MCYT Oneshots [Pt. 1]

Illicit Affairs Pt. 3- Dreamnotfound 😊

CW:

Plot: George is a fucking idiot and is completely oblivious to what had been dangling in front of him for the past eight months. But after getting apple slices he finally works his shit out.

~
Third Person POV.

Before his shirt is even completely off, he feels a large hand over his stomach, softly caressing. It's one of his favorite things, Dream's hands on him, especially when he can look down and see how much space it takes up. It reminds him of when they're in the car, the same hand on his thigh, how it swallows him.

Before you yell at him, George knows they shouldn't be doing this. He knows it's a stupid idea, but fuck did he miss it. Not even the sexual element of it all, just Dream.

Having him to himself like this. Being his in a way that no one else is. Loving and being loved back the same way, even if it isn't the same way. Not really.

Because for Dream it's purely sexual, they had talked about it when they first started fucking around. George knows this'll only get him hurt, but he relishes in the feeling of Dream's hands roaming his stomach where George is perched on his lap.

"You're gorgeous," he whispers and all of George's thoughts seem to vanish. He wants purple fingerprints on his hips, hickeys on his collarbone, and encouragements whispered in his ear as he takes it. He wants the evidence of Dream's grip left in bruises, wants long fingers to open him up, wants them around his neck, in his hair, handling him roughly.

Dream's hand steadies over George's belly button, thumb stroking over his happy trail. Butterflies can't describe it, not any cliché can wrap up this feeling in a way that justifies the warmth and running waters that flow through him. He places a hand over Dream's, keeping it there, breathing in deep, closing his eyes, feeling, absorbing.

Maybe this doesn't have to be the last time.

They stay like that for a moment, George letting the calm and excitement of his friend's touch settle. Finally opening his eyes, half-lidded, Dream's already gazing at him. Eight months and his heart still noticeably reacts when they meet, stuttering in his chest.

Pressing a hand against the other's bare chest, George half-heartedly pushes himself away before he's pulled in and trapped by a much larger man. Dream quickly settles his place on top of him, smirking, shoulders, and biceps flexing as they adjust, dirty blonde curls falling in front of eyes he wishes he could see the true color of, without special glasses.

It's damn-near mouthwatering, how good his best friend looks like this. Like he belongs this close. "S'okay, princess," Dream chuckles, sending a fucking shockwave up his spine from the sounds and the pet name that Dream clearly doesn't understand influences him. Before he can respond with anything snarky to cover his desires, Dream's beard is against his neck, lips pressed to his skin. "I'll take care of you," his voice is rough, so close to George's ear, the sound and sensation travel south.

"Dream," it's a quiet gasp when he feels another kiss, his hands go straight to soft curls.

"However," and another kiss under his ear, "You," another, "Need me," and one more.

Need. Not want or desire. Need.

It's difficult not to moan at Dream's words, the scruff of his beard rubbing his skin, probably leaving it red.

A soft rumble makes itself known from George's stomach, making his face blush bright red in embarrassment. "When was the last time you ate?" Dream asks, his eye brows furrowed.

"Uhm..." George pauses.

"That took too long for you to answer," Dream concludes as he starts to get up. "I'm getting you food,"