TW: praising, swearing, slut shaming, anal sex
top dream
bottom george
George rolled in bed, the comforter felt soft against his bare skin. He peaked open an eye to meet Dream already looking at him; he had a small smile on his face. "Are you feeling okay?"
Dream was a. . . a frequent hook-up you could say. George had slept with Dream before, gone on dates, but nothing was ever official. And, George never told anyone about Dream, and Dream never told anyone about George.
Not yet, at least.
And besides, Dream treated George so wonderfully, George was sure they would become official eventually.
George would stay up every night, wondering how Dream would ask him. Every night, he'd giggle and roll around in bed, squeezing a teddy bear Dream has gotten him.
He loved that bear.
It's cute little button nose, the pink t-shirt it had. It was such a small, cheap gift, but George slept with it every night. It smelt like Dream— and whenever Dream wasn't around, you bet your ass George was clutching onto that bear.
"Mhm. . ." George tried to scoot closer to Dream but Dream stood up out of bed.
"I've gotta make a quick call, I'll be right back." He pressed a warm kiss onto George's forehead before quickly leaving the room whilst dialing a number. "Here. I brought a spare shirt, put this on."
George nodded, and caught the shirt Dream tossed him. George loved wearing Dreams shirt— he loved the smell of Dream, and how Dreams shirt just engulfed him. So, he slipped on the shirt, then pulled on his boxers, snuggling deeper into the blanket after.
He could hear Dream talk, just faint words, pacing around the living room.
Then, Dream would come back to George's room, and they would sleep for the rest of the afternoon until they'd wake up at three a.m, order Waffle House, and binge watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S, since George was too sore to do anything else. And besides, Dream didn't mind holding George close on the couch. He always pressed kisses to Georges head, and after finishing a few episodes Dream would leave just to return the next day.
That's what they did every time, and George loved it.
After about ten minutes of laying there, and Dream still chatting on the phone, George got impatient. Where was he?
"Dream?" George climbed out of bed. His feet hit the floor, and they were cold against the palm of his foot as he peeked his head outside of his bedroom.
Dream was sat on the couch, his phone held out and on speaker phone, with a bunch of random men George had never heard of before talking.
"Valid?" One of the guys said.
"Bro it's valid everytime." Dream chuckled. He picked at his nails, his legs spread out on the couch. He only wore his boxers.
The guys all cheered; one began clapping. "What's his name again?"
"George."
George suddenly was more interested in the conversation. He knew listening in on people's calls was a bit privacy invading, but he was too curious.
"George. Hm." The same man replied. "Wait, is he like. . . a prostitute?"
"What! No! He's nothing like that." Dream barked back; George smiled and blushed slightly, he loved when Dream defended him.
"So he's just a whore?"
Dream scoffed. "No, I'm not replying to that."
"Hm." Another voice spoke up. "Was the recoil crazy?"
