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George has always been a curious person: he wants to understand things as best he can, especially when it involves him or his friends.
So of course his mind starts reeling when he sees all the posts of him in skirts.
He can hardly scroll through Twitter without seeing something about him in a skirt. Whether it’s pictures of outfits next to his face, or fanart where fabric flows around his hips and frames his thighs, it seems like all of the fans have come to a collective conclusion that he would look good in a skirt.
He won’t deny that the fanart is incredible: it makes him look pretty, and he almost feels like it’s not meant for him. But no matter how many times he sees it, he doesn’t quite understand it.
George rarely wears shorts, mostly sticks with comfortable sweatpants, and he definitely doesn’t show much of his legs on camera either: his job is a stagnant one, and even when he’s outside to film a vlog or grab groceries, he’s never showing more than his ankles. So he doesn’t know why he’s portrayed in such short skirts, with such nice legs sometimes adorned by sheer socks that hug his calves.
Long story short, George wants to see if he looks as good as people think he will. He wants to understand the hype, why people push the agenda so hard that he’s sure a lot of his friends have seen something about it. He can’t help but wonder what they think.
Especially Dream.
This is mostly out of the fact that if the fanart isn’t of him solo, Dream is often by his side. Sometimes they’ll both be wearing skirts, but more often than not, it’s only George. And, more often than not, Dream is looking at him like he finds him pretty, like he loves the way George looks.
That bit, he doesn’t really want to test out. He can’t even imagine - he doesn’t want to imagine - how that would go down. Dream is a very understanding person, but George doesn’t want to explain what led him to buy the article.
He opens up Amazon and quickly types in the keywords he’s seen around: white pleated tennis skirt.
All the options look, unsurprisingly, exactly the same. Seeing them like this, as not an object in passing but something he’s seeking out, something he’s buying to wear for himself, makes him feel funny. He doesn’t know yet if it’s a good or bad feeling.
He selects the one with the best ratings and clicks buy now, and a confirmation button finalizes his purchase. George has bought a skirt, and it’ll arrive in one or two days.
Sighing, he leans back in his chair after closing out of the browser. It feels like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, but a new one takes its place.
Now, it’s just a waiting game.
Him, Dream, and Sapnap share an Amazon account just to cut costs, so they have a mutual agreement not to check the orders tab unless absolutely necessary, in case there are secret gifts or more “personal items” (Sapnap’s words, not his). He’s extremely grateful for the privacy, but it also means he can’t stare at the delivery status, waiting impatiently for it to change.
George almost forgets about it as he gets caught up with work: he has videos to edit and streams to be on, so there’s not a lot of time to delve into his thoughts. So when Dream calls him into his room a few days later, he thinks nothing of it.
“Did you need something?” George asks as he enters.
He was expecting to find Dream swiveling in his desk chair, or laying on his stomach on the bed as he scrolls through his phone. Instead, the boy is just standing there. It already feels uncomfortable - Dream looks like a guilty dog who was caught stealing food off the counter.
“I, uh… I think I opened your mail by accident.”
George raises an eyebrow, confused as to why this would call for a trip to Dream’s room and a confrontation, if that’s even what this could be deemed as. They’ve accidentally torn into each other’s letters so many times, whether it’s out of mislabelling or sheer ignorance to whose name is written down on the packaging. He doesn’t see the big deal.
Until he thinks about what could’ve come in the mail for him. It’s not near his birthday, or even any other holidays, so it’s not some generic store-bought greeting card. It wouldn’t be bills or junk mail. And the only thing George has ordered is…
His blood turns cold, horror overcoming him as he watches Dream retrieve the package from behind his back. He can see where the plastic had already been torn, and the white fabric of the pleated skirt stares at him through the clear bag. He opens and closes his mouth, floundering for something to say, for some sort of excuse for the thing Dream is holding so delicately in his hands.
“It was an Amazon package, and- and I think you must’ve left my name as the recipient so I opened it and…” He holds it out for George to take. His cheeks are red: George doesn’t know why, but regardless, he feels so incredibly embarrassed.
