Work Text:
“Do you think we’re gonna be cooler in college?”
It was 5:30pm on a Friday. The dwindlings of a monumental day shone through cracked blinds and basked the bathroom in a warm, golden glow. A bathtub that was far too small for two grown boys creaked under their weight. A broad frame sat against the deeper end, long legs bracketing smaller ones, bent in the space between them. Socked feet barely scathed slim hips, although the smaller wouldn’t have felt the small touches through thick material, a hoodie drowning his frame and keeping him warm despite the warm air of summer nights.
A glass bottle was passed between the two boys, and it had been a while since the taste had left them wincing. That didn’t mean the bittersweetness had subsided, and instead of adorning wet lips, it lay heavy in the air between them.
Dream was a little tipsy, and so was George. Sue them, they’d just graduated high-school. This was their celebration. Sitting in a cold bathtub, in a locked bathroom, with close to a hundred of their fellow graduates mulling around downstairs.
Their fellow peers might consider them boring, or party poopers, but they were both content with one another, right where they were. Parties with hundreds of irrelevant acquaintances were nothing compared to the company of a best friend.
The fact of the matter went unspoken, instead Dream opted to respond to George’s slurred question with messy words of his own.
“What do you mean cooler?”
“Like, I don’t know-“
“Are we not cool enough as is?” Dream feigned offence, dramatised by the vodka coursing through his bloodstream. The way it made George crack a loose smile across from him in the tub only encouraged him to push further.
“Am I not cool enough for you, George?”
Faux sniffles into Dream’s palms had umber eyes rolling in their sockets and a fond smile splitting porcelain at the seams. Dream watched through the cracks in his fingers, strategically hiding his burning cheeks and gleeful smile at the reaction his little performance invoked.
George reached forward to grab Dream clumsily by the wrist, and proceeded to swiftly yank his hands off his face.
Eyes exposed, Dream silently thanked the sun for taking the shades of warm tangerine that had previously graced the bathroom with her as she set, and replacing them with a darker indigo, one that successfully washed out the peach dusting that burned high on his cheeks.
George kept ahold of his wrists as he spoke.
“No, you idiot. Of course you’re enough, why are you so dumb?”
The burn worsened and Dream thanked indigo again, he thinks it might be his new favourite colour.
“Well, you’re the one who puts up with me, so-“
“So what? I’m the idiot?”
“Your words, not mine.”
George rolled his eyes again.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
George didn’t respond to that, instead, he shifted his hold from Dream’s wrist to his actual hand, prying tan fingers apart to thread and weave his own between them, fiddling with them as if they were a fidget toy. He squeezed Dream’s thumb momentarily as if to reassure the blonde that he was indeed right, that George didn’t actually hate him.
But Dream knew that, and he also knew that George would never do something so openly affectionate in a sober state of mind. He silently cursed the bottle of vodka in Georges lap, whilst also simultaneously thanking it for giving this version of George to him.
It was the brunette who eventually broke comfortable silence,
“I wanna be cooler in college, I think.”
“George, you’re already-“
“If you say I’m already cool, or cool enough, I’ll slap you.”
The words died hot on Dream’s tongue, and he sheepishly nodded at George to continue, cowering under George’s momentary smug glance.
“I mean like, I wanna be cooler. I wanna go to go to parties, meet lots of people-“
“You hate parties.”
“Wow. Thank you. I had no idea, idiot. I know, but how else do you meet people in college?”
“Umm- Clubs? Classes? Study groups?”
George looked at him blankly for a moment, and then burst into ribbons of giddy laughter. If it were anyone else, Dream would have taken the laughter as teasing, or mean, but the taunting sound coming from George’s mouth was nothing but comforting and humorous. Instead of shutting down under it, he flourished, and giggles bubbled low in his throat, barely passing through his lips as George spoke again.
“I don’t mean meeting people like that, I mean meeting fun people, having fun with fun people, parties is the only place you can do that stuff.”
“Planning on doing any hard drugs, Georgie?”
“Fuck off, no. No, no that stuff, I mean more like experimenting, having fun with different people. Getting the chance to actually figure out who you are. For all the shit we did in science, I can’t wait to actually experiment in the real world, You know?”
George was still toying with Dream’s fingers as he spoke, and had progressively gotten more fidgety as the alcohol set in and a carefully crafted resolve came crumbling down. If there was one thing Dream knew about George, it was that the boy feared and avoided facing emotional vulnerability like some feared the dark, or heights.
