Love Bites

Chapter 3: Open Wounds

a/n: sorry for all commotion in your notifs, wattpad is being really difficult and isn't letting me do anything and I was doing my best to fix it </3

warnings: blood, swearing, hunting, injury

George is getting ready for bed when he hears a distant cracking in the woods.

He pauses briefly at the sound, before a much louder slam follows, paired with a yell. Instead of the normal screams he'd grown horribly used to that sounded terrified or blood-curdling, it sounded completely furious. It's unsettling, and makes his mind start to run on high gear. He's worried if he stops too long to question it, he'll do something he'll regret.

His mind briefly considers Dream's safety being in jeopardy, before he shoos the thought away. Dream can probably protect himself anyway.

He turns off his lights, smothers his candles, and crawls into his bed. The room is dark and quiet, making his shuffling around in the sheets loud in the empty space.

His mind wanders to the events of their evening walk.

George enjoys their banter, he could drink in Dream's words like a strong wine and enjoy feeling tipsy. His eyes have a softness to them despite the rest of him being so arrogant, there's something so welcoming in the way he looks at him.

He lays in the quiet for a moment.

Can I hug you? He'd said. God, he was so lame. Asking for something as simple as a hug like it was the biggest favor of his life; he was really touch-starved.

He didn't regret asking, though. The pull to Dream's chest was an overwhelmingly great reward for the embarrassment he'd endured. George could feel the strong fingers on his back, holding, pulling him closer. His skin still tingled where Dream had touched. He felt his arms around him, holding his body away from the rest of the Earth. Nothing could hurt him.

Hurt. Another memory shatters the comfort, and he feels a pang in his stomach.

The brick wall against his back had hurt. Not a lot, but it did. He didn't really notice it until now, when he thought of it again. He couldn't focus on anything then except how quickly Dream was able to grab him and shove him to the wall, leaving him completely at his mercy.

His breathing grows heavy.

He remembered Dream's fingers gripping his forearms, how in mere seconds he had lost all ability to move how he chose.

He should've hated it.

George's eyes are wide as he stares into his dark room. He hadn't blinked in a while.

He could've done anything to me. George swallows the growing stiffness on his tongue. Anything.

His heart was beating way too fast to just be lying in bed. His thoughts continue to spill over.

He thought of Dream holding his forearms again, but trailing them up to his shoulders, to his chest, to his sides. George wouldn't move. Stop. Stop thinking. He imagined what Dream's fingers would feel like under his chin, how it would feel for Dream to use his thumb to pull on his bottom lip. Quit it. How it would feel for his body to be pressed to the wall as Dream leaned down to press his lips to his own.

George coughs. Fuck. His fingers cling to the sheets.

You just met Dream, come on.

Flustered shame clouds his brain, he gets angry at himself for considering the possibilities.

George manages to feel a little more lost and somehow at home each time they are together.

It's so strange, considering what little time the pair have spent together. Something about it makes George feel like they've been friends their whole lives. Remnants of the time they'd spent together linger in his mind as his head hits the pillow, falling nearly as hard as he's falling for Dream.