“This is… um. I’m sorry. This is weird.” George clenches his shaking hands around the skirt, wincing at the loud sound that comes from the crinkling plastic. “I’ll just, I’ll-”
“Wait, George.” Dream grabs George’s wrist before he can rush out, forcing him to meet his honest, golden eyes. He quickly releases his grip, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Just to let you know, I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’s cool, that you wanted to try it, y’know? I don’t want you to think I- that I would have a problem with it or something. Because I don’t. I promise.”
George presses his lips together and closes his eyes. Dream is always honest, sometimes to a fault, so George knows he’s not just saying this to make him feel better. He can’t figure out what the feeling is that fills him, but he knows for certain that it isn’t a bad one. “Thank you. I, uh- I appreciate it.”
Dream smiles at him, and he takes that as his cue to leave. When he reaches his room, he shoves the package into one of his drawers and slams it shut. He can’t try it on today, he can’t even look at it today, because for some reason all he can think of is what Dream would say if he actually saw him in it.
Would he still be okay with it? Would he still think it’s “cool”? Would he stare at him as he tried to form an opinion on it, letting his eyes trail down George’s exposed legs and back up while he can do nothing but stand there?
Would Dream call him pretty?
George tugs on his hair and shakes himself out of his thoughts. He sits down to force himself to work on something, anything, that could distract him from the ideas his brain had started providing him.
A few days go by without incident. Dream acts like everything is normal, which, George supposes, it is. The only difference is that George owns a skirt and Dream knows about it. It shouldn’t be a big deal.
But George has gotten so antsy. He always finds an excuse to delay trying it on, but he also wants so desperately to just grab the skirt and pull it over his legs.
Eventually, he caves. He stands up abruptly from his desk, abandoning the unfinished project to yank the drawer open and pull out the thing he’s been avoiding all week.
After sliding the fabric out of the bag and laying it down on the bed to smooth out the wrinkles, George feels something bubbling in his chest. It’s unfamiliar, and he wants to figure out what it means.
He slides his sweats down his legs, stepping out of them and tossing them on the bed. He first holds the skirt up to his waist, feeling the fabric just barely stretch with the pull of his hands. With a deep breath, as if this moment is do-or-die, he puts one leg into the skirt, the other one soon following, and pulls it up to his waist, tucking his shirt before closing the small zipper on the side.
He stares down at the white fabric that moves at the slightest sway of his hips. A quick spin makes the skirt fly around him.
He slowly makes his way over to the full-length mirror on the back of his door, keeping his eyes low. He shakes out his hands anxiously before taking a breath and looking at his reflection.
Oh.
George’s eyes first land on his hips, the way the waistband accentuates his figure much more than any of his baggy clothes ever did. Even with the oversized graphic tee - one of his merch items, colored a pale blue - he wears now, when it’s tucked into the skirt, it looks so much… prettier.
He follows the lines of the pleats to where they end, just in the middle of his thigh. He honestly doesn’t see his bare legs much outside of when he’s showering or changing, so he never really looks. But with the way his thighs look framed by the pristine cloth, maybe he ought to, because they look good.
He feels warm, the bubbling feeling from earlier reaching its peak and leaving his body through a giggle. He understands what it is. It’s just joy. Comfort. He likes how he looks, and he understands all the art now.
His reflection smiles at him as turns and looks at himself from every angle. He’s so entranced that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching his door or even notice the handle turning.
“Hey George, I think Sapnap is-”
Dream’s words die in his throat when his eyes land on George.
The happiness George had felt falters under the gaze. It is so utterly indecipherable. George can’t move, can’t run to hide in the bathroom or push the other out of his room. He just stands in front of Dream and averts his eyes as he’s gawked at.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I should’ve- I should’ve knocked. Sorry,” Dream sputters as he closes the door behind him.
The hem of the skirt is clutched tight in shaking hands. His head is spinning, and he can’t keep replaying the seconds over and over. A small part of him wants to tear the skirt off and hide it away again. But the part that saw the smile in his reflection, that laughed when he spun around and felt confident in his skin, wins.