Vulnerability reared its horns and George’s fidgetiness spoke words he couldn’t quite verbalise. Dream simply halted the movements by grabbing George’s hands in the space between them. Calloused fingertips ran over alabaster knuckles as he spoke.
“I get that. Although why wait to experiment with other people ’til college? Why not now? Or earlier this year?”
George huffed out a laugh again, although this time it was less of a playful giggle. Something akin to hopelessness tainted the sound.
It made Dream ache.
“Dream, we live in a pretty small town. People would’ve talked. They would’ve, you know- judged me.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
Umber eyes met emerald ones under the LED bathroom lights. Dream didn’t know if it was the alcohol ripping George’s resolve away with every passing minute, but he felt as though he was melting under the fondness that cocoa iris’s directed towards him.
“I know. You’re different though. You’re not like them.”
Dream felt a sad smile adorn his face at the bittersweet compliment.
“I know, I’m sorry George.”
“Eh. It’s okay. As much as I would’ve liked to experiment a little, I don’t like any of them enough to talk to them, let alone do anything them. I couldn’t trust ‘em.
As the words absorbed themselves into the forefront of Dream’s mind, the area in his brain that came up with his best, and arguably, some of his worst ideas, positively lit up. He mulled it over foggily, and before he said anything he knew he’d regret, he made sure of something.
“George…”
“Mm?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Wha- Yes? Of course I trust you, why?”
Of course you’re enough. You’re different. You’re not like them.
Of course I trust you.
“Dream-”
“Would you let me kiss you?”
If it were under any other circumstance, Dream would’ve laughed at the incredulous look that adorned George’s features. Not in these circumstances, not when the air between them had gone from lighthearted to tense in a singular heartbeat. Not when George looked positively lost for words.
Dream’s point was proven by stammering,
“Wh- Who- Why?..”
“You said you trusted me, right?”
“Yeah, but-“
“Hear me out. You said you didn’t like or trust anyone enough to allow yourself to experiment with. So you couldn’t even start figuring yourself out yet, and, well. That’s not fair, because it shouldn’t be like that, you should have just as much of an opportunity as many of us, of them do. and it’s not fair.”
Dream knew he was rambling, but he didn’t stop in the hopes of making George understand.
“Not fair on you. I’m your best friend, George, I want things to be fair on you, so, let me help? I can help. If you want, I can do this for you.”
For you.
George looked like a deer in the headlights, positively speechless. The possibility of this being a horrible idea, and making their already slightly ambiguous friendship undeniably awkward ate away at Dream’s insides, a venomous bite of anxiety leaving him feeling flighty. The feeling subsided slightly when appreciation and familiar fondness found their way home into umber eyes once more.
Dream counted it as a win, and it gave him an extra spurt of confidence.
“So, are you gonna let me kiss you?”
“Dream, I don’t know if you really wan-
“George. Let me do this. For you.”
For you.
“I… okay.”
Dream flashed a toothy smile at the other, who returned it timidly. The taller pulled clasped hands closer to his own body, and in turn pulled George closer to him, sliding his small frame along the bottom of the bathtub. The act made George scoff lightheartedly.
“You could’ve just asked me to come closer.”
“I could’ve, but where’s the fun in that?”
George huffed out another lighthearted scoff, this time Dream felt it more so than he heard it. Warm breath fanning over his own lips, subconsciously causing them to tingle in anticipation.
Distantly, he remembered a similar feeling in his past girlfriend. Although her breath felt different in the same way that the weight of her hands never felt quite right in his own. He remembers constantly worrying about kissing her, it had felt like an intricate dance, easy to mess up and hard to get right. He’d always hesitated before pressing his lips to her own, and the awkward closeness before hand had been unbearable.
But now, as George invade his personal space, felt his breath against the button of his nose, it was nothing but comfortable. A little scary, a little unusual, sure, but also a little sweet, and the furthest thing from awkward.
From this distance, Dream could see George’s eyelashes fluttering with uncharacteristic nervousness.
“Dream are y-“
“George, Close your eyes.”
Another huff, yet he complied almost immediately.
“Dream, I- I don’t know how to do this.”
The whisper was almost inaudible, yet it was easily picked up by Dream’s attentive listening.
“That’s why it’s called experimenting, George. Now be quiet, I can’t do this when you’re talking.”
Seemingly satisfied with the answer, pink lips sealed.
