Imprisonment (DNF)

Dream has some fucking issues

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

Dream sighed. He stood emotionless as the hot fiery liquid flowed down once again to burn his skin and block his view of George.

Oh George. Pretty little George.
Poor sweet George...

He sat against the crying obsidian, head leaning on the wall, his arms resting on his knees.

God.

He failed.

He failed him.

The only one he wasn't meant to lose, he'd lost.

But it was ok. Dream was used to this. And it was nothing to lose himself over. Not again.
But despite his familiarity with the feeling, this one felt wrong. His stomach churned every time his mind wondered back to painstakingly British boy in hysterics, and it wasn't like he had much else to think about. It made him physically sick. Dream
couldn't let this one go.

He couldn't let George go.

He buried his face in his hands, noticing small scents of Georges sweat that clanged to his skin. He breathed it in, closing his eyes in comfort. Dream gazed up at the roof, pieces of the leaking ceiling dripping on his matted, blonde hair.

His guilty conscience loomed over him more than anything. He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed at the sides of his head pulling at his hair, causing clumps to fall out.

These... thoughts. These voices...
Dream had always struggled with them, but they'd been silent the last couple years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been taunted by the words in his own head, said by voices that weren't his.

So why were they back?

"Stop." He grumbled, twisting his body uncomfortably as if he was trying to find the right position that would make them go away. He couldn't decipher the words. He couldn't understand them. Usually there was just 2 or 3 telling him what belongs to him, and how to take it back, but today...
There was dozens. Maybe even hundreds.
They screamed, all over each other like a riot. Louder, and louder, they grew.

Dreams ears rung as he tried to block it out. It had never been this bad before. His arms clasped tightly over his ears, as if it would block out his own brain. Sweat dripped down the side of his face as his nose scrunched and his lips pursed.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He finally hoarsed out. And for the first time in his life, Dream was thankful for the silence. Relief filled his entire body, flooding into his brain and soothing the ringing in his head.

He was safe.

Dream moved to the small cauldron in the corner of his cell and cupped his hands into the murky water. He splashed it over his face then glanced at the clock.

"What a waste of fucking time." He said dismissively.

Sweat dripped down his upper inner thighs and Dream shoved his hands down his jumpsuit to wipe it away.

Oh.

He glanced down.
The bulge in his pants still throbbed.
He hadn't finished.

He unzipped his dirty orange jumpsuit with a defeated sigh and pulled his member out.

He felt guilty for doing this right after an extremely emotional night. But what else was he supposed to do?

Cry over how much he'd fucked up again?

No!

He's done that far too many times, and was over it. Absolutely over it.

At least he couldn't fuck this one thing up... right?

—

Dream furrowed his eyebrows, completely concentrated at the task at hand. His fingers were aching.

How long had he been at it?

He glanced at the clock and threw his manhood away in defeat, letting it bounce back onto his gut as his arms flopped to his sides.

Fucking hell.
An hour?
A fucking hour?! And nothing?!

Why?!

Dream knew why. He'd just gone through one of the hardest nights of his life. And that was saying something. He hasn't had the easiest life.

His best friend had just visited him for the first time in nearly a decade, and left him feeling like a failure.

Anger built up.

Failure.

All he did was try to protect him.

Failure.

He's only ever wanted peace.

Failure.

So did he not deserve this one cum?!

THIS ONE FUCKING CUM!

Envy. His blood boiling, his skin coated in a thick layer of sweat. Uncomfortable. Itchy. Angry.

FAILURE!

Dream quickly turned and punched the obsidian behind his head, leaving small grains to fall from it. He clasped his now bleeding knuckles.

"FUCK!" He screamed as he shook his sore hand. Tears streamed down his red sweaty face.

He felt defeated. What else could he do? He couldn't keep waiting around for a boy that didn't seem to want anything to do with him anymore.

But he had no choice.

God he was so fucking exhausted of being wrapped around Georges dainty little fingers.

...

Is this love?

—

Dream awoke on the hot floor. He felt uncomfortable. Far too uncomfortable.

It was so hot.

He could feel himself entering that feeling.

That dark feeling.

Where the sweat seemed too thick.
His hair seemed too long.
His cell felt too small.

Everything was just wrong. Unbearable.

And after that night with George, how could he go back to that?

How could he go back to banging his fists into the walls until his knuckles bled to the bone, only to let his head continue attacking the obsidian, sobbing endlessly as his cries echoed through the prison?
How could he go back to collapsing to his knees defeated and exhausted, only to fall into a broken sleep, full of nightmares on the hard uncomfortable obsidian floor?
How could he go back to waking up each miserable morning, knowing that he'd have to do it all over again?

How could he do that when he's seen a glimpse of a life with George?

A tiny, beautiful glimpse.

There was no way.

And Dream had a plan to get the fuck out of that wretched place, and back into the arms of his frail brunette lover.