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Having any kind of normal dating life as a werewolf, and a famous one at that, was nigh on fucking impossible. The moon-sized secret he had to keep from all humans, the worry that a non-human could still leak something to his followers or be a secret stalker, combined with the general fear of trusting people enough to let them within a ten foot radius of his social circle, let alone into his heart, made for a pretty brutal equation that resulted (unsurprisingly) in being inconsolably single.
In the past, he'd had a few flings here and there, as well as a small handful—that is to say, one—of more serious relationships. But after a particularly horrific Twitter thread went viral the morning after a hookup, he'd sworn them off indefinitely. A man only needs explicit details of his sex life posted to the internet once before learning from his mistakes, no matter if most of his followers had dismissed it as attention-seeking bullshit. The next person could have proof, photographs taken when he was too out of it to notice—he couldn't handle it, not the backlash nor the idea of someone taking the precious intimacy he offered them and turning around to sell it for profit. He couldn't go through that again.
It had been nearly a year since he'd first made that promise to himself, and in spite of everything he was beginning to doubt it. The fear of exposure, of heartbreak that lingered across every online space he'd come to inhabit, still lingered like a bad taste in his mouth. And yet, in spite of everything, he found that time gave way to loneliness and that in turn to the innate, bone-deep desire to be with someone. He craved the closeness like he'd never been given any reason not to.
Dream was four drinks deep, a few steps past tipsy and entirely alone where he lay on his couch. He'd been invited out to a bar by Sapnap, but Dream was needy, not entirely stupid, and wouldn't risk revealing his face after so many careful years of keeping it hidden, just for a mediocre one night stand. He was lonely and horny, but he'd be damned if he wasn't classy about it.
At least, that was one of the lies he told himself. It was upon finishing his fifth drink that he was struck with the idea. His sixth was poured as the app downloaded, and left mostly forgotten on the floor as he tucked his knees to his chin and got to work on his dating profile.
It was an app designed specifically for the not-quite-human, the fae and the demons and all others with unnaturally sharp teeth. He preferred this kind to the ‘normal’ dating apps—a supernatural partner came with fewer risks, as his own beyond-mortal strength was less of a danger to someone who could match it—particularly the secrecy they offered. Most people chose to lie about names or obscure some of their features in their pictures; being a monster of sorts wasn't exactly a favourable secret to keep. But Dream was grateful for that stigma in this instance, as it meant he didn't appear at all suspicious when he cropped his face out of his.
He'd chosen a candid from a club where he was mostly turned away from the camera, bathed in a rainbow myriad of lights and in a tight shirt Sapnap always claimed made him look “jacked as fuck ”—Dream didn't entirely believe him, but he'd admit it was a good photo nonetheless. Next, a mirror selfie that seemed innocent enough, with the phone held over his face in one hand and the other resting on the back of his neck, lifting his shirt enough to show a generous portion of soft hip and stomach. Finally, one far raunchier than he'd have dared choose without the veil of anonymity and all the alcohol in his system: a tasteful shot taken by his ex on the shores of a private beach by sunset, fingers reaching towards the camera to hide his face from it, the rest of his body entirely bare save for the shine of seawater and a heart sticker he'd edited over his crotch. Rosy nipples, a dark blond happy trail and miles of naked thighs he hoped would act as an open invitation to bite.
Five minutes later, he was fumbling his way through a bio and clicking Create Account! with all the confidence of a man who'd forgotten what he had to lose. Five minutes after that, his phone was slipping from his grasp as his eyes fell shut, oblivious, for now, to the message already waiting in his inbox.
-
Morning arrived with a headache in tow, as well as the aches and pains that followed a night spent in the living room. He stretched, joints aching, and made his way to the kitchen to chug a pint of water and fix himself breakfast from whatever scraps he could find in the barren wasteland that was their fridge.
Sapnap wasn't back yet, unsurprisingly, but Dream shot him a text anyway to check that he'd slept somewhere safely as opposed to the hospital, an alleyway or, not for the first time, a frat house bathroom. In doing so, his attention was drawn to another notification whose app name alone spread a furious blush across his cheeks. God, he really was infinitely bolder—and hornier, he supposed with a cough—when inebriated.
With a fierce headache taking up the space in his mind usually reserved for overthinking, he tapped on the notification and was instantly left awestruck.
George, 27, Vampire, had the kind of face that made Dream want to believe in a divine creator. He had this kind of immortal elegance to him (which, Dream mentally kicked himself, did presumably come with the whole vampire territory), an ease to his smile that would surely have the masses stumbling to their knees after just a moment of eye contact.
Dream swiped hungrily through the man's pictures, pausing on one of him perched on the edge of a hot tub. His dark hair was disappointingly dry, but Dream wanted to anchor his hands in it all the same. He was self-aware enough to be vaguely embarrassed at such blatant thirsting over a man he'd never met, but that didn't stop the shameless, carnal want that tore its way into his mind—Dream wanted to lick him, to get his mouth all over the man's chest and thighs and wherever else he'd let him.
George | 2.14am
would u mind sending me that 3rd pic without the sticker on
cant exactly train my gag reflex for u if idk how much im gonna be taking
Dream felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. It was the kind of message he'd laugh at if shown by someone else, the very-forward-no-shame kind of text he'd never have guessed would've worked for him. Pretty privilege, he thought to himself as he practically throbbed in his shorts. He was leaning heavily against the kitchen counter now, lacking trust that his legs wouldn't simply give out beneath him.
It was then, hard in his kitchen on an innocuous Sunday morning, that he let himself take a risk for the first time in years.