So, he cracks his door open and peers out, making sure Sapnap isn’t walking around before tip-toeing down the hallway to Dream’s room, smoothing out his skirt before knocking.
A voice on the other side of the door invites him in, so he opens it slowly. “Dream?”
“George.” He sounded somewhat exasperated, uncertainty in his voice making George’s name sound more like a question.
“Are you okay? You kind of, um, ran out on me.” He closes the door softly behind him and tries to catch Dream’s gaze.
“I’m fine,” Dream replies before George even finishes speaking. His words sound strained, and George knows he’s not being honest. He hates when Dream is dishonest, as it occurs so infrequently.
“If…” George swallows, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “If it’s the skirt… you said it’d be fine. You said you wouldn’t have a problem with it.”
Dream turns his head quickly to look at him, expression softening. “I don’t- I’m sorry, George. I didn’t mean to make you think I have a problem with it, it’s…”
Uncontrollable red-hot anger suddenly sears through him and spurs him to speak more. “It’s what, Dream? You can be honest with me. If you hate it, that’s fine. I don’t care. But you can’t just act like-”
“You look good, George.” His voice is slightly shaky, but ever-so truthful. The anger George had felt dissipates, but the heat doesn’t. “I left because I didn’t want to say anything that would make you uncomfortable. But if you want me to be honest with you…”
George takes a few small steps towards where Dream’s sitting, feet hooked on the base of his chair as he rotates it side to side.
“Please do,” George whispers. They’re not that close yet, but a few more steps and Dream would be looking up at him.
Dream worries at his lower lip, like he’s trying to put his words together. George forces himself to remain patient.
“You know, I’ve seen a lot of posts where you’re wearing something like… like that.” Dream’s hand twitches on his lap, as if he wants to reach out and touch, to make sure George knows what he’s looking at. “But seeing it is… so much better.”
George tries so hard to fight a smile, but it shows itself anyway. He walks closer until he’s standing between Dream’s legs, his knees touching the chair. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You look so…” he hesitates, and George notices his hands grasping the fabric of his sweats as if to restrain himself.
He reaches out and grabs one of Dream’s hands, guiding it to his skirt, letting the boy touch the cloth. George feels so overly aware of his body with Dream’s touch so close. “So…?”
Dream looks at him with wide, sincere eyes when he replies. “Pretty. You look so fucking beautiful.”
George flushes red and sighs happily at the words, reassuring him he had no reason to worry. “Thank you, Dream.”
The hand playing with the hem of the skirt moves up to lightly touch at his waist, hesitant. George scoffs playfully and nods, giving Dream the go-ahead to rest both of his hands on George’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles against the covered skin.
The younger seems too nervous to do anything more, so George makes the move to sit in Dream’s lap, placing his hands on the boy’s broad shoulders. “Hey.”
Dream’s eyes are blown wide, hands instinctively gripping tighter at George’s hips. “You’re… what made you buy this?”
It’s George’s turn to get nervous. He laughs anxiously as Dream patiently waits for an answer. Dream has always been so patient when it comes to George opening up. He’s more grateful than Dream would ever know.
“I’ve also seen so many of the posts and things… I just wanted to see if I looked as good as everyone thinks I would.”
Dream shakes his head, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. “All those posts can’t even compare, Georgie. You look so pretty. I’m- You look pretty anyway, you know that? You could be wearing the blandest outfit possible and you’d still look beautiful. Like… George.”
“Dream,” George replies, hoping he doesn’t sound as flustered as he feels. He’s read comments like these from fans, and sometimes heard them with a lighthearted tone during streams, but never like this. Never so blunt, never with Dream’s face inches away from his, behind closed doors. He doesn’t think he agrees with the latter part of what he said, but the way Dream said it makes it sound like it’s a universal truth.
“I’m so stupid for you. I know I joke about a lot of things but… God, I can’t even think.”
George lifts his hand to cup Dream’s cheek, rubbing gently at the soft skin beneath his eye. “Then don’t.”
