Imprisonment (DNF)

Tension

A/N pls remember to vote if you enjoy :)

Dreams breath, calm and concise, led him to relax muscles that had been tense for what seemed like forever.

George's breath, quick and unsteady, made him feel a kind of comfort next to a man that seemed like he could be calm in any situation.

"Hi."

Dream spoke first, hoping to grasp a response from George as quickly as possible. After all, he hadn't heard his voice in a long time.

George glared. He looked Dream up and down, hoping to find something to hate. But he couldn't. He loved it all. Despite his horrible state, George loved Dream. He loved his bruised knuckles and head, his dirty orange jumpsuit, the big dark bags that hung low below his eyes. He was unshaven, and it was obvious that facial hair wasn't meant for Dream. But George loved every inch of him. Even at his worst, he loved dream. And he hated the fact.

"Hi." He gritted a response, keeping the air thick and the tension high.

"Are you made at me or something?" Dream chuckled, hoping to relieve some of the tension between the two, obviously nervous boys.

George moved no muscle, and gave no reply. Instead, he stared, hating every bit of dreams beautiful, infectious laugh that he loved - no! hated.
Butterflies filled his stomach, but he fought to maintain composure.

The fight with his own thoughts seemed to be worse than what lay ahead of him.

Dreams chuckle slowly died as the realisation that George might actually be mad resonated with him.

"A- are you?" He stuttered, unsure of the level of seriousness the situation held.

George took a deep breath then paused.

"What went wrong, Dream?" He said in quite a monotone voice, trying to establish some sort of intimidating nature.

Dream, taken aback by the unexpected seriousness that George conveyed, was left speechless.
That sentence hurt his heart. And he knew that George knew it would. He knew everything about Dream, including the history of the very sentence spoken. And it hurt even more knowing that it was intentional.

"What went wrong dream?"

He had heard those words all his life.

His father was the first to imbed it into his brain, as he paused in front of store windows, longing for barbies instead of the monster trucks. To wear dresses instead of pants.
To kiss boys instead of girls.

"What went wrong dream?"

His mother was next. She blamed him for his father hitting her. He hadn't hit her before Dream was born. Or at least that's what he was told, which was the entire reason he moved away to bum fuck nowhere and created a city for himself. A city that quickly bloomed into a home for so many people, including his best friend, who was now breaking his heart with a such simple sentence. And yet, it still held so much power over him.

"What went wrong dream?"

The words of a teenage boy that he cared for dearly. The words of a teenage boy that had overcome his manipulation. The words of a teenage boy that didn't fucking listen.

And now the words of the love of his life.

Anger began to build up. His blood boiling, sweat coating his forehead as he tried to stay calm. But how could he when he had been told all his life that something inside him was wrong?

Dream parted his lips but quickly retracted them, closing them tight, and turning away from George. He couldn't say anything. If he did, it certainly wouldn't be nice.

"What made you so destructive?" George continued, his tongue merciless and laced with venom.

Dream clenched his fists. He hated these types of lectures. He'd gotten them so often as a kid. He hated being told what he did wrong. He hated it. It made him angry. He hated it hated it HATED IT!

"Why did you do what you did?!"

"Stop." Dream growled, almost as warning.

George refused.
"Or what?"

Dreams anger was nearly uncontrollable now. His body shook with furiousness and hatred towards the world. With jealousy that the sun kisses George's skin more than he does. With rage that the world had failed him and he still copped the blame!

"Huh?" George repeated
"or what?"

Dream snapped. He quickly turned to face George and whipped his hand around his neck, pushing George's fragile body against the solid obsidian wall with a thud.

His power was back.
Dream was now in complete control again.

And he loved it.

It's all he was comfortable with. With a childhood full of being pushed around and abused, Dream needed control.

Of his life. Of his nation.

Of his friends.

With both hands, George grasped the strong, veiny arm that was held firm against his throat, as he tried to hide quite obvious moans of exasperation and arousal. He'd never been treated like this. But he loved it. He felt safe in dreams hands, even with them around his throat almost cutting off airflow. His innocent little eyes rolled back and he bit his lip, still trying to hide the fact that he wanted more. Needed more.

Dreams lips curved to a cheeky smirk as he realised innocent little George wasn't so innocent after all. He would've loved to have teased him a little longer and make him beg, but Dreams senses were overstimulated, blood rushing to his girthy downstairs area. Adrenaline pumping. Sweat coating his skin. Dreams body was practically already begging for George.

He tightened his grip and smiled down at his new toy.

"Or you're going to regret it."