Dream scanned the sight in front of him momentarily. Ebony eyelashes fanned over freckled cheeks, tinted with an unusual shade of pink. The flush of colour looked sweet against the curve of George’s nose, and when Dream poked it playfully, George scrunched it up in playful distate.
The sight made Dream’s cheeks light up in response, and under the security of George’s closed eyes, a fond smile broke out on his face.
Blame it on the alcohol.
As much as Dream adored pink flushes and wrinkled noses, the anticipation of what was to come was powerful. This being said, a sick, selfish part of his brain wanted to draw this out.
He told himself he was doing it for George,
Told himself that the way he leaned forward to graze a hand over the curve of George’s jaw was for him.
That the way he brushed his nose against a blush pink one, teasing, looking for that glorious hitch of breath was for him.
The way that he only just brushed his lips against George’s, just to feel the way the older chased the contact was for him.
That fulfilling years of unrequited desires and fantasies that were locked in a box, deep in his brain, only accessed by the open arms of sleep, was purely for George.
Where God’s may consider him cruel, selfish, sinners consider him genius.
Maybe Dream was a bad person, maybe he was cruel. But that was a problem for later, something to unpack when George was somewhere else, with someone else. Because for now, George was here, a mere breathe away, and Dream wasn’t going to let such an opportunity go to waste.
Plus, George had a few things to learn.
So, they experimented.
A hand pulled George in, and before the pair knew it, lips were locked. It was nothing more than a gentle press at first, but it didn’t diminish the way Dream’s chest soared with newfound flames, or suppress the gasp George failed to hide in the back of his throat. Despite its simple sweetness, it was no different from a childish kiss they’re both accustomed to, and it was no more than a few seconds before they separated.
Dream spent a second trying to gage George’s initial reaction, and when it was clear that nothing negative was trained into chocolate eyes, his lips found George’s again.
This time, it was more than a peck. The force of Dream colliding into George knocked the latter of balance in the slightest and resulted in a pale, smaller hand flying up to wrap itself around Dream’s nape, keeping him upright and balanced. Despite the initial force and knocked balance, George kissed back, matching the fervour with his own, alongside a hum of Dreamdoesntknowwhatbuthewantstohearitagain caught in the back of a vodka slackened throat.
A thumb brushed fire along George’s cheekbone, and George leaned into the touch, angling his head slightly. The new angle was counteracted by Dream separating their lips, only to join them as he opposed George’s new head positioning. George let himself relax into the kiss slightly, let his lips go lax and meld against Dream’s, subconsciously mirroring the motions of the other almost perfectly.
They waded in the waters of tameness. Only getting the cuffs of their jeans wet as they kept it safe. Gentle kisses were equivalent to barley getting your toes wet at the beach, laughing and kicking the water at your friend, watching as little droplets of water speckled their clothes and painted them in darker colours.
The way their mouths melded against each other just barely was akin to setting up a bunsen burner and turning on the gas, the beginnings of an experiment.
Soft lips moving fluidly against chapped ones. Check the connections.
The hand on George’s cheek guiding the kiss. Close the needle.
A hand winding around George’s waist, pulling him closer. Close the collar.
Arms slowly hooking around Dream’s neck, closing the distance. Open the desk outlet.
A heavy sigh slipping from George, one that silently begged for something more. Open the valve.
One to match from Dream, smothered by locked lips and newfound desperation. Turn the valve halfway.
A tongue grazed George’s bottom lip. One that sparked nothing but newfound curiosity and ignited a suppressed flame in George’s stomach, one that begged to be fuelled. However, the attraction filled hesitance was blindingly obvious, and made George pull away unwillingly.
“Dream-“
“Are you okay? Did I push too far? George, I did-“
“No. Shut up idiot. You’re doing good, I’m good.”
The subtle praise left Dream positively simmering, and George only realised how close the two actually were when he swore he could feel the abashed heat from Dream’s cheeks against his own.
“Are you sure? Was there a reason you stopped? Are you okay?”
George rolled his eyes and resisted flicking the younger in the middle of his taut forehead.
“I’m fine. I just, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, you know? Like, I know you’re just, you’re helping me, but I don’t expect you to go too far, since, you know-“
Since this is just a favour. Since you’re straight. Since we’re just friends.
Dream shook his head, both simultaneously cutting George off and shaking all the implied excuses as to why this was a terrible idea.
That’s never been something to stop him anyway.
“George, this is about you, remember. I’m here for you. You’re in control of how far this goes.”
Brown eyes stare up at him with an unusual openness.
