(un)usual call

?

Palpable anticipation could nearly be felt on the line, from both of them, but mostly from Dream, who pressed on what the other was going to give, "So are we gonna..?"

"Yeah," George said, his lips tugging upwards, "Since you're begging me for it."

"I'm not-" Dream started, but he really didn't have the upper hand here, especially since that could risk this whole operation, so he just huffed out, "Whatever. Now what are you doing?"

"Hm," George indecisively tapped his chin in consideration, "Just thinking. Maybe I should shower, maybe I have things to do."

"No."

"No?"

"Lay on your bed," Dream sounded as if he was commanding, but he was really just offering, "Like I am."

George shuffled onto his sheets, asking, "How are you laying, so I can do the same, as per your request?"

"Um," Dream looked down at himself, at his shirt already slightly ridden up, the fabric between his legs stretched over his obvious arousal, but he ignored that, directing instead, "I'm kinda sitting up, like, against the headboard."

"Okay," George drew out as he got into position, "Now what?"

Dream's breath was already shot, the spaces between his inhales shorter, his exhales clipped, his voice unsteady as he replied, "Bring your hand over, and-and press down."

"Bring it where?"

Dream clicked his tongue in exasperation, his own hand already lightly palming himself, "You know where."

"No, I don't," George played innocent.

"Yes, you do," Dream carefully countered, "Right where you like it. Press, until you can feel it."

This is what they usually did, not quite saying all the words, not quite admitting to what they were doing. Leaving just enough out that they didn't have to go out and say they were getting off to and with each other.

Even if they would both poke at each other to slip up and say it.

"My hand's on my chest."

"Go lower."

George brushed down, "My stomach?"

"Lower," Dream's voice was nearly down to a whisper, his focus narrowed on the way George's breath hitched when he finally settled down on himself.

"Oh," he grinned lightly, rubbing over his pants, "Right here, Dream? This is where you want me?"

"Yeah."

George pressed until he felt it, felt as he rose and stiffened against his palm, an insistence brought about mostly by Dream's directions, saying with something now uneven in his tone, "Okay, I feel it."

"Mm," Dream pathetically replied, worked up far more than George was, his motions quick, "Good."

"Are you going fast, Dream?"

He was. Dream looked down at his pace, at his eagerness to get off showing through with every press he made on himself, at his hips twitching up, seeking after more friction. "Yeah," he stumbled slightly.

"You should go slow," George taunted with a grin, "Slow down for me, Dream, won't you?"

"Ugh," The other griped, his head hitting back onto the wood behind him in distress, Dream forcing his movements down to an agonizing pace, whining bitterly, "You always make me go slow."

"Yeah," George laughed breathlessly, "Because you're too desperate."

"M' not," He denied uselessly, even as he writhed against the proverbial grasp George had around him, unable to defy as they could only do as much as the other said, leading each other closer and closer with carefully sidestepped words and vague enough instructions.