Work Text:
Dream wakes to the steady patter of heavy raindrops splattering against his rooftop.
He squeezes his eyes, feeling the chilly air brush against his exposed foot, which has ended up just outside of the blanket’s warmth, and tugs it under the covers with a small noise in the back of his throat. It’s only when his icy toes rub against the smooth, warm skin of a leg that is most definitely not his—that he realizes he’s not alone in bed.
With a small breath, he shifts and turns his head, only to immediately bury his nose into the mess of soft hair that greets him. An arm is slung over his chest, another leg tangled between both of his, and someone’s warm, steady breaths fan over the skin of his neck and make him shiver. A head prevents him from lifting his arm when he moves it slightly, so he settles it back down onto the pillows with a soft groan. The man mumbles something incoherent, pressing impossibly closer.
George, his mind supplies helpfully.
Right, Dream answers, blinking his eyes open to gather his bearings. George.
It takes a good few seconds before he has woken up enough to know exactly who and where he is, and by now the slight disgruntlement from being tangled up in the limbs of someone else has been replaced by a soft, warm kind of affection for the man at his side. George grumbles in his sleep, sighing and nuzzling his nose into the pulse at Dream’s neck, and it makes Dream sigh in contentment. He’d like to stay like this for the rest of his life, really. Who would give up such a thing?
He shuts his eyes, allowing himself to doze for a few moments longer, before the sound of his door creaking open prompts him to glance over the side of the bed.
Patches meows when she catches his gaze, meandering in with the trademark grace of any spoiled housecat, and he greets her with a small grunt. The warm weight of his cat on his legs when she leaps elegantly onto the bed passes once she clambers over them both and settles in an empty spot in the crook of George’s knee.
The door creaks open more with Patches’ arrival, the hinges whining with age, and the drumming of the pouring rain becomes even more prevalent.
Today, Dream thinks, will be a lazy day. He can already feel it.
Even so, it does not stop him from reaching blindly for his phone—which sits somewhere on the wooden nightstand to the right—and after a few moments of feeling around, he grips something phone-like and drags it over with a small, internal cheer of victory.
Instead of his phone, though, it’s George’s. He’s greeted with a photo of him and George when they first met up at the airport, taken by Sapnap. They’re hugging, and Dream’s nose is buried deep in the brown mess of George’s fluffy hair, while George’s face is buried into his chest. The camera hadn’t captured the joyful tears that had streamed freely down his face back then, but Dream recalls them clearly.
The lock screen makes him smile softly, before shutting it off—he’s not the kind to pry through George’s things (besides, it’s not like there’s much he doesn’t know anyways)—and putting it back down to grasp for his phone this time. When he does, the clock reads 9:43 AM, and he’s got a text from his mom telling him that she’s going to be dropping Drista off to stay at his place while she runs errands tomorrow. Other messages pop up, some regarding work, others just silly texts from Quackity, Karl, and Sapnap.
He catches a glimpse of one, and it reads:
Sapnap (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
i just farted on my water bottle do you think it’ll taste like it now
Dream snorts a laugh and presses the string of notifications to open up the cluster of messages.
Quackity (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
wtf
KarlJacobs (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
it depends on what you ate
Sapnap (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
chocolate chip pancakes?
KarlJacobs (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
yum :heart_eyes:
Quackity (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
enjoy ur chocolate chip pancake flavored water dumbass
Sapnap (Sex Havers + Dream) 1h ago
thanks bb :kissing_heart:
A fond smile dances on his lips. He swipes the messages away and shuts his phone off again, resting back with a small sigh, before squeezing his eyes shut tightly and opening them.
When he carefully and gently extracts his limbs from under, over, and between George’s, he sits up and turns to settle his feet on the floor.
A warm hand slinks around his wrist, and he turns back to see George peering at him with bleary eyes, propping himself up on his elbow as his dark hair flops over his face.
“Wh’re you goin’?” He slurs, obviously still teetering on the edge of sleep.
“I’ve got work,” Dream explains with an affectionate smile. Reaching forward, he settles his hand into George’s head gently, and George releases his grip on his wrist with a small hum. “It’s already almost ten o’clock, honey.”
“‘S cold,” George mumbles, tugging at the corner of Dream’s shirt and beginning to settle back down into the warm mattress. “Stay. No work today.”
“You’re not being a very helpful boyfriend.” Dream teases, but George cracks his eyes open and glares at him cutely in a way that makes him melt, and it’s then that he knows he’s already lost the battle. George seems to know too—like the smug bastard he is, because he’s already pulling the blankets back up and sinking into their bed.
So with a sigh, Dream allows himself to be pulled back down, helpless as George settles his head on his chest, wraps an arm around his waist, and tangles their legs together once again.
George returns to sleep easily, breaths becoming slow and long as he begins to dream. The warmth surrounding him and the gentle thrumming of rain clashing against the house doesn’t help Dream’s case at all.
