Beneath The Surface - DNF

Chapter 9

Dream was in the middle of sorting through his latest shipment when his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen, wiping his hands on his jeans. The notification was from George.

George:
I need you at the club tonight. Something important. 
Be there at 9. Don't be late. Please.

Dream stared at the message for a moment, his gut twisting with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. George wasn't the type to reach out casually—especially not with vague instructions like this. Something important usually meant something dangerous.

Dream:
Hey 
What's this about? 
I don't like walking into things blind.

George:
Trust me. 
You'll understand when you get here.

Dream ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. He knew better than to press for details. George played his cards close to his chest, and if he was being vague, it was for a reason. Still, a small part of Dream felt uneasy about the whole thing. He hadn't been to George's club since their last encounter, and even then, things had been tense between them. Tense, and... complicated.

Pushing the thought aside, Dream sent a final reply.

Dream:
Sure, George. I'll be there.

The club was just as he remembered—dark, pulsating with music, and filled with the kind of people Dream knew better than to trust. As he stepped through the entrance, the familiar scent of expensive cologne and cigar smoke hit him like a wave. But something was different tonight. The energy felt heavier, more dangerous, and Dream couldn't shake the feeling that George had something planned for him.

He spotted George near the bar, his usual composed self. Dream weaved through the crowd until he was close enough to hear George's voice cutting through the noise.

"You came," George said, not looking up from his drink.

"You knew I would," Dream replied, settling beside him. "So, what's this about?"

George glanced around the club, making sure no one was paying too much attention. "I need you to prove something to me."

Dream raised an eyebrow. "Prove what?"

George's gaze met his, and for a moment, the usual coldness in his eyes softened. "Loyalty. That I can trust you."

Dream scoffed. "Haven't I already done that?"

"Not like this." George straightened, taking a sip of his drink before placing it back on the bar. "Tonight, you and I need to act as a unit. We're going to be in front of some dangerous people, and I need to know you'll have my back."

Dream crossed his arms, studying George's face. "What's the catch?"

George's lips curled into a small, almost sad smile. "We need to act like we're together. A couple."

Dream blinked, processing the request. "You're joking."

"I'm not," George said firmly. "It's the only way they'll buy it. These people... they look for cracks in relationships. I told them we were getting romantically involved and that I wanted to introduce you to them and the business. They said they knew how powerful you were, so they'll look for signs of disloyalty. You know this business—it's not a fucking joke, Clay. They came to kill. If they think you and I aren't on the same page, it's over."

Dream sighed, glancing around the club. He could feel eyes on them, even now. The weight of George's request settled on his shoulders, heavier than any deal he'd ever made. But there was no turning back now.

"Alright," Dream muttered. "Let's get this over with."

They entered the VIP lounge, a secret room in the back of George's club that Dream didn't know about until now. The air was thick with cigar smoke and suspicion. Dream kept close to George, playing the part, though every step felt like walking on glass. The men in the room—the ones George needed to convince—were powerful, and Dream could sense they didn't trust easily.

George was smooth, as always, navigating the conversation with ease. But as the meeting dragged on, it became clear the men were skeptical. One of them, a man with sharp eyes and a cruel smile, leaned forward, his gaze shifting between George and Dream.

"You say this is your partner, but actions speak louder than words," the man said, his voice dripping with doubt. "If you're so close, prove it."

Dream's pulse quickened. He shot a glance at George, who didn't flinch. Instead, George turned to Dream, his eyes locking with his. A silent challenge passed between them. This was the moment.

Without hesitation, Dream reached out, his hand finding George's waist. He pulled him closer, letting the tension in the air spark something unspoken between them. Their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss—one Dream couldn't admit was meant to prove something, both to the room and to each other.

When Dream pulled back, the room was silent. The skeptical man smirked, nodding slowly in approval. "Well, I suppose that settles that."

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur. Deals were made, threats exchanged, but all Dream could think about was the kiss. George's expression remained unreadable, but Dream could feel the weight of it all hanging between them. Whatever that kiss had been, it wasn't just for show.

He observed the ambiance closely, feeling like after the sudden action, they were more accepting of him. Dream's reputation as a big name in the mafia helped a lot. They assumed he wouldn't take such a bold move, especially with such a prominent person. Everyone knew that Dream was publicly gay—he always made that clear—so there wasn't any suspicion about him faking his feelings for George.

The drive back to Dream's place was quiet. George had had too much to drink—his usual controlled demeanor had slipped, and now, he leaned heavily against the passenger seat, his eyes half-closed.

"You didn't have to kiss me," George mumbled as they pulled into the driveway.

Dream cut the engine, glancing over at him. "You asked me to prove my loyalty. That was the test, right?"

George didn't answer, just let out a tired sigh as Dream helped him inside. By the time they made it to the couch, George was barely coherent, the alcohol dragging him under.

"I've been betrayed so many times..." George murmured, slumping against the cushions. "I just... needed to know."

Dream sat beside him, watching as George's eyes fluttered shut. "Now you know," Dream whispered.

George's head lolled against Dream's shoulder, and for the first time, Dream saw the cracks in his armor. George, always in control, always one step ahead, was finally letting himself be vulnerable. And in that moment, Dream felt something shift between them.

George stirred, lifting his head just enough to look at Dream. "You're not like the others," he whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Without thinking, Dream leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to George's lips. This time, there was no audience, no test. Just them. It felt so good.

The pace was slow. After a few seconds, the blonde instinctively placed his hands on George's waist, and right after, George put his hands on Dream's shoulder. Just before the brunette was about to crawl onto Clay's lap, he paused.

"Is this okay? You're drunk; we shouldn't be doing this." Dream searched for some sort of regret. He couldn't be in his right mind—it felt wrong to do this while he was drunk.

"No. Please don't stop. For once, I feel brave enough to touch you. I'm sober enough to know that I want this."

"I'm sorry, George. We can do this tomorrow when you're in your right mind, if you'll remember any of this. For now, let's go to my room. I'll take care of you."

Realization hit George's face, and he just nodded. He looked a little disappointed, but that was too much of a special moment to be shared drunkenly.

George settled back into Dream's arms, his breathing slowing as sleep overtook him. Dream held him close, the weight of the night pressing down on him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt... uncertain. About everything.

But for now, he let it go. For now, they were just two people, tangled up in a mess they hadn't quite figured out yet.

And for the first time, that was enough.