Work Text:
It’s peaceful, Dream thinks, and he’d be hard pressed to find another moment in the past few months where he felt quite this content.
George is laying on the sofa, idly scrolling on his phone, with Dream sprawled on top of him, head resting on his upper arm. It’s late, or rather, early, nearly four in the morning, but neither of them had wanted to go to bed, so here they remain.
“You’re comfy,” Dream mumbles, rolling over slightly so his mouth is pressed to George’s chest. He breathes deeply, inhaling the lavender scent that clings to George’s clothes. It’s from the same detergent they all use, but it smells particularly good when it’s wrapped around this particular roommate.
“Yeah?” George asks, voice quiet, “Well, you’re heavy! Get off!” He shrieks directly into Dream’s ear, and starts thrashing underneath him. He shoves uselessly at Dream’s shoulders, the other having wrapped his arms around his middle and locked himself firmly in place, giggling into George’s collarbone.
They dissolve into laughter, and while Dream doesn't release George from his grasp, he does shift so they're laying side by side facing each other instead.
“Hi,” Dream whispers, feeling heat creep into his cheeks at this new proximity. He can count every freckle on George’s face from here, something he started doing the other day while watching his friend’s vod, pausing it when he’d zoomed the camera in to show something, a perfect shot of his eyes, upper cheeks, and the bridge of his nose.
He was so much more blindingly beautiful in person. If only the fans could see him like this.
Tendrils of something possessive wrap around his heart as he sits with the thought longer. He doesn't want the fans to see George like this. He doesn't want anyone else to see him like this. This, being close enough to feel the fanning of George’s breath across his own lips, to see the million shades of brown that dance within his irises, to have a stray lock of chocolate hair brush against his brow, this should be just for him.
“What’s going on in there?” George’s soft words pull him back to the moment.
“Hm?” Dream clears his throat, refocusing his eyes on George’s.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
Dream scoffs, “How on earth would you know what I’m thinking?”
“Well,” George begins, “you get a little crease, right here,” he raises a hand from Dream’s chest to his face, thumb brushing across the space between his eyebrows.
“Do I?” He leans into the touch, ever so slightly, melting as George’s fingers fall to his lips, brushing down his cheek and across his jaw as they go.
“You do, and you kind of press your lips together in a way I never see you do other times.” The pad of George’s pointer finger catches on Dream’s lower lip, tugging it down slightly.
“Spend a lot of time looking at my lips, do you?” Dream teases, delighted to see colour flood George’s face. He bites his cheek as his friend rolls his eyes, fighting back his own grin.
“You do have nice lips, Dream. Everyone looks at them, you know that.” George attempts to sound indignant, annoyed even, but it doesn’t fool Dream.
He tightens his grip around George’s waist, pulling him slightly closer, reveling in the way he hears the other’s breath catch in his throat at the motion. “You think I have nice lips?”
George doesn't speak for a moment, and they both scan the other’s face, all the mirth from moments ago gone, the air now palpable with an electric tension ready to ignite at the smallest spark.
With an audible swallow, and a glance down at Dream’s mouth, George answers. “I do, yeah.”
More silence.
This must be it, Dream thinks, this is the moment we’ve been waiting for.
He leans in the smallest amount, eyes flicking down to George’s lips briefly before returning to meet his searing gaze. He pauses, only a hair’s breadth from connecting their lips and finally getting to kiss George, when George rolls away and props himself up on his elbow, his other hand digging into his pocket and pulling out his phone.
“Take a selfie with me,” he says, voice a little shaky and uneven.
Dream shoves down the initial sting of rejection, instead studying his friend’s body. For how closed off and stoic George could be with his words, his body is a different story.
His cheeks are flushed a bright pink, and the colour travels to the tips of his ears and down his neck as well, where it meets his chest, heaving slightly too hard for having spent the last few hours laying on the sofa. His fingers tremble as he unlocks his phone, and he has his lower lip caught between his teeth with the corners of his mouth twitching up into the ghost of a smile every couple seconds.
