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Dream is dressed up as a vampire. A hot vampire—as in, there’s fake blood smeared on his pale neck and George wants to lick it off him, even though it probably tastes vile. He’s laughing beneath the neon lights and there’s people surrounding him like wasps. He gets it though, he’s magnetic. He’s mostly used to it after weeks of living in his orbit.
He already knew he was a people person, but before there was an entire ocean between them. It’s different to actually see it with his own eyes. He told him once, when they were lazing around the living room, a couple days ago. Dream stared at him as if he’d grown a second head and said, if I attract people then what on earth is it that you do with them? He remembers snorting, not entirely sure what the younger meant by that.
He gets it now, though. Dream was right. People also surround him like wasps and he kind of loves it. Dream is a bit shyer about it, still not used to the attention of so many eyes on him in person. But George is already used to it. He likes the way it strokes his ego; making people laugh, hearing compliments thrown his way every now and then.
But Dream is dressed up as a vampire tonight and they agreed they weren’t going to try and look hot and he clearly did it anyway. They were meant to not even go hard on the costumes and fine, some fake blood and red lenses probably doesn’t constitute for a very try-hard outfit but maybe the fact that he’s fucking shirtless should be a bit too much. George thought he was joking when he said he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Turns out, Dream was serious.
George is too drunk for this. Dream never gets drunk—he’s holding a beer but he’s been watching him like a hawk for the past fifteen minutes and he’s had two sips. He has to be sober. George is not. George should glue himself to the very opposite side of this room and not say a word to him until he’s sober again, too.
He’s always been a bit of a menace when he’s drunk—well, a bit more than usual. Everything he struggles to conceal from everybody’s eyes seems to burst out of his well protected walls, the ones he’s been crafting for years. As in, he wants attention even more and won’t hesitate to do anything in his power to get it. As in, he gets a bit needy and clingy and laughs at even stupider jokes and isn’t scared of affection as he normally is.
As in, he needs to stay the fuck away from Dream because this is the first time he’s actually been drunk since they first started living together—it was easier when he was in England and could just turn off his phone. The most Dream has seen of him drunk were a few dumb texts that made no sense. George should’ve known better but it’s Halloween and the drinks are good and…he needs to stay here and not move a single inch.
“Georgie, any reason you’re not having a blast right now?” Karl wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to his chest. George sighs. He should’ve known someone would eventually notice. He forces his eyes away from Dream and his pretty laughter and forces a chuckle out.
“Sapnap poisoned my drink.”
Karl raises an eyebrow at that, sending a look Sapnap’s way. He’s wearing a cowboy hat and is yelling something at Punz about playing another round of ping pong. He hears the word bet and your mom and rolls his eyes, unimpressed.
“Pretty sure you’re just wasted, man.”
“I’m not wasted .”
He’s not. He’s had two beers, one shot of vodka and a cocktail that he’s still drinking from. But considering he isn’t used to drinking much and hasn’t had a meal since lunch—it’s still a lot for him to think clearly.
“Are you one of those sad drunks? That sucks.”
“I’m not sad.”
Karl laughs, but he still squeezes his shoulder and George feels a tiny bit better. He enjoys affection a little too much for his liking. He’s not sad though—he’s just worried and a bit nostalgic. And he misses Dream. He hasn’t talked to him in two hours. Two whole hours. It must be the longest time they’ve gone without talking to each other ever since he moved here—well, maybe not but it feels like it right now.
“Do you have weed?” he suddenly asks Karl, but before his friend gets to reply, the very epitome of his problems appears and George begs for the ground to open and swallow him whole.
“George, you can’t mix alcohol with drugs.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” he says, but he’s not looking at Dream and pointedly staring at his drink instead. He can smell his cologne. He should smell of sweat, what is wrong with him?
When did he even come over and how didn’t he notice it sooner?
“Dreamie is right, just finish your drink,” Karl says, amused. “I’m gonna go get something too, anyone want anything?”
“We’re fine,” Dream answers for him before George gets a single word out, and then he watches Karl walk off to their kitchen, leaving them alone. He shuts his eyes but quickly realizes that’s probably a bit too suspicious and forces himself to meet Dream’s gaze—grave mistake. The younger looks even better up close, of course he does. His lips are pink and his eyes are red and he’s wearing eyeliner and the blood is not only smeared on his neck, he notices—it’s also on his chest and George can’t for the life of him allow himself to linger there. He wants to touch so badly he has to physically place his hands against the wall, afraid they might betray him. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I think you’re drunk.”
George glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think you’re drunk.”
Dream snorts. “I haven’t even finished my beer.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Good for you, Dream.”
The younger tilts his head, watching him for a moment with narrowed eyes before asking, “Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
Dream laughs, and George has the impulse to yell at him to stop because it’s become the most comforting sound his ears have ever heard.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”
That’s when George realizes he should’ve gone after Karl instead of staying here—because his tongue feels loose and Dream is still staring at him with those eyes and he doesn’t hesitate before he blurts out, “I missed you.”
He’s never been forward with his emotions. Not verbally or physically. It’s in the way he was raised—his parents have never been very affectionate either and the friendships he’s had before Dream weren’t intimate at all. It always felt safer to keep his feelings to himself—until he made online friends who would so effortlessly tell him they love him that it almost made no sense at all.
That’s why the silence that reigns for a few moments after he lets those three words out, is not unexpected.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you just say—you missed me?” he asks, and he sounds so surprised that George wants to scream. “God, you really are drunk, aren’t you.”
Of course he is and of course it’s obvious—he would never willingly admit something like that. He’s missed Dream before—hell, he’s been missing him ever since the very first day he met him. He’s so used to the feeling that it’d be weird not to miss him…but Dream doesn’t know that.
“I literally didn’t say that, but fine.”
Dream’s grin widens and the sight makes him both want to wrap him in his arms and run the opposite way. They haven’t been very touchy ever since he moved here—Dream seems to have no problem being touchy with literally anyone but him; he’s even kissed Karl and hugs all of his friends as if it were second nature. With George, he’s careful. He hesitates. He keeps his distance. And George has never been one to initiate anything with anyone. But he craves it so badly it makes him feel sick.
“I’ve never seen you like this. I’m not leaving anymore, don’t worry. This sounds like a fun thing to witness.”
George’s glare deepens. “I will murder you in your sleep.”
“Hey, hey. Don’t fight, you two,” Karl returns then, drink in hand and a knowing smile reaching his eyes. George doesn’t know what it is that he knows but he doesn’t enjoy being left out of a joke, and it feels like it as Dream meets Karl’s gaze and they both share a laugh. “Gogy is so drunk.”
“You two suck, I’m leaving,” he says, already walking away, but Dream holds him by the arm and tugs him back.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
George would stay—he would, he wants to…but his inhibitions are lowering the longer he stays around Dream and smells his very addicting perfume. He isn’t sure what he’ll do if he lets himself be around him for much longer. There are lines between them, always have been. One thing is flirting in front of his friends or when the cameras are on them—he’s noticed Dream tends to do it way more often when that’s the case—but another one is actually flirting when it’s just them, at a party, with the lights so low he can almost convince himself the only reason he wants to stare at Dream’s mouth is because he cannot see much else.
“I need to piss,” he lies, tugging his arm back and striding across the living room and up the stairs. There’s a bathroom downstairs, too. There’s actually four in the entire house. But using the farthest one from Dream right now seems like a good decision on his part.
He kind of wants to lock himself in his bedroom and sleep this off. It’s three a.m. and everyone is wasted anyway. Sapnap won the toss coin and has been in charge of music for the entirety of the night—George has it on good faith he’s been playing all of the songs he doesn’t like. This is a terrible night.
“George, wow. You okay?”
If someone else asks him if he’s okay, he might actually scream. But it’s Tina and her eyes are soft and concerned. He wonders if he looks tired, confused, angry or all of those at once. He just wants to sober up and go back to neatly folding all of his emotions inside a box he only opens late at night, in the comfort of his own bed—and even then, he doesn’t allow himself to linger inside his head for too long. He knows first hand the danger it means to let his mind wander and come up with images that will never come true.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Nice costume.”
Tina smiles, doing a little spin in place to show her wings. She’s dressed as a fairy. He’s seen a few of her friends wearing similar stuff too, probably matching each other.
“Thanks. No costume for you tonight?”
George shrugs. He was too lazy to come up with anything good and ended up wearing his usual clothes instead. It’s a party at his own house, anyway.