“But, what about you…-“
“What do you want?”
Brown eyes stare up at him with an unusual openness, and Dream considers saying it all then and there. Considers spilling his guts in a strangers bathtub.
But Dream, despite being young and naive, and arguably a little stupid at times, knew one thing, and it was that if given a confession, George deserved a proper one. Not some half-assed, lust fuelled confession where his words were still kind of slurred form the bottle of vodka they had been passing between each other only minutes ago. He deserved clarity, a proper conversation, one where they had the time to talk things out properly.
One where they weren’t tangled together in a strangers bathtub.
But still, brown eyes stare up at him with an unusual openness.
And Dream is a man weakened by alcohol and the feeling of the boy from his dreams pressed up against him.
Something’s got to give.
“What if I told you I want it all.”
“What does that mean?”
“I want whatever you’ll let me have, George.”
“I, I don’t really know what that means…”
Dream’s heart stuttered in his chest for a moment, the words threatening to shoot ice through his blood and glaciate his internal organs, to still a beating heart and freeze it until it drops into his stomach.
“And, I’m not sure what I want, or what you want-
“George-“ Apprehension laces his tone, careful and worried.
“All I know, is that I don’t want this to stop.”
Dream’s heart kicks back in, and kicks in hard.
“George…” This time, the name is uttered with something akin to awe, thrill running hot through his blood and making his veins pulse with euphoric fervour.
Dream leaned forward to join their lips again, but was met only by the curve of George’s jaw as the other angled his head out of the way. It’s unexpected, but Dream kissed along the skin anyway.
“Dream, are you okay with that?”
Dream pulled back for a moment, and shot the brunette and incredulous look, as if he wasn’t just kissing the skin along his jaw half a second ago.
“Yeah, I am George.”
George smiled wide enough that his eyes crinkled shut at the sides, and shook his head as if in disbelief.
“What, is it that hard to believe? Are you surprised?”
“Hmm. Maybe…”
The words were, once again, teasing. Considering the lightheartedness of them in contrast of their situation, Dream giggled, which in turn made George giggle.
An indigo bathroom was filled momentarily by youthful laughter, turning the hue of the blue to something brighter, blue so bright it challenged the hottest of bunsen burner lit flames, even once playful laughter dispersed.
“George…”
“Dream…”
“Can I kiss you again?”
Youthful hearts ignite in unison, burning so bright that scarlet blood turns cobalt.
“Please-“
Light the flame.
Dream’s lips found George’s again.
The flame ignited.
This time, they kissed with newfound fervour, lips locked with passion as a byproduct of mutual requited attraction, and a certain length of longing. Where their first kiss was soft and gentle, this one was fiery and harsh. Dream stopped holding back, and George basked in the fact.
A tongue swiped against George’s bottom lip, and he shivered with the foreignness of it before letting a taut jaw go slack under the weight of a strong hand he knew all too well.
It should have been an unusual feeling, having your best friends tongue in your mouth. But to George, the way Dream skimmed the back of his teeth with the muscle felt nothing short of heavenly, and he positively melted into the feeling. A jaw slackened further, and Dream took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss where he could.
A needy whine that slipped from slick lips was interpreted as a wholehearted welcome.
Small arms wound around Dream’s neck as George welcomed the warmth of an open mouth against his own, and yet the space between the two remained cold. George was still sitting in the gap between Dream’s legs, and Dream’s legs where still bracketing his small frame.
Accidentally breaking the kiss, Dream wound an arm around a small waist and pulled the brunette closer, closer, closer. Close to the point where George’s legs now bracket Dream’s frame, and the a weight on his thighs was one equivalent to the blushing boy above him.
George settled with a crimson blush on his cheeks, and Dream took full advantage of the new position by attaching spit-slick lips to the alabaster skin under a sharp jawline. George angled his head to give the blonde more room, welcoming the heavier kisses with a hitch of breath, pink cheeks and a bared neck.
“Is this okay?”
George had been given hickies before, but never like this. He’d left parties after locking himself in a bathroom with a willing girl, after they’d kissed matching purple marks onto opposing skin through a shade of atmospheric lust, after they’d politely depart after exiting the bathroom. He’d always find Dream, and Dream would eye the marks, but never say anything.
When George was given hickies, he usually wound up staring at them in the mirror the morning after with a funny feeling in his stomach, something akin to shame. He willed them to go away, would try everything, whisks, shitty dollar store concealer, ice, heat,
Everything.
