Dreamnotfound Smut Oneshots

on the silver screen

george finds out he has a thing for being on camera

~

Being on camera has never really been a problem for George.

Admittedly, he's always been quite confident in his looks, he knows his best angles and he's never really been scared to press the record button and ramble for an hour, but still, he's a private person. He doesn't share what he doesn't have to, and he's not one for telling long stories about his past endeavours because people just don't need to know – he's allowed his secrets.

And he understands that he and Dream are very different people, but Dream's willingness to share those small details about his personal life still confuses him, because some things they don't need to share.

They've been tiptoeing along that thin line between friends and more than that for a while now, and if it weren't for the ocean between them then things would probably be different. George smiles at even the mention of Dream's name, and the other has confessed to doing the exact same. They tell jokes that neither are too sure are jokes, and Dream knows far more about him than anyone else does – even if it's not a lot.

They're comfortable, despite the fact that each step feels as though they're crossing a boundary that they can't come back from.

"I was like twenty," Dream says into a call one day, George sat on the other end with his chin resting on his hand. He can't remember how the conversation started, it had been a long night of stupid games and their normal overly friendly banter, and the sun is starting to rise again. He shouldn't even be awake right now; his whole body sagging against his desk. "And my girlfriend at the time suggested it."

"Yeah?" George asks.

"Honestly, I was a bit scared," Dream admits, and George can hear him breathe into his mic, probably hovering over it as he speaks, "I mean it's a fucking sex-tape, who wouldn't be?"

George hums in response.

"It was hot," Dream says, "After the initial fear at least – god, I was so worried it'd get out somehow."

Eyeing the camera that's set up on the tri-pod next to him, George tilts his head, "It didn't though?"

"No, it didn't," Dream confirms, "And we deleted it pretty quickly, only really watched it a couple of times."

The sunlight flickers through the blinds, streaks of yellow and red shining through and painting lines on the carpeted floors, and George doesn't have to check the time to know that even for his sleep schedule it's far too early in the morning to be out of bed.

"I'd do it again though," Dream says, voice lower than before, "With the right person."

George's breathing spikes. "Oh?"

"What about you Georgie?" Dream asks, "Tell me some of your dirty secrets."

"Fuck off," George says, scoffing, and if he had his camera on he's sure that right now he'd be ridiculed for the flush on his neck and silence hangs in the air, the tension thick and insufferable. Still, he isn't let off that easily.

Dream exhales loudly, a playful edge in his tone when he says, "No, I mean it."

"I don't have any," George lies, leaning back in his chair and wondering if Dream will push it even further, because this feels like unseen territory, usually they aren't this blunt with it, but here they are.

"Sure you do," Dream says, and George can imagine him sat with a smug look on his face from behind the screen, "I mean, have you ever thought about doing something like that?"