“You know if the bathroom is empty?”
“Yeah, I think so. Make sure you knock though, last time I went there was someone inside,” she winces. George promises to do that and then they part ways. There’s less people upstairs, but he still recognizes a bunch of faces and smiles at some people from afar; it takes him five full minutes to make it to the bathroom with how many try to engage him in conversation. He doesn’t want that kind of attention right now.
When he knocks on the door, he finds it’s indeed occupied and sighs, deciding to just go lie in his room for a bit. He locked the door before anyone came, because even though he likes to think no one would fuck in his bed, he still doesn’t know every single person in here.
He’s glad he kept his key on him all night, which makes it very easy to walk inside and throw himself against his bed. He just wants to sleep. The music is softer up here and there’s not much light at all. He could fall asleep in seconds. He might as well. And yet, before he even gets to, someone walks inside and he turns to face the door, groaning when he finds Dream himself. Jesus christ.
“No way you’re sleeping, right?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Dream laughs, throwing himself on the bed as well. He’s far enough that they aren’t touching at all, but George thinks it’s dangerous anyway. His head feels heavy and his tongue is still too loose for his liking. He can’t escape. He doesn’t entirely want to.
He turns on his side and finds the younger already staring at him. His red eyes are hard to get used to, but his gaze is just as fond as it always is when it lands on him. He never thought he’d meet someone who would look at him with so much care, but after seeing him for the first time he realized how wrong he was. He knew Dream loved him, they’re best friends after all—but it’s one thing knowing it and another thing witnessing it so vividly. That’s one of the reasons he can’t let himself even risk jeopardizing their friendship.
He wouldn’t survive losing Dream.
“Are you that sleepy?” he asks him, voice impossibly soft. He loves his voice. It was the thing he fell in love with first, after all.
He nods. He can feel himself getting weaker. God. He’s giving up. His bed is too warm and Dream is too mesmerizing. It’s almost impossible to resist.
“This is unfair.”
“What is?”
“You’re sober. I’m drunk.”
Dream’s smile kills him a little bit.
“You want me to be drunk, too?”
It’s conversations like these that make things harder. It’s the same tone of hushed, gentle whispers they would use during long discord calls in the middle of the night; Dream talking in a low voice to avoid waking up Sapnap and George imitating him without even realizing it. It feels like they’re in their own little bubble and it’s even so much better in person—he didn’t think that was possible.
Dream really is his person.
“That sounds bad,” he scrunches up his nose.
“I’m kidding. Sort of. I mean, I can keep drinking if—”
“Dream, no. You don’t even like drinking. It’s okay,” he says. The last thing he wants is to pressure his best friend into doing something he isn’t comfortable with.
“I had a beer, though. I finished it,” he smiles, almost proud.
“And? Are you drunk now, too?” he jokes, he knows Dream is way more of a lightweight than him, though.
The younger’s eyes wander a bit around his face then, and George wonders if he imagines the way they linger for a second longer on his mouth. He freezes. It’s hard enough to resist following his impulses when Dream is at arm’s reach, on his bed, looking deadly good. But if Dream even makes the tiniest move on him—he’ll be a goner.
“Almost tipsy, I’d say,” he finally says. George shuts his eyes. Fuck. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you feeling sick? I was kidding about not sleeping, I can leave—”
“ No ,” he rushes to say, and he doesn’t even realize his hand has reached out to hold onto Dream until he sees it with his own eyes. Fucking betrayers. “I mean. No. It’s fine.”
“Wow George. First you say you miss me and now you won’t let me leave your bedroom? Wait until the fans hear this one,” he laughs.
George lets out a choked laugh.
Sometimes he really wonders. Does Dream only see them together as a couple as a bout of a joke? Is it really that hard to picture them as boyfriends? It cannot be. They’re best friends. They know everything about each other. They’re both openly into men. They have an absurd amount of chemistry. They complement one another. It’s just—he knows the risk of even trying, it’s the scariest thing and the reason he’s never done anything about his feelings.
But there’s no way he doesn’t see the potential. Right?
“Why do you never hug me?”
Oh god. Did he just say that out loud?
Dream’s laughter stops altogether, eyes wide.
Okay yeah, he definitely said it out loud.
“What?”
“Nothing—”
“George. You—hey, look at me.”
