Chapter Text
Dream came out of the shower with warmth still clinging to his skin from the scalding water. He rubbed a towel through his hair, walking casually back into his bedroom without covering himself, since the bathroom was attached and the only other person who might be around would be George, who’d seen him naked plenty of times before.
Dream quickly glanced around the room to see if he was still there, but the sheets were pulled away from his side of the bed, and the room was empty and quiet. He must have gotten up while Dream was showering. Dream sighed, a little disappointed, and went back to drying his hair.
He wandered towards the bureau, and suddenly caught a whiff of George’s scent from the hamper. He must have changed and left his pajamas in there, his scent still thick and fresh on them from being worn all the night before.
Dream paused, his tongue coming out to dart across his lower lip. The towel fell from his head to his shoulders, and he twisted the thick fabric in his fists as he realized the lingering heat wasn’t just from the shower.
He took a deep breath, trying to catch another whiff of that scent, and felt his gut swirl at just the hint of it in the air.
Without thinking, he dropped the towel and picked up the pajama pants hanging over the edge of the hamper, bunching them up and sticking his nose in to breathe deeply of George’s cloying-sweet scent.
Heady honeysuckle and simmering sugar fogged his brain, sent blood rushing south.
He groaned into the pants and fumbled his way onto the bed, lying on his front to keep his face buried in the scented garment while his hands roamed free. He was on George’s side of the bed, the scent multiplied from just being there, and he slid his hands down the silky sheets, imagining he was outlining the shape of him, where he lay sleeping just moments ago.
His hips bucked, the head of his cock brushed against the mattress, and he groaned deeply, surprised at how sensitive he was, how needy he was so soon.
His hands found his cock quickly after that, tugging and stroking, rubbing circles against his tip. He was fully hard and leaking a little, just from smelling George when he wasn’t in the room. A thought percolated as to why, but Dream didn’t have time for thoughts.
That, or there simply wasn’t enough blood flow to his brain anymore.
Instead, he pumped his cock with desperate, jerky movements, the angle too awkward to jerk off properly, but he couldn’t imagine rolling over when that would mean abandoning the thick wash of George’s scent with every breath. He didn’t want to come up for air; he wanted to drown in it.
Growling in frustration, he started snapping his hips forward into his grasp, fucking his own fist, and when that proved equally difficult, removed his hands and resorted to humping the matress.
“George, George…” he groaned, muffled into the pajamas. The heat in his chest turned sharp with longing, and he whined as he rutted against the bed, against the spot where his mate had just been, where he’d been sorely wishing to find him again when he came out of the shower, whether he realized it or not.
He just wanted George, wanted his mate. Wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him.
Dream moaned and shivered at the thought. He was so close, but he couldn’t quite get there. It was too hard to get enough friction just against the bed.
He pushed himself up with a desperate huff, but only long enough to grab a pillow and toss it between his thighs. His face was right back into the pants, huffing George’s scent as he humped the pillow, thrusting hard and fast to bring himself over the edge. The bed creaked with the force of it, then finally went still as he spilled.
He felt a little pain in his knot, and whimpered as he reached a hand down to cup the pillow harder against it.
Eventually, the lack of air did start to get to him, and he rolled his head to the side. A sliver of clarity soon came with the fresh air, and he frowned as it finally fully registered what this meant.
Dream was going into a rut.
---
“So… you’re really just going to lock yourself in your room?” George rubbed his arm, looking up at Dream with clear concern.
“Yeah. I mean, we talked about this. I just don’t know if… if I can trust myself not to do anything that would make you uncomfortable,” Dream said, lips worming around a frown, eyes averted. “I mean—ugh, I probably could. But it would fucking suck, becuase I’d want to, and I’d probably ask you and make you feel bad and then we’d both feel bad and—” he paused, gulping thickly. His every instinct was screaming at him to give in, to let George join him for his rut, but he couldn’t. He needed to draw this boundary clearly now, while he still had some semblance of sense about it.
“Okay, okay,” George nodded and put a hand on Dream’s shoulder. “It’s your rut. If you think this is what’s best, then, I trust you.”
He pressed up onto his toes then and kissed Dream on the cheek.
“I’m gonna miss you though.”
Dream repressed a tremble, and he swore he felt a drop of sweat fall from his temple. George was making this really, really hard.
