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1
Dream loves Friday nights for many reasons. It means that he can watch his favorite show without interruption, unwind after a long week, and shamelessly flaunt his Georgenotfound hoodie without anyone judging him. Which is why he’s currently sitting on their mildly uncomfortable couch, blasting some shitty criminal show while reveling in his best friend’s surprisingly soft merch.
It’s dark out, Karl and Sapnap having left to go on their usual Friday night date and Quackity supposedly out getting groceries. The cicadas outside hold a steady buzzing rhythm that slightly undermines the ominous effect from the tv, which he hadn’t been paying attention to for the past 20 minutes, content to let his mind wander wherever it wanted to as his hands absentmindedly toy with the remote in his hands.
Inevitably, his mind makes its way back to George. George smiling, George in his hoodies, George’s tail flicking whenever he feels happy, just George. His brain plays every interaction they’ve ever had on loop, letting him relive each and every one of George’s cute smiles, and when he blushes and his hair when it sticks up in the morning and— yeah. He’s down bad.
The sounds of the movie slowly start to fade into the background, his thoughts becoming louder and louder, so much so that he almost doesn’t hear the soft footsteps into the living room. But his ears perk up involuntarily as he’s yanked away from false realities and dragged back to real life. His tail twitches against the couch, a light whack resounding as he turns to face the culprit of his guilty daydreams. And of course he looks perfect, silhouette illuminated by the flickering lights coming from the tv, pale skin shining bright under artificial brightness.
His breath hitches as the brunet slowly crawls between his thighs before settling in his lap. A deep blush rises to his cheeks as George slumps forward, leaning on his chest and wrapping his arms around Dream’s torso. Everything feels warm. So incredibly warm, with George’s body covering his and heat rushing to his face and all he can think is this is happening. Glancing down at the petite figure on top of him, he feels an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. George could have lied down anywhere in the house, but had instead chosen to sit on him. It made his heart race and stomach flutter just thinking about it.
He thinks he catches a whiff of mint as he looks down at the brunet’s hair, and longs to card his hand through the fluffy brown locks, but resists, instead choosing to offer a few tentative words.
“Uhhh… hi?” He says quietly, watching the way George’s soft ears twitch as his breath hits them, feeling a shiver wrack through the smaller boy.
“...Hi,” George responds after a few moments, his words (or rather, word ) slurring with sleep. Dream lets out an affectionate huff at the boy on his lap, marveling at their differences. Where he’s the sun, George is the moon, his gold ears flopped over while George’s pale grey ones stick straight up, ever so sensitive. It makes him want to play with the smaller boy, tweak at the ears until he hisses, but he feels too guilty now that George is finally getting some rest. Propping himself (and George) up against the armrest, he looks around to room to ensure no one would catch them, a ridiculous fear, but one that plagues him nevertheless.
Once he confirms that their roommates are not secretly hiding in the room, ready to pounce the moment he gives in to this strange platonic-but-not cuddling, he places one hand on George’s head, slowly petting his hair while the other hand goes to cover his back, rubbing soothing circles on it while his tail thumps against the couch in a subconsciously repeated motion.
He gets a heady sort of rush when he realizes George is purring, the vibrations calming him into a doze, the hand on George’s back slowing down as they both fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms, the tv still playing on in the background.
And when Quackity gets home to find them sprawled out together like it’s the last night of their lives, he doesn’t say anything. Only smiles a bit before half-heartedly throwing the things he got from the store into the fridge, pulling his phone out and snapping a few pictures of the sleeping sort-of-couple, making sure to send the photos to Karl and Sapnap before slinking off to his room for the night.
---
2
It was storming. George hates storms. He would usually run off and hide as soon as he could tell one was coming, cover himself in as many blankets as possible and suffer through the loud noises alone. But now, he lives with Dream, and Dream refuses to let him be miserable in peace. As soon as the thunder booms again, signaling that it wasn’t a one-off sort of thing, Dream spots George quietly slipping away from the kitchen, tail swishing back and forth violently. He stands there, confused for a moment, before realizing what was wrong. Once he did, he quickly excuses himself from the chaos in the kitchen, leaving 3 confused people (read: idiots ) standing by the counter attempting to bake cookies.
He slowly wandered up the stairs, following the path George went, before finding the brunet’s door tightly shut. “George?” He asks softly, rapping his knuckles against it. Nothing. He sighs, about to walk away when he hears a small whimper coming from inside. Fuck it, he thinks, before slowly opening the door.
