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    Summary

    “The things I said on the phone,” George continued, voice slightly airy, “made you rush home. You’re not usually the one easily worked up. Am I on to something?”
    Dream didn’t respond, sucking harder against the pale skin of his neck, and making George’s back arch with the sensitivity. His hands fell down, gripping Dream’s shirt between white-knuckles. “Answer me,” George found his voice, the words leaving his lips with an air of demand.
    “George,” Dream’s voice snapped George from his pseudo-dominance, making the latter gaze up at him at the assertiveness in his tone, “who’s about to fuck you right now?”
    George swallowed, but his throat felt dry. He resisted the urge to squirm at the words alone. “...you,” he said finally, and he saw Dream tilt his head with another small grin. It made George feel weak.
    “Then tell me why you’re trying to talk back to me. You wanted me to come home. You said those things, knowing what it’d do, for a reason. So, George…” Dream’s hand found its way to George’s chest, pushing the brunet against the bedsheets, “why are we focusing on me?”

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