I'm on your side

Chapter 1

   George woke up in the fluorescent heat of a room, causing his eyes to squint in an act of revision. He has begun to trace them around the room. Where was he? What was he doing here?
   

   His dark brown pupils opened to the flickering lights, and a headache cut through his head like a nightmare of negligence that never disappeared.
The contents of the dirty room he was in was rather bleak. It consisted of a tiled ceiling that reeked with terrifying scents of feces, and other fluids that are indistinguishable. In the corners of the room were mold that lined itself into the crook of every gauge of the wall. It had caused him great disgust, but there were more things to dwell on.
   

   He attempted to remember the last time he had been awake and conscious, to help him into this investigation of what was going on, and why the hell his bruised hands are tied together with a frayed rope. Perhaps he had been with Sapnap, watching a movie? No...that isn't right. It just did not click into his head. Was he with Dream, enjoying his time or even his last moments, if this time does not go successfully? That had made his face fall solemn, as that was what he had been doing. For sure.
   

   Just around 12 hours ago, he was in a large king bed, the sheets pulled over just wrinkled towards the right texture, nuzzled within the crook of Dream's arm. His hand ran through George's hair gently and played with the follicles within his scalp, like the caress of a swan. They were giddy with the haze of post sex, and were swirling in a lovely ecstasy of their own semen and sweat. If that was the last time he would be with Dream, he was glad that was the situation they were in.
   

   George had loosened from Dreams desperate grip, and got up to take a breather outside. He thought now how stupid that decision was. When he had stepped outside of their motel room, his hair whipped against the wind, and he smiled defeatedly, for there was peace. Goddammit, why hadn't he been  looking around? Bliss is temporary for them.
   

   Then as he had put his feeble hand against the door handle to go back into Dream and his naked body, he had been punched to the floor by a knuckled hand that smelled of toxicity. It knocked him out almost instantaneously. But he wished it had, because then a metal hammer had begun to beat down on his skin, causing a nausea inducing pain that trailed to all areas of his figure.

   And now he was here, trapped in a melancholic room, and aching beyond comprehension. It hurt him internally, really bad. His lover was far far away, granted they had taken George a far distance. Fledged with a heart that was without love was something one should never experience. But it is worse if you had already had love, George thought. For he is surely to become deceased soon enough. A droplet of blood fell onto his dirt ridden white shirt, presumably from his nose. He missed Dream. They had exchanged their first "I love you" recently. Was that the last time too?

                                                                            11 hours ago

   Dream set his hands on either side of Georges hips, straddling him within his waist. Lost in the lust of the night, feeling everything so tenderly. George played with dreams blonde hair, tainted with streaks of brown, giving it a rugged look. A singular lamp was on, giving their colliding bodies a shadowy look, like two lone dancers enveloping themselves in a masquerade. 

   "Mmm. Fuck. You're amazing, George. Better. Best." Dream murmured.

   "Well, we could always do it again. Because I liked It too." George replied.

   "I'm glad. Real glad. I don't know what I would do if you had said anything else, baby." Dream said.

George laughed, his breathy giggle overflowing the small motel with a sort of serotonin that diluted the sex. Dream smiled at him innocently, pieces of hair diligently falling over his face. The sound of George always caused every negative recollection of his past to disappear like a magician with a wand had done it. It was a good thing. Such a good thing, to have someone you care about so much be able to drift your mind from matters that weighed down on everything you did. George leaned down, and put a hand on Dream's face, tracing his index finger on his jaw. 

   "I know." George paused. "You would punish me, wouldn't you?" 

   "Oh please. You're a despicable little thing, aren't you George?" Dream said, sitting up from the bed so their faces were level with each other. "We have the rest of our lives together for me to do unspeakable things to you. And believe me, I want to."

   Dream continued to keep the smirk plastered onto his face, and granted his ravenous lips permission to fall onto Georges pout. Their mouths engaged in an oral foreplay, and Dream let his hand snake up to Georges dark hair, going back and forth against his scalp. He loved this. They loved this. The sheets were sprawled out as the two of them beautifully locked themselves together with a kiss that had much deeper attachments. This was the best it could ever be, George thought. Becoming wrapped between Dream's forceful embrace, as he rocked himself over Dream's bare lap, enjoying himself all in his lonesome, with Dream's sweet cologne and his breath of Rum seeping into the inner walls of his cheeks. He whimpered with each wave of their lips, and he knew it made Dream hard. He liked it like that. 

   "God, you..." Dream's voice hitched, as George pressed himself against Dream's cock. "Love...I love you...fucking...so much."  He said. 

   "I think I love you too. Dream." George muttered, a moaning escaping his voice in sheer happiness. 

                                                                             Present time

   George's stomach ached with hunger, and an ill fever that caused sweat to glisten over his features. He was a wretch of a person at that moment. He hoped Dream wouldn't see him at this state. His mind was hallucinating scenarios between the two of them, to distract him from the events that played in this universe. Was nobody going to enter? Is George going to stay in this decrepit place for the rest of his life, to rot and decompose like he was worth nothing? Was somebody going to save him? Could he even save himself? His bare feet lolled in the fluid of his dried blood against the floor. He could feel himself, but also felt no part of himself. 

   Then suddenly, his head darted up at the sounding of a key against a door. He swallowed with false hope as the lock turned halfway, and then stopped to silence. His eyebrows raised in vulnerability, and an acceptance to the circumstances. 

   The door opened slowly, the creak making his ears ring violently. George felt immediate bile rise up his throat at the person right in front of him. How could this happen. Again?