It’s dark in George’s room, the only light coming from the hallway behind him. Everything is coated in shadowy darkness, and he feels a slight pang of fear as he hesitates, he never really liked the dark. But he brushes the discomfort off when he hears another small noise coming from the bed, walking forward towards the lump of blankets placed haphazardly across the bed, brows furrowing as he sees a small tremor shake the blankets. “George,” he repeats, pulling the blankets back to find the boy in question curled up in a tiny ball, trembling with each roll of thunder.
His heart simultaneously melts and breaks at the same time, leaving him frozen in place as the conflicting emotions battle for dominance in his mind. He’s not sure which wins, only that he’s climbing onto the bed and wrapping a protective arm around George before he can fully process what happened. The brunet leans into his touch, burying his face in the taller’s chest and grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, desperately trying to block the noises of the storm out.
Dream sits there, surprised for a moment, before coming to his senses, a small red flush making its way up his face as he gives into temptation and starts running his fingers through the older boy’s hair, watching with fascination as the grey ears flick back and forth while he slowly cards his hand through silky brown locks. George lets out a small sound, one resembling a purr, and smiles softly as his tail swishes under the blanket. Dream pulls him impossibly closer, tightening his grip around the shorter boy’s waist and allowing himself to press his nose against George’s head.
He breathes slowly, inhaling the bittersweet scent of lemon-mint, brown hair tickling his nose slightly as George shifts, trying to reach a more comfortable position. He ends up finding one, shuffling around until he’s draped across Dream’s chest, leaving Dream to pray that the smaller boy can’t feel his heartbeat running a thousand miles per hour. It feels so… peaceful , so overwhelmingly domestic that for a second he could pretend that George loves him the same way he does. He does just that, daydreams about non-platonically kissing his best friend, before a particularly loud rumble startles the boy on top of him, a whimper tearing from his throat.
“Hey, you’re okay, shh, calm down,” he coos, trying to soothe the frantic boy above him. When that doesn’t seem to work, he tries rubbing his hand across George’s back, whispering sweet nothings while the brunet trembles above him. Eventually, the tremors wracking the shorter boy come to a halt, breath steadying as he finally succumbs to sleep. Finally, everything is quiet. Or, as quiet as it can get with the storm still raging outside, rain splattering across the windows while the wind whips around violently. It’s strangely calming, George’s weight on his chest combined with the unrelenting downpour swirling outdoors, with almost nothing to distract from it—
Crash!
This sound was different, seemingly having originated from downstairs rather than outside, and it tugs a slight groan from his chest, his ear flicking in annoyance. Cautiously exiting the bed, careful not to disturb George, he makes his way down the stairs, a small growl leaving his throat as he comes face to face with the culprits, all frozen in interesting positions; Karl threatening Quackity with a blackened cookie while Sapnap stands by the sink, attempting to get a flour? stain out of his shirt. The situation would have been comical, if not for the fact he could barely keep his eyes open and the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was pass out beside a pretty brunet.
“Can you guys please shut the fuck up?” He spits, watching them scramble over each other to apologize and start cleaning the possibly toxic concoction of whatever they used to bake with, before turning around to make his way back upstairs. He almost walks past George’s room again, but instead hesitates, peering at the sleeping brunet from the hallway. A small pang works its way through his chest, the realization that he couldn’t just wander into George’s room while he was asleep, and he probably never could. Dream turns away from the darkened room, fully intending to hide in his room and sulk unt the sun comes up, when a small voice interrupts his wallowing.
“Dream”? His breath hitches. “What’re you doin’?” The voice slurs, doused in sleep and golden honey. He gulps.
“Uh, I was uh, nothing, just uh—“ Light giggles cut off his stuttering, the atmosphere tired and cozy as George gives a response.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come back to bed now?” And, fuck. Who would he be to deny such a request? He tries not to seem too eager as he clambers onto the bed, ears perking up and tail wagging slightly while he tries to get comfy. Once he situates himself, laying back against the pillows a reasonable distance away from George, he calms down, breathing a relieved sigh, only to immediately tense up again as George scoots towards him, wrapping his arms around the blond, leg thrown over Dream’s waist.
“George?” He whispers pathetically (although he wouldn’t call it pathetic per se), and the brunet simply gives an exasperated huff.
