Archive of Our Own

The beat pounds in George’s ears as the music rings in his head. Flashing lights and the mass of dancing people blur reality. Like a portal to somewhere so far from his own mind, it must be paradise. Clubs like this are always called something cheesy like that anyway.

Spinning back around, he catches a blur of black and white, dark hair falling loose from the headband. Every nod of his threatens to spill the bottle in his hand. It doesn’t stop him from feeling the beat, spinning and nodding and managing not to trip over his own feet like everyone else. So free. No one’s stopping him.

He wants that. Maybe his idiotic rational brain would say he’s jealous, being free, being himself- but his alcohol-numbed mind is much wiser. He wants that means he wants him. Who wouldn’t, with the way his hair frames a chiseled face, decorated with shadows and splashed in club lights. Dark eyes skim right over him, but he doesn’t need an audience to slide a hand through his hair, over his chest, down his hips-

Someone runs into him, and George stumbles a few steps to the side, but pushes through. Wayward touches, full-body falls, and sharp elbows attack from all sides. Bass rattles his ribs as he squeezes through a conga line of grinding. A hiccup nearly brings his drink back up a second time, but he swallows down fruity-flavored acid.

The ground shifts under him and catches his toe. Hands fly out, and miraculously, he lands against someone instead of straight to the floor. The world spins in his stomach again, and George finds himself both floating and falling. Strong arms lift him back to his feet like an angel taking him beyond. Blinding light flashes in his eyes, piercing even behind his sunglasses.

A giggle cuts over the pounding in his ears, and George focuses his eyes in front of him.

Hehehe- hi! a voice coos from glistening lips. His nose wrinkles as whiffs the basic beer, but it melts away in the warmth of the man’s eyes. If the swirling club lights were a portal to paradise, then this man must be heaven.

His eyes trail down his chest, tracing where the man’s hand flowed down his body. Layers of shirts hide his true form, unfortunately, like a giant panda. George’s nose wrinkles again. Layers won’t do. Too many clothes. And how is this man not burning up? Besides the fact that his cheeks are numb from the heat, if he were wearing anything more than his thin crop top and skinny jeans, he’d be drowning in his own sweat.

Soft lips gape open before George’s fingers brush over his wrist.

Uh-

Wanna dance? George blurts, spitting his words in the man’s face. While he thinks, George tosses back the last of his glass, setting it- tossing- dropping it where he swore there was a table.

It was hilarious to the handsome angel, however, as his shy giggles bubbled into full laughter. His face burns again despite being calloused by the ambiance. There’s a chill along his waist as a hand slides over his exposed skin. His drink clatters against the table as he slides closer.

Mixed drinks mix in their breaths. Darkness shades over his sunglasses and they stumble as their equilibriums off-balance each other. His heart accelerates - or is it just a new song? - and George turns his head just in time.

A rise in the song leaves the clubbers without a beat to ground themselves with, and George snatches his wrist. Now or never. They swim through bodies as they wade closer to the dance floor. Bright colors flash from above and below as the song reaches its peak.

Wherrre, where we goin’?

George stops right in the man’s next step, attempting to brace as he bumps into him. He lets his hands fall to his thighs, curving his spine a little and letting his jeans slide against smooth joggers. Hands clamp around his hips.

Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he catches wide eyes trailing down his back, fingers flexing into his jeans. He almost jumps when George rocks his hips. Frowning, he grinds back harder. Did he grab the wrong guy? This is the guy that seemed so carefree before, ready to stick his tongue down his throat.

Rolling his eyes is a bad idea, the world spinning behind it, but he lets his weight fall back against the wide warm chest. He lifts his chin up, facial hair scratching his cheeks as he shouts over the music.

C’mon, big panda, he teases with another roll of his hips. You do know how to dance, right?

The beat catches up and George lets his hips sway side to side. The hands glued to his hips follow along as a tongue darts out, turning his lips shiny again. Slippery pants start sliding along his jeans as the man sinks into the rhythm. A moan slips out, easily lost in the swarm of bodies around him.

Biting his lip, George leads their hips as they stop swaying and start rolling. Their matched heights make everything more convenient. The way their hips slot together, lips brushing over his neck with every breath, fingers tangling in each others’ as they slide up to his waist.

