Dream rolls his head to rest his forehead against Sapnap’s thigh at that, hiding the burble of laughter that threatens to spill out.
“You tell him, big daddy,” he praises, pressing his toothy grin into the plush flesh. He hears Sapnap go quiet once the words leave his mouth, and feels him settle a little deeper in his seat. He knows Sapnap glows under the praise, no matter how forced or ego-stroking.
In his more reclined state, Sapnap gains traction in progress in the game. Dream stays in his place, tracing mindless patterns along his ankle and lolling his head against Sapnap’s thigh, the smooth polyester of his shorts like a pillowcase against his skin. As the music and story creep to a peak, he tenses, nerves getting the best of him.
“I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this, ” Sapnap runs his mouth, panic materialising in a left leg that won’t stop bouncing and shoulders that raise and a reedy voice. Dream looks up to him from his position and tries to radiate a sense of calm. His left hand unwinds from Sapnap’s right ankle and snakes to his left ankle instead. He wraps his fingers around the talus bone there, sharp and angular, as it vibrates in place, restless and in want of escape. He grips firm, not tight enough to hurt or bruise, but enough for Sapnap to feel his intent.
“You got this,” Dream tells him, squeezing his grip, “you got this.”
Sapnap looks to him, imitating a kicked puppy. He begs Dream with his eyes to make it go away, and Dream would be lying if he said it wasn’t working. Dream feels his features soften, and his desire to protect swells.
“I have to pee, I’ll be right back,” Sapnap speaks into his microphone. He taps away, clicking several buttons on his Streamlabs, before taking his headphones off. He lets out a shaky sigh, running his hands through his hair, before visibly deflating. He twists in his chair, facing Dream, and brackets him with his knees.
“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” Sapnap whines, letting his hands flop into his lap. Dream’s eyes catch on them, glued to the ways his nailbeds lie at the ends of his fingers, and the way his fingertips all have flattened tips from an upbringing of countless hours of key pressing. Dream’s fingers reach for Sapnap’s, eager to feel Sapnap’s hands in his own. When they intertwine, he takes in the colour comparison of their skin, the way Sapnap’s hands are less tanned but more pink than Dream’s own. He sees the way his slender fingers with pointed knuckles fit so sweetly between Sapnap’s shorter and thicker ones. He looks at the way his chipped black nails contrast with the milk spots on Sapnap’s.
“That’s okay,” Dream tells him, “Get to the two-hour mark and call it, then.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Patches slink through the door, the tiny bell on her collar making a tinny shrill as she comes.
“Look who came to support you,” Dream murmurs, withdrawing a hand from Sapnap’s grasp to reach for her. He extends a hand in her direction, watching her as she walks beneath his outstretched hand and presses up into his palm. “You’re doing good,” he whispers, watching the crouched position Patches curls into, her tail and behind wiggling as she eyes Sapnap’s lap. Sapnap pats his thigh, signalling for her to jump up, and she does so, her little vocal cords starting a song of joy as she makes herself comfortable. “Just a little more, yeah?” Dream asks, prompting like getting a child to finish their vegetables. Sapnap swallows against the lump in his throat, nodding. His left hand still intertwined with Dream’s right, and his right hand stroking the soft fur on Patches’ back, he agrees.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, nerves like a vice on his throat, audible in his speech, “yeah, okay.”
And when Sapnap calls the end of the stream, Dream tugs him from his desk into his bed, and cradles the big scaredy-cat in his arms, protecting him from the world, while Sapnap cradles Patches in his own.