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Sometimes, the heavens play cruel tricks on undeserving people. Dream’s never been more sure of that in his life than in this very moment. He could count on one hand the amount of sins he’s committed in his life; the time he got stung by a bee and accidentally cursed, the day he stole his dad’s beer and locked himself in the bathroom to drink the whole thing, and finally every single day he’s with George Davidson. Dream’s a good person— a good person with flaws— but good nonetheless. And this is how God repays him?
With the definition of beauty and desire just outside his grasp, sitting opposite him in a sticky vinyl booth with a thick plastic straw slotted between his lips. The clear plastic shows how the milky tan tea follows up towards the pink flesh, and Dream stalks it til it disappears into his throat; muscles twitching deliciously. He thinks it’s probably the prettiest thing he’s ever seen— a neck decorated with glittering silver chains and long faded mulberry marks. He devotes his life to the Lord and in return, he’s handed sin on a platter.
Is he just supposed to resist?
He’s still concentrating all his energy on the way the boba straw is straddled by two titanium hoops when the lips split to speak again.
“Dream?” George hums softly, cocking his head to the side. The plastic slips from his mouth. “Did you hear a single thing that came out of my mouth?” He teases with a smirk; polished acrylic colliding with the taut plastic lid.
Pink spreads across Dream’s cheeks as he shakes his head; hoping the action serves dual purpose— apologizing for his distance and also shoving all his sinful thoughts away.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “Just repeat it, I’ll listen this time— I promise.”
George’s lip curls, the metal digging into the supple skin. “You’re so stupid.” he giggles, “As I was saying— you know that new teacher’s assistant in WST 2011 course?”
Was George joking? Of course he knew the new 20-something year old T.A that his friend couldn’t stop talking about. He didn’t see the appeal, really. Tall, messy blond hair, green eyes. Not really Dream’s type. But based on the way he rambled on and on about how hot he thought he was, it was definitely George’s..
Dream stifles the frown he feels coming on and just nods.
“Well… you’re my only friend I have in that class so I was wondering if you’d be down to help me out. Be a… wingman. Of sorts.” The brunet suggests, pressing his tongue flat against his straw as he draws it back into his mouth.
There’s never been a stronger urge to run away in Dream’s life. On one hand, he wants George to be happy. If he could, he would go home right now and kneel down beside his bed, praying for God to forgive him for his greed when he steals all the stars in the night sky to decorate George’s room with. And he hopes his 22 years of weekly church services, his years spent leading the youth group, months of leading communion and drinking Christ’s blood and eating his body would give him the power to ask God to give George forgiveness on his behalf.
Although, there’s another part of him that knows the brunet hadn’t done a single thing wrong in his eyes. Because every sin spelled out in scripture was written without someone so beautiful and perfect in mind.
But there’s still the part that bites back. The lump in his throat, the pit in his stomach that tells him with every passing second that this will only lead to heartbreak and despair. Helping his best friend, who he happens to find incredibly attractive, seduce another man? There’s not a single story that begins that way and ends with his happiness.
“Are you in?” The question rings throughout the establishment, leaving Dream’s mouth as dry as a desert. Never has a phrase uttered behind a boba straw seemed so enticing.
“Sure.”
The single syllable crashes down between them, dooming Dream to whatever terrible fate he would have to endure. George’s description had been less than transparent about his role in this production, but nonetheless, he would wear whatever costume he was handed.
Anything for George.
Luckily for Dream, that’s the last they talked about the handsome teacher in their class for about a week. In fact, the topic had almost entirely slipped his mind until George stopped him in front of the lecture hall doors.
His grip was ruthless on Dream’s wrist, dragging him back away from the entrance with a strength he had never seen from him before. To be fair, his friend was a petite 5 foot 5 with about as much muscle on his bones as one of his own arms. But still, he manages to get him across the hall with ease.
“Are you ready to go through with the plan?” he asks in a hushed tone. Dream’s brows furrow in confusion as he racks his brain for context of what his friend could be alluding to. As if George can see the gears turning inside Dream’s head, he clarifies— “With the T.A?”
The blond’s lips press together dangerously, the tension in his own jaw almost enough to snap before he swallows in a fruitless attempt to hide the disdain coursing through his bloodstream.