Dream | 10.37am
sorry this is probably killing the mood a little but i just wanted to say you're so fucking beautiful
As soon as he'd pressed send, Dream honestly wanted to stick his head in the oven. What the fuck was he thinking? A gorgeous, charming, sexy man sent him a gorgeous, charming, sexy message and he replied with a compliment on par with what a high-schooler might send to their crush. And, because the universe truly and utterly despised him, a typing bubble appeared in the chat before he could figure out a way to delete it.
George | 10.38am
ur so cute wtf
sorry for the msg last night btw
was extremely drunk didn't mean to make you uncomfortable
Dream | 10.38am
far from uncomfortable dw
George | 10.39am
well in that case i take my apology back
i meant every word
Dream's knees choose this moment to buckle. His back slides down the counter until he's sat on the cool tiled floor, his face flushed pink and the rest of his body burning. Being this hard with a man this pretty flirting with him and somehow managing to not jerk off, not even touch himself over his clothes, felt like a feat of herculean strength. The urge to send George a picture of the state he was in right now, exactly how much he wanted this, was impossibly strong, although not stronger than the voice in his head screaming he's a total stranger, you absolute moron! Then again, he reminded himself, George's first message had been to ask for a clearer picture of his dick, so surely it wouldn't be entirely unwelcome?
Before he could overthink it any harder, he scrolled to the original picture of him on the beach and clicked send.
Dream | 10.41am
[image.png]
George | 10.43am
fuck
what the fukc
am i the only one you've sent that to?
Dream | 10.44am
you're the only one i've replied to at all
that one was just for you, angel
George | 10.44am
jesus
id ask u to come over rn but im still half convinced im getting catfished
Dream stumbled to his feet, clumsy and distracted, and in his hunt for a pen and paper he succeeded in knocking a plate clean off the counter behind him. He patted himself down and, sure enough, his fucking wolf tail had made an appearance over the top of his shorts, as it usually did when he started to lose control.
When he finally sent George another picture—one of him sitting atop his bed sheets, holding a piece of paper with a messily scrawled ‘George :)’ over his face—he made sure to angle it such that his tail and his blatant arousal were both clearly visible in frame.
Dream | 10.47am
[image2.png]
George | 10.48am
fucking hell okay not a catfish
need you so bad you don't understand
is that ur tail??
Dream | 10.49am
i think i understand perfectly
and yeah haha
i half-shift whenever i'm kinda out of it
George | 10.49am
ur adorable puppy
my breaks nearly over so i have to go soon
but trust me when we have more time im going to ruin you
Dream | 10.50am
you're at work???????
let a man know next time before he sends you his nudes jesus
what if betty in the next cubicle looked over your shoulder and caught an eyeful huh
i could be a private guy
saving myself for marriage
George | 10.51am
i work from home
your virtue is safe, don't worry
but it’d be a pity if u were saving urself for marriage
i've already got so much planned for you
Dream was dead, or dying, at least. Question after question buzzed inside his brain, not helped by the fact that all the blood in his body seemed to either be in his cheeks (which were lit in a truly spectacular blush) or his dick, making coherent thoughts particularly difficult. He could've asked what George did for work, requested proof that he too wasn't a catfish, or what exactly it was that he'd planned for Dream—although that last one might have driven him to insanity. Instead, he continued doing the only thing he seemed to be able to: dorky flirting over the messages of a dating app he’d logged into once and immediately fallen head over heels for the first man he'd laid eyes upon.
Dream | 10.52am
well i GUESS i can make an exception
dinner tmrw?
The wait for George's reply was excruciating, worsened by the fact that he did seem to have gone back to work and Dream couldn't even jerk off about it because the adrenaline fuelling his arousal had all too suddenly turned itself into anxiety.
Had he been too forward? Scared off the first man in years that seemed to show an interest in him? Did it even matter, after all, when he could've gotten one look at Dream's face in the restaurant tomorrow—and that's if he even accepted the invitation in the first place—and bolted anyway?
For fuck's sake, this was a guy he'd met on a dating app and talked to for all of fifteen minutes. His opinion shouldn't matter as much as it did. His rejection shouldn't be able to wield a blade that sharp and heavy. But it did, it could, and Dream was scared shitless for what it all meant.
It was likely just that the feat of putting himself out there for the first time in ages was already eating away at him, stirring the simmering pot of his anxieties with a careless fervour that could send the whole thing toppling to the ground.
He considered sending a follow-up text, talked himself out of it, then was halfway through typing one anyway when he heard the front door open and his best friend's voice boom through the apartment.
“Honey, I'm home!”
Dream groaned as he was painfully reminded of his pounding headache, but dragged himself out of bed all the same. Any distraction was a welcome one right now, especially if it involved getting to ask Sapnap annoying questions about his night out.
He padded through to the kitchen, wincing at the squeak the stool made as he dragged it from under the counter and sat down, then outright cringing when Sapnap merrily switched on the blender.
“Did you not drink at all last night?” Dream half-shouted over the din.
Sapnap smirked at Dream's bleary eyes and tangled hair, waiting until his smoothie was finished blending before speaking, “Oh, I did. I guess I'm just not a pussy lightweight like some people in this house.”
Dream rolled his eyes, and watched with mild disdain as Sapnap dipped a finger into the blender—in spite of the many, many times Dream had reminded him how stupidly dangerous that was, as well as just being gross—to taste his concoction. He then watched in abject horror as Sapnap added another handful of strawberries and turned the dial to commence another minute of rattling and screeching.
Sometimes, Dream thought about what it might be like to share their space with a third roommate. A person who wouldn't mind taking some of Sapnap's metaphorical punches and occasionally, tastefully, hand some back to him. Don't get him wrong, he loved Sapnap and was grateful every day for the life they'd built together, and clashing here and there was only natural for a pair of werewolves, especially ones as close as brothers, but there were times he couldn't help but let his mind wander.
