The next race.
When was the next race?
Sapnap and Dream hadn’t quarreled over much of anything lately. Yeah, there was the occasional bickering over stupid shit like who out of the two was supposed to get the groceries that week (surprise; it was Sapnap). Or who was supposed to pick up the mail from the post office (Dream made an excuse about being too busy to go, though he’s always had a very open schedule). Or what they were going to have for dinner (Dream wanted lamb, Sapnap wanted hamburgers. They ended up getting sushi instead). However, none of it was worth racing over, and quite frankly, it was pissing Dream off.
George had been on Dream’s mind almost every single day since the last race. It was odd, because that was their one and only encounter so far, yet the brunet already had Dream wrapped around his delicate little finger.
Dream wanted nothing more than to see the pretty brunet clad in red again, sporting his colors. His short-shorts, maybe even a cute little crimson crop top, and his pristine red nails. Waving his checkered flag high in the air, back arching slightly as he lifted himself onto his toes, and eyes shining with excitement and something else—something Dream wanted to see up close and personal again.
But, of course, as all things do, nothing was going Dream’s way.
Sapnap had yet to call a race for anything, really. Whether it was just for the sake of it, or because of some petty argument. And at the moment, it seemed like Sapnap had...other things on his mind.
Dream watched from their L-Shaped couch in the living room as Sapnap dragged in his third girl of the week—and it was only Tuesday. Dream rolled his eyes, forcing his line of view to stay level with the television in front of him as Sapnap and the random girl shoved their tongues down each other’s throats, blindly backing down the hall toward Sapnap’s room.
The door slammed shut, followed by another loud noise that was a mix between a gasp and a moan. When Sapnap and Dream first moved into their current place, Dream had learned very quickly that their shared apartment had thin walls. Very thin walls.
Irritation and disappointment welled in Dream’s gut. Irritation because, well, he was fucking tired, and now he would have to listen to the pair go at it for the next hour and a half. And disappointment because fuck, he missed George.
He missed—no, he craved the artificial sugar taste of George’s lips on his. He wanted to feel the way George’s hips felt under his strong calloused hands again. He wanted to toy with the boy’s sensitive nipples, run his thumb roughly over the cold ball of his piercing and leave him squirming, whimpering for more. Dream’s eyelids shut as he let out a shuddering breath, images of George in the front seat of his car, between his legs on the floor of his car, and on his lap all dancing around in his mind.
Dream sighed, blinking blankly up to the ceiling. He could feel himself beginning to strain painfully against the fabric of his jeans, which he still had yet to change. The sound of Sapnap and his one night stand was starting to get unbearably loud. Dream pushed himself up and off the couch and grabbed his car keys off the end table beside the couch. He beelined for the front door, not giving a shit about the loud slam as he shut the door behind him.
