Work Text:
Dream stumbled in through the door at exactly 8:34pm, the same as every night, except Sundays of course, dropped his hefty briefcase to the carpeted floor of the hallway in their comfortable British cottage located just outside the city and sighed in relief.
Work was over.
He slung his jacket over the hooks by the door before making his way slowly towards the kitchen.
George was cooking, the warm smell of chicken and rice surrounding the brunette as he hummed along to a song on the small box-radio he’d inherited too many years ago to count. George made the baggy sweater he adorned seem so much more lavish than it was, the pulled threads from overuse and the holes around the hem seemingly a purposeful choice rather than a simple mix of time and thoughtlessness.
His father's untimely death was the main reason that George didn't need a job, the unfathomably large amount of inheritance he’d received, along with the average sized cottage they currently inhabited, was enough for them to live comfortably with no added income for a while. Despite this, Dream had decided that having a job would only benefit them, ignoring George's whines of missing him as he left early every morning at 4:45am to make the fifteen minute walk to the train station.
It wasn't perfect, although nothing ever was.
Dream wished for the freedom to love George publically, to lounge together in their garden while wrapped in in the other’s warmth as the cool grass provides a small relief from the unwavering heat of the evening sun.
He wished to hold George’s hand as they sat through the Sunday church service with George's aunt, rattling off the practiced hymns with ease as he looked over at the brunette who’s eyes were trained to the front.
Dream never claimed to understand George’s religion but despite this he felt comfort in the fact that George believed in something. Dream could never find it in himself to authentically praise a God who caused so much pain. He couldn't find it in himself to worship anything but George.
And in those fleeting moments where George was sprawled out on their mattress, eyes closed and back arching as Dream just made him feel , George worshiped him back, soft words of love and certainty spilling from sinful lips and George forgot all about his god, forgot about his religion or his softly spoken prayers muttered at their kitchen table, because the only thing that mattered was Dream.
George spun softly to the music as he moved across the kitchen, collecting herbs and spices they’d been gifted by their only close friend as an anniversary present a year ago from the spice rack. He was gorgeous.
He barely even flinched when Dream wrapped his arms around his waist as he stirred the rice on the stove, the blonde pressing his face into the crook of George's neck.
“Long day?” George asked softly as one of his hands came up to scratch softly at the top of Dream’s head while the other continued cooking.
Dream replied with a small hum and George giggled and swatted the back of his head at the feeling.
“That tickles, you bastard.”
Dream just smirked and pressed a kiss to the pale flesh.
“I missed you today,” the brunette mumbled, unbothered by the slightly one sided conversation. Dream appreciated it, knowing that George was perfectly content with Dream’s tired noises as a response, “Well, I miss you every day but today especially.”
“Yeah?” Dream replied, the first words George had heard from him since the quiet “Sleep well, my love” the taller man had whispered into the skin of his forehead at 4:30 this morning, before collecting his things, pulling on his jacket and walking out of the door at exactly 4:45am.
“Of course. Now go sit at the table, I’m plating up dinner,” George teased, shooing Dream playfully as the other laughed, exiting the room to go and sit at their dining table.
George entered a few moments later, placing two plates down before scurrying back off to the kitchen to grab a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
“Wine?” Dream asks with a curious smile, “What’s the occasion?”
George shrugged, pouring out the drinks before sitting opposite the blonde, “No occasion. Just felt like it.”
“Fancy wine and my favourite meal? Goodness, George, I'll drag you down to the chapel first thing Monday at this rate.”
Dream relished in the way George’s face lit up with a smile, his golden laughter bouncing off the walls of the quiet room. The radio was still playing in the kitchen, muffled by the thick walls but still there nonetheless as the pair just ate in silence.
“You're so beautiful, George,” Dream whispered as he placed his fork down onto his empty plate, watching the brunette’s face flush and try to cover his smile, “I adore you, my love.”
It made the other smile as he picked up the dirty plates and moved them to the kitchen sink, ready to be cleaned later. He found Dream on their sofa, a glass of wine in one hand and a closed book in the other with the still roaring fire making his face seemingly glow.
“Come here, baby. I wish to read to you,” Dream hummed, opening his arms as George just shook his head with a small laugh and grabbed his wine from the table before moving to cuddle up onto the blonde's chest, the pair sitting slightly elevated against the arm of the sofa.
“Resume from where we were last time?” Dream asked and George just nodded, taking a sip of red wine and let his eyes fall shut.
“Love it when you read to me,” George murmured, “Your voice is so perfect.”
Dream didn't respond, instead opening up the old book and beginning to read.
“ He caressed her cheek softly, pressing a light kiss to her nose as they settled down together onto his bed.
‘Mary-Kate,’ he whispered, his eyes falling to her lips as the dark candle made the room glow dimly and despite the pair being alone, they felt implored to stay quiet, almost like if they spoke too loudly the walls would hear of their forbidden words and reach out, tearing them from each other, “I love you.”