“Dream. Just sleep. Please.” And so he finally gives in, allowing his right arm to rest on George’s back while the other slowly runs through his hair, the position similar to the one they were in before Dream left. There’s only one thought that runs through his mind as he drifts off, the recurring statement of fuck bouncing around his brain with every shift of the smaller boy against him. He’s so screwed.
---
3
“No! I’m not going! Get off me you jackass! I hate you!” There’s a lot of yelling involved, Dream realizes, when trying to make George get out of the house. Lots of yelling, hissing, scratching, biting… getting George out of the house is not an easy task. Getting George to go on a camping trip? Practically unheard of. And he was starting to realize why, as the feisty brunet currently wrapped up in his arms let loose a torrent of verbal abuse, enunciating each sharp sentence with even sharper claws.
“ Ow! What the hell, George?” He glances down at the smaller boy with a twinge of annoyance in his eyes, only to find the boy in question glaring up at him, face frozen in a snarl. Dream sighs and sets him on the ground, “George, I don’t care how much you scratch me, we are going on this trip, so shut up and get in the damn car.” They stand there for a second… 2… 3 and then bam! George takes off running, bolting past Dream back into the house, narrowly avoiding an unsuspecting Sapnap in his frenzy to get away. Dream barely misses a beat, taking off after the smaller boy while Sapnap stands confused in the doorway, holding towels in his arms. “ Oh Georgie! ” He calls, jumping over the couch to reach the stairs quicker, stumbling slightly but recovering before George gets too far away.
He’s at the top of the stairs when he sees George’s tail disappear as he runs into his room, and Dream smiles, knowing that George is finally trapped. He rounds the corner, only to find George… trying to climb out the window?
“George, what the hell are you doing?” He demands, slowing his steps as the shorter boy pauses his movements.
“Nothing,” he replies, the word doused in fake honey and coated in thinly veiled ice. Dream sighs.
“Look, George, I know you don’t want to go but this means a lot to us, and it’d be nice if you could maybe just go with it?” He phrases it as a question, even though they both know George is going anyway. That doesn’t stop the brunet from making a last ditch effort, however, and Dream has to both mentally and physically stop himself from caving when George gives him a look, ironically known as puppy dog eyes. “Come on, George, please? For me?” He tries, and George stands silently for a moment, seemingly debating on whether or not to let go of the brat schtick, before releasing a sigh.
“Whatever.”
Dream beams, tail waving excitedly as he runs forward to hug George. The shorter boy is stiff at first, likely still mad about the whole affair, but softens as strong arms wrap around his torso, a small huff of air hitting Dream’s chest as he finally gives in.
George is asleep. George is asleep, with his head leaning on Dream’s shoulder and his fluffy hair tickling Dream’s nose. George is asleep, soft purrs emitting from the back of his throat and ears twitching every time Dream’s breath hits them. It’s a wonderful feeling.
It’s also a slight problem, as they arrived at the campsite twenty minutes ago, and there’s still no sign of the brunet waking up anytime soon. Which, he supposes, is payback for interrupting George’s much needed catnap to drag him along out into the middle of nowhere. Realistically, he could’ve just woken him up, or just left the shorter boy on his own, but waking George up for the second time in one day is not something he wants to risk, and the thought of the Brit waking up all alone makes him feel far too guilty to be justifiable. So instead, he waits. For about five more minutes, before Sapnap knocks on the window, startling him more than he’d like to admit.
“Come on, loverboy, wake your boyfriend up so we can spend time together. You know, like you so desperately wanted,” The ravenette calls out, voice slightly muffled by the window, and Dream sighs.
“Give me a sec, Sap, I’ll be out soon, I promise,” he responds, a bit quieter so as not to wake the sleeping boy beside him up. Sapnap simply rolls his eyes before stalking off, leaving Dream with a difficult choice. He could, A) simply ignore Sapnap and stay with George, B) wake the shorter boy up and risk losing his best friend (or his life), or C) carry George to the campsite without disturbing him too much. C seems like a pretty good option… eventually he just decides fuck it, and opens the car door. Immediately, he’s assaulted by crisp autumn air, and stifles a shiver before he unbuckles George. The Brit looks discontent in his sleep, brows furrowed and mouth pursed in a thin line, but it slowly falls back into place as Dream carefully lifts him up and out of the car, carrying him bridal style into the woods.