Dozing comes easily, and after that, so does sleep.
Dream wakes again—for certain, this time—to the pouring rain calming into a quiet drizzle. He rubs at his eyes and yawns, one hand moving to settle onto George’s head, which still rests on his chest. Carefully, he threads his fingers through the silky brown strands, noting absentmindedly that he’d bought a different shampoo than his usual apple scented one. This one smells like lavender.
His phone lights up with an array of more recent notifications when he reaches for it, the clock reading as 11:29 AM, and the lateness of the day makes him wince at his own laziness.
So, with a long sigh and a reluctant tug of his limbs, he untangles himself from George’s hold—shoving a pillow into his arms instead and smiling when his sleeping boyfriend nuzzles into it—and heaves himself out of bed, thinking about making omelettes for breakfast. It’ll be more of a brunch than anything, but it’s the thought that counts.
Patches hears him getting to his feet and lifts her head curiously. He smiles in return, reaching over to rub her head—she murrs happily—leaving her in the comfort of George’s warmth and wiggling his toes against the carpet for a couple of seconds.
Right, he thinks determinedly, omelettes.
And so he strides to the door and gets to work.
It's not like Dream is any kind of chef—not by any means—in fact, even when Sapnap had moved in, his mom did most of the cooking and cleaning. But he can do the basics, and that’s really what matters here.
The pan sizzles with oil and heat when he pours the egg into it. Outside, it still rains, but there’s something oddly nice about it. Cozy, even.
Maybe it’s the popping and cracking of the omelette as it cooks, or Dream’s absentminded humming that wakes him, but it’s just after he plates the first that he hears Patches mewling and knows that George has woken. Sure enough, a few moments after follows two warm arms wrapping around his midsection and a face pressing between his shoulder blades.
“Good morning, sunshine.” His grin must be blinding. “How’d you sleep?”
“Mm,” George rumbles in return, voice husky from sleep, “good. Omelettes?”
“I added extra tomatoes for you.” Dream chirps.
“My favorite.” He mumbles, and yawns.
Cute, Dream thinks, flipping the omelette. God, he’s so cute.
“Lots of rain outside,” George comments absently, resting his chin on Dream’s shoulder. He’s short enough that he has to stand on his tiptoes and Dream tries his best not to let the thought make him laugh.
“Lots of rain,” he agrees with a smile, and they fall silent, the quiet sounds of rain and the sizzling of the pan filling the air. Patches winds at their feet, smelling the food and meowing for it.
Dream plates his omelette and shuts the stove off, putting the excess dishes in the sink to be washed later. George releases him with a soft hum and moves to grab a set of utensils. And once everything is said and done, Dream plops down in his seat at their table, with Patches leaping into the one beside him, takes one look at George’s beaming grin as he settles on the opposite side, and thinks— yeah, this was worth it.
“You know,” he says to George once they’ve finished eating and he’s cleaning up their used dishes. “I was going to stream today, actually.”
“Were you?” George asks with a raise of his eyebrows. He hoists Patches into his arms and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Hm, for some reason I don’t quite believe that.”
“Oh, shut up.” Dream snorts, setting the last plate into the dish rack and flicking the excess water at both his boyfriend and his cat, who both reel back in unison. Funny. “I was, seriously. I was gonna speedrun one of our old plug-ins.”
George wrinkles his nose. “Boring. Why do that when you can spend the day with me instead?” He turns, and like the lovesick puppy all their fans claim him to be, Dream trails after him, following him out of the kitchen and into the living room.
“You’re a horrible influence,” Dream says. Yet he still takes the controller that George hands to him wordlessly after setting Patches down on the couch, and watches as his boyfriend flicks the TV to life. Absentmindedly, he notes that George has yet again stolen his clothes. He looks good in it, the large hoodie looking as if it could swallow him whole as it pools around his hands and brushes low against his thighs.
“Truly horrible.” George agrees, grabbing his own controller—it’s customized, painted in his theme, and so is Dream’s. The TV brightens with an array of colors as the familiar loading screen for Super Smash Bros Ultimate fills the blackness.
As much as he likes to play the part of responsible streamer, he still grins and finds himself flexing his hands on the controller. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“I’d rather you do other things to my ass, actually.” George laughs, opening their default settings and taking them to the player select.
Dream feels himself redden, and—never backing down from a fight—bites back. “Maybe if you win.”
“Guess I’ll just have to, then.” George grins, selecting Bayonetta (“God, you’re so annoying with her.”) while Dream goes for his respective character, Kirby, and presses the start button.
The day has passed now and they’ve both settled down on the couch, Patches napping at the windowsill. Outside, streetlights cast the quiet neighborhood in a golden glow, slightly dimmed from the rain. Dream hums softly, eyes shut as he relishes in the gentle feel of George’s careful fingers sliding through the strands of his sandy hair. They’ve done nothing but laze around, partially due to the atmosphere outside as well as George’s insistence to take a break, idiot.