A smile of his own creeps onto Dream’s face, the twinge of hurt dissipating. “Ok, sure.”
He hikes himself up onto one hand, watching George open his camera app and get the angle of their faces he wants.
“Say cheese,” George says, and then Dream moves.
He cups his free hand to George’s cheek, turning his head as he leans in with his lips puckered.
He pulls back in a fit of laughter as soon as he hears the phone drop into the cushion below them, scrambling to get it before George.
“Nope,” He says as George clambers over him when he scoops up the phone and holds it high over his head, “I want to see that picture, and I know you’re gonna delete it the second you can.”
He knots his hand into the back of George’s shirt, pinning them chest to chest and holding him steady as he checks the photo.
It’s blurry, and it’s almost arguable that it’s even George in it, But Dream’s heart swells at the sight, and he quickly sends it to himself before handing George’s phone back.
“You’re such an idiot,” George mumbles, shaking his head, but surprisingly locking and tucking away his phone without deleting the picture.
Relaxing his iron group on his shirt, Dream rubs small, gentle strokes across George’s back. “Gonna keep that one?”
George doesn't answer right away, nor does he make any move to get off of Dream, instead laying the side of his head over Dream’s heart and sighing. Worry pricks at Dream’s mind, this is awfully quiet for George to be mid joking around, and especially when they’re this physically close.
“George?” He asks again, craning his neck back to try and see his friend’s face. George merely buries his face in Dream’s sweater and nuzzles in closer, his hands wedging themselves between the couch and Dream’s back, fingertips pressed hard into his skin.
“George,” Dream tries again, his other hand coming up to hold George tighter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Please don’t be mad.”
“Idiot,” the word is muffled from where it’s spoken into fleece and cotton.
“I know I am, please don’t be mad with me.” Dream drags his nails across George’s back, attempting to find a ticklish spot to try and break the tension between them.
George finally lifts his head, resting his chin just below Dream’s collarbone. “Idiot,” he repeats. “I’m not mad, I’m sad.”
Indeed, he looks sad. His eyes shine slightly, the set of his brows indicate disappointment, and he just seems a little flat.
“Sad? Why?” Dream instinctively pulls him closer, wraps his arms around his waist more securely, protective.
“I thought you were going to kiss me, and you didn't.”
Oh.
George reaches up and smoothes his thumb between Dream’s brows, smiling at him.
“I… I was going to, and then you pulled away and changed the subject.” He whispers, moving the hand sat on George’s rib cage up to run fingers through the fine hairs at his nape. “I didn't think you wanted me to.”
Groaning, George buries his face in Dream’s chest again. “I know, it’s stupid. I was nervous.”
Dream brings his other hand to Geoge’s cheek, tipping his head back up to meet his eyes.
“Do you want me to?” He asks, voice low and gravelly, as his heart hammers in his chest so hard that he’s certain George must be able to feel it pressed against him.
His friend leans into his palm with a small smile, “I do, yeah.”
They lean in together and close the distance, exhaling hard as their mouths finally connect.
Kissing George feels surprisingly natural, Dream thinks. They read each other effortlessly, George swiping his tongue along Dream’s lip at just the right moment, and Dream deepens the kiss in return.
Both of George’s hands are tangled into blond locks, Dream’s hands are on narrow hips, and they move together in sync, any boundary between them long gone, existing as one.
They break apart, panting for breath, and Dream peppers kisses all over George’s face, anywhere he can reach, causing the other to fall into a fit of goggles.
After a few more chaste kisses, they snuggle closer together, finally growing weary.
“Can I kiss you tomorrow? Or was this a one time offer?” Dream murmurs into George’s hair, pressing a couple kisses there too.
A soft snort sounds from where George is tucked up with his face against Dream’s neck. “You’d better kiss me tomorrow.”
“And the day after that?”
“Duh.”
“And the day after that?”
“Dream,” George chuckles, dragging his lips up the column of Dream’s neck, and nipping at the pulse point.
“Every day, forever.”