He reluctantly meets his gaze, cheeks warm. Dream is looking at him as if he was staring at a stranger and it’s a new look he’s never seen directed his way. He hates it. It melts quickly into that loving, fond gaze and George almost feels at home.
“You want me to hug you?” he asks, voice a tender thing he wants to keep close to him for eternity.
He nods, shy. Dream doesn’t ask him again though, or make him say it out loud. Instead he pulls him to his chest and wraps his arms around him as if it were second nature. They haven’t hugged since the very first day he got to Florida and it feels so good and foreign that it threatens to bring tears to his eyes. Dream is so warm and holds him so tightly against him that he can feel all the love he has for him in this very gesture. He’s never felt safer in his entire life.
“Ask for anything you want, any time. I promise I will say yes.”
It’s just then that he realizes Dream is still shirtless. He’s touching his bare skin. He’s never touched this much of him before and his skin is so soft he wants to let his hands touch up and down and left and right, learn every single curve and sharp edge he may find. He’s so fucked.
“You shouldn’t say yes to everything,” he mumbles against his shoulder and feels Dream’s breathing get a bit deeper.
“I can’t think of a single thing you could ask me that I wouldn’t say yes to.”
George shuts his eyes so hard he can feel a sting. Does he realize what he’s implying? Would he really say yes to anything? Would he kiss him, hold him in bed every night, call him pet names and touch him anywhere he wants?
He’s too tipsy for this. If he were sober he would’ve never asked for a hug. He would’ve never let himself be held for this long. He’s so glad he’s allowing it to happen, though. He’s never going to forget this.
“You should know by now the power you have over me,” Dream adds. George doesn’t know what to say to that—maybe he should crack a joke, call him a simp to defuse the tension. He doesn’t. Instead he bites his shoulder until Dream is laughing and yelping in pain. “Did you just bite me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Wanted to.”
“God. You’re so cute.”
“I’m not cute. ”
Dream chuckles, his hold around him turning firmer, as if scared he’d slip away if he let go. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He can feel the blood rush to his face and ears at that. He loves compliments but compliments from Dream have always tasted better.
He pushes the worries lingering in the back of his mind and pulls away only enough for their eyes to meet. Dream is so close that he knows the exact seconds it would take them to cut the distance and kiss; two.
“Would you kiss me if I asked?” he mumbles out.
Dream looks shocked again, the same expression he wore downstairs when he said he’d missed him.
“W-why would you—what?”
“You said you’d do anything,” he shrugs, curious. “Would you do that, too?”
He watches him hesitate, clearly debating something with himself before he shakes his head and exhales. “You’re drunk—”
George rolls his eyes. “I’m not that drunk.”
“You’re drunk enough.”
The older sighs, watching as Dream blinks his eyes back open.
“Would you do it if I were sober?”
There’s no hesitation this time. “Yes. Of course.”
He feels something warm and overwhelming cover him from head to toe. Dream would kiss him. It’s stupid how excited and happy that makes him, considering Dream has literally said how jealous he was when Karl kissed him all those months ago. It’s not that crazy that he would want to kiss him, too. But to hear him say it, when he has his arms still around his waist, both laying in his bed—it feels too real.
George leans closer then, pecking him so quickly that Dream freezes. He giggles, covering his blushing face. He feels insane.
“ George. Don’t—don’t do that.”
He pouts.
“Why not?”
Dream sighs again, using one of his hands to play with a few strands of George’s hair. He’s so gentle with him that he finds himself leaning into the touch, starved. “Because you’re drunk , remember? We don’t want you doing things you might regret in the morning.”
He shakes his head.
“I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” he whispers, lips pursing.
George feels himself getting a bit worked up. It’s dumb to try and fight about something like this, especially when he’s drunk, but it feels so unfair that Dream won’t let him kiss him when they both want it.
“And you do?”
“You’ve never once even touched me when you were sober, George,” he explains, and he sounds so sad all of the sudden that he has to hold himself back from kissing every inch of his face to let him know how much he loves him.
“That’s—” he exhales, struggling to find the words. “That’s because I’m scared.”
Dream raises his eyebrows. He can see that he wants to ask more but doesn’t. “We can talk when you’re—”
George rolls his eyes, pecking him once more and lingering for two seconds longer before pulling back.
“Shut up.”