To him, having such an outwardly obvious mark of affection was shameful only because it came from someone who he would likely never see again. He hated how the marks themselves lasted longer than the connection with the person, and when his friends would namely pinch his arms and poke his neck and ask who the lucky girl was, all he felt was shame.
So why did letting Dream mark up his neck feel so different?
Adjust the collar.
Why instead of apprehension did he only feel excitement?
Adjust the valve.
Why instead of leaving cold regret in their wake, did ivory canines leave nothing but warmth?
Until the flame turns blue.
“Yes.”
A certain nip of teeth obliterated George’s train of thought along with the blood vessels under porcelain skin, and left his mind blank. Shades of mauve bloomed on pale skin as the brunette fully gave in to letting Dream leave blue marks against pale skin.
Where mulberry marks were once only colour against his skin, the colours left by Dream somehow meant more. Red that had always meant circumstantial lust now meant heartfelt passion, blue that once meant mutual agreement now meant fiery affection.
It was the first time that purple marks against George’s skin would no longer be looked at in shame when morning came, but would be a treasured memory of something he hoped he wouldn’t forget.
It was the first time he thought that dwindlings of sangria purple might not last as long as the presence of the person who left them.
Because when Dream broke away from his neck, only after sealing each broken capillary with a kiss made only of fondness, he was the only person to not duck away from George’s gaze in unspoken shame.
Instead, Dream met his eyes. George would say he looked at him, but the word didn’t do justice to the flecks of golden adoration and affection that shone against jade iris’s. Green that sat pretty in the eyes that George had adored for so long.
The most pivotal part was that the look wasn’t unfamiliar. George was accustomed to the look, and he deemed it one of the many reasons for his un-platonic, definitely more than friendly feelings for his best friend.
No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, it all came rushing back when Dream would look at him like that
Come on, what was he meant to do?
He had always done his best to ignore the gaze, turn his head when it got too intense, or when it made his cheeks darken a little too much.
But now, practically sitting in the younger’s lap, he felt as though maybe, he didn’t have to look away this time.
Instead, he met the gaze with matching fondness, and smiled when Dream blushed under it.
“You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“You so are.”
“Stop.”
“Naw, is little Dream embarrassed?“
“How would you actually know? You can’t even see red.”
George let his jaw fall open in feigned shock, and shoved Dreams shoulder backwards into the cool marble. Unfortunately, the younger barely moved, and instead opted to laugh at George’s feeble efforts.
“What was that?”
“Shut up.”
“Oh… look who’s talking now.”
“Shut up.”
“Naw, is little George emb-
George pushed forward and cut Dream’s sentence off with a gentle press of lips against lips. Despite it only being a split second peck, George felt the latter melt into the kiss.
It was over before it started, and George pulled away to see Dream staring back at hum, shock ever-present against handsome features.
“I said shut up.”
“Well…”
A mischievous smile broke out on Dream’s face.
“Can you shut me up like that all the time?”
“You… You’re literally… I hate you. No. I’m leaving.”
“George!”
“Nope. You ruined it. Moment over. We’re done now.”
George rose on shaky legs after a long period of misuse and untangled himself, admittedly with great difficulty since Dream practically clung on to him, from the younger’s embrace, and climbed out of the tub.
“Geoooorge.”
Dream feigned offence, and George smiled with the recollection of the same expression from what was probably no less than an hour ago, yet felt like days ago.
George ignored the insistent protesting from the bathtub, and walked to the bathroom door as if to leave. Before his hand could meet the gold of the doorknob, he turned to where Dream was sitting in the bathtub, arms crossed and lips downturned in a childish pout. George rested rolling his eyes at the theatrics, and instead extended a hand out to his boy, who perked up at it.
“Well? Come on, someone’s gotta take me home.”
Dream scrambled out of the bathtub faster than George deemed possible. Gangly limbs working at light speed to get the boy over to where George was standing.
He was surprised Dream didn’t fall over his own feet when the younger finally stumbled his way over.
“George?”
“Hmm?”
“We’re going to mine?”
“Mmhm.”
The fact that George had called it home went unspoken.
George turned to open the door, but before he could even face the door, Dream had leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against his lips.
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
Dream left the party with his boy wrapped around his arm and a new meaning to the aforementioned words.
And George left the party with a blush high on his cheeks and a kiss on his lips that was one of the first of many more to come.
The night was cold, but they burned with newfound fire, and blue-hot flames kept them warm until they got home.