Criminal Minds ~ DNF

27

Dream followed George through the house, directing him to the bathroom.

"I- Um... I'll go send this to Captain Puffy," he said, waving the phone before leaving the area as fast as he could. Huh. Weird. The brunette stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to touch anything. He slowly began to strip off layers, flinging them into the bathtub. He would throw them away when he was done. He stared at himself in the mirror and almost laughed at how fabulously horrific he looked. His face was absolutely covered in red, same with his hands, hair, and neck. He looked as though he'd been attacked with a machete. Good.

George stepped into the shower and started scrubbing at himself. This was gonna stain, he could feel it. By the time he was finished, his hands and face were still tinged pink, but it would have to do. He exited, wrapping himself in an off-white towel that was now a shade of burgundy.

"This was an awful idea," he murmured, making his way back to the basement. The pool of fake blood was still there and probably wouldn't leave. Instead, the mattress had been moved to the other side of the room. Who could have sat atop it but Dream?

"I thought the mattress had pneumonia," George quipped, adjusting the towel so that more of himself was covered.

"No. Fundy had pneumonia, not the bed," Dream said, patting the space next to him.

"Why the sudden change of heart? Not complaining, but-"

"You looked uncomfortable on the floor. Come sit," he beckoned.

"But... I'm naked?"

"Oh. Right." Clay let his gaze linger on George's hidden figure for a few more seconds before turning to face the wall. George stared at Dream's back while he changed, making sure the blonde didn't turn around. Hesitantly, he moved to sit with Dream.

"You know, I've had a lot of time to think recently..." the blonde began, turning to face George and taking the brunette's hands in his.

"Why? Why do you stay with me? After everything I did to you, after all the people I killed to get to you, why?"

George had to truly think about the question to answer it.

Why did he stay? There was no way that George could justify what he was doing. Fucking hell, he just faked his own death! Right now, his friends were probably mourning the loss of somebody who was entirely alive and well. It was sickening. He was a horrible person. Dream was a horrible person. In the space of two months, George had been threatened, lead on, kidnapped and gaslit. He'd been through hell, but why did it feel like heaven?

"Because you're not as bad as you make out to be."

Dream knew exactly where he'd heard that before. George had just inadvertently made Dream fall even further in love with him. Without hesitation, he pulled George into his lap and began kissing. Face, neck, chest. Anything his lips could find. George did not give a word of opposition, letting it happen and maybe even enjoying it. He tangled his hands in Clay's hair, suddenly overwhelmed with lust. He found Clay's lips, smashing his own against them. After a minute of heated snogging, both had to pull away for breath.

It felt like George's prayers were being acknowledged.

____________________________________

On the other side of America, Puffy's prayers went unanswered.

An ear-splitting scream echoed through the FBI headquarters. Cara was staring at her screen, hands over her mouth. On the monitor was her George, soaked in blood to the point of overkill. It was everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, on the brunette. Brunette, turned red. His eyes in the image were glazed over, though they looked almost alive.