It’s a short walk, out to the campsite, made quicker by the fact that he doesn’t have to drag a sleepy George along through the unruly brush, and he takes the time to savor the last few moments of peace and quiet before he’ll inevitably be assaulted by loud laughter and yelling as soon as he catches sight of the others. And that’s mostly what happens, too, when he finally makes it to the clearing in which everything is set up he’s greeted with the lovely sight of Quackity fake-gagging while Sapnap and Karl share an… intimate kiss, but instead of them carrying on with what they’re doing, as soon as the others see him they all go silent.
Why are they staring at me? Do I have something on my face or is something wrong--
He’s jerked away from those thoughts as a loud laugh sounds through the air, complete with intermittent wheezes and coughs before Sapnap and Karl join in, light giggles joining raucous laughter until he feels George stir slightly in his arms, and he’s debating about asking what they’re laughing at or if they could please be quieter so as not to wake the sleeping Brit in his arms up, when Quackity finally manages to squeeze a coherent sentence in among the chaos.
“You-- HA, you fucking carried him instead of waking him up, oh my god you are such-- a simp! Oh, this is too good to be true, the fanfictions write themselves at this point,” Quackity rambles, and Dream blushes when he realizes the magnitude of what he had done.
That doesn’t stop him, however, from trying to defend what little is left of his honor with a quick, “Well, to be fair, I didn’t want him to get all mad at me for waking him up again, and he would’ve been all sulky and shit, and I don’t want to share a tent with George if he’s--”
“Wait, what makes you think you’re sharing with George?” A voice buts in, and he sighs in frustration, ignoring the blush that still fans across his face, shifting the boy in his arms to be more comfortable before looking over at Sapnap.
“Well, I suppose if you were planning to share with George, I can just stay with Karl, right?” He says, and now it’s Sapnaps turn to sputter, Karl and Quackity both smirking in the background as the black haired boy finally decides on “whatever”, as a suitable comeback, moving closer to Karl, most likely to be consoled by the still laughing man while Dream pushes past them all, finally arriving at their shared tent. He winces as he crawls inside, not only is it awkward with George, it’s also sort of cramped inside. Like, so small that there’s no way they won’t be touching when they fall asleep. But that would be fine, they’d slept together before, right? At least someone had the decency to lay out their sleeping bags, and he sets the brunet down on one before exiting the tent to get a breath of fresh air.
Already he feels the temperature change, now that he no longer has the shorter man’s warmth to sustain him, and can’t help but shiver as he reaches the spot where Sapnap is lighting a fire. Quackity is debating with Karl about food, but all he feels is cold and tired, so he quickly bids them goodnight, tossing a middle finger over his shoulder at Quackity when he hears, “Yeah, that’s right, run back to your boyfriend, bitch boy.”
The voices slowly fade as he climbs into the tent, which is thankfully at least a bit warmer than the air outside. It’s difficult not to step on George, even though the smaller man is curled up into a tight ball. It takes him a moment to realise that the older man is trembling, small shivers working their way across the brunet’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
George runs cold. He runs hot. So the only natural solution to the problem would be to pull the shorter boy closer and suffocate him in warm cuddles. Well, really, he could just pull the sleeping bag over him, but that just doesn’t feel right, not when they’re oh so close to each other. Really, he’s only a man, after all, and George just looks so tantalizing with his smooth face and restless tail and suddenly Dream is scooting towards him, wrapping one arm around his waist and tossing his sleeping bag over them with the other. It’s so warm, and cozy, and something he wouldn’t give up for the world.
The trembling stops after a bit, a small sigh mixed in with a purr leaving the Brit’s mouth as he finally relaxes into a deeper sleep than before. The voices from outside go quiet as he slips away from reality, the last image painted across his mind before he fully drifts off being George’s face pressed into his chest. Something he can never have while awake.
God save him from cute brunets with even cuter smiles.
---
4
Dream has made a lot of mistakes before, done awful, horrible things that deserve to be tossed back into the pits of hell, but never, never had he done something so irreversibly stupid.
He gave George his hoodie.
He gave George his hoodie.
And on a movie night, of all things.
Fuck.
To be fair, it had been a reflex, seeing George shiver while they were all watching a movie leading to the completely platonic offering of his hoodie to the small brunet, one that George had accepted. Because he was cold. No other reason. He couldn’t let himself think that George had any other feelings for him, because if he did, it would send him through a long self-destructive spiral. Of course, others would argue that he’s already spiraling, from fans, to Sapnap, to even his own mother.
