𝓌orship 𝓂e ! | dreamnotfound

viii. human pleasure

NOTE: There is sexual content in this chapter! If you feel uncomfortable, feel free to skip to the next chapter.

He smashed his body against the doors of the cathedral. His shift had ended hours ago, and instead of going home he had roamed the streets - finally letting himself ponder his life. His life involving Dream. It shook him to his core; an emotion of both fear and utter thrill. Being left alone with his thoughts was not enjoyable.  Due to a tendency to overthink, he prefered to do things rather than just deliberate. But at the time, his thoughts were taking over his being. When he shivered at the thought of the god, was it out of anxiety or bliss? He couldn't tell if he was scared, or somewhat excited that he was Dream's lover.

So, instead of thinking about the situation, he wanted to do something. He wanted to go right to the source of all this madness. And now, he found himself pounding on the old wooden doors of the church. It was night now, around ten o'clock, so naturally the building was closed off. He doubted anyone was inside, but that wouldn't stop him from pathetically crashing himself into the entrance.

"Dream," He whined after a while, his body practically aching. He sat down on the footsteps before the entrance, allowing himself to have a moment of rest. "Why aren't you with me now?" His mind was corrupted with want. He missed him, he craved him like an addiction. He didn't know if Dream was necessarily good for him, but he didn't care at this point. He just needed him.

George looks around the deserted street, noticing a thick fog beginning to form.  It was odd, considering there was nothing like it a minute ago.  He furrows his brow as the scene around him gets darker, and darker.  It got until the point he couldn't see past the land of the Cathedral.  Through the fog, a figure appeared.  Something clicked in George's head.

"Clay? – or, uh, Dream?" He stammered.

"I have been watching over you all this time." The figure spoke, standing in the fog. George was surprised Clay even heard him considering the distance between the pair.

"B – But you weren't entirely with me...! I mean, I wasn't aware of your presence." He protested.

"You're right. I am sorry, George." The two of them fell quiet as they just stared at each other. Dream was still quite the distance away, and all George could make out was his outline in the fog. It was like the clouds had decided to settle on Earth, as if the heavens were down there instead. George takes a step forward. Dream disappears. He stares, inhaling dolefully.

"Dream?"

"The door is unlocked for you." His voices rings in George's ears pleasantly as he turns around, walking back up the steps to the cathedral and opening the doors with ease. He utters a quiet, 'thank you' before stepping inside. It was strange to be in the church at the ungodly hour he was there. And, nobody was there. He had no idea what to do with himself. He stood in the nave of the building, just letting his eyes wander. George looked up at the faceless portraits of his lover, the ones on the ceiling, with a look of pure awe. He barely had time to admire the work last time he was here. It amazed him how well done everything was, it made him curious who the artist was. It was kind of ironic, how George just sat and admired a portrait of Dream's body. It was ironic because he could have it whenever he wanted. He could ask for Clay, and he would come. But there he was, just staring at a bunch of paintings of him. But he was happy like that. It wasn't as overwhelming.

Every painting told a story. Whether it was laid out before the viewer, or if it was through small details - it said something. They all spoke to George in a language only they understood. Only those portraits, and himself, knew the reality of Dream. The truth of him laid deep in the strokes of paint, capturing his essence. George started walking again, still staring up at the ceiling with a smile. He probably looked crazy. Maybe he was crazy. He kept strolling until he reached the main altar. The one for the world to see. It was beautiful, but he preferred the altar that was hidden away from the public - where he first introduced himself to Dream. There was a painting there that featured his actual face, and so it felt a lot more personal. He decides to go to the back to see the altar. He missed his lover's face, and although the portrait wasn't real, it was rather comforting.