i don't wanna talk (i just wanna dance) ❀ dreamnotfound

i don't wanna talk (i just wanna dance)

here have this fic i wrote after another damn glass animals song

my friend and i both wrote one inspired by it so we can compare them and see how different they are. theirs will only be on ao3 though

cw: not a lot just some suggestive references/implied sexual content and angst, for a full list maybe check out my ao3 instead

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George tasted like cigarettes and hurricanes.

Dream could feel the intensity of it so strongly; a tropical storm brewed between their lips each time their tongues collided in fervent kisses. They were all over each other, George's fingers curled in Dream's hair while Dream held onto George's shirt with balled fists. Dream lapped at the other man's bottom lip, almost as if he could savor the taste on his tongue.

George pulled away for a second, his breathing labored and his eyes fluttering shut.

"Dream," The way his name was whispered was like George personally reached in and twisted Dream's guts. He was left awestruck, watching him with bigger eyes and a dropped jaw. George glanced back up bashfully, a red sheen covering his cheeks. "I can't breathe,"

Dream pressed his lips together, softening his grip on the other's shirt and instead reaching up to touch his face affectionately. "I can't either," He mumbled, wondering if George would end up seeing it as a good thing. He couldn't help but feel that the hitches in his breath were so attractive that it made his heart skip beats and color rush to his face. He felt like a teenager again; he could practically feel the hormones pumping through his veins whenever he strained his hands. It was the good kind though, in the way that lyrics would tell in popular songs on the radio. Dream usually wouldn't give them a second thought, and would call them cheesy and unoriginal. But right now, as his thumb grazed George's cheek and he reveled in the dark eyes that stared back at him, he could recite a million songs that could be in their soundtrack.

They were living a cliché exercised in storybooks, in music, in film.

And Dream wouldn't have it any other way.

George put his hand over Dream's, turning his head to kiss it gently. Dream practically felt an electric current travel through his body, starting with the soft flesh of his palm. He tensed up a little, just surprised at how everything was making him feel, but it wasn't long before he was tugging George closer by the jaw.

"George," He started, breaking the silence that had formed between the two of them. "I love you."

Saying those words came so naturally to him; he was saying it for long even before he started to notice the desirable way his lips moved and the tempting ruffles of his hair. Even when they were gasping for air with their mouths inches apart and their hands grasping at each other, Dream still found the words to be laced with familiar innocence. Because he didn't just love the way that George looked with his hair messed up and his pupils blown — although, the sight was such a treat to the eye — he also loved the more wholesome things that came into mind, like the way their hands fit together, how George looked in his old hoodies, or the dates they went on where they just looked like friends to everyone else. His ways of loving were so much more expansive than the average person, and George often admitted to not understanding how he was showered in love all the time. That was okay. Dream didn't have to be understood, just appreciated.

"I love you," George suddenly murmured, which caught Dream completely off guard. He paused to stare at him with round eyes, feeling like his brain had just short circuited. George rarely ever said that, and when he did, it was usually to be funny, or because he wanted something. But this was new; there was a sincerity in his voice that Dream had never heard before.