“How was last night?” Dream asked, part genuine interest, part to distract himself from his second unwelcome train of thought that day.
“Kicked ass at karaoke, made out with some vampire dude and then ended up going home with a hot fae chick,” Sapnap replied, pouring the smoothie into two glasses, “Y'know how it is, the usual.”
Dream snorted, earning him a suspicious glare.
“The usual,” Dream repeated with a smile. Sapnap wasn't buying it though—mockery wasn't usually Dream's go-to strategy unless he had something to hide. But Dream wasn't about to fess up to the fact that Sapnap's casual mention of a ‘vampire dude’ had thoroughly shot his mood. Keeping secrets unfortunately wasn't possible when the person looking for them had seen you at your lowest.
“What's wrong?” he asked, gentler than before.
Dream took a sip of his smoothie to avoid the question, before immediately spitting it back out all over their kitchen counter.
“Jesus fuck, what did you put in this?”
“Shit, bro, my bad,” Sapnap said, already on his feet to grab some tissues, “Must've been the cherry. I didn't realise you were that close to your heat, or I'd never-”
His heat. In all honesty, Dream had forgotten all about it until just then. The three month gaps between them were long enough for him to forget about the problem completely, dismiss it as something to be dealt with later, until it was suddenly days away and he was left totally unprepared. It was typical of him to forget to even set a reminder, leave it to Sapnap to notice the signs before he did (cravings and taste sensitivities was some of the common ones, along with extra clinginess and an enhanced libido, which annoyingly made last night make a lot more sense in hindsight) and for it to catch him entirely off-guard. They were meant to be aligned with the moon cycle or something, but Dream called bullshit.
“I forgot as well, don't worry,” Dream mumbled, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.
“You found anyone to stay with?” Sapnap asked, as he did every time. Dream wasn't sure why he bothered at this point—his answer was always the same.
He was just shaking his head, preparing to offer to book Sapnap a nice hotel for the next few days, when his phone buzzed. Surely it wasn't…
George | 12.31pm
sure sounds good
where?
Okay, so Dream was fucked. Proposing dinner plans to a beautiful man had seemed like a wonderful idea before he'd realised he was in pre-heat. Now, he had the options of either risking public humiliation if they ate at a restaurant, seemingly entirely too pushy by asking to go to his place, or inviting a stranger, potentially-catfish-serial-killer, to his house. There was always the fourth option of backing out entirely, but when given the rare opportunity to seduce a hot brunet, Dream would do anything he could to cling on to it.
It was then that he realised Sapnap was staring at him, and likely had been for quite some time.
“Sorry, what?” Dream said, in his absolute worst attempt at an ‘ I have nothing to hide!’ voice. He had all the subtlety and secrecy of an industrial megaphone.
“Who texted you?” Sapnap asked, megaphoning right back.
A pause. A sip of a smoothie with eyes narrowed over the top of the glass. Another buzz of Dream's phone that he fought not to check immediately.
“A guy I met on a dating app,” Dream confessed in a rush, the words bleeding into each other as though he couldn't bear to give the idea they formed any space to breathe.
“Dream,” Sapnap gasped, his hand placed delicately over his mouth, “How scandalous! What will the neighbours think?”
“Shut up, you dick.” Dream punched his arm, grinning.
“Happy for you, bro,” Sapnap grinned back, “Is he human? Wait, nevermind, is he hot?”
“Vampire and yes, very.”
Sapnap waggled his eyebrows and Dream had to resist the urge to hit him again.
“Well let me know when you're meeting up, I can go with you for the first few minutes, make sure he's not a serial killer before I hand you over.”
Dream thanked him and Sapnap headed off for a shower not long after that, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a series of new messages from George.
George | 12.36pm
wait sorry i actually probably can't go out to a restaurant
not tomorrow at least
haven't fed in a while so would be a little risky, can control myself obvs but would rather not have to
Dream | 12.40pm
oh dw that's completely fine
i was about to say smth similar anyway haha
tmi but my heats soon so i wouldn't rly want to be in an unfamiliar environment for that long
it gets kinda overwhelming all the ppl and scents and stuff
George | 12.41pm
i could come over to ur place then?
takeout and a movie
and see how it goes?
if ur okay with that
For any normal, non-internet-famous person on this app, the answer would've been an immediate yes. For Dream, an actually internet-famous person on this app, he hesitated for all of five seconds before replying. There's only a certain level of touch-starved a man can be before he breaks—especially one so close to the beginning of his eleventh consecutive heat spent alone.
Dream | 12.42pm
sounds good to me :)
7pm?
George | 12.42pm
cant wait
see u soon :]
Again, Dream hesitated for perhaps a lot less time than he should have, before sending:
Dream | 12.42pm
<3
He was unbelievably fucked.
-
It was at the seventh outfit change that Sapnap finally put his foot down.
“Realistically bro, how long is that shirt even staying on for? Do you really think he's gonna be admiring the colour coordination of your socks when you've literally invited him over to fuck?”
“Sapnap,” Dream hissed, glancing over his shoulder like George could've manifested there and overheard them in the five seconds he'd spent fixing his hair, “Takeout and a movie.”
“Netflix and chill, got it bro.”
The sound of Dream's indignant spluttering was drowned out by the chime of their doorbell.
“That shirts great, don't worry about it,” Sapnap reassured, gesturing to Dream's dark green button up.
“Really complements my eyes, huh?” Dream said jokingly, looking like he was about to throw up.
Sapnap only tutted at him like a disappointed mother, dragging him by the arm to answer the door together.
