TW: swearing, praising, anal sex, car sex, riding, cat calling, inappropriate touching (😬)
edited kinda lazy sowwy
Wind whooshed past George as he lifted one leg straight behind him, balancing on the other with steady hands and an even steadier mind.
The coldness from the ice seeped up and turnt the tip of his nose red; he didn't mind it, and continued twirling on the ice.
The long-sleeved black pants and shirt he wore clutched at his limber body and left him warm, with still a hint of cold layering outside the clothes.
It was a random Monday afternoon, so the rink wasn't crowded, just a few people here and there but they were decently easy to avoid most of the time.
Of course, he occasionally found himself nearly stumbling over a young child who couldn't quite skate yet, but he just checked that the kid was okay before continuing on his way. It's not like it was the child's fault, so no need to get angry, right?
George didn't get angry a lot. He wasn't sure why— he knew he had plenty of reasons to be pissed off at the world, however, he just shrugged it off with a 'it is what it is' and moved on.
His knee bent.
He sent himself flying into the air, leaping graciously with closed eyes.
George loved the feeling of the air curling over his hair and jaw, the feeling of being weightless in the air yet with so much power when landing, but still staying graceful.
And, he was ready to hit the icy floor below, however large hands cupped beneath his armpits and caught him.
George flung his eyes open.
"Woah, watch out."
A blush of embarrassment roared over George's cheeks; leaping with your eyes closed on a public rink wasn't the best idea.
"I-I'm sorry—"
He processed who it was.
Dream.
They went to the same university, and the two had the same Marketing class.
They didn't talk much in class— both of them had their own friend group. George hung out with the. . . well. . . the quieter, nerdier, and rather lamer side of the class, and Dream hung out with the louder, dumber, and rather cooler side of the class.
"—Oh. Dream. Hey." George squirmed.
Dream realized he was still holding George around a foot above the ice, and carefully sat him down. "You almost jumped right into me."
"Yeah, sorry," George scratched the back of his neck. "Just practicing."
"Same."
"Y-You do figure skating?"
Dream chuckled, and rolled his eyes. "No! I do hockey."
"Oh." More blush found it's way onto George's face.
"Why? Do I look like the figure skating type?"
"N-No, you're much too big for that," George giggled awkwardly, and Dream perked up a brow at George's rude words. "No, no, not like your that fat or anything but—"
"That fat?"
"No, no! You're n-not fat at all you just have too much muscle and you need to be nimble for figure skating and you're wide and—" George paused. "—I-I'm just gonna stop talking."
"Yeah, that sounds like it's for the best. Guess it's a good thing I caught you and you didn't ram right into me, hm?"
George tittered and fidgeted with his fingers. "Oh y-yeah, that would've h-hurt 'cause I was in the air and would've fallen and h-hit you and my skates could've hit you and. . . yeah—" George let out an exhaustive breath.