“George seriously, this isn’t funny—”
He groans. Why is he being so difficult?
“I know you want me, too.”
Dream laughs at that, although it sounds a bit disbelieving. “Yes, obviously . I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
Those words threaten to undo him; maybe they do. He wouldn’t know. Perhaps he’s been done for far too long now. He feels himself shake from the inside out, words desperate as he pleads, “Then take me, please.”
The younger throws his head back, staring at the ceiling instead of him. “Fuck, you’re such—a menace.”
George giggles again, hiding his face on Dream’s neck. He leaves a kiss there too before whispering out after a pause, “Will you fuck me when I’m sober?”
“ George. Please don’t—stop talking. Go to sleep.”
“Fine but…will you?”
“Yes. If you still want to.”
“I will. Ask me in the morning.”
Dream shakes his head, but then he’s kissing his forehead so tenderly that George melts into his arms.
“Okay, baby. I’ll ask.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Mortified. He’s fucking mortified. The second he wakes up alone in his bed with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, everything that happened the previous night comes back full force and he wants to die. He asked Dream to fuck him. It doesn’t even matter that Dream kind of said he would, he was probably just humoring a very drunk best friend. God, he can’t believe this. Why the fuck did he let himself get like that? Why did he not lock his bedroom door after walking in? Dream didn’t even kiss him himself once. He didn’t do anything. Sure, he said a lot of nice things but who is to say he meant any of them?
What if he’s actually disgusted? What if he thinks George tried to take advantage of him? After all, he did kiss him twice even after Dream said no—oh god no. He’s horrible. What is wrong with him? Will he have to go back to England now? Did he ruin everything? What is he going to—
There’s a gentle knock on his door and George wants to cry. He doesn’t say anything, hoping the person will leave, but only moments later Dream himself is opening the door holding a tray. He looks perfect—no eye bags, no exhaustion, no hints of him having been to a party the previous night at all. George must look like shit in comparison.
“Oh you’re awake. How are you feeling? I know you probably don’t feel like eating but I made you breakfast anyway. Greasy food is good for hangovers. There’s also some tylenol here.”
George nods, avoiding his gaze as Dream sets the tray down on his bedside table and sits by his side. He can smell bacon and eggs. He glances at the plate to find orange juice and coffee there, too. He’s a fucking godsend angel. Is he being extra nice for him not to freak out about being kicked out of the house?
“Sapnap left to get breakfast with the guys. Figured you’d rather eat here,” he says then and George nods again because he can’t think of a single word to say right now. Dream must be able to tell though, as he asks after a pregnant pause, “You okay?”
He clears his throat. “Yes.”
“Okay…well, try to eat something. Drink at least. You need it,” he moves to stand up but George reaches forward and holds his wrist. Dream turns to face him, a questioning look on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” he tilts his head. It shouldn’t be as adorable as it is. “What?”
“I…I’m sorry about last night,” he says. It might be too early or too soon for this but he can’t have him thinking he doesn’t regret it. “I know I fucked up. I really didn’t mean to, Dream. I know what it must look like but I swear it was never my intention to take advantage of you—”
Dream takes a step back, eyes wide. “Wow, wow. What? George. What on earth are you talking about?”
He looks away, staring pointedly at his comforter. “I—I kissed you. Against your will.”
Dream pauses before letting out a scoff. “Okay, first of all. You were drunk. I was sober.”
“You were almost tipsy—”
“I was pretty sober, George. That’s why I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I shouldn’t even have been in bed with you—I didn’t think you’d um…do that. But it’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”
George rushes to shake his head, meeting his eyes again. The last thing he wants is Dream taking responsibility for his actions. “It’s not. You didn’t do anything—”
“Still, I should’ve just left—”
“Dream, please . I…I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do,” he adds in a whisper, but loud enough to be heard in the empty bedroom.
Dream’s next smile is soft and beautiful, but he doesn’t say anything as he approaches him and kisses his cheek tenderly. “Eat something, shower. And then find me, yeah? We’ll talk. Promise.”
George is so relieved that he thinks he might actually burst into tears right now. Thankfully he doesn’t, but his next attempt at a joke comes out choked to his own ears. “Is that your way of saying I stink?”
Dream rolls his eyes. “It’s my way of saying a shower will be good for you, loser. I’ll be in my office.”