“If it's shit just text me, I'll come home and we can get him to leave,” Sapnap reassured.
And then, he opened the door.
“Uh, hi,” said the beautiful man on Dream's doorstep, whose pictures had been perfect and yet still underwhelming. When close enough to touch, back-lit by the falling sun, George looked as close as a man ever did to immortal.
(Dream realised immediately after thinking it that it wasn't the grand compliment he'd intended—George was a vampire, after all, but there really was no other way he could be described.)
“Hey, come in,” Dream said warmly. He hoped it wasn't obvious how half of him was shaking with nerves and the other half was of the mind to skip the movie and fuck him on the couch.
George's eyes seem to get stuck on Dream's face as he follows him inside, and Dream starts to blush in spite of himself. In his years of abstinence and giving up every other part of himself to be scrutinised online, he'd forgotten how thrilling (yet nerve-wracking) it felt to let himself be observed.
“I take it you're Dream, right?” George asked, his gaze dropping hungrily to the rest of Dream's body.
“Guilty as charged,” he replies with a shy smile.
Behind him, Sapnap gags.
Both of them turn to look at him, and there's a horrible flash of recognition that passes over George's face. It had all been too good to be true, hadn't it? Of course George was a fan, he'd taken one look at Sapnap and the game was up, and he had Dream's address and his nudes and his face—
“You're that little bitch from the club the other night!” Sapnap accused.
“No, what? You're the one who—”
Dream wasn't sure he'd ever recover from the emotional whiplash of the last five minutes. What the fuck was even happening right now?
“You two know each other?” he said weakly, and was surprised that either of them noticed he'd spoken over the borderline shouting match they were currently having in their hallway.
“Unfortunately,” they both said in unison, then glared at each other harder still.
“Well, shouldn't be a problem, since Sapnap was just heading out,” Dream said pointedly.
“Bro, I said I'd only leave if he seemed normal and non-psychotic.”
“Sap—” Dream started to protest, but was distracted by the feeling of an arm settling around his waist, pulling him close to George's side. The warmth of their bodies pressed together felt surreal—Dream wanted to melt into it, like butter over the hot coals of a fireplace. He'd never dated or even been friends with a vampire before—not due to aversion, he simply hadn't crossed paths with many—but he'd subconsciously expected cold, the undead chill he'd heard others describe. He wouldn't have minded either, not really, but this was a pleasant surprise.
He looked down at George, the place where his dark hair kissed the soft skin of Dream's neck, and couldn't help but smile.
He was brought back to his senses by the sound of the front door slamming shut.
“Sorry about that,” George apologised, dropping his arm, much to Dream's dismay, “I'd usually ask permission and everything before grabbing you like that. I just thought it'd be funny to piss him off.”
“No, don't apologise, it was— I didn't mind it.”
George doesn't respond, only grins, but when they reach the sofa he sits as close as he can to Dream without actually being in his lap. Dream's finding it harder and harder to remind himself that this is a stranger, and it would be more weird than anything to encourage George to rest his head on his shoulder. And yet everything feels soft and strangely intimate, coated in a layer of domesticity that's making the whole situation feel familiar and cosy when it has no right to be.
He's blaming his heat. And the fact he hasn't done this in a long, long time.
“So, how do you know Sapnap?” Dream asks, because otherwise his thoughts might consume him and he'd end up doing something insane like stroking George's hair.
“Oh, I met him at a club, the first night I messaged you actually.” He looked up to meet Dream's eyes as he said it, and Dream silently begged all and any higher powers who might be listening that he wouldn't blush again, not this easily. “He offered to let me drink from him but he was really drunk and I didn't want to take advantage, so I just told him his blood smelled ass. I think he might've taken it personally.”
Dream laughed at that and, looking back, it kind of felt like he'd kept laughing that whole evening. George was just easy to talk to, friendly and funny and just genuinely enjoyable to be around. There were casual touches here and there—a hand on a thigh, fingers tucking hair behind the other's ear—but there was no sense of pressure that the night had to lead anywhere.
It was perfect. It was exactly what Dream had been craving.
When George asks what he does for work, he tells him he's a programmer and thinks nothing of it—its the lie he's used to telling people, and it spirals quickly into talking about their favourite video games.
George didn't even consider leaving until late that night, when the food was gone and the second movie (also the second they'd mostly ignored, choosing instead to talk) had reached the credits, and even then he did so reluctantly.
He forgot to bring a jacket with him for his walk home, and so Dream offered him one of his own. The sleeves nearly swallowed George's hands entirely and Dream was still thinking how adorable he looked right then (and always) when George stood up on his tiptoes and pulled Dream down into the gentlest of kisses.
“I really enjoyed myself tonight,” he whispered against Dream's lips, hands still clasped around the back of his neck.
“Me too,” Dream murmured back, more than a little dazed but happier than he'd been in months.
“Same again next week?”
“Yeah, I'd love that.”
Dream felt as though he was pushing his luck when he dove in for a second kiss, but if the smile George gives him after is anything to go by, he could've had a third, a fourth, and as many after that as he pleased.
It was so at odds with their first interaction just days ago, softer and far less sexual, but he wouldn't have had it any other way. They'd get there eventually, too, and for now he just wanted to savour it.
He watched George as he left, waving and then smiling to himself when George looked back at him, and then only closing the door when he started to notice the chill beginning to creep in.
He checked his phone for the first time that evening, just to have something to do with his hands. There was too much excitable energy built up inside him to sit entirely still, and he couldn't stop smiling.
