#slashtp

FUCK NOW I FEEL BAD FOR DELETING IT HANG ON I THOUGHT NO ONE WAS AWAKE YET

He’s having sort of a… picture-less dream. Where he can’t really see much going on, but if he focuses hard enough, he can visualize what’s happening. George has had enough sleepy fantasies and late night calls to know: he’s pathetically dreaming about his best friend.

Again. As usual. It’s been a recurring thing.

In other words, he’d know that fucking moan anywhere.

Those hands are on his back, but it’s just his imagination. Still, his imagination does a rather vivid job. They feel as big as he’s ever imagined, warm as he’s ever hoped, and safe as he’s ever craved.

George wishes that’s all he wanted from those hands. But he’s greedy, and quite frankly horny. He wants them everywhere.

Spontaneously, he gets pulled in closer, as if his wish was his dream’s command. George’s face involuntarily buries into soft sweats, nestled in that sturdy chest.

He can’t help himself now. George inhales, and his nostrils are invaded by a warm, floral scent. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. The Dream of his dreams moans again, slotting their legs together, and George goes into overdrive. Fuck, that feels good. Maybe a few minutes in Dream land won’t hurt. What’s wrong with dreaming a dream of Dream, anyway? It’s in the name. It’s only natural.

Okay, maybe the heavy petting isn’t exactly natural, but George is too turned on to care. He cares so little he could wake up before the best part and hold no regrets. He wouldn’t care, even as he shamefully jerked himself off the next day. He’d push past all the guilt you get for thinking of your best friend like this, because this dream feels so good it’s almost real.

“George…”

His name rolls out all groggy, catching George’s heart in a chokehold.

But he quickly moves past it, because striking as that voice may be, his dream imagines that solid thigh grind against his crotch, starting slow, but then picking up a steady motion.

It drags a moan from George’s lips too. They’re a mess together, dream George and dream Dream. That sounds stupid, but his blood is currently rushing south, so forgive him. His mouth winds up somewhere near a collarbone. None of this is real, so he gives it a kiss.

“Love you…”

Something about that stops George. This is… a little new.

He usually dreams of depravity, not tenderness.

Sweet declarations of platonic love are what the real Dream does, and it strikes George so hard. Hearing it has always been a little painful.

But right now? Of all places?

It’s far too harrowing. It agonizes, and hits too close to the home he can’t live in. The home he’s waited to live in for too long, and he’s not talking about the many acres of land they bought together.

It’s this. And now he’s gotten all sombre, so when he wakes up he’s going to be sad. He’ll still be horny, don’t get him wrong, but something about it will seize at him, tear him to shreds. The thought of not getting to be where he wants to be more than any place on earth? These feelings will ache and tear at his heart whenever he tries to log on, attempt normalcy on Discord. He’d feel like a bottomless pit, unable to catch anything, let alone a break.

“Love you guys…”