Dragging warm hands along over his own skin, the last strand connecting him to reality snaps. Gone. This is heaven, this is where he belongs. In his arms, under his hands, poisoned by his lips and trapped by his hips. He glances over his shoulder again, shooting up too far but falling back down to dark eyes. They stare right into his, right through him, as he wets his lips again.

Wanna… wanna nother drink?

Well, if he’s offering, he’s buying, right? What’s another drink anyway?

They pull off from the dance floor, peeling themselves off bodies as they struggle towards the main bar. Bottles and mixes and flavors and spirits and wines and literally everything line the wall from floor to ceiling. It’s impossible to not have your choice. As George gapes up at the wall, colorful lights glinting off bottles like aurora, his dance partner swivels around, prying a drink into his hand. He nods off towards the side where they can find a place to sit.

George already knows where his seat is, as he trails along staring at the beautiful ass before him. As they stumble up to some seats, however, the man points his attention just beyond.

Look! Look! and George follows the splash of his drink towards a low stage, accessible for anyone, with a few scattered poles. Ya wanna-? Let’s go, it’ll be fun!

Nodding along, George figures that they must be accessible for a reason. But his stomach flips as he’s dragged towards the short stage. His heels skid across the floor as he tries to stay on the lower level. There’s no way this guy is really going to buy him a drink just to put on a show for him?

Whatever gods are watching this pitiful party, they bestow mercy on him. George’s heels dig in enough and the hand slips from his. Catching himself against a small round table, he sets down his drink before any more of it spills. His eyes track around, squinting through the darkness and bright lights for the giant panda. He can’t really be that hard to find, can he?

No. He’s not hard to find. Especially when he’s the one take the central pole and grinding like his life depends on it. Jaw dropped, George lets gravity pull him down into a chair, watching as this man makes the pole his bitch. Literally. His hips, his ass, his chest; he grinds everything all over. But there’s a sort of artistry to the madness. Like he knows how to show off his best angles, to show off his skills, and still look so slutty. It doesn’t hurt that he hooks a knee around the pole, flexing his hand around it, before dipping back.

He lets his weight swing him around the pole, hair draped around his face. When he tosses his head back, he catches George’s eye and winks. If he wasn’t intrigued before, well, his second brain might have something to say about it. As he pulls himself back up, his back stays curved. Chest against the pole, he slides down to his knees, letting his tongue hang out as he mocks licking up the shaft. So yeah, George’s brain is fried.

He makes the mistake of walking back over, flaunting his charming smile and sassy strut as he swipes his drink back up. Leaning his arm against the table, he wiggles his eyebrows at him.

So? How’d I do? he purrs before taking another long gulp. George can only raise his eyebrows back.

There’s no way you- you did that first t-try, George accuses, only hiccuping once or twice, lips pursed around the edge of his glass. The man preens at the praise before shrugging.

I come here often enough. Ya learn a thing or two.

A thing or two, huh? Letting his smirk grow, George props his chin on his wrist. When he blinks up through his eyelashes, the other catches the other tugging his shirt lower. The dark fabric of his joggers hides so much, which might be the point, but it’s not like it’s hard to imagine.

Well, I- uh. I can teach you if ya like. Maybe, like, a- uh, private lesson, he stumbles over his words as his face gets hotter, but he leans over the table to mirror George’s sly smirk. A sputter of giggles escapes George before he can catch it, but apparently it’s hilarious.

Hmm, George hums, trailing a finger around the rim of his glass. He flits his eyes back up to dark bangs, dark eyes, soft lips, pondering the offer. There’s a hotel down the street…

Dark eyes flicker, a flame sparking to life just behind them. What’s left of his mind seems to catch up, however, as he helps George up from his seat.

Well there, darling, the panda coos, warm hand sliding over his lower back, skin tingling under his touch, I just have one question.

Frowning, George curls himself up against his chest, pressing close and then closer, dragging his eyes and a finger over his collar. One question is a small price for a whole night. Much cheaper than other options. And when he’s looking to lose himself in someone else, well, he’ll surrender his name to learn the other’s.

Glancing up, he meets his gaze, waiting for the test.

Woah, the man gasps, as if just seeing him for the first time.