Sapnap | 9.33pm
am i gonna have to get used to seeing that little freak over at our place all the time
Dream | 10.12pm
i really hope so
Sapnap | 10.13pm
ew
happy for you
i guess
Dream sits down to edit a new video the next morning in an exceptionally good mood, made even better by the new messages from George. They'd exchanged numbers last night, meaning they thankfully didn't have to go through that app anymore, and Dream had already uninstalled it. It might have been a bit premature and way too hopeful of him, but what could he say? He was a romantic at heart and he had a good feeling about George, sue him.
George | 10.08am
good morning :]
can i ask a stupid question
Dream | 10.17am
good morning!!
and yeah how stupid can it be
George | 10.17am
fuck okay well ik its not my place to ask really but i was wondering if youd be ok during ur heat??
ik you've probably had it before by urself and youll be fine really but i was thinking i could like check on u and stuff
like make sure ur eating
bc im guessing sapnap cant bc of the whole wolf thing
sorry this is so dumb
weve met once
i just want to know youll be ok
and if i can help make u feel any better
If Dream hadn't been sitting down already, he's fairly certain that his knees would've given out. How could one man be this perfect?
Dream | 10.19am
i hope you know that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me
and yeah if you really really don't mind then that'd be great
George | 10.20am
:]
would u want just texts and calls?
or would you let me be there in person
Under normal circumstances—on any day but this one—Dream would've firmly said that texting would be fine. Letting anyone see him in such a vulnerable state, let alone someone he was hoping to date, felt too close to letting them cut open his chest to hold his heart between their palms, and trusting that they wouldn't pull any of it apart.
Yet there was a part of him (likely the primal part driven purely by his pre-heat instincts) that thrilled at the idea of George being there with him in person. It'd definitely be embarrassing afterwards and he'd have to warn George not to feel pressured by the probable demands he'd make for George to touch him.
He could picture it now: him lying atop his crumpled sheets, naked, sweaty and needy, a hand around his dick and a whimper fresh on his lips when George opened the door—
Dream | 10.22am
i mean you could come stay with me for a bit
if you wanted to ofc
usually lasts about 3-4 days
but itd probably be hard to get time off work at such short notice, no?
George | 10.23am
ofc i want to that's why i offered
i was thinking i could just work from ur place, i can just bring my laptop
but if ur planning on keeping me busy…
Dream | 10.23am
fuck
didn't mean to imply i was expecting anything from you
but i mean
if you wanted to
George | 10.24am
ur gonna have to be more specific
if i wanted to what?
Dream | 10.24am
george
George | 10.24am
thats me, yes
Dream | 10.25am
come stay with me for my heat?
please?
and we'll see how it goes?
George | 10.25am
id love to
And that was how, two days later, Dream found himself just as naked, sweaty and needy as he'd pictured, with George working just two rooms over.
He'd come that morning as soon as Dream had called him, bringing with him a totally excessive amount of water bottles and a breakfast sandwich for each of them. Dream hadn't really been in the mood to eat it—he hadn't really been in the mood to do anything apart from drag George into bed and let him do whatever he wanted to him—but he had anyway in small bites under George's careful supervision. When he'd finished (the sandwich), George had kissed his forehead and uttered a fatal “good boy”, before leaving with many apologies to go and finish his work for the day.
That'd been about an hour ago, and Dream was already growing impatient. He'd come twice already—once with his hand around his cock and the memory of George's lips on his skin, once with three fingers inside himself and the thought of George's tongue.
He needed him. He needed him so badly and he couldn't think of anything else.
They'd talked about it all yesterday over the phone; Dream had needed to warn him what he might ask (read: beg) for, and George had reassured him that was perfectly fine with him. In turn, George had told him about his penchant for werewolf blood. Dream had to hide how much he liked the idea of being bitten.
He'd been a little sad about the idea of their first time being during his heat—memories during it were always fuzzy and blurred together into one long chain of lust, though he supposed it'd been a while since he'd had someone with him to guide him and help sort through the mess—but honestly he was too impatient to wait any longer.
Then, like a fallen angel emerging to tempt him too into sin, George cracks open the door and steps into Dream's bedroom.
“I told my boss I'm not feeling great, he's letting me have the next couple days off.”
George spoke like his mouth was full. Indeed, when he stepped close enough for Dream to tug him down by the arm on top of himself, he saw the fangs protruding from George's gums.
Had Dream still been capable of speech, his words would also have been muffled by his canines. His were sharpened with the biological purpose of mating bites rather than feeding ones, but nonetheless George seemed to find them just as appealing as Dream found his.
They were tangled together from ankle to neck, Dream's bare body against George's clothed one, one of George's thighs between two of Dream's.
Dream's mind was a battlefield, each new idea a soldier fighting for its life in the free-for-all as more swarm over the horizon. He wanted to grind against George, get him out of his clothes, kiss him, blow him, fuck him, ride him. He needed George to understand how much he wants and ravish him with equal fervour.
In the face of so much choice and lust-addled by heat, Dream does little more than whine and writhe against George's body.
“Shhh, it's okay, puppy. Relax, be a good boy for me and I'll give you everything you want.”
George's voice is a calming legato, firm enough to make Dream listen and tender everywhere else. Their fangs clicked as George pushed him against the pillows in a bruising kiss, a hand at Dream's hip and the other in his hair, petting the base of the wolf ears that had already emerged there.
He'd lied to George, slightly, about the nature of his shifting. It had never happened before when he was “kinda out of it”; once every full moon he would fully transform, that much was out of his control, but aside from that he could count the number of times he'd transformed on one hand. It'd happened a few times with previous partners during really, really good sex, and even then two of those had been during a heat—both partners in question had known about the whole werewolf thing in advance, thank fuck.