But he’s not spiraling. He’s definitely not thinking about how absolutely adorable his best friend looks, practically swimming in his own personal hoodie, and surely not thinking about the way George seems to snuggle into it with a small sigh before turning his attention back to the movie. Oh my god, he looks so fucking cute and-- did he just purr?? Oh my god be cool be cool, calm down Dream--
Okay, so maybe he’s spiraling just a little. But in his defense, George looks so unfairly cute in his hoodie, soft purrs emitting from the back of his throat. He’s holding a pillow, hugging it close to his chest, and Dream can’t shake the feeling that George should be holding onto him, not some stupid pillow, and no, he is not getting jealous of a fucking pillow, for god’s sake, even though the death glare he’s sending towards the offending object says otherwise.
Out the corner of his eye he can see Quackity studying him, before sniggering to himself quietly. Dream doesn’t bother taking his eyes off the pale brunet and that disgustingly soft, fluff filled sack of fabric, instead choosing to subtly flip the beanie-wearing boy off, resulting in a reasonably loud gasp his way. No one notices, he hopes, or if they do, they don’t say anything about it, leaving him to casually glance over at George, which might’ve been another irreparable mistake, because seeing George cast in the wavering light from the TV quite literally took his breath away. He looks ethereal. He looks untouchable. He looks … way too good for someone like Dream.
That thought brings him down a bit, his mood switching from star-struck to mildly upset. George would never love him back. A frown tugs at his face, and he lets himself sulk for a bit before three things happen all at once. One, there’s a blood-curdling scream sounding out from the TV (they had to watch a horror movie, obviously), two, Quackity leaps up from where he’s sitting on the couch and scatters popcorn everywhere, a suspicious squeaking noise leaving his throat, and three, George takes the convenient distraction as an opportunity to scoot closer to Dream and wrap a slender hand around his bicep.
And fuck, Dream’s brain is repeatedly short-circuting, mind unable to comprehend the fact that George was sitting curled up beside him, laughing along with Karl and Sapnap as Quackity tries to defend his actions. But Dream can’t laugh, not when he feels a warm body cuddling next to him and his heart is beating so fast it feels like it might burst. It’s so peaceful.
And he’s still focusing on the way George snuggles even closer than before, as if it were somehow possible, until he’s almost sitting on top of his lap, rather than tune back into the movie. It’s almost too much, the domesticity of it all. Not that he cares, of course, that the brunet chose him over the now forgotten pillow. And, yes, maybe it’s too much, but he can’t help the smug grin he shoots the discarded item as George holds onto him tighter.
Yeah. Definitely too much. Not that he cares, when the sleepy Brit beside him is rubbing his face across Dream’s shoulder, purring slightly louder than before. Everything feels so hazy, like he’s living in a dream (Ironic, he knows), with his best friend (and also the love of his life) almost draped across his lap and all of his friend sitting around, laughing at how cringe the movie is (even though they’re all terrified), it seems far too good to be true.
But it’s all real, all of it, from the popcorn covering the floor to the boy wrapped up in his hoodie laying beside him. It’s all real. Except for George’s love for him, of course. That would never be real. His ears droop slightly as he forces himself to remember the painful truth: that George would never feel the same way as him. Every touch, every cuddle, every fond word passed between the two, none of it is real. But he holds the brunet anyway, even though every second spent sitting there makes his heart break a little bit more.
He’ll pretend forever if he has to, pretend that he doesn’t love George with all of his being if it means he can do this.
I love you.
The words go unspoken as the movie continues to play.
---
5
Dream eyes the stairway wistfully, a small frown on his face as he patiently waits for George to make his way downstairs.
It’s been two hours. Yes, slightly excessive, but it’s like he just can’t let go of it, every time he tries to leave his chair it’s like something holds him back, and that something is George. Not that he would complain, he’s willing to wait for all eternity if it’s for George, a realization he’s slowly coming to terms with. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that he’s quite literally the “biggest simp ever”, as stated by Quackity a few minutes prior.
A loud noise startles him, and he twists in the chair to face the front door, cocking his head in mild interest. Sapnap barges through the now open door, toting at least seven bags along with him. He snorts. “Sap, why do you feel the need to bring everything in one trip, it’s not like the foods going anywhere,” He says, and Karl and Quackity laugh from their places on the couch.