“Oh, yeah.” he tries, “What exactly was I supposed to do again? Like go talk to him and tell him you like him, or—”
George’s hiss cuts him off mid-sentence. “No!” he sneers. “What the fuck is wrong with you? No! You don’t just tell a guy you like him, you have to make him jealous .”
Oh.
Oh.
Piece by piece the puzzle comes together in his head until finally Dream can see the outcome that’s been set up for him along the way.
He’s supposed to pretend to be with George to make the hot new T.A jealous. So that, presumably, those two can go out and leave Dream behind with his useless, sinful crush on the brunet.
“So, I have to…”
“Date me so that I can get the teacher interested in me, yes.” George finishes proudly, a sinister grin stretching across his face. “Well, of course we won’t actually be dating.”
His head is still spinning a million miles an hour when he nods, “Of course.” he responds dumbfoundedly. George’s master plan was going to work great, I mean, there’s nothing that awakens crushes in men than seeing someone else having what you want. That’s the problem. Because Dream has to immediately swap to the opposite role at the end of the production.
“And before you ask— no, I don’t have any boundaries. Well, none that you’d break.” he winks, laughing at the red that spreads to the top of Dream’s ears. Innocently, the brunet grabs his wrist and drags him back to the lecture hall doors.
“So, like, what exactly am I supposed to do during class?” Dream questions, swallowing the lump that formed in the back of his mouth. There wasn’t much he could do during class that he thought would be worthwhile for the plot, because the teacher would be distracted, but he'd be lying if he said he didn’t want to continue the act as long as he could.
“Just like, hold my hand and talk to me and stuff. Couple things.”
“Right. Couple things.” Dream breaths out, his eyes fluttering closed in a fruitless attempt to ground himself before he’s being dragged into the lecture hall. Seats are already pretty full, seeing as how class was starting in less than five minutes. Students carefully avoid the front two rows of desks so they can zone out and not pay attention without the teacher catching them. Of course, that’s right where George drags him. Right in front of the T.A’s desk.
He wishes he would’ve missed the eyes George gave the teacher on their way past.
“Is right here okay, babe?” What? Petnames. He should’ve assumed George would sling them around easily— to sell the act— but nothing in the world would have trained him for the smooth music to his ears.
“Here’s fine.” he choked out, his voice cracking like a log in a fire. Hopefully both George and the T.A missed it. Dream hurries to sit down, dragging his laptop from his backpack to at least look like he’s taking notes, because with the way George immediately plops down and clings to his arm like it’s the only safety in a Cat 5 hurricane, he knows he isn’t getting any actual notes done.
George is warm. It’s honestly the complete opposite he expected from his friend who always complains about how cold he is. He’s always stealing Dream’s hoodies and making jokes about how much of a giant he is as he drowns in the large fabric. But when his small hand wraps around his bicep, it feels like fire.
Maybe that’s just his mind that’s ablaze.
As the clock ticks over to the new hour, the professor climbs to the front of the room, beginning his lecture. The words drone on with a newfound dullness. But then again, everything’s dull compared to the intense feeling of George dragging his nail up and down his skin.
“What do you want to do after class?” George mutters. It’s still loud enough for the man across from them to perk up a bit.
“Uh—” Suddenly his mind is empty. The growing list of things he would want to do with George if they were officially together unravels blank. “We can go back to mine and watch that movie you were wanting to see.”
George giggles, “Sounds good. Will you let us actually get through the movie this time?” His voice holds an edge that makes Dream nearly choke on his own spit. The teacher’s head shoots up momentarily before dutifully dropping back to the papers he was grading.
“George,” he scolds, “Seriously?” The question hopefully would masquerade well enough as a genuine reply to that, but also, maybe the brunet would catch the discomfort in his voice.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” George hums, squeezing his hand firmly around Dream’s arm. The blond nearly faints at the action. “Couldn’t help it.”
Luckily, Dream manages to make it through class without too much trouble. There definitely weren’t notes dictated on his laptop and there definitely were slightly raised pink scars trailing up and down his arm from the contact of George’s nail throughout the hour.
Although, he wasn’t complaining. The scratches were so light he was probably the only one who could see them so he could wear them proudly as a reminder that the George Davidson was touching him.
“Baby,” Dream says with the snap of his laptop, tilting his nose towards the waiting brunet and trying to fight the burning embers of rage in his stomach as he finds George staring at the T.A. “You okay?”