Admittedly, spending the day doing nothing but playing George in Smash Bros and watching movies and cuddling with Patches was nice. He wouldn’t mind spending all his days the same way, as long as George is there.
George, with his stupid jokes and bright smile. George, with his foreign accent that rounds at the vowels. George, with his love for stealing Dream’s clothes and cuddling Patches.
George, the love of his life.
“What’re you thinking about?”
“Hm?” Dream grunts, opening his eyes. He’s met with the sight of George leaning over him, so close that their noses could touch, his soft lips quirking in the slightest of smiles.
He repeats the question, slower this time. “What are you thinking about?”
“Ah—“ Dream reaches up to nudge George’s face away, rubbing at his eyes while the latter giggles and straightens. “Just—you.”
“Flattering.” His tone is sarcastic, but Dream can see the pink on his cheeks even so. “Am I allowed to know what exactly you were thinking about, in regards to me?”
He pretends to ponder it. “Mm, no.”
“No?” George echoes, nose wrinkling endearingly. “What do you mean no?”
“What do you mean no?” Dream mocks in an intentionally horrible British accent. He snickers and turns away when George flicks at his forehead in retaliation. “I mean, it’s a secret.”
“You suck.”
He makes a face. “I do more than that, you know.”
“What?” George laughs incredulously, tugging at his hair. “Oh my god, Dream. What—?”
“You said it, not me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, idiot. What is wrong with you?”
“Well,” he drawls thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “I mean, I did let my boyfriend coerce me into spending the day without doing the piles of work that have been building up. Oh—and said boyfriend is British, of all things, so that’s pretty bad. Do you want me keep going?”
“Do you want me to hit you?” George threatens lightly, brown eyes sharp with exasperation.
“If that’s what you’re into.” he grins, feeling the pinkness in his cheeks despite himself.
One of George’s dark eyebrows rises into an arch, words dripping with cheekiness. “Does that offer about my ass still stand?”
He scoffs. “No. It expired five minutes ago.”
“You are such an idiot,” George declares, reaching down. Both of Dream’s cheeks are squished between his fingers mercilessly—he struggles in protest—and harshly tugged once before George lets him go and leans back, a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
“That was mean,” Dream grumbles, rubbing at his sore cheeks. His bottom lip juts out in a pout, making George scoff lightly and tap him on the nose.
“You’re a big baby, you know that?”
He chooses to ignore the comment and points to one of his reddened cheeks. “Kiss it better.”
George feigns disgust, wrinkling his nose and turning away. “Ew. No.”
“George,” Dream whines, pouting harder. “Kiss it better.”
“Dream,” he mocks, turning towards a blissfully asleep Patches. “Can you believe that this guy is your owner?”
One of Patches’ ears flicks.
“You’re so mean.” Dream grumbles, sitting up. George leans back to let him, but grabs his shoulder at the last second and reaches up, fingers brushing along Dream’s jaw to turn his face towards him.
“Fine,” he sighs, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “There. Happy?”
“No.”
George rolls his eyes, then turns Dream’s face further and stamps another soft kiss on the other cheek. “There. Happy?”
He begins to turn away, but with a noise of protest in the back of his throat, Dream catches his chin in his hand and brings him back to press their lips together.
It’s short, and sweet, and more of a peck than anything. But it makes George smile against his mouth, and so Dream smiles, until it's hardly even a kiss anymore and just them smiling against each other's faces like two stupid, gay idiots.
“That's better.” Dream mumbles quietly, tugging back just enough to give them both a sliver of space and press their foreheads together. “Much better.”
“You're so stupid.” George says, the warmth in his voice betraying his harsh words.
“If I'm stupid, then you are too.”
The laugh George makes is like music to his ears. “That's not how it works, idiot.”
“Says who?”
“Me.” George huffs, leaning away with a scoff. Dream lets him slip through his fingers, grinning so hard his cheeks begin to ache. “Stupid,” he repeats fondly. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Ironically, the only thing Dream hears is I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
“Love you too,” he teases softly. George rolls his eyes and scoffs again, but his cheeks are the warm kind of pink that Dream adores, and he's doing a horrible job of keeping the smile from his face.
It's only when George eventually tires of sitting on their couch and decides it's late enough for them to slip into bed does he get up, scooping Patches into his arms to take her with them because he knows that she'll show up either way. They stroll down the hallway, and on the way Dream realizes with a curious cock of his head and a questioning hum that he can no longer hear the sound of rain against their rooftop. Not even a light drizzle.
George meanders off to shower, and so Dream settles on their bed with a dozing Patches in his lap, staring out the window into the dark streets.
He hadn't even noticed that the rain had stopped.