“Yeah, well Dream, at least I don’t wait,” He glances at his watch, “ Two fucking hours for my lazy-ass boyfriend to walk down the stairs.” Damn. Raucous laughter echoes from the living room, Karl and Quackity laughing their heads off at the (admittedly accurate) insult that had shot from the shorter man’s mouth. He’s left gaping, ears slowly drooping as he admits defeat.
“He’s not even my boyfriend,” He mumbles back, the truth of the words sending a pang of hurt and longing into his heart. Sapnap either doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t care, because he continues his path into the kitchen, shoving Dream’s forgotten cereal aside to place the plastic bags atop the counter. Why isn’t George down yet?
“Dream, the man is a literal cat, he needs his sleep, you know this,” Quackity buts in, and only then does he realize that he accidentally said the words out loud, instead of in his head. Fuck, he thinks, slumping onto the marble surface in front of him to hide his embarrassment.
“Yeah, Dream, come on, Patches sleeps more than this,” a cheery voice calls out, and he seriously considers banging his head against the slab of rock before him until he can’t hear the incessant voices around him, because if Karl has started making fun of him, then he must really be obsessing. Across the room, Quackity snorts.
“Well, yeah, Karl, but Dreamie-poo wants to spend some time with his little gogy-wogy, not Patches.” Kill me, please.
“On second thought, I will go check on George, but just to escape you animals,” he announces, thankful that no one chooses to comment on the obvious lie as he leaps out of his chair and makes his way up the stairs.
A sense of deja vu washes over him when he approaches the room, although this time his mind is coated in slight concern instead of pining. It’s quiet as he reaches for the handle. Too quiet. The door creaks open when he pushes it in, and yet again, he’s greeted with unwelcoming black. This time, however, he doesn’t hesitate to walk over to George’s bed, flinching as the door shuts louder than he meant it to. Turning the light on, he sees George curled up on the bed, which wouldn’t normally be strange, it is his room after all, but something is off. Dream tilts his head to the side as he tries to figure it out, but once he does, worry twists his features.
The brunet’s face is coated in a light sheen of sweat, and his normal curled-up position has been replaced with uneasy turning, face pinched in obvious discomfort. George is sick.
Now, George has been sick before (obviously), but usually, he’s expressive and seeks comfort wherever he could find it. It must be really bad if he hasn’t even gotten up. “George,” he calls out softly, watching the shorter boy flip over in his sleep. Dream sighs. “George, wake up,” he tries, a bit louder than before, and accompanies his words with a nudge to the sleeping man’s chest. That seems to do the trick, George’s eyes slowly blinking open while a quiet groan leaves his mouth.
“Dr’m?” The Brit asks, squinting up at him, “Why do I feel so hot?” Dream chuckles.
“Oh, Georgie, you’re always hot.” He swears that he sees the smaller man blush, seeing the carmine dusting the bridge of his nose, but then again that could’ve just been the fever. The moment passes when he sees George shiver, his entire body shaking with sickness, and Dream goes to sit down beside him. “Do you want anything?” He asks, internally panicking when he realizes George is still wearing his sweater. Dark curls whip around the shorter man’s eyes as he shakes his head no, instead trying to get up. “Hey, no, no, no, come on, lay back down and I can get you water or something, do you want anything to eat? Maybe you don’t, uh, how about--”
“Cuddles.” That one word stops his ranting. George wants cuddles? From me?? George is delirious. Yeah, that’s it. He’s not thinking straight is all. What is he supposed to do? It’s not like he could just-- again, he's cut off, but this time it’s by a pale brunet climbing into his lap. Climbing into his lap?? His mind short-circuits at the feeling of warmth against his chest, and when he looks down all he can see is George’s hair pressed into his face. Oh my god.
“Uhm, George, I-- uh, maybe I should just uh, leave you here while I get some medicine, yeah?” He hopes the boy in question doesn’t notice his painfully obvious stuttering, which he (thankfully) doesn’t, probably due to the fever, instead nuzzling his face into Dream’s chest. His heart is beating way too fast for it to be considered platonic, and now it’s his turn to blush.
“No,” he replies after a moment, “Stay. Cuddle.” Dream is torn in half, one side telling to stay and wrap his arms around the boy in his lap while the other screams in panic. After a moment, he sighs, and gives into his desires, embracing feverish skin and heavy cloth with calloused hands.