“It’s only a few days,” he said.
“I know. But still.” George looked down and hesitantly slid his hand off his arm. “You wanna take some food to your room?”
“Mn.” Dream nodded. “Don’t worry, I know how to prepare for a rut. And Sapnap and I are used to dropping each other off meals and stuff. So, you really don’t need to do anything.”
“Just… stay out of your way?” George said, his voice small and sad, and Dream felt a pang of regret like a knife at his heart.
“Yeah,” he rasped the word out and pushed past him into the kitchen. George didn’t say anything, but didn’t move, either. Just silently watched him prepare for his rut until finally, when Dream’s back was turned, he silently slunk upstairs and disappeared into his old room.
---
Dream fucked his rut toy onto his cock, laying back sweaty and breathless on the bed, sheets thrown everywhere, clothes littered on the floor. His arm was getting cramped from pumping, but he needed relief. Again.
He’d already jerked off five times now, and it’d only been about half a day of full-on rut. He wasn’t usually this horny, more angry and restless during the day and then horny and whiny at night, when he could mostly sleep it off after cumming just once. But he knew being mated could change your reaction to a rut, could make the feelings different, more goal-oriented.
Though, that goal was usually breeding, and despite the fog thick in his brain, he still knew that wasn’t possible. He still knew George was a beta, and couldn’t do that. Didn’t want to do that.
He growled, hips bucking up into the toy, the slick squelching noises of the lube between it and his cock increasing into a lewd symphony. His brain still violently did not want to do that to George, knew that it would hurt him, and that was the last thing he wanted for his mate. But his stupid cock wanted to fuck so badly, he was stuck rutting into his toy again and again, half a day wasted on jacking off already.
His knot started to inflate, and he pushed the toy down, clamping tight around it while he finished himself off with a hand. It was built to keep good pressure on it as well as be a soft, slick tube to fuck. A two-in-one sort of thing, because Dream didn’t even really like using toys to begin with, so if he had to have one for his rut (which yes, he did) then at least it was all one thing, instead of numerous contraptions he’d probably have to keep shamefully hidden in a shoe box under his bed.
He groaned, his mouth opening wide as he came, his claiming fangs biting at the air, searching fruitless for something to clamp onto. He spilled onto his stomach, his cock twitching as it kept coming, one hand tight around the toy around his knot, not that he needed to hold it in place, but it made him feel safer: grounded, in a way.
Slowly, he came out of the fog of overwhelming pleasure, and blinked through teary eyes.
Had he been crying? He touched his face, and found that his cheeks were wet with tears. Granted, his whole body was damp with sweat, but he was pretty sure his face was even more wet.
He sighed out a heavy breath, his brain slowly processing what that meant. It was hard to think, but he felt a twist in his chest that he recognized as longing, and he gulped thickly as it hit him.
George wasn’t here.
He needed his mate, and he wasn’t here because he told him not to be. Because he couldn’t. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.
He whined, the sound so desperate and small, it might be more becoming of an omega, and rolled onto his side, his still-erect cock slumping onto the mattress. He felt desperate and small, and snatched up a pillow to hug close to his chest as tears returned to his eyes.
Sometimes he hated that he was an alpha. He didn’t use to think so much about it—he was always the type to think secondary genders shouldn’t be as big of a deal as everyone seemed to make them—but George changed that. He made him want to be something different, someone different, more compatible with him. Another beta, or an omega, even. George would like that, wouldn’t he? If he could fuck Dream silly? Maybe Dream would like that, too…
But as it was, that wasn’t really an option.
He shouldn’t even be that upset about it. He loved George, and George loved him, and that was enough. It wasn’t like that they were all that sexually incompatable, either. They had plenty of sex, and it was great sex.
But Dream’s stupid alpha brain always wanted more, always wanted to be inside George for no explicable reason. It’s not like he could even get pregnant, so what was the point? Just to say he’d done it? To claim George’s entire body as his own? That was selfish. Stupid and selfish.
This was why he hated his alpha side sometimes. It was so sutpid and selfish. Just wanted all of George. Wanted too much, all at once.
He just wanted to be good, but he was bad—wanted bad things.
He sniffled and shivered, squeezing the pillow closer to his chