TW: swearing, praising, anal sex, car sex, riding, cat calling, inappropriate touching (😬)
edited kinda lazy sowwy
Wind whooshed past George as he lifted one leg straight behind him, balancing on the other with steady hands and an even steadier mind.
The coldness from the ice seeped up and turnt the tip of his nose red; he didn't mind it, and continued twirling on the ice.
The long-sleeved black pants and shirt he wore clutched at his limber body and left him warm, with still a hint of cold layering outside the clothes.
It was a random Monday afternoon, so the rink wasn't crowded, just a few people here and there but they were decently easy to avoid most of the time.
Of course, he occasionally found himself nearly stumbling over a young child who couldn't quite skate yet, but he just checked that the kid was okay before continuing on his way. It's not like it was the child's fault, so no need to get angry, right?
George didn't get angry a lot. He wasn't sure why— he knew he had plenty of reasons to be pissed off at the world, however, he just shrugged it off with a 'it is what it is' and moved on.
His knee bent.
He sent himself flying into the air, leaping graciously with closed eyes.
George loved the feeling of the air curling over his hair and jaw, the feeling of being weightless in the air yet with so much power when landing, but still staying graceful.
And, he was ready to hit the icy floor below, however large hands cupped beneath his armpits and caught him.
George flung his eyes open.
"Woah, watch out."
A blush of embarrassment roared over George's cheeks; leaping with your eyes closed on a public rink wasn't the best idea.
"I-I'm sorry—"
He processed who it was.
Dream.
They went to the same university, and the two had the same Marketing class.
They didn't talk much in class— both of them had their own friend group. George hung out with the. . . well. . . the quieter, nerdier, and rather lamer side of the class, and Dream hung out with the louder, dumber, and rather cooler side of the class.
"—Oh. Dream. Hey." George squirmed.
Dream realized he was still holding George around a foot above the ice, and carefully sat him down. "You almost jumped right into me."
"Yeah, sorry," George scratched the back of his neck. "Just practicing."
"Same."
"Y-You do figure skating?"
Dream chuckled, and rolled his eyes. "No! I do hockey."
"Oh." More blush found it's way onto George's face.
"Why? Do I look like the figure skating type?"
"N-No, you're much too big for that," George giggled awkwardly, and Dream perked up a brow at George's rude words. "No, no, not like your that fat or anything but—"
"That fat?"
"No, no! You're n-not fat at all you just have too much muscle and you need to be nimble for figure skating and you're wide and—" George paused. "—I-I'm just gonna stop talking."
"Yeah, that sounds like it's for the best. Guess it's a good thing I caught you and you didn't ram right into me, hm?"
George tittered and fidgeted with his fingers. "Oh y-yeah, that would've h-hurt 'cause I was in the air and would've fallen and h-hit you and my skates could've hit you and. . . yeah—" George let out an exhaustive breath.
Dream chuckled, setting a hand on George's shoulder. "You're a funny one, George Davidson."
"Yep! That's me— a funny one!" George grimaced; God, did he have to keep embarrassing himself?
"I was watching you skate— you're really good."
A flustered George managed to squeeze a few messy words out. "Thank you, I've been doing it for a-awhile so I think I'm pretty good. But that's just my opinion and you— you can have your own opinion, I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you to say I'm good because if I suck I'd rather you just let me know so I know what I can fix and I—"
"No. You're doing perfect."
George giggled, and nodded, swaying back and forth. "Thank you."
"Guess I'll see you later?" Dream tilted his head. His eyes pierced George's soul, and ate him from the inside— it made him almost irresistible, and George found himself letting out a sigh of defeat at Dreams words.
"Yup. See ya later. . . bro." George punched Dreams arm slightly and watched Dream snicker, before skating off, returning to practicing some form of cardio exercise for hockey.
George smacked the palm of his hands on his face and groaned into them.
It was official— he was dropping out.
George slid on over to the side of the rink; he tried to pretend like he was just fixing up a lose lace on his skates, but after a few minutes of it, it quickly became apparent he was just worried about bumping back into Dream.
His eyes followed the rusty haired boy.
He whooshed past people, flawlessly leaving the person in awe as he dodged and weaved between them like this task was no more than a simple stroll to him, which, to be fair, it probably was.
George bit down on his bottom lip.
Dream pumped his strong arms to gain speed; again, he whipped past George in a blur, leaving George stumbling further back into the wall. The heel of his hands grasped the wall yet he faced the rink, hair brushed over his eyes.
When Dream came to a stop, icy debris was scraped up off the rink and off his skates blade.
George's breath hitched.
Dream brushed his hair out of his eyes, glancing around to make sure he didn't hurt or knock anyone over, and when he realized he was in the all clear— he began his way to the exit.
George knew he wanted to talk to Dream again, but that would be weird— they just talked.
But he did want some water.
So, he found himself trudging after Dream, and to the locker and bench filled area.
He unlocked his locker, grabbed his filled bottle, and took a few sips of it whilst eyeing Dream. Dream crouched down on the bench, (he was maybe. . . fifteen feet away from George at his own locker) and untied his skates, humming to himself as he did so.
Dream got both skates off before he finally peered to his left, than right, than left again where his eyes got caught on George; George turnt red and looked away from the boy, one hand holding his water bottle and the other clutching his pants leg with embarrassment.
George could feel beady green eyes on him, feel them trace his body that was fully outlined from the tight clothes he wore.
George glanced over to Dream.
The two met eyes, and Dream ran his tongue over his teeth, looking George up and down before winking.
Water rushed out of George's mouth and he found himself coughing and wheezing, his eyes widening at the water that dribbled down him and onto the floor.
George blushed an embarrassing amount from not only being winked at, but also spilling the water on him, too scared to look at Dream. He could hear Dream chuckling to himself.
"You need some help with that water, George?" Dream stood up.
He was just in his socks, and George still stood in his skates.
Dream walked over to George, leaning on the locker and peering down at him with a stupid smirk.
"I— um. . ." George wiped his mouth with his shirts sleeve.
He tittered, glancing around with red ears and a nervous smile.
". . . just choked a bit."
"Yeah?" Dream tilted his head.
George looked up at Dream, opening his mouth, shutting it, then nodding.
"It's been a rough day for you, hm?"
"Y-Yeah. I'm still sorry for almost running into you, I'm such a clutz at times. It's why I struggle to make friends. And keep friends. And get any sort of a love life." George giggled and closed the lid on his water, but cringed.
He always was an over-sharer, he didn't mean to but when he started talking he just kept going till his mouth ran dry.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Dream looked George up and down. "I've never seen you like this. Seen you. . . you actually try. No offense, but you usually just wear sweatpants and an oversized shirt."
"I—" Okay, that was a little rude.
"You should wear tighter clothes like this more often. If you want a better love life, things like this will attract them." Dream once again studied George; George sat his water down on the bench and wrapped his arms around his waist.
"Uhm. . . okay." George snickered awkwardly and looked away from Dream.
He knew Dream was right— he couldn't hide away and wear lazy clothes and expect to get any bitches.
"Guess I'll see ya tomorrow?" Dream recognized the discomfort of the conversation.
"Yeah. See ya." And like that, George shoved his water bottle back in his locker and returned to the rink.
———————————————————
The floor length mirror taunted George.
He adjusted his shorts, tugged at the collar of his sweater.
This was out of his comfort zone, way out of his comfort zone, but there's no way to grow than to push, right?
He wore blue jean shorts, and a beige sweater that was cut and revealed his right shoulder. It wasn't oversized and didn't cover his shorts, stopping perfectly where his shorts started.
The breeze of his room was cold against his usually hidden legs.
He forgot he even owned clothes like these— he hadn't worn them since. . . since junior year in high school, he was pretty sure. He remembered the last night he wore them— at a party, where he got too drunk, and jumped in the pool.
Luckily, his clothes didn't get ruined as he stripped them before hopping in.
George cringed and shook his head; he slipped on his black converses, crouched down, and tied them.
Class started in five minutes, but he lived right next to the room it was held in, so he could easily get there in a minute.
"You look good."
George jumped, and snapped his head back.
It was just his roommate— Karl.
"Oh. Thank you."
"Trying out something new?" Karl blinked softly, his breaths carefully matching George's.
George shrugged, and shoved his hands into his pockets; he crouched down and grabbed his tote bag full of textbooks and pens and notebooks. "Decided it would be good to switch it up." A weak smile.
Karl studied his face. "I see. Well, I like it. You look cute."
"You think?" George let out a shuttered breath and returned his attention to the mirror. "I thought I kinda looked dumb but—"
"No, no! Not at all."
George finally let a small smile crawl onto his face. "Really?" A giggle, and a quick jump from George to show his excitement of actually looking good.
"Really. Okay, cutie, let's get to class," Karl nodded his head towards their dorms front door, and George skipped after him as they left.
Karl wasn't in his Marketing class, but he had an Economics one nearby, so he walked George to class before heading next door to his.
It was a nice day out— the clouds were white and fluffy, the sun was bright yet didn't hurt George's eyes.
A perfect day out.
They arrived outside of George's Marketing classroom; George bit down on his bottom lip, stopping abruptly before going inside.
The door teased him— people were already there, one hundred percent, so he'd be watched whilst walking in.
"Have a good day, 'kay?" Karl sat a hand on George's exposed shoulder. His palm was soft against George's bare skin, it felt like a motherly touch, and George sunk into it.
Karl was oddly good at comforting anxious people. He wasn't sure if it was the reassuring grin he always had, or the kind eyes, but George just felt. . . felt okay with his life whenever he saw Karl.
He knew Karl did it on purpose. Knew Karl gave George all those extras pats, and compliments, on purpose to make George feel better, but George just embraced it.
Not everyone was as lucky to get such a wonderful dorm partner, after all!
"Okay. You too." George smiled— a small smile.
"Bigger," Karl narrowed his eyes; George curled his lips slightly farther upwards. "Bigger."
Two fingers jabbed into George's ribs; George giggled, and finally let out the smile Karl was searching for. "How's this?"
"Good. Alright, see you at lunch?"
"See ya!" George watched Karl walk to his class just further down the sidewalk, before turning around and facing his.
Alright, here we go, George thought.
George walked into class slowly and leisurely, doing his best to keep his chin up.
He adjusted his shorts, he fixed his top, and as soon as he could feel beady eyes on him, he knew this was a mistake.
Any words Karl said to him, any words George said to himself, fell out of his mind and into a pathetic pile that George left at the door.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
A whistle from the back of the room, George flushed red and sat down in his chair, sinking deeper into it as chuckles teased him.
"Hey George—" A boy shouted. "—Lemme guess, you're fucking the professor for an A?"
George glared back at him, frowning and shaking his head.
"You're not? Does that mean I can fuck you instead?"
Opening his mouth, he shut and just sulked deeper into his chair, burning a scarlet red.
He saw Dream shift at him, but was silent.
"Wanna hang out after class George?" Another boy cooed. He was simply teasing George, teasing George for trying to feel good about himself. "Go back to my place?"
George groaned and buried his face into his hands.
Where was the professor? Maybe he was in the restroom, maybe he was sick and forgot to send out an email to let everyone know class was cancelled.
He would tell them to stop, and even though George would definitely still hear whispers behind him, the insults wouldn't be so loud. So invasive in his head, like a disease with no cure.
God, he was an idiot for thinking he could ever be like the pretty girls in his school. He would never be them. Never. Never be like them.
These guys didn't even think he was hot— they just liked teasing him, making fun of him.
Okay, he'd skip this class.
George didn't hesitate to stand up again; he bit his tongue at the 'oh's' and "oo's" as he walked by.
Another man walked in.
His name was Jeremy. He was tall, and had a pathetic mustache and a long neck.
And, he was an idiot. Just as big as an idiot as the boys in the back of the class; matter of fact, he fit right in with them.
George tried to ignore him, tried to push past Jeremy and just go home. But no.
No.
Why would anything go his way?
He felt a large hand slapping his ass, leaving George stumbling towards the door and smacking right into it.
"What the fuck?" George veered around. He rubbed his forehead, frowning and moving his other hand to his back.
"What?" Jeremy tiled his head. A large grin creeped onto his face at George's distress, and also as he heard laughter roaring behind him.
George wasn't sure why he was shocked— they're just boys in their early twenty's, of course they're disgusting.
"You just— why the hell would you do that?" George sniffled and took a step back.
God, why did he listen to Dream! He should've stuck with his sweatpants and hoodies. His jean shorts felt tighter, his sweater went from being soft to itchy.
"You didn't like it?"
"No!"
"Then why would you wear that?" Jeremy looked him up and down.
George shook his head and blinked away tears. "That doesn't give you a right to touch me!" George curled his hands into fists, his knuckles bleeding an ivory white.
"Um. . . okay. . ." Jeremy looked back at the group of boys who still cackled. ". . .Guess I can't help myself."
Another hand reached out for George; George jumped out the way, and smacked the hand so it flung back to Jeremy's side.
Another round of laughter.
"Don't touch me." George wiped away a tear that fell, and buried his face into his own shoulder.
"Don't wear that."
"I— I just wanted to try out something new."
"Then expect reactions out of people." Jeremy tilted his head, snickering and rolling his blue eyes.
George frowned. "Oh, fuck you."
"Whatever. You're not even hot— just a desperate slut like every other person who dresses like—"
Jeremy was quickly shut up by being slammed and pulled to the ground; Jeremy grunted.
Jeremy clearly first thought it was George who hit him, but when he recognized rusty blonde hair and a beard that trailed along the boys jaw that stood above him, his brows furrowed with confusion. "—Dream?"
"Dream?" George's eyes widened.
"Don't be an idiot, Jeremy," Dream crossed his arms, narrowing his glare down at Jeremy, who instantly popped up and met Dreams stance. "Apologize."
The group of boys sighed at Dreams sudden interest in stopping the fight, but Dream didn't so much as wince at the wave of disapproval.
"Dream, bro—"
"Don't bro me. Say you're sorry to George," Dream peered over at George, whose eyes widened; Jeremy stayed silent, just the faint sounds of breathing from all three of them. "Jeremy, say you're sorry."
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"I'm not gonna ask you again."
Jeremy blinked once at Dream, then turned his attention over to George. "M'Sorry." He mumbled; George shrugged, and tried to leave, he was satisfied with the apology, though it was quite sad.
A hand grabbed his and he was tugged back into the conversation.
"No. Say it like you mean."
"C'mon man, what more do you want from me?"
"To say sorry, and to say it like you mean it," Dream peered to Jeremy, than back to George. "Because I think George looks great, and you clearly think that to by the way you're eyeing him— but he didn't deserve that, so say you're sorry."
George's face flared up with pure red.
"I— I'm sorry George,"
George blinked.
"How was that?" Jeremy glanced at Dream for approval.
"Don't ask me," Dream tsked his tongue, and turned towards George. "Ask him."
"It— it was fine." George buried his face into his own shoulder; he still felt like crying, and ripping out his hair, yet he contained himself.
"You're lucky he's so forgiving." Dream dropped Jeremy's elbow, which he had been holding this whole time, and swallowed roughly.
George reached back, and pushed open the classroom door— he was going to. . . to take an off day.
"Fuckin' slut. . ." Jeremy mumbled beneath his breath, staring George down with a smirk and cold eyes.
George's lips parted.
Slut?
He wasn't a slut!
Right?
No, no, no— yes. Yes he was, look at what he was wearing!
Tears formed in his eyes, and before Dream could even react to what Jeremy said, George fled the classroom with his face buried in his hands, sniffling and letting out quiet sobs as he sped-walked back to his dorm.
He could hear a few shouts from the classroom, then silence, and the classroom door swing open before shutting.
"George—!"
It was Dream; of course it was.
"George, c'mon," Dream caught up to George, walking along side him with heavy steps compared to George's soft and quiet ones. George picked up the pace. "It's okay, don't cry."
George arrived at his dorm.
He pulled out his keys, quickly unlocking it, and shoving his way through the door and inside. "God, I'm an idiot!" George tore off his shoes.
George wasn't sure if Dream followed him inside; he frankly, didn't care, but a part of him wished he did.
"Why did I-I think I could ever wear shit like this—?" George turned towards his bedroom in a desperate attempt to find clothes to change into. "Fuck, I'm so— so dumb!"
"Don't say that—" Dream frowned as George's bedroom door was slammed in his face.
George basically shredded the clothes off his body, throwing them at a wall.
He managed to get an oversized t-shirt on before crumbling to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest, releasing small whimpers and cries.
He for once felt angry.
Angry at Jeremy for calling him a slut, angry at Dream for telling him to wear more revealing clothes, angry at Karl for feeding into his delusions, and most of all angry at himself for ever thinking he could wear stuff like this and get away with it.
Silence conquered the dorm.
"—George. . ." A quick knock; Dream could easily come into the bedroom, as it wasn't locked, but he waited patiently outside to be let in willingly by George.
No reply; just a sniffle.
"You're not dumb for wearing that. You looked great."
"I looked like an idiot!"
"You looked fantastic!"
"I looked like a slut!"
"You looked gorgeous, George, everyone else in that class is just jealous!"
George glanced at the door; his ice skates were hung up on them by their lace and a hook on the wood.
He wanted to let Dream in, and also kick him out— he couldn't decide.
Teeth sunk into his bottom lip.
"George. . . do you think I told you to wear clothes like that just because I wanted you to get embarrassed?" Dream sat a hand on the other side of the door. "No. I wanted you to wear it so you could feel good about yourself. I just. . . just didn't think everyone in that class was such an asshole."
"They were all laughing at me!" Not only did George's sobs ruin his words, his stupid British accent tainted them as well.
"Maybe some were laughing, but at least Jeremy thought you looked hot! They all probably thought it too to be honest."
"Jeremy's a dick! He didn't mean it."
Dream scoffed. "He totally did."
"You don't know anything."
"You're right. I'm just a stupid idiot who gets slammed into ice as a hobby, but, I do know you looked really pretty today, George," Dream sighed, and sat his free hand on the door handle, turning it slightly but not opening it. "Can I please come in?"
"I don't understand why. . . why you're troubling yourself with me," George buried his face in his knees. "We've barely talked. The only time we've ever talked was yesterday at the rink, and I nearly killed you!"
Dream chuckled to himself. "You didn't nearly kill me— you nearly ran into me, but that probably would've done more damage to you than me."
"Whatever. That doesn't answer my question. Why— why do you care?"
"I'm not sure," Dream licked his lips, and ran his fingers through his hair. "But I do care. And I'll miss that whole class just to stand here and make sure you're okay."
George furrowed his brows. "That's— that's stupid."
"I know. We've clarified that I'm an idiot. Can I please come in?"
"I— fine."
The door crept open, and George peered up from his knees. His eyes were red, and puffy, and fully of emotions that Dream couldn't quite make out.
Dream crouched down next to George.
They sat in silence, an awkward silence, the only sounds being George's sniffles and Dreams fingers pattering on his own thighs "D'You wanna go to the rink with me tomorrow?"
"It's closed—"
"Just be there at five, okay? That's after classes."
George frowned; he didn't seem sure of whatever the plan Dream had.
"Dream—"
"Trust me." Dream sat a hand on top of George's; George's muscles tensed, and even though he knew he was risking himself appearing as an even bigger idiot, he found himself nodding slowly.
"Okay. Five P.M. Tomorrow. Do I wear my skating gear?"
"Yes."
George nodded, and the two returned to silence, but this time— it wasn't awkward.
———————————————————-
The two ended up skipping the next day too— George was scared to go, and Dream decided one more day of just them two (then Karl after classes) would be fun.
He stared at the doors.
It looked like it was open— but the front sign read 'closed' so it was closed, right?
As soon as George brushed his foot over the automatic open sensor mat, the doors flung open, a whoosh of cold air from the ice in the room over coming over him.
"Hello? Dream?" George shouted as he walked inside. He held his tote bag in his hands, this time the bag full of water bottles and bandages incase he hurt himself instead of textbooks and pens.
A shuffle to his right, and Dream emerged from the skating room. "George! You made it."
"I don't understand," George glanced up at Dream, who wrapped his arms around George's shoulders and led him to the rink. "This place is always closed on Tuesdays."
"Yeah, but I pulled a few strings," Dream led George to the lockers. "And now it's open. Just for us two."
George blinked up at Dream.
He didn't seem to sure of Dreams idea; besides, how did Dream afford this, he was just a broke college student, after all?
"Dream. . ."
"C'mon, get your skates on." Dream sat George down, before taking a seat beside him. Dream already had his skates on— he wore some sort of skating gear to keep him warm, but it was also light, and easy to move around in.
"I— okay," George pulled his skates out of his bag and slipped them on.
It was an easy thing for George to get his skates on; he tied his laces, buttoned the buttons, and stood up within a minute or two. His outfit was just the same thing he wore on Sunday, a tight, long sleeved black shirt with tight black pants.
"Okay, what're we doing?"
Dream grabbed George's hand, and brought him over to the rink. He allowed George to get on at his own pace, allowed George to stabilize himself before they began moving.
They skated opposite of one another for a bit, just staring at one another, both of their eyes having a different expression than the other. "C'mon Dream, answer my question. What are we doing?"
"I need your help training— and in order to stay the better skater, I need to practice."
George perked up an unamused brow, giggling and skating backwards so he could face Dream as Dream glided forwards. "Yeah?"
He hit the wall with his back; Dream prowled over him, caging George between him and the wall with a chuckle. "Yeah."
George's eyes widened.
Their lips brushed, but Dream pulled away, grabbed George by the wrist, and brought George to the middle of the rink. "What're we doing?"
"Okay, you stay here— don't move."
"Don't move?"
"No matter what," Dream backed up, and continued packing up until he was at the other end of the rink facing George, in a ready-to-go position. "You ready?" Dream shouted a bit louder so George could easily hear him.
"Yeah, I guess." George tilted his head.
Dream grinned, and immediately, he began pumping his arms and speeding to George. The ice creaked and groaned beneath Dream, and even though every muscle and bone in George's body told him to get the hell out of the way, he found himself stood there in awe as Dream grew closer and closer.
Now, George could make out the features on Dreams face.
The furrowed brows, the freckles with a faint redness blushed over them.
George's breath hitched when Dream was only a few feet from him; he shut his eyes, and buried his face into the palm of his hands, ready to accept being taken down and onto the ice by Dream, but instead he felt strong hands grab his waist.
George flung his eyes open and sat his hands on top of Dreams.
Dream spun the two around, biting down on his bottom lip as George giggled and allowed himself to be twirled around by Dream; that explained why Dream backed up so much, in order to spin George this swiftly he needed lots of momentum.
The two spun, the rink being filled with the sounds of George's giggles and the ice scraping off beneath their skates.
Dream let go of George, and allowed George to continue spinning himself, perking up a leg in the air to create an L shape as he continued spinning.
Finally, he came to a halt, and the world spun around him, but Dream returned his grasp to keep George up straight. "How was that?"
"That was amazing! I've never spun that fast before ever, and I can spin pretty fricking fast on my own but I think your weight and my weight combined with you pushing me and spinning me and—" George smacked his hand over his mouth. "—Sorry."
Dream chuckled, and brushed hair out of George's eyes. "No, it's okay."
"How did that help you train at all?"
Dream shrugged. "It didn't. But it made you giggle, and I thought that was funny."
George opened his mouth, shut it, and scoffed. "You're so dumb."
"Whatever," Dream grabbed George's hands, and glided backwards, dragging George along to the middle of the rink again. "You liked it."
"I did— it was fun. You know, I did hockey as a kid."
"Did you really?"
George hummed, pushing his feet ever so slightly to help Dream move. "Yeah, when I was maybe. . . mmm. . . ten. I knew I liked skating, but I only really knew about hockey as a sport so I signed up for it. Finally quit when I realized figure skating was a thing— hockey wasn't my style, I didn't get much joy of being thrown onto ice again and again," He giggled and shrugged; Dream tucked his bottom lip in between two rows of teeth. "When did you start?"
"My whole family is a hockey family, so I was young. Five, maybe six."
"I see. So basically your whole life you've been doing hockey?" George removed his hands from Dreams and sat them on his shoulders, tilting his head and spinning the two so now he dragged Dream along the ice.
"Basically."
George grinned, and hummed, sinking into the silence that followed.
George stared at the ground beneath them, leading them away so that they didn't hit a wall. And finally, when the two met eyes, he spoke. "Why did you take me here?"
"Why not?" Dream hummed.
"No. I don't understand— you don't know me, you don't know anything about me, yet decided you felt bad because I got made fun of in class so you rented out a whole ice skating rink just for you and me."
Dream shrugged, licking his lips, his eyebrows rising before falling again. "It was the least I could do. I made you spill water all over yourself Sunday, and made you embarrass yourself today because I told you to wear something you're not used to wearing."
"I— I see."
"I didn't mean to set you up for failure when I told you to wear more. . . more exciting stuff. I really wanted you to look good, because I was the only one in that building that knew how good you would look in it."
"Well clearly, they all disagreed with you."
Dream furrowed his brows. "What?"
"They all laughed at me."
"George, they weren't joking when they were shouting. . . uh. . . non-appropriate stuff at you. They don't joke like that— they meant it."
George's face was roaring a red shade at this point; he never had received that much attention before, and he just tucked his face into his shoulder again. "Oh."
"I told you, George, you shouldn't hide yourself away."
George shrugged, and he allowed himself to be dragged along by Dream instead of him pulling Dream. "I guess." He didn't seem to sure of Dreams words.
"Look, George— I get it. I'm basically a stranger, and it's hard to believe my words, but I've got no reason to lie to you."
"I know," George winced as he was pushed against the rinks wall, glancing back at it as his grasp on Dreams shoulders grew stronger. "I mean, you took me here for a reason. I wouldn't say we're. . . we're strangers though. We hung out all of yesterday— in my dorm, even when Karl got home, all three of us hung out. And, you skipped classes again just 'cause I was, and stayed with me from like ten A.M to twelve A.M. It was fun. I had fun— it's usually just Karl and I."
"I had fun too. Way more fun than I would've had sitting in that boring ass class."
A small smile crept onto George's face. "I hope we didn't miss anything important."
"I doubt it— Professor Ruiz always just tells us to read pages blank through blank then dismisses us."
"Fair enough. There's a chance he didn't even show up today either, he always does that."
Dream chuckled, shaking his head and taking his tongue. "I wonder sometimes how he got and still has this job."
"It's just a marketing class— it's not like it's super important or anything," George peered past Dream; he was oddly expecting to see people on the ice, but he was met with no one. Just the faint sounds of the machine that kept the ice solid and breaths from the two of them. "Most people just did marketing in high school. That's what Karl did— that's why he's taking economics. I was gonna take economics but I decided that marketing would be better 'cause I feel like there's more jobs in the world that have to do with marketing and selling things. I mean even. . . even if you're like a hair stylist you still try and sell products to your customers and even if you're a teacher there's always those pathetic fund raisers each year that they've gotta promote in their classes. Or—" George paused. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Dream grinned, wiping hair out of George's eyes away. "I'll listen to your little rants. I mean yesterday you went on a ten minute tangent about why there are more wheels than doors in the world— and that debate died in like. . . 2021."
"I still stand by that— I've always stood by that. Think about it! A closet has two doors, sure, but what makes those closet doors slide? Wheels! Tons of many wheels that move them, so without wheels, those two doors are basically useless. Think about planes, too! There's like three wheels for each door, and all the suitcases that have wheels on the plane."
"Would the suitcases little flap thing count as a door?"
George scoffed. "Pft, no way. A door had to have a door knob, and hinges, and shut. Not be zipped up."
Dream rolled his eyes, grabbed George's wrist, and pushed off the wall, leading him to the middle of the rink. "I agree with you."
"Well, yesterday you didn't. Your argument was 'think about how many doors are in a hospital'. Think about how many of those little pushy things that doctors push patients on—" George talked with his hands passionately; Dream smiled softly, and cupped George's face as he spoke. "—Those have wheels, so do wheelchairs. It's literally in the name. . . wheelchair. I think a better argument for doors would be a school but schools—"
Dream pushed their lips together. George's eyes widened, one of his hands flying to Dreams wrist which was on his face, the other going to Dreams other wrist which held his hips.
Suddenly, the silence George was hearing turned to a roaring in his head, but he couldn't make out any of the words— all they did was overtake any thoughts he had.
When Dream pulled away, the world went back to normal.
The whirring of AC returned, the sound of George's flustered breathing all returned.
"—Have plenty of wheels too." George finished off his past interrupted sentence, his lips slightly apart.
"I'm sorry— was that too much?" Dream studied George's confused face. Eye to the other eye, nose to George's lips, trying to figure out what emotion George was feeling.
"I—" The two just met.
Or, not just meet, but just started to get to know one another, we're they even on a friend-basis yet?
"—I-I'm not sure."
"It's okay," Dream swooped hair out of George's eyes, who blinked at him cautiously. "You didn't have to like it."
"It's not that I didn't like it I just. . . I don't know. I wasn't expecting it."
"You weren't expecting it?" Dream chuckled. "I thought it was very clearly coming. I rented out a whole ice rink for you— we hung out yesterday and today for nearly the whole day."
George tittered, and agreed quickly with Dream. "I suppose you've got a point."
"But I understand," Dream hummed. "I said it myself, we're basically strangers."
George wrapped his arms around the back of Dreams neck, trying to go onto his tiptoes but when he realized he was on his skates, he fell back onto flat feet. "Even my friends of years have never stood up for me like that, my friends of years have never rented out a whole place for me."
"Never?"
"Never."
Dream hummed. "Maybe you need some better friends."
"Maybe you're just extra."
"Sure, but forget me renting this place. They've never stood up for you?"
George shrugged. "They're just. . . introverted." His words appeared unsure, yet his face was confident; Dream didn't believe the facade.
"Introverted or not, I've always stood up for my friends,"
Silence pursued after that.
George knew Dream was right, but he didn't care. Besides— he had Karl, and Karl was always there for him.
And maybe, now with Dream, he had a new friend; George peered up at Dream, turning away from the ice.
"Your nose is so red."
George wrinkled his nose, shaking his head slightly and giggling. "Yours is too."
Dream leaned forward and pressed the tip of his nose against George's, chuckling at the way he felt George's muscles tense beneath his hands. Their foreheads met during this as well. The twos heat radiated off of each other, but they were both warm for different reasons.
Dream, because he just skated his ass off carrying his and George's weight, George because he was blushing such an embarrassing amount he debated slitting his throat with his skate.
Their lips met, but this time, it was George who pushed them together. He pushed himself forcefully onto his toes (it was difficult to do with the skates, but possible), grasping the back of Dreams neck with his hands and cupping Dreams ears with his thumbs and pointer finger.
Dream stumbled slightly at George's eagerness but he went with it, squeezing his waist, and slightly raising George.
George attempted to scoot closer to Dream; however, the ice just caused them to glide backwards, backwards until they hit a wall and Dream was pushed up against it with George pushing him up on it.
The roaring returned in George's ears.
Once again, he couldn't make them out.
Fuck it.
George pushed the thoughts out of his head, going completely blank, and just allowing his body to lead him.
"Holy shit, George," Dream chuckled and pulled back; George blinked up at him with a frown, trying to kiss him again— if not, then his thoughts would come back and he would start talking too much and sound like an idiot like he had been doing all day. "What happened to not being sure?"
"I'm not just gonna get called a slut without acting even a little bit slutty," George giggled, kissing the corners of Dreams mouth. "It wouldn't be fair."
Dream hummed, and finally allowed himself to be kissed firmly. His hands roamed the new body he gained access to— over George's waist, over his hips, down to the backside of his thighs.
George brushed a hand along Dreams v-line; Dream winced and snatched himself away. "Okay, George, I get this place is empty but there are still security cameras and employees around here,"
George glanced away.
"But, there's no security cameras or employees in my car." Dream tilted his head, looking at George with lazy eyes and a faint smirk. A quick tug of a wrist, and a giggle from George, Dream began dragging him towards the exit of the rink.
"Shit—!" George slid on the ice behind Dream, before stumbling onto the concrete. "—Okay, okay let me take my skates off!"
Dream mumbled and sat George down on the bench, swiftly untying his own skates in seconds before watching George carefully undo his; figure skating skates were always more difficult to get off than hockey skates.
George wasn't sure why— probably because if they were too lose they could mess him up when he spun or something.
Dream hopped over the bench and stood behind George.
He held George's waist, bending down and pressing kisses along George's neck. George's breath hitched. His eyes didn't dare move from pulling off his skates, shuttering at the lips on his bare skin.
Dream stuck his hands into George's pants, running his hands on George's hips whilst keeping his face buried in the boys neck. "D-Dream—" George whimpered.
"Just get your skates off,"
As soon as George got the skates off and into his tote bag, Dream scooped up George off the bench and held him until the front door before setting him down and walking him to Dreams car.
"Wheres your car?" Dream asked as he unlocked his with a button on his keys; he must've noticed the oddly empty parking lot.
"I can't drive— Karl drove me here," George watched Dream pop open the backseat door. "Before you ask why, I don't know, I just never learnt."
"Yeah?" Dream led George into the car before shutting and locking it. "D'You think the windows tinted enough?"
George shrugged; he allowed Dream to pull him onto his lap, straddling Dream. "Probably. And besides, there's literally no one here."
Dream hummed, and shuffled through his center console. "Shit, don't tell me I took it out. . . nope, we're good."
"What?" George arched his back when he felt Dream run his hand down his back sneakily.
"Just making sure I've got everything we need," Dream stuck his hand into George's shirt, pulling off the top and tossing it on the floor. Next, he pulled off George's pants, than his own shirt— leaving George nearly fully nude and Dream in his pants still. "Do you want the AC on or anything?"
George shook his head. "Nuh-uh, m'good."
Dream smiled, pressed a kiss onto the tip of George's nose, and then returned to getting them both undressed. "Is this a good position for you?"
"Uh. . . yeah it works."
"If you would rather lay down we can, I don't mind."
George brushed hair out of Dreams flustered face, bending down and kissing his forehead. "Just hurry up."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." Dream grabbed the waistbands of George's trunks.
He paused, peering up at George with hair dusted over his lazy eyes, a warm blush freckled all over Dreams face.
When he began pulling at the trunks and George just lifted himself up in order to help Dream get them off, Dream relaxed and stripped them almost immediately.
He popped off the lid of the lube (which was what he was searching for in the center console), dousing his fingers in it. "Don't go to rough," Dream pushed in his middle finger; George gasped, and caused his sentences to be shaky. "I-I've got— got training tomorrow."
"I won't," Dream bit down on George's collarbones; he chuckled as he felt George squirm beneath him from both the teeth and the finger.
George arched his back. His face buried in Dreams neck with no thought, whining and groaning against Dreams finger.
It had been a while since George got any action from any guy— maybe. . . a year, year in a half?
"You're tight." Dream grunted. He slipped in the second finger, and George immediately jabbed his nails into Dreams shoulder blades, letting out all sorts of sounds.
"I-I— I know!" George gasped and rolled his hips back onto Dream.
"How badly does it hurt?"
George tucked his bottom lip into two rows of quivering teeth. "Pretty— pretty fucking bad, but I'll. . . I'll deal with it. I want you."
Dream blushed, opened his mouth, before shutting it and sinking deeper into the seat. "You want me? A stranger?"
"Strangers a stretch."
"So is friend,"
George licked his lips, shrugging and nibbling on Dreams ear.
"But, how many friends have you been fucked by?"
His eyes widened.
His stomach churned.
His muscles grew tight, and his legs grew shaky, but he just sniffled and whined as Dream buried his fingers deeper into George.
A third finger found its way into George. George recognized the extra girth, however, kept his groans in his throat and simply arched his back higher up for Dreams usage.
Dreams fingers brushed past George's prostate, and Dream recognized the pleasure he gave George— it was easy to tell because even though George swallowed any sounds, his body jerked, and instantly began throbbing for more.
"I-I'm ready— I want you."
"You've said," Dream chuckled. He pulled George away from him; George shifted as suddenly cold air hit his exposed chest and stomach, however, he ignored it and assisted Dream in removing his boxers. "A little touch-starved, hm?"
"Go to hell."
Dream grinned, lifting George up and aligning him with his dick, before slowly sinking George down maybe an inch. When George didn't reaction much to the new size, he let George move at his own pace. "Oh, woah, attitude."
"Attitude." George mumbled. He sunk himself further down Dreams cock, an inch, another, and more until finally he was sat fully on top of Dream with his face buried in his hands.
"I don't mind it," Dream shrugged, which shifted George and caused him to let out a gasp before returning his face to his palms. "And show me your face."
"D-Dream—"
"Show me," Dream grabbed George's hands and sat them on George's thighs.
Dream, with George's hands beneath his, kneaded his thighs, holding steady eye contact with the boy.
"There we go." Dream smirked; George rolled his eyes, using his legs to push himself up slightly and then fall back down onto Dreams dick.
George's eyes flung open, even wider than they were before.
Guess he just processed that he was actually riding Dream.
"Jesus—" George whimpered once gaining a bouncing pace.
He couldn't quite focus on the task at hand— he found himself not only thinking about his pleasure, but about Dreams, just about Dream in general.
About Sunday. When they first met, how he nearly knocked Dream over, but luckily Dream had a quick reaction and grabbed him before anything bad happened.
George's brows furrowed.
On that Sunday, Dream had called George by his first and last name. Interesting— how would Dream know his last name? He understood knowing his first name, after all, if there was a presentation, or if the professor called on George in class, his name would be said— but his last name?
Maybe he saw it on his paper or something, maybe the professor had said it before.
George shook the thought from his head; he was sure he was overthinking it.
Dream thrusted up into George, taking his hands off of George's thighs and setting them on his waist, rising and lifting up George on his cock. "How's this?"
"Mmph— good. . ." George threw his head back, dragging his hands along Dreams body before stopping at his chest, using it to support himself.
"You're doing so good." Dream grunted beneath his breath. He adjusted himself, scooting further up the cars seat whilst still lifting George up and down him.
George whined and squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw falling agape and his legs quivering. "Mmph—!"
Dream started to thrust up into George as well, chuckling due to the sounds George immediately began releasing.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" George let out an exhaustive breath.
Any sort of movement outside the car startled George; he would hate to be caught having sex, even if it was just a stranger who saw— just imagine how grossed-out that poor person would feel!
However, most of the movement was really just birds fluttering by, not having a care to take a second glance at the rocking car.
"D-Dream—" George's eyes rolled, his jaw slacked open, throwing his hands back to Dreams thigh to hold himself up on them.
"Shit George," Dream groaned and rested his head on the seats backrest. He squeezed George's waist, no longer raising and dropping George, and just thrusting up into him. "You feel so fucking good."
"Mmph— please. . ." George's arms quivered from his weight. ". . .Oh Jesus—" He leaned forward and sat his hands on Dreams pecs, burying his face into the boys neck, and sucking on it slowly as Dream continued slamming into him. "Don't stop—!"
George pulled away (after leaving plenty of hickeys on Dreams neck) and sat his hands on Dreams shoulders. Dream studied George's fucked-out face, chuckling when he noticed how George reacted to each of Dreams movements.
He sighed when Dream pulled his hands away from his body, he let out louder moans when Dream forced George farther down his dick, his eyes rolled back when Dream jammed his nails into his waist.
A few more thrusts later, George came with a whine and his face returning to Dreams neck; Dream pulled out of George, pleasuring himself until he came in his hand and on George's back.
"D-Dream. . ."
"Don't move," Dream reached into his center console with his none-cum covered hand, grabbed some random napkins from Jack in the Box and cleaned him and George up. "There we go," He than tossed the napkins into the Jack in the Box bag.
George climbed besides Dream, and reached down, scrambling through both of their clothes until he managed to find and pluck his own clothes out.
They were silent whilst getting dressed.
Just the sound of birds above them, and a squeak George released as he missed a pant leg and face planted into the back of the chair in front of him.
When they finished getting dressed, Dream cupped the right side of George's face, pressing a warm kiss to his left side before pulling away and making eye contact. "Want me to take you home?"
George looked away. "If you want too."
"I don't mind."
"But you just spent so much money on renting out this place."
Dream shrugged, kissing George again and pushed their foreheads together. "Don't worry about it, trust me."
George furrowed his brows but nodded. "I hope I'm not too sore— I've got that competition tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm," George hummed. "It's at the rink like. . . twenty minutes North."
"Can I go?"
George's breath grew a bit shaky, and he nodded. "Yes I want you— want you to go."
"You want flowers?"
"Oh! Flowers? I— um, yes, I guess. Not I guess. Please, I'd really like them! I've never gotten flowers before, let alone for a competition. I don't even know what flowers I like. I think I like all flowers. I like the pink ones, like tulips but I also like those ones in Minecraft— alliums, is that what they're called? The purple ones. Oh, you know the ones in Minecraft that are so cute? Lily of the Valley. Too bad they're poisonous— have you ever seen them in real life? I haven't, but I've looked at photos of them online and they're so gorgeous. But I also like basic flowers like roses, and daisies. To be honest with you, you don't even have to go all out with the flowers. You could hand pick dandelions from the side of the road, and even though they're technically weeds I don't like to consider them weeds. Why are they even considered weeds? I think they're super cute. I like the yellow, I guess—" George glanced up from his hands, which attempted to make the shape of each flowers he described, and made eye contact with Dream, who was smiling and chuckling beneath his breath.
"Okay, I'll get you flowers," A peck to the lips. "Alright let's get back to campus."
smh does karl even fw the dteam anymore 😭
also why am i the funniest person alive like in the TW "inappropriate touching(😬)" someone recognize my humor
i hate titling chapters
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