And he did. He loved her earnestly and warmly, the thumb delicately brushing at her freckled skin was enough to show the woman that.
“And I, you.”
It was silent for a moment in the room, Jon’s breath fanning across Mary-Kate’s face before she spoke up.
“I wish to marry you, Jon,” she whispered, tears in her eyes and her strained breath getting caught in her throat at the words, “I know daddy would never let me but, lord, it's all I want.”
“Perhaps we could elope,” he offered, wiping away her tears as they fell, “Oh my dearest, don't cry. Your pretty tears need not be wasted on such feeble ma- ”
“I want to marry you, Dream,” George cut him off suddenly, surprising both of them.
It was rushed and spoken with such a sad tone that it made Dream’s heart ache.
“I want it so bad. I want it more than stupid Mary-Kate and more than Jon. God, Dream I'd give up anything to marry you.”
Dream closed the book carefully and placed it on the small side table along with both of their near-empty glasses of wine. The blonde pulled George up until he was straddling his hips and Dream just pulled him into a hug, feeling the tears well up in his own eyes.
“I just… I want to be yours.”
“You are mine, George,” Dream whispered, fingers digging into the sweater George was wearing and pulling him impossibly closer.
“I just wanna be like everyone else. I want to be able to tell people that I'm in love. I want the world to know, Dream.”
“Maybe one day,” the taller boy murmured sadly and the brunette scoffed.
“Don't give me false hope.”
It was a plea and Dream listened. He knew that George was right. They weren't getting married in their lifetime and that was what hurt more than anything. No matter what he did, he would never have George the way that everyone else could have their partners. Never freely and never without shame.
“My love,” George began solemnly, “You are golden. You glow so bright and you're so dangerously oblivious that sometimes it pains me, so blissfully unaware of just how bad life could be for us if we told people about our love.”
Dream scoffed, “I'm not unaware or oblivious. You think I don't know how bad it would be? Jail would be the least of our problems and you know it. They could take you away from me, Georgie. Fuck, they could kill you. I know how bad it gets and I know why we can't do it. I'm not oblivious, I'd just rather think about the positives.”
George was silent as Dream ran a hand through his hair.
“I'm not stupid, George, I'm optimistic,” he mumbled, “I know we can't have that. But it doesn't mean I can't wish that we did.”
George was crying harshly into Dream’s shirt now, his body racking with quiet sobs as Dream shushed him softly and pressed kisses to the top of his head.
“I just…” George trailed off, his breathing strained as he repeated his earlier statement, “I want to marry you.”
Dream was silent for a moment before moving George off of his lap and walking towards the fireplace. He opened a small wooden box which was situated to the left side of the mantle, opening it slowly, taking something out and moving back over to George.
He stopped when he stood directly in front of the smaller boy and, once George had seen what the other was hiding, his eyes went wide.
“It was my mother's,” the blonde smiled, staring at George with a soft gaze, twirling the ring between his fingers, “My father gave it to me the first birthday I had after she died, my fourteenth, I think, and told me I needed to keep it safe because one day I'd find a pretty girl who made me feel like I could hold the world above my head and I’d give her this ring after she’d stolen my heart.”
George was crying again now, his hands shaking as tears fell down his cheeks.
“And, of course, I never found a pretty girl, but I found you, George, and lord if that isn't so much better. You make me so happy, my love, and I know I can't marry you but I want to give you this as a promise that, if I could, I'd do it on the spot.”
The blonde took George's hand and slid the ring on, the silver fitting his small hands almost perfectly as Dream dragged George up to stand with him, pressing their lips together softly as the blonde teared up, not quite matching the brunette’s violent sobs, but close enough.
“It's beautiful,” George whispered softly as he looked at the ring.
“And yet it's still not half as breathtaking as you.”
George was happy. He knew that this was as close as they’d ever get to marriage and it still stung slightly, knowing that he’d never take Dream’s last name or be legally considered his family, but it was impossibly beautiful.
“You're golden,” George repeated, locking eyes with the blonde as his palm came to rest on Dream’s cheek, “I could write sonnets about your eyes and they way they find mine. I could fill pages about your lips and how they taste like green apples and mint in the mornings and butterscotch at night. You're so... effortlessly… golden .”
“And you, my dear, are too intricate to be held down by the label of a simple colour,” Dream whispered against George's lips, “You are a god, George, worthy of prayers and endless adoration.”
George was silent, his head falling so it was rested against Dream’s chest.
“You may worship your god, but I worship you, my love. You are my god.”
George pressed their lips together once again, wallowing in the sweet taste of just purely Dream before pulling away to take in the sight of the other man.
His lips were slick with saliva and his cheeks were tear-tracked and puffy. The light from the fire made his skin glow, coated in honey as he shone gold .
And as they swayed along to the muffled sounds of the radio, promises of forever whispered into listening ears, they were in love.