“Fine, but can we at least move downstairs so I can get you some water and medicine?” Dream’s really starting to wonder how George can stand wearing that hoodie, everything’s already too hot for him just sitting in close proximity to George. “And do you want that hoodie off? You feel really warm,” he adds.
“No, I’m cold as fuck, and the only way I’m moving is if you carry me,” comes the snappy response, and Dream wonders how he hadn’t noticed the goosebumps adorning alabaster skin before now.
“Alright, alright,” he answers with a slight chuckle, and stands up carefully, maneuvering George’s legs around his waist. The walk to the stairs is tedious as he figures out the best way to carry George, until they end up in a strange position; George’s legs locked behind his back and his face pressed to the crook of Dream’s neck while his arms wrap around the smaller man, tight enough to prevent him from falling but not enough to be uncomfortable. And that’s how they make their way down the stairs, Dream breathing a small sigh of relief as he steps onto flat ground once more.
George is still trembling in his grasp, tail swishing back and forth quicker than usual, and he walks forward faster than before, so close to that blessed couch. But of course, nothing ever goes his way.
“And what is this we have here?” A voice airs through the room, Quackity rising from his spot on the couch with a triumphant smirk plastered across his face. He groans.
“Please, Quackity, spare me the theatrics, George is sick and contrary to popular belief he is not light, he weighs like a thousand pounds.” It’s a blatant lie, George barely weighs anything, but Quackity just rolls his eyes and gets up from the sofa anyway. Finally, he sets George down on the couch carefully, feeling empty and cold when he lets go of the warmth. The brunet doesn’t do much to protest, only whimpers and tries to bury himself in the soft grey fabric, obviously still cold, so Dream quickly reaches over and pulls the nearest blanket from one of the chairs beside them, draping it over the shivering Brit.
He can see Quackity out of the corner of his eye, as he sits down beside George. “Q, could you get some tylenol and water please?” Dream asks, knowing that no matter how much he protests and complains, Quackity truly cares about his friends, and the shorter man simply scoffs at him before going to fetch the requested items, the noise sounding suspiciously like “simp”. He’s about to yell something back to him, probably relating to his height (or rather, lack of it), but a small noise interrupts his thoughts, a slender hand reaching for his arm.
“Aw, come on, let’s go,” he says soothingly, laying George back down.
“Cuddle.” Dream had almost forgotten how stubborn the brunet could be, but complies anyway, finally sinking down into the plush fabric of their couch beside George, breath hitching when he feels warmth surrounding his side. Tentatively, Dream pulls him closer, and George collapses against him, pressing closer to him. It feels so indescribably domestic that his heart hurts for a moment, but quickly shrugs the thought off when he hears quiet purring beside him, or rather feels the vibrations in his chest, and slowly relaxes.
The shivering starts to slow just as Quackity returns with the meds and water, and both Dream and George miss the soft look that shines through his normally hard demeanor, snapping back on as soon as Dream’s face turns from George’s hair to the raven-haired man to take the tylenol and glass of water out of his hands. “Thanks Big Q,” Dream says, giving the man in question a small smile before turning back to George, trying to coax him to sit up to take the medicine. Once again, Quackity lets a small smile cross his face, this one devoid of sarcasm. He walks away after that, leaving the other two men to have their time together.
I love you George. I love you. If only he could work up the courage to say them out loud. But he’s content for now, content to hold the love of his life in his arms under the thin guise of platonic affection, rather than the truth. I love you.
---
+1
George feels lonely. Not the normal kind of lonely, where he could hang out with friends to cure it, but the bone-crushing sort of lonely, the kind that makes him want to curl up into a little ball and never get up. The only cure for that is Dream.
But Dream is busy, too busy for him to go up and demand attention like he so desperately wants to do. No matter how good their lives are, how fun it is to live with their friends and be able to do pretty much anything they want, they still have jobs.
And Dream is currently doing his. Which is good, with them all having been on breaks for a bit, something like this is important to a lot of people, but then again, Dream is important to him, and the loneliness is getting to be too much for him to ignore. So, after a moment of internal debate, he gives up and slowly trudges out of his room. He’s so close. George can hear loud wheezes coming from inside the blond’s room, and feels his heart pounding with every step he takes. He shouldn’t be this nervous to walk into Dream’s room. They’re just friends, best friends, but that’s it. It shouldn’t be this difficult. At least, that’s what he tells himself. That Dream is just a best friend, one he only has platonic feelings for.