He nods, but before his friend gets to walk out of his room he says, “Thank you for…everything.”
The younger grins at him.
“Anything for you, remember?”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The shower does help. It makes him feel more like himself and less like he just crawled out of the nearest trash bin. The breakfast Dream made for him also helped—but what makes him feel the best is the sight of his best friend in his office and the way his gaze softens when George walks inside. He’s wearing one of Dream’s hoodies because he isn’t sure how this conversation will go, but for better or for worse, it’ll be his comfort.
“Come here.”
He approaches him behind the desk, but he isn’t sure what to do from there, not until Dream moves his chair and pats his lap. George stares at his legs and blinks.
“You—you sure you want me to…”
“If you’re okay with it, yes.”
He almost snorts at that but keeps it inside. If he’s okay with it. As if George didn’t literally beg him to fuck him only hours ago.
It’s still a bit embarrassing to sit facing someone on their lap—it means your legs end up wrapping around them and your arms have nowhere to go but around their shoulders or hanging at your sides. Dream laughs at his awkwardness and pulls him closer, hands secured around his small waist.
George is sitting on his lap. This is insane.
“What am I gonna do with you?”
The older looks up at him, a frown on his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a menace.”
“Shut up. I’m so—” he groans into the palms of his hands, face so red he can feel the heat under his skin. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why? Because you kissed me or because you asked me to fuck you?”
He yells a bit more at that, the sounds thankfully muffled. “ Dream. Please—don’t.”
Dream laughs again, amused. He’s glad torturing George is so fun for him. And yet his touch is as tender as always when he reaches to pull each hand down from his face, holding them on his own instead. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I promise,” he says. “George, do you know why I haven’t been…as touchy with you as with anyone else?” he asks him, and the older is quick to shake his head. “It’s because you terrify me.”
He blinks.
“What?”
“The things I feel—that I’ve been feeling for you for years…they run so deep I was frightened you’d realize and want to take some distance from me,” he explains. George gapes at him as he continues talking, “Seeing you in person only made things worse. Living with you is—very hard, sometimes. I’ve been careful because that’s what I’ve always been ever since I realized I was in love with you.”
And oh.
He loves him back.
George can hear his own heartbeat climbing up his throat, making his ears throb. He doesn’t know how Dream manages to say all of that while making eye contact. He’s always been so verbally expressive, George has never quite understood how he managed to have such a way with words…and to be so comfortable talking about his emotions when it’s so hard for himself.
“You love me…like that?”
Dream stares at him as if he were crazy. “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t fall for you?”
He shuts his eyes. He must be blushing down to his toes by now.
“I…I feel the same way.”
“I figured.”
George’s embarrassment is quickly replaced by annoyance as he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I thought I was being very subtle,” he rolls his eyes.
Dream smiles.
“When you’re sober, yes. But feel free to be as unsubtle as you want,” he says, squeezing his hands before pulling one of them up to his lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles. Even that tiny gesture is enough to have him melt on his lap. If Dream says he’s been careful all these years, then he cannot wait to see how someone like him can become when he isn’t holding back.
“You always know exactly what to say, how do you do that?”
“I know exactly what to say to you, because I know everything about you,” he explains with a shrug, as if it were obvious. Maybe it should be.
George hums under his breath, pretending to think before he wraps both arms around Dream’s neck and gets close enough for their foreheads to brush.
“Then, can you tell what I want right now?”
Dream grins.
“Mm, let me think…you want to stream?” he asks. George glares at him. “Or maybe…oh wait, I know . You want to edit a video—”
Before he keeps talking George leans forward until their mouths meet, this time not leaving it at a simple, innocent peck. Dream doesn’t freeze like he did last night either, but instead immediately kisses him back with as much eagerness and force as George feels running down his veins. He pulls him so close he can’t tell where one starts and the other ends. He parts his lips and tastes him and George knows he will never forget this moment right here, sitting on Dream’s lap in his office, kissing him until the entire room ceases to exist around them.
“I think I can tell what you want next, too,” Dream whispers the moment they break apart, his mouth pressing kisses down his jaw and neck. George holds him in place and lets out a gasp at the sensation of sharp teeth teasing his skin.
“Yes—you definitely can.”
Maybe getting drunk and embarrassing himself wasn’t so bad after all.