George’s lips quirk up in a smile and he nods faintly, watching as the student in front of the man’s desk slips away. The blond frowns, slipping his computer into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“What’s the plan now?” Dream asks under his breath, close enough so George is the only one who could overhear it. His friend shrugs.
“Now, I'm going to talk to him.” George responds, dragging his hand away from it’s hold on Dream’s arm. “You go, I’ll catch up later.”
He stills, watching the light flow of the skirt pressed against George’s thighs as he saunters away. It’s not too far away, he can literally still see and hear him, so why does it feel like a part of his soul has been ripped away?
He has to just watch as his role is handed to someone else, the role of protector and gentle hand. Then, Dream remembers, George doesn’t need protection. He’s probably the strongest person Dream’s ever met. But for some reason, the brunet always let himself be guarded. Let Dream’s hands and grip hold him close and keep him far away from the others.
He always has.
Pins stick into Dream’s skin, every inch that George touched, as he watches the skirt situation on the corner of the T.A’s desk. Immediately, the man started scanning his eyes up and down the frame. The sight boiled the blood in Dream’s veins.
A few stray giggles later, a hand appeared on the milky white skin of George’s knee, just below the hem of the black fabric. That was enough for Dream to snap.
“George,” he calls out, ivory teeth digging into his tongue. His pretty face snaps towards him innocently, his lashes fluttering as he cocks his head to the side curiously. “Can we go?”
“ We ?” George questions, “I told you I—”
“Please.” Dream urges, grinding his jaw harshly. He could feel the bones cracking under the pressure. “We have somewhere to be.”
A smile pricks at the corners of George’s mouth as he turns to excuse himself from the conversation. When he hops off the desk, he slips his hand back to grab his phone, prying open the phone case to retrieve a crisply folded bill.
The brunet doesn’t break eye contact as he slips it over to the T.A.
“Thank you,” he hums happily, “Told you it would work.”
Dream knits his brows together, clutching the straps of his bags tighter. “What?” he asks, his tongue running dry as George closes the distance between then again. His breath sticks in his throat as he stares down at the center of all sin. If George asked him to do it, he would do it despite the morals he was raised on and despite every nerve firing in his body at full speed.
Simply because it’s George.
“Well, you weren’t going to fess up on your own any time soon.” George teases, reaching up to cradle Dream’s jawline between his fingers. It sends a shiver down his spine. “So, I got Tye here to help me out. Because—”
“ You don’t just tell a guy you like him, you have to make him jealous. ” Dream recites, the message from earlier coming much clearer.
So, he wasn’t being subtle. He wasn’t hiding his affections quite as well as he had hoped. But that also means—
“You like me too?”
Putting two and two together, George said that he would only make someone jealous to let them know that he liked them. That means, this whole thing was to tell him that he likes him.
Eventually, George scoffs, “Of course, you idiot. I’ve been trying to tell you that for months . One time I literally asked you out.”
Dream furrows his brows, “You did not.”
“I did!” he laughs, “I invited you out to dinner with my family who was in town for a visit.”
Oh gosh. Looking back, the invitation did read more than platonically. And Dream definitely should’ve known that he wasn’t just trying to be nice and pay for his dinner, he wanted him to meet his family.
“Oh my—” he breathes out, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. “That’s so stupid .” George quirks a brow in response. “No— not you. Me . I’ve been so stupid.”
The brunet giggles, pressing up to stand on his tip toes as he plants a single kiss on the curve of Dream’s cheek. It feels like fire, burning white and impossibly bright. Like heaven came down and graced him with an angel.
“Yeah, you have been.” he drawls as he pulls away, the smile thick on his face. “So, what do you say? Do you wanna make this real? So, I don’t have to keep paying people to flirt with me.”
Dream chuckles, leaning down to capture George’s lips in a soft kiss. It’s emotionally charged— warm like the stars Dream would steal from the sky for him, like the hell he would endure time and time again if it meant holding him close.
He’s devoted his life to a higher being, only to find out that that being was right at his fingertips, waiting for him. George can give him peace, give him safety and warmth. He’s everything he’s ever needed and everything he could wish for.
George is something different. Something crafted of sins. Temptation handed to him as a test that he’d gladly fail over and over again. Because when he’s with him, he’s in heaven, not hell.