The words are spoken right against Dream’s mouth before the blonde surges forward to connect them. Dream kisses him like he’s something to be treasured. Something that’s delicate, but also something Dream wants to tear apart. And George absolutely revels in it.
George’s arms rest on Dream’s shoulders again, one hand working its way into Dream’s hair and tugging. Dream’s own hands move in retaliation, leaving his hips in favor of gripping George’s thighs. His hands are big enough to cover the full expanse of the skin. The skirt has ridden up already from their position, but with the way Dream is moving, it’s bound to go further.
“Dream,” George breathes when they pull away, letting one hand comb through the front of Dream’s hair.
“You’re so lovely.” Dream places a delicate kiss on George’s cheek. “So wonderful.” Another kiss on the opposite side of his face. “Gorgeous.” One on the corner of his lips.
“Do you have a thesaurus in your brain or something?” George laughs, unable to contain his smile.
“Well, I was an English major.” George rolls his eyes. “But I’m not just saying that, you know that, right?”
George nods, grinning so widely his eyes are nearly closed. “You make me feel beautiful.”
Dream tugs him closer, his head in the crook of George’s neck, pressing a single kiss against his skin before resting his forehead on the boy’s shoulder. They sit in comfortable silence, George playing with Dream’s hair and feeling himself get drowsy.
“D’you wanna move to the bed?” Dream asks, unmoving.
George tuts, shaking his head. “Already trying to get in my pants? Jesus, Dream.”
Dream stumbles over his protests, pulling back and showing George his flushed cheeks. “I didn’t mean like-”
“Shh, I know, baby.” Dream shudders at the pet name. George stands, pulling Dream with him and collapsing onto the plush mattress.
“We should probably talk about all this soon,” Dream whispers.
George hums. “We will, promise. Just cuddle me now.”
Dream pulls him closer, kissing the top of his head. “I’m glad I found that skirt.”
“Me too. We’ll have to get one for you now.”
“Alright, I’ll order one tomorrow.” George had expected a hard no, so Dream’s easy acceptance throws him off. Dream seems to sense it and chuckles, the low, warm tone setting off butterflies in his stomach. “If you’re gonna be so pretty for- um. If you’re gonna wear one, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Why’d you cut yourself off?” George asks, desperately wanting to hear Dream finish the phrase.
He can practically hear Dream’s smirk when he replies. “What? You wanna be told that you’re all pretty just for me?”
George bites back a whine at Dream’s words. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
Grinning against Dream’s chest, George reaffirms, “my idiot.”
+
“Dream, just come out. I promise you’ll look great.”
There’s a whine of protest from the other side of the bathroom door. “I’m nervous. I don’t think I wear it as well as you do.”
“You’re dumb, then.”
“You haven’t even seen it!”
“Then show me, dumbass!”
The door creaks open, and Dream steps out, one hand going up under his sweatshirt and giving George a glimpse of his stomach. Dream had ordered the same skirt as George, a size or two larger and in green rather than white. The length was about the same, though; and with Dream’s longer legs, more of his thighs were exposed.
Dream drops his hand and fidgets nervously, eyes low.
George doesn’t even know what to say. So he just blurts out the first thing he thinks.
“God, you’re so hot.”
Dream glances up at him, a small smile on his lips. “You think so?”
“I have eyes. Jesus Christ, get over here.”
Dream makes his way, each movement causing the skirt to flare out and show more of his thighs. They’re more muscular and firm than George’s own, and he kind of wants to sink his teeth into them.
Instead, when Dream’s standing in front of where he sits, he reaches out to trail his fingers over the skin, just innocently feeling with no real motive behind it.
Dream’s legs shake ever so slightly. “Do you actually like it?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m seconds away from shoving you down on this mattress, idiot. You look so good.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
Long story short, George does end up getting his mouth on Dream’s legs, and the skirt stays on and inevitably gets ruined, but they both agree more orders are coming in the near future.
(And when Sapnap accidentally finds a package first, he just shoots them both a knowing grin and two thumbs up)