When George blinks, his fingers tap his temples, then the bridge of his nose. No wonder it’s not so dark anymore. Granted, it’s still pitch black without flashing lights, but they burn if he stares at them directly.

So he glances somewhere safer, somewhere vaguely to the side over the crowd of people towards the plain entrance. It’s meant to look as unappealing as possible so you never even think to leave.

As his eyes focus through the clash of light and darkness, the man stutters out his question - What’s your name, angel? or some other cheesy shit. George doesn’t hear it, however, even as it’s answered for him.

George?! George!

Alcohol sloshes around in his skull, muting the music like his head is underwater. But his mind sharpens into focus, the nightmare before his eyes crystal clear.

The warmth around him slips away as his ice seeps through his skin, splintering through the haze and straight through his chest. It’s a wonder his heart doesn’t stop. Maybe it did. He broke the simulation, the fantastical colors and booming beat fading to the background.

What? he mutters in the midst of paradise, as someone strains against a red velvet rope, crying out his name.

George! a beaming golden smile, blond hair highlighted by the setting- no, rising sun.

It’s a siren’s call as his feet start shuffling. His body gets pulled in by the sheer gravity of the situation, not of his own free will. And yet he moves closer, mesmerized by a handcrafted nightmare, speechless as light eyes twinkle at him.

There’s no way he’s- They haven’t spoken in- No one even knows of this place-

George! That’s literally George right there!

Glancing between George and the bouncer, he insists with a wave of hands. It doesn’t move the rope, nor the painfully blank expression on the bouncer’s face. His shoulders heave with a sigh, even though it’s in his job description to deal with this exact situation; stopping unwanted visitors from demanding entrance just because they know someone inside.

The bounder flips through the list of names once more, but fails to spot the name. He shakes his head, but the blond is quicker.

He’s- that’s- yeah, my uh, best friend!

The ice finally reaches his heart, and he wraps his arms around himself, unable to even look at him anymore. Best friend? Really? Is he serious? Out of all the ludicrous excuses this guy hears everyday and that’s what’s going to convince him?

Who is this guy? he hisses under his breath.

The bouncer glances over at George anyway, a raised brow promising to boot the trespasser to high heaven.

Sir, do you know this, uh- this guy?

Shaking his head, George takes a step back. One foot back into the portal, just a few more steps and he’s transported back into paradise. Away from this nightmare. Away from the one person he trusted with his heart. Away from the cruel harsh reality. Away from heartbreak, and pain, and that face, and how could you-?

He calls himself Dream? the bouncer clarrifes, flipping through the roster for show at this point.

Fingers digging into his arms, his feet stay frozen, rooted to the spot even as his pulse skyrockets and his vision goes blurry. But he can’t blame drinking for the water in his eyes.

How do you… How… George pushes over the lump in his throat, but as soon as the spark ignites, flames are leaping from his tongue, and wants to burn it all down as he spits, How do you even know my name? Who are you?

The bouncer shakes his head, expecting the reply. But George watches as the flames catch in wide golden eyes, flickering away in timid fear before rearing an ugly head. Once the fire starts it burns everything down with it.

GEORGE! What?! Dream shouts, the flames licking his tongue too as he lashes back. What d’y- but- wha- What do you mean?!

You’re like, stalking me! he hisses, because it’s true; how else could Dream find him here? How else would Dream know how to find him, how to crawl back to him like he’s done over and over, because George had given him one too many chances?

Who are you?

Because he’s definitely not his Dream anymore.

Alright, thank you, George, the bouncer gruffs, bringing an arm up as Dream pushes himself over the rope. Thank you- Sir, sir, stand back.

Back pedalling, Dream pulls his own hair as some fritzed out stoner kid passes right in front of him. Doesn’t even so much as say heyyyy, I’m Big T to the bouncer before the slips past the measly red velvet line of defense.

Wait, what?! Dream’s voice cracks as he nearly stumbles into the street.

Pulsing music and flashing lights pull him right back in through the portal, and George feels the warmth at his back before a soft voice coos in his ear. There’s questions, obviously - who was that and are you okay? with grounding hands on his shoulders - which is more than he would’ve ever done. The heat and warmth flush the ice right out of his system, and George tosses the last of it with a cold glare over his shoulder.

His aim strikes true, crippling Dream, and he doesn’t look back.