Chapter Text
Spin the bottle is a harmless game, right?
George thought so until he was sitting in front of Sapnap, eyes wide, waiting for something, anything , to stop what was supposed to be happening. He was kind of wishing that it was Dream there instead. It’s far more comfortable to kiss your best friend than your good friend, isn’t it?
Ugh. One drink wasn’t nearly enough for this kind of thing.
The bottle lies discarded on the floor, pointing away from him. Sapnap had knocked it as he crawled over to George. It seemed to be teasing him; look at you, I’m not even pointing to you anymore. Look at what the fate of my spin has led you to . The remnants of some cheap beer drip onto the floor.
Fingers pulling nervously at the carpet, George shifts onto his knees. He could see Dream grinning out of the corner of his eye. The bottle clutched in his hand is half empty and he sways from side to side as he watches his friends. George scoffs. Of course Dream, the tipsy little bisexual fuck, was enjoying this.
He casts the thoughts away, attention flicking back to the man in front of him.
Sapnap's lips are wet and his mouth is slightly open as he tilts his head. ‘Are you sure you’re ok with this?' he seems to ask, as the pungent smell of alcohol fills George’s nose.
He nods, his hand lifting to Sapnap’s cheek for the sole purpose of blocking Dream from staring at his two best friends’ lips as they kiss.
Soft lips delicately press against George’s as Sapnap reaches up to hold the brunet's cheek. He isn’t a bad kisser, per se, but he had definitely had better. George prefers the more dominating ones, where a girl immediately pushes her tongue into his mouth and stakes her claim over him. He smiles into Sapnap’s kiss, pushing harder and pulling a plush bottom lip between his teeth. The moment Sapnap’s mouth opens in a gasp, George slips his tongue between the other’s lips.
Gasping, Sapnap quickly withdraws from the kiss, running his thumb across his bitten lip and staring up at George. It's rather pathetic actually, how shocked he seems by a little tongue. He slides back to his original seat and silently passes the bottle over to Quackity.
Still balancing on the edge of drunk and sober, George is far too aware of the potential mistake he has just made. The beer he drank hasn’t been enough to make him a stranger to coherent thought. He’s very conscious of the fact that he had just kissed Sapnap, who despite being good looking, has literally never kissed anyone. What was he thinking biting his friend like that? It was supposed to be a stupid peck or something. And for some reason, he wishes that he was kissing Dream, which is definitely not an identity crisis he thought he’d be dealing with tonight.
Finally falling over the precipice of drunkenness, George turns towards his slightly frustrated friend, who looks far too hot with a frown on his face.
"That was so intense, Dream, too bad you didn’t see it properly," he says smugly.
Dream hums, low in his throat, before shrugging it off as if nothing happened. Another mouthful of beer disappears down his throat.
George watches his lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle, staring at his neck as he swallows. Thoughts of butterflies in his stomach are very quickly squashed.
"If I didn’t know how to kiss I’d hide behind a hand too, Georgie," Dream comments, wiping his chin with the cuff of his stupid green hoodie.
Sapnap mutters something under his breath about ‘no that was actually a really good kiss’ before being swatted at by Dream’s careless hand.
George definitely doesn’t pay attention to the way Dream’s rings glint as he moves his fingers, or the obvious veins in his hand when he pulls his sleeves to his forearms and rests his hands in his lap. He definitely doesn’t stare at the single hair tie on his wrist, or the way he lifts a hand to ruffle with his hair, golden in the weak light.
Next to George, Karl snorts.
"Your turn next, Karlos," Quackity grins, before spinning the bottle.
-----
Three drinks later and George is in a hazy cloud, talking to some girl about his touchdown in last week’s game and wishing he was drunk enough to forget everything that had happened earlier that night. He’d been dragged away from spin the bottle soon after his kiss with Sapnap and was instead chatting some random chick up, hoping for something to get his mind off Dream.
The girl is pretty enough for George’s standards. Her gorgeous dark skin contrasts perfectly with the clean white of her blouse, and her braided hair falls around her shoulders, moving with every clear laugh that comes from her lips.
Her laugh is almost too perfect. It's nothing like Dream’s comedic wheeze which has George almost pissing his pants when he hears it.
Far quicker than normal, her name is forgotten. George is too distracted by the swishing of the flowery skirt that sits low on her hips. It reminds him of when Dream had been dared to wear one of the cheerleader’s costumes after a game. He had flaunted around, swishing his hips to some imaginary music as the rest of his team laughed and cheered around him.
A warm hand around his wrist pulls George back to reality as the girl drags him into the mess of people jumping to music too loud to hear. He's surrounded by sweaty bodies, stepping on toes as he's dragged through a crowd of pure heat.
He soon loses her, drowning somewhere in the sea of drunken teenagers.
It's at this point, on a regular night, George would stumble home, normally with some faceless chick hanging off his arm. He would drink some more, get laid, then fall asleep, awoken by a throbbing headache and a warm weight on his chest.
Instead, he knocks back three more shots and stumbles his way back into the throng of people dancing to the addictive beat of the music. Everything is so loud, he feels the tune drill itself into his brain. The knock of bodies against him becomes a comfort, grounding him and distracting him from thoughts that really didn’t belong in the mind of a straight guy. It just wouldn’t get out of his head. Dream’s lust-filled gaze, hurriedly switching to one of annoyed carelessness, before his sly jab at George’s mediocre kissing skills. He had known Dream for what? Twelve years? He knew his friend was bi, but had never really thought about him in that way. I mean, he was hot, and his eyes were beautiful and daring, his hands were so distracting and his lips looked so soft , and he gave George the best hugs, and his body, fuck he was hot , he was nice to George—he was nice to everyone—and he was great with kids, but that was beside the point! He didn’t like Dream in that way, he’s straight! One hundred percent, completely, no doubt about it, straight. He liked girls, he liked boobs! He didn’t like the idea of Dream pushing him into a wall and kissing him senseless, drawing his hand up George’s chest and...
Oh shit.
George vows to drink far more that night than he could normally handle.
-----
Four or five hours pass, and many more drinks. Not that George seemed to notice, or care.
If he was somewhat aware of his surroundings, he’d notice the music quietening down and the people slowly starting to drain from the wrecked house.
Bottles are strewn all over the floor, beer stains the carpet, and some curly-haired boy with a bright purple sweater stands hunched over a bush alongside a man rubbing circles into his back, holding his hair away from his face. In one corner, broken glass has been hurriedly kicked aside, and the cans on the counter are lipstick-stained and empty.
Three hours after that, and the few people that are left either live there, forced to clean the mess of a couple hundred drunk idiots, or are blacked out on various pieces of furniture and the floor.
George fits into both of these categories, his unconscious body draping over the sofa, shirt somewhere (probably in the kitchen), brown hair fanning his face, ears deaf to anything happening around him. The purple bruises on his pale chest and neck are nothing unusual, neither is the number scrawled on a dirty tissue clutched in his hand.
He might have been a bit too successful in his attempt to forget everything.