(un)usual call

It wasn't like they could pinpoint any one single instance, any one beginning that set the whole thing into motion.

No, things developed, slowly, over many phone calls that never were intended to lead them here.

At least, not at first.

Small little instances, barely even considerable. It was a buildup of a million interactions, jokes, late nights that went later and later, thoughts that went darker and darker. It was an escalation over several months, maybe several years. But if there was some sort of start, it was here.

An inconsequential conversation that, evidently, had a lot of consequences.

"This is a monitored call, you know," George chastised.

"No, it's not," Dream's laughter bubbled up incredulously, "I know it's not."

"How?"

"Because I'm not stupid."

"Well," George huffed, "Maybe it should be."

"Why?"

But George didn't answer, because he couldn't tell Dream that there was a light flush spreading over his face, not from anger or annoyance, but something.. else. And it was Dream's fault.

"Am I bothering you, George?" He preened, and even though the other couldn't see him, George felt as if Dream was peering right at him, breaking him apart bit by bit, able to find every little weakness of his, and worm his way in.

"No," He barely breathed out.

"Seems like it."

"You're not."

Dream was intent on delving further, because the way George denied it only confirmed his suspicions even more. Since, usually, the other would jump at the chance to tell Dream off for how much he bothered him, just that it sounded like a different kind of bother today.

"This isn't even anything," He teased, knowing this was allowed only because George had yet to hang up on him, "I've done a lot worse, even on monitored calls."

George's reply was just a touch uneven, as he asked, "What have you done?"

"Oh, just this and that."

"Like what?"

Dream felt oddly gratified by the way the other pressed, like he couldn't contain his curiosity, so he offered out something more concrete, even though it was weighed down heavily by mostly implication, "Whatever you can think of, whatever you're imagining or fantasizing about."

"Dream," George exhaled lightly.

"Have you?"

"No," The reply was quick and immediate, and so, so revealing.

"Do you want to?"

"What?"

Dream had him pinned, sure he was going to get such a satisfying reaction from George, "Well, when two people do it over the phone, it's called-"

"Shut up," The other brushed him right off, "I'm leaving."

George had hung up before Dream could even close his mouth from his upcoming and cut-off words. Maybe it was because they didn't usually talk about this stuff, or, well, not in this way.

Dream talked a lot of shit, he knew this.

When it wasn't outright him professing his desire to have sex with George, suck his dick until he could no longer speak, or whatever else Dream wouldn't shut up about.