It’s a lie, of course, but as he finally reaches Dream’s door, he can’t bring himself to care. Carefully pushing the door inwards, he hears Dream hesitate, seeing George enter the room. George brings a finger to his lips, not wanting the chat to know he’s there, and the blond nods, turning back to his monitors to make up some bullshit about Patches bothering him. “So, guys, I think we’re gonna switch over to speedrunning for a bit, and maybe some Dream SMP after that, how’s that sound?
George slowly walks forward, headed straight for Dream, tail flicking leisurely behind him. Once he gets to the chair, he gestures for Dream to face him, watching as the taller man complies, hitting the mute button so no one can hear them. “Dream.” It’s simple, indifferent, and effective.
“George.” But when Dream says it, all he can think about is hot chocolate and cinnamon. Unfair, how that works. Dream gives him a lopsided smile, and George is almost mad at how cute he looks, with his head tilted to the side and ears flopped over, and his pulse is racing now, a reminder of how non-platonic these feelings of his are. “Did you need something?” Dream’s concerned now, at the way he’s acting, worry plastered across his confused face. Oh, how infuriating it is to be around someone this perfect, and yet not be able to touch, or kiss, or hold. Oh, how unfair. But at this point, he’s lonely enough to burn bridges, lonely enough to sever their friendship forever on the chance that Dream loves him back.
He swallows, watching the way Dream’s eyes trace his throat. Perhaps this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had. “Yeah,” He responds flatly, and Dream’s eyes wander back up to his face, although not without lingering at his lips a little too long to be friendly.
“Uh, what did you need, then?” George internally smirks at the way the blond stutters over the sentence.
“You.” It’s the easiest answer in the world, but one that speaks volumes. One word that holds all the power in the world, one word that could destroy their friendship forever.
“You have me,” comes the response, and umber eyes meet viridian before Dream surges up to crash their lips together, and his body is exploding with fireworks, body turning to putty as Dream continues to press forward. It’s amazing, everything he could have wanted, and yet at the same time he wants more, wants to feel all of him everywhere, wants to rid himself of the incessant loneliness that had been plaguing him all day. It’s only a matter of time before Dream pushes through plush lips into wet warmth, and he can’t help but let out a soft moan at the feeling of Dream’s tongue against his. It’s everything he’s been looking for. It’s perfect.
Until he remembers that Dream is still streaming. He reluctantly pulls away from the kiss, and the taller man lets go immediately, afraid he’s overstepped, until he catches George’s playful gaze and lets out a shaky exhale. There’s so much to say, so much waiting to be said, but before they can even brush the surface, they need to deal with the current problem.
“Dream.”
“George,” comes the response, coated with sugar and strawberries. It sounds nice, hearing his name roll off of Dream’s tongue as if George belongs to him. Maybe he does.
“You need to keep streaming.” At that, Dream’s face falls, not because he doesn’t want to stream, but because he wants to continue kissing his-- wait, what are they again? Well, he supposes, that’s what they can talk about after the stream, speaking of which, Dream is looking at his monitor like it has the plague.
“George, come on, how about I just end so we can continue?” Dream asks, and he shakes his head no.
“C’mon Dreamie, go beat the ender dragon a couple times and then I’ll let you get more than a taste.”
That seems to do the trick, the blond practically tripping over himself to get back to his computer. He hurriedly unmutes, words jumbling together as he tells chat a half lie; that he was taking care of his cat. George smirks, watching Dream’s eyes flick back and forth between the screen and the curves of his waist. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?” He asks quietly, slowly sinking down onto Dream’s lap. Uneven breaths hit his face as he watches Dream try to recompose himself.
“Oh, Georgie, you’re gonna regret that,” he whips back, and George’s breath catches in his throat.
“Looking forward to it,” he quips, and this time, before Dream can respond, leans forward to press his lips against the soft skin of the younger man’s neck, feeling Dream’s hand fly up from the keyboard to his head, tugging harshly on his hair. A soft moan erupts from his throat, which he stifles by sucking a dark mark onto the other man’s neck.
And that’s how they spend the next few minutes, Dream attempting to play minecraft while the boy on his lap turns his neck vermilion, each careful mark placed with a thousand unsaid words, until George whispers three soft words against Dream’s neck. “I love you.”
Another blemish, the words whispered now seeming better than before. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
The stream doesn’t last very long after that, and as soon as the end button has been pressed, Dream finally gets to say it back.
“I love you too.”