But now, twice in one week, George had reduced him to a state so primal that his wolfish traits were practically pawing at him for attention. If his tail wasn't trapped beneath his body it'd be wagging, for fuck's sake. It was embarrassing, incredibly so, and he'd want to forget about it entirely if George didn't seem so entranced.
“I love these,” George murmured against Dream's lips, petting his ears in a way that made Dream's throat rumble in a purring growl. George giggled delightedly. “They suit you. Just as adorable as everything else.”
“Really?” Dream asked, dazed.
George didn't reply, only smiled, and dipped down to kiss him again.
Their lips remained locked for an undefinable amount of time, the pair of them lost in a haze of tongues on teeth, swallowed moans and the continued grinding of their hips. At one point, Dream rolled them over—nearly tipping them both off the bed in the process, which only made George giggle and kiss him harder—to take off George's clothes. He burned with the need for skin-on-skin contact, to feel the soft planes of pale stomach, thighs and pecs beneath his fingers and tongue. The second George's shirt was off, Dream was already leaving bite marks over his breastbone like a man starving for a taste of intimacy.
“Where's your lube, darling?” George panted, still struggling to get his boxers off with Dream's larger body on top of him, especially whilst he was sucking so many hickeys across George's chest that it might look as though he'd been mauled by an actual wolf in the morning.
George had to repeat himself, and even then got only a shake of the head from Dream.
“If you want me to—”
Dream shook his head again, although it looked more like a rather aggressive nuzzling of George's neck. Even at the peak of his arousal, he was still so fucking adorable.
“‘ m ready,” Dream breathed, almost inaudible over the slick sound of him still grinding against George's stomach. He'd be embarrassed about the mess there if George didn't seem to like it so much.
“What d'you mean, puppy?” George half-asked, half-moaned as Dream sat up and took George's dick in his hand. “Did you already— oh.”
Werewolf slick was, as it turns out, not a point of common knowledge amongst other supernatural creatures. But it was safe to say that George delighted in the discovery.
Dream slid down onto George all at once, eyes closed and mouth open, letting out a near-constant stream of whimpers and moans. George could only lie there in awe, one arm splayed above his head against the pillows and the other loosely around Dream's waist as he started to bounce on the vampire's dick.
He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone close during his heat—to have someone this close at all. George was gorgeous beneath him and felt fucking huge inside of him, nudging all the rights spots and sending the most embarassing heat-fuelled babble spilling from Dream's lips.
“Wan’ you to bite me, angel. Make me yours. I'll—” He cut himself off with a moan, and George nearly came right then and there, having to grab his hips and hold him in place to stop this from ending so soon. Although, he supposed, this definitely wouldn't be the last time. They had days ahead of them, and hopefully much longer than that. He'd quite like to stay here with Dream until the moon crumpled and the last vampire met their end.
“I'll bite you, baby,” George groaned back, the mere idea having him thrust up into Dream subconsciously and making them both moan again in unison.
“Come in me. Inside,” Dream continued, barely leaving space between words, “Gonna have your pups.”
That made George chuckle, though not unkindly. He eased Dream off of him and onto his back, rolling them over once more to allow himself free reign. Dream complied easily, letting himself be moved and manhandled into position like a good boy, like a doll.
Dream was just as slick and tight and warm when George fucked back into him a second time, this time chest to chest with miles of naked skin between them. It felt heavenly, and he was sure that he was going to wake up at any moment with a painful boner and only his own hand for company, because this felt entirely untethered from reality.
They were kissing again, just as hungrily as before. It was when Dream pulled back to breathe for a moment that George started nipping at his jaw, his neck, and then teased the soft skin right over his mating gland in a motion that made Dream come on the spot.
He felt a growl rip through his throat, and all the while George murmured sweet praises to him about how well he was doing, how pretty he looked coming apart just for him.
Usually, his good orgasms left him with a feeling akin to floating amongst the stars—no sense of direction or gravity, just a moment of utterly senseless pleasure. In heat, they were similarly wonderful, but more like the lifting of a fog, a moment of beautiful clarity in which he didn’t think he'd ever felt happier.
“Still with me, darling?” George breathed against Dream's neck, his voice that perfect blend of tender and gravelly that made Dream wonder how it was possible to want someone closer than this.
Dream hummed in assent and hugged George tighter.
He could feel George still hard inside him, pressed against all the spots that would usually have him squirming in oversensitivity, but currently was making his heat-stricken body practically purr in contentment.
George was stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers, leaving gentle kisses along Dream's jaw as he came back to himself. He'd forgotten how terribly nice it felt to be cared for, and now he'd gotten a taste for it, he wasn't sure if he'd ever want to give it up again—that was perhaps the scariest realisation of them all.
“You can—” Dream whimpered, shifting his weight to try and get comfortable and accidentally nudging George's dick deeper in the process, “You can keep going.”
“You sure, darling?”
George was rocking his hips again, gentle enough to be tantalising.
“Yes! Please George, please, need it,” he gasped.
George mumbled something into his neck as he resumed the hard and steady movement of his hips, and Dream was so lost in pleasure that it took a moment to register the series of bites and nips George was once again leaving all over his neck.
“You wanna bite?” Dream asked, a hot rush of something enticingly dangerous shooting through him, straight to his cock.
When George looked up at him, the brown of his irises was nearly entirely eclipsed by his pupils.
“Please?” God, he sounded wrecked.
“Bite me,” Dream said with a brazen grin, “Make me yours.”
When George's fangs sunk into the skin of his neck, the sensitive juncture where it just met his shoulder, he swore he was already a little bit in love with him.
With the rushing endorphins, George's mouth warm at his neck and the way he could feel George's pulse knowing the blood was his , Dream was never going to last much longer. Few had ever been this connected before: skin on skin, body in body and blood entwined. He wondered, perhaps foolishly, how this would feel in a year, or ten, when their mind were also entangled, if they'd ever get to the stage where everything would remind them of each other because of the sheer amount of memories they'd made.
In the midst of getting railed was perhaps not the best moment to be having sappy, idealistic thoughts about a future with a man you'd met a week ago, but Dream did it anyway. He blamed the bite endorphins.
“So good,” he was moaning,
George had pulled away from his neck and moved to kiss him instead—rough, heady with desire and the taste of iron—and that's when they both let go.
Their shared orgasms were a kind of bliss akin to the sea and its shore, a natural entanglement, eternal and relaxing enough to fall asleep in. Dream, cradled by waves of pleasure, felt himself drifting off, but was still lucid enough to cling to George's shoulders when he tried to move away from him.
“It's okay, baby, just going to get a washcloth. Need to clean you up, alright?” George soothed.
Dream wasn't happy about it (again, he blamed his heat a little more than was probably excusable) but he loosened his grip reluctantly. Leaving a chaste kiss first on Dream's forehead, then his lips, George clambered out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom with inhuman speed. He was stepping back into the room, washcloth in hand, before Dream could form a single thought about missing him.
It was only then, with George pushing open his thighs and inserting himself between them, that Dream realised they'd forgotten about protection. But feeling the cum start to drip from his hole and knowing George had paused his movements just to watch it, he couldn't find it in himself to be mad about it. He couldn't get pregnant, after all, but it was still incredibly satisfying for his heat-brain to have the illusion it was possible.
After he'd wiped Dream down (and left a kiss on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs for good measure) George tossed the rag aside and settled himself on Dream's chest, head resting over his heart.
“You hungry?” George asked softly, absentmindedly tracing patterns in Dream's chest hair with the pad of his middle finger.
“Not really,” Dream mumbled, dazed by the feeling of George's cheek on his chest, his dark hair tickling his neck.
“I'll get you a snack anyway.”
George braced a hand beside Dream's head to get up, but was tugged back into place by greedy hands at his waist.
“Stay,” Dream said, trying not to look or sound too pathetically desperate. (He failed. Miserably.)
“But all the articles I read said you need energy, and—”
“I know, I know. I'll eat later, promise, just stay for now? Please?”
As it turns out, Dream was not above begging outside of sex. Luckily for him, George seemed to be easily swayed by his puppy eyes.
They napped intermittently for the next few hours, until Dream's heat slapped him awake once more and he forgot all basic math apart from how to count the number of fingers George was currently stretching himself open on.
When George rides him, he's pretty sure he sees god.
Imagining the extent to which vampire strength (restraining his hips and hands with devastating ease) and vampire speed (you get the idea) could be used to give him the ride of his fucking life hadn't really been a usual way Dream tended to spend his time. As of this evening, he was pretty sure reminiscing over the last half hour would become part of his nightly routine.
Afterwards, George cleans him up again—something that Dream did have the decency to feel bad about, especially upon noticing his slight limp—and insists on going to get them food. He returns after an eternal twenty minutes with a plate of downright dreadful scrambled eggs with a side of profuse apology, then leaves for another five to collect an assortment of pre-packaged snacks and fruit. Dream's sure he's already a little bit in love with him.
The rest of the next few days is mostly a blissful blur. Aside from a few memorable moments, like the one time George persuaded Dream into the shower and ended up fucking him against the glass door, the majority of what Dream recalls is just how lucky he was to have found someone to do this for him. To share this with him. Someone who seems to have no clue who he is and (hopefully, so far) won't sell this story to Keemstar for fifty bucks and a Steam gift card.
Sun broke through the gap in his curtains, painting the whole room in a dim gold. The man sleeping beside Dream holds him a little tighter, presses their nose to his neck and sleepily mumbles something that could've been anything from an ‘I'm hungry’ to a ‘never let me go’.
“Morning,” Dream whispered, smiling because he couldn't help himself.
George mumbles more unintelligible gibberish into Dream's shoulder. Dream messages his palms over his lover's shoulder blades. George sighs contentedly, leaves an open mouthed kiss over Dream's sternum, and promptly falls back asleep. The werewolf isn't far behind him.
-
When Dream awakes some hours later, it's to a clear head and an empty bed. He barely has a moment to panic before George emerges from the en-suite in a pair of Dream's basketball shorts with a toothbrush hanging from his lips. He's clearly fresh out the shower, wet hair and a towel slung around his naked shoulders. The combination of domestic intimacy and just how hot he looks doing nothing but standing there is really messing with Dream's head. Three straight (hah) days of passionate sex and Dream still wanted to eat him, or propose. Either worked.
George was saying something that resembled a good morning. Dream wasn't really listening; there were bite marks and hickies blooming all over George's torso.
Unfortunately, his arms folded over his chest, shielding those rosy, bruised nipples from Dream's gaze. Fortunately, it made Dream's gaze travel upwards instead to a face that was equally rosy and infinitely more captivating.
“Huh?” he said eloquently.
George laughed at him, though not unkindly. He rested an arm against the door frame and leaned his head against it, grinning.
“Still in heat?”
Dream shook his head.
“You sure?” George teased, grinning wider.
“Get over here, moron,” Dream finally got out, a little more breathy than commanding but it got the job done.
“Two seconds,” George said, seemingly depositing the towel and the toothbrush before returning and clambering into the bed. Dream could've sworn he was blushing.
They're kissing again before Dream really processes what's happening, falling into something sweet, quickly turned dirty. George is kissing him like it's their last time together, and Dream worries he might actually believe it is.
“It's really over, you know. I'm not— I can think properly now.” Dream assures him to the best of his ability, in the brief moments of space between their lips.
George pulled back a fraction, still close enough to leave their noses brushing, and panted, “You're not being very convincing right now, I have to say.”
“Is that you asking for a blowjob?”
“Are you offering?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
Dream's mouth opened to agree (anything to keep this angel here longer, and it's not like he wouldn't enjoy himself, too) but his stomach spoke first, growling like an aggravated guard dog.
“Later,” George said with a smile, somehow bouncing effortlessly between seductive and caring, sexy and tender. Maybe he was just both always. A combination of everything Dream had ever desired, perfectly crafted to make him melt.
He let himself be led to the kitchen, and it was over omelettes—that Dream insisted he make himself, partly out of kindness and partly just self-preservation—that his bubble of bliss was finally popped.
“This might sound a little weird,” George started tentatively, “But I got a picture of us last night, when you were sleeping, I mean. It's kinda cute.”
This was already enough to set off alarm bells in Dream's head. He wasn't sure when he'd last let himself be seen on camera, one that didn't belong to his own phone at least. Even Sapnap didn't have any selfies of them, Dream refused. He was too secretive, too paranoid. What if someone hacked them? Shared them accidentally? Purposefully? It was a risk he wasn't willing to take, not with millions of fans and antis alike taking any scrap of information they had on him and exploiting it. His face was too big of a step too far.
“Can I see it?” Dream asked cautiously, throat dry.
George doesn't know what you do, he had to remind himself, he doesn't know how big of a deal this is.
George obliges, tilting his phone towards Dream. The picture isn't as bad as he feared, thankfully, and is actually ‘kinda cute’ after all. Dream's face is mostly hidden in the crook of George's neck, hair wild and a large hand resting possessively over one of George's pecs. George himself has a hand draped over Dream's back and, in the live photo, leaves a little kiss on the crown of his head. It's nothing like the one that got posted of him all those years ago—it's thrilling.
“I kinda want to post it, is that weird?” George asked, so innocently that Dream could've cried. He wished he could let him.
“I have to tell you something,” Dream confessed. George nudged their thighs together under the kitchen table and that was all it took for everything to start spilling out.
George had heard of him, peripherally, but was never really a fan—although he insisted he is now. He listened attentively, cracked jokes in the right places and made Dream wonder why he was ever scared to tell him.
They don't delete the picture. When George leaves that afternoon, it's with a new lock screen and plans for dinner the following week.
-
They get six peaceful months together, the happiest of Dream's life, before everything blows up in their faces.
Someone took a picture of them out together after one of their date nights, leaving a movie theatre hand-in-hand, and George is pissed.
“They've been stalking you for months!” He shouted, pacing around Dream's room. He'd already dented the bed frame by kicking it once, but Dream can't bring himself to tell him to sit down.
The thread, complete with screenshots of their old dating app profiles and speculation that that's where they met, has gone pretty viral in the four hours it's been up so far. Dream still can't get over the fact that after everything, he was stupid enough not to use a fake name. Also, the small assortment of pictures he hadn't been able to resist posting of George to his private. Of course someone put the pieces together.
“I know they're just speculating,” George was still going on, “They don't know it's you for sure, but that's even worse. I bet this isn't even the first time they've hunted down a random guy to try expose you. They just got lucky this time.” He pauses for breath, although only for a moment. “Have you called your lawyer?”
“No, it's probably too late,” Dream sighed defeatedly. As George had become restless, he'd turned to doom scrolling Twitter. The amount of reposts of that fucking mostly-naked beach picture with the fucking stupid sticker was worrying in and of itself.
“What are we gonna do then?” George asked.
Dream wasn't sure when exactly it'd become a we instead of a you, he just knew that he loved it. They were a package deal, never to be separated. (Not in the codependent way. More in the I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you-and-no-one-can-stop-me way.)
He wasn't sure if it was insanity or clarity that sent the next words tumbling from his lips, “We could just tell them. Be honest about it.”
“You want that?” George had stopped his pacing. He was looking at Dream with wide-eyes, somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
“I mean, it'd make it easier for me to take you out places. I'd be less worried all the time. You could come meet my parents. We could fly to see yours.”
“Idiot.” George shook his head, smiling widely. He sat down on the bed next to Dream, and Dream instinctively fit his arm around slender shoulders. “It has to be for you. This is your thing.”
“It is for me,” Dream objected, “Mostly. A little bit for you.”
“I guess that's okay then. I suppose I can deal with everything you do being a little bit for me.”
“Good. Deal with it, get used to it.” Dream left a kiss on the top of George's head, the side of his face, his jaw. He couldn't help himself. “You're stuck with me now, no refunds.”
George turned his head and tilted it slightly upwards, and Dream's next kiss that was aimed at his cheekbone skims his lips instead.
“No refunds on me either,” George said, and it sounded dangerously close to a confession.
The L-word hadn't been officially exchanged yet, but Dream was sure he screamed it through his kisses. There was no rush though, after all, George was immortal and Dream was god-knows-what. They might never spend a day in heaven, but they were building their own together, brick by brick. Dream wouldn't have it any other way.
-
Later, when he'd let George drink from him and been thoroughly fucked as a thank you, Dream types out a post.
George was latched onto him from behind, arms looped around his middle and head on his shoulder, both of them swaddled in Dream's old OU hoodies. It's a cute selfie that Dream takes when he opens his camera.
After a brief check that most of the worst hickeys are covered up and there's no fangs in frame, he attaches it to the post and uploads it before he can think too hard. Then, he turns to pull his lover closer, ready for the beginning of the rest of their lives.