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George has always felt different about sex. Well, really any sort of intimacy. Whether it was a “casual” hookup, or it was someone he’d been seeing, he felt mountains move within him. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were, if he even knew their name. It was intimate, it was beautiful. It’s romantic.
Despite the handful he had while in university, George isn’t fond of hook ups. This is mostly due to the heartbreak he feels the next morning, when he inevitably finds his bed cold and abandoned. He lets it happen, he enjoys it, but his heart always wishes for more after.
He keeps these feelings close to his aching heart. It’s weird. People don’t feel like that about people they meet at a club, people they rush home with grabby hands. It’s meant to mean nothing; a night of fleeting lust.
He knows these feelings are unusual, maybe even incorrect, because of someone he used to be interested in. He was funny, he was charming, he was everything George thought he wanted in a partner.
George figured that if he wanted to be in a relationship with him, he should tell him how he felt about the intimacy they’d been having. He approached him, confessed his feelings, and got completely shut down.
What they had was nothing more than friends fooling around, relieving stress. It was casual. George had completely misread their connection, and it completely dissipated because of that. He decided he wouldn’t ever risk losing someone like that again.
So, when he realizes he’s different, he locks it up. Sex can be casual.
Dream is, arguably, his best friend. Sapnap is up there, right behind him, but not quite at the top. Dream is special. George trusted him with shaky hands when Dream proposed they do Youtube together, and it changed his life. Dream is life-changing, and George wouldn’t trade him for the world.
George’s heart soars over the moon when his visa acceptance letter comes in the mail. He calls the Discord group chat of him, Dream, and Sapnap, but only Dream answers.
“Hey, George. Nick’s as-”
“I got it!”
“You- what?”
“My visa, Dream!”
“Holy shit! Sapnap!”
He hears Dream tear through their house, presumably to wake Sapnap. When he does, it’s all screams and fits of hysterical laughter. And then, just a couple days later, he’s boarding his plane.
When Dream had facetimed him for George’s video, to finally reveal his face, George was almost disappointed. His bad service made the quality choppy and pixelated; he could only really see that Dream had long, auburn hair. Nevertheless, he was excited.
He’d hoped to be more prepared when he finally met Dream face-to-face. He thought the car ride back to the house, their house, would properly suppress his nerves. He thought it had, until he actually saw him.
He stepped through the gate, Sapnap pointing the camera towards them. George watched as Dream approached him, wearing a blue shirt and- red pants? Brown? George couldn’t tell, but he honestly didn’t care. Dream’s face was right there, in front of him. His hair was noticeably shorter. He feels those mountains moving miles inside him. Life-changing.
After they finish recording the vlog, which ended up only taking about fifteen minutes, George is ready to collapse. It’s only about five in the afternoon, which means his body thinks it’s ten at night. He’s exhausted.
Sapnap left immediately after they’d finished. He offered George no reason whatsoever, just mumbling something about being late. George was slightly disappointed at his absence.
He falls into the plush couch face first, startling Patches. She pads towards Dream, who is rounding the corner into the living room.
“Hey,” he speaks so softly, George might’ve misheard him.
George lets out a disgruntled cry, feeling his bones ache at the joints. “Dream,” he starts, “I’m so tired.”
“Go to sleep, then, idiot.” Dream sits by his head, where Patches had previously been. A couple cat hairs puff up into the air as he sits.
George almost fights the urge to scoot up, rest his head in Dreams lap, breathe him in. Almost.
He inches forward, just enough to plop onto Dream’s thigh. Dream smiles down at him as if he was expecting it, as if he was waiting for George to crawl towards him. He tangles his fingers in George’s hair, and George hums softly. Again, mountains move. Dream feels so soft, so tender, so incredibly sweet. George pouts.
“Sapnap’s in a meeting, said it had to be in-person or whatever.”
George swallows. “How long ‘s he gonna be gone?”
“Hm, couple hours, maybe. We could watch a movie or two.” George can hear him smiling.
“‘M so tired,” George grumbles, burying his face into Dream’s sweatpants. He changed clothes.
“We can nap, we have ‘til like,” he checks his watch, “probably seven or eight. He said it’d be a while.”
We can nap.
We can nap.
The words swim in George’s puddle of a brain, sounding incredibly enticing. Napping with Dream? When he’s already feeling so warm and soft and fuzzy and every other cliché? He couldn’t say no, even if he wanted.
He nods, nosing at Dream’s sweatpants.
“Mm, nap time with Dreamy,” he giggles.
Dream giggles right back at him. “C’mere.”
George sits up and turns toward Dream, watching as he opens his arms. He doesn’t lay down, he doesn’t readjust, he just opens his arms. He looks George in the eye, like he’s trying to telepathically communicate with him.
George receives the message. He slowly, delicately crawls into his lap, leaning his side into Dream’s torso. He leans back a little, and Dream catches him, cradling him like a baby. He turns his head into Dream’s neck, smelling his laundry detergent, and faintly, his shampoo.
Dream heaves a deep sigh, tilting his head to rest against George’s. He lays his arm across George’s lap, pulling his thighs impossibly closer.
George is almost scared. Last time he was this intimate with someone, last time he felt this way about it, everything went wrong. He hasn’t let himself get that close to someone since then, but Dream seems to have weaseled himself through the cracks in George’s barricades.
Dream picks up on George’s sudden discomfort. “Is everything okay? Is this too much?”
George pouts. Dream hasn’t done anything wrong, Dream doesn’t know about George’s affinity with intimacy. He doesn’t know how George feels about him. George shakes his head no, further burrowing his forehead into Dream.
“George…”
He lifts his head to look at him, and Dream has a sincerity in his eyes that George has never seen. He’s looking into his own doe eyes, and it’s like he’s picking him apart through his pupils.
His eyes rip away from Dream’s, if only for a moment, to look at his lips. They’re pinkish, they look sweet. There’s evidence of Dream having picked at them recently; scratchy and chapped. They look like Dream; they’re perfect.
George notices that Dream is looking at his lips, too. George is slightly embarrassed; he knows he has scarring at the corners of his mouth from them splitting while he was sick, or when he’d cut them on popsicles. It’s discolored, and he knows it. Dream gazes like it’s the most beautiful art piece he’s witnessed.
He knows that look. He’s seen that look on one too many faces, and he knows where it leads. He’s petrified. Maybe Dream would understand George’s feelings, but he thinks it’s unlikely he’d be able to deal with the level George feels things. He knows, because it’s happened.
He knows where this will take him, but he doesn’t have the will to push away when Dream starts to lean in. He tries to ignore the pang of grief that curls in his stomach; he can’t ever come back from this.
George makes the final leap, his will breaking away. It’s everything he’s ever thought it would be. He feels Dream’s scruff scratching his chin, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. It’s perfect, and George wants to cry, because there’s no way Dream would ever get it.
He must huff a little too loud, because when Dream pulls away, he looks concerned.
“George?”
He can’t look at him without crying. He knows that if he even dares to make eye contact, he won’t be able to compose himself. He looks anyways.
“Oh, George…”
George is weeping, he’s weeping into Dream’s shirt, and Dream is rubbing his back. George almost thinks he might be able to explain it to Dream, but he stops himself.
“George, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t-“ He huffs. “I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“What?”
George picks his head up and wipes his face. He won’t let Dream take the blame for this. He won’t let him beat himself up, like he knows he would, just because George is feeling too much.
“No. It’s… It’s me. I’m- fuck , this- you mean so much to me.”
“…Okay?”
He doesn’t understand. “No, you- you mean so much to me. I can’t- I can’t do this without you.” George chokes on his words, looking down at his hands. He can’t look at him.
“Then do it with me.” Dream’s voice is low, it’s sugary.
“I can’t- I can’t do that to you. I’m not- I feel so much about you. I want too much.” He swallows.
“Too much? George, you’ll never be too much. How long have I known you for?”
George sniffles.
“And have you ever been too much for me?”
He supposes he’s right. Dream has never shown any signs that George was being annoying, or if he was on a different page.
“But… if I get you, I’ll want all of you.”
Dream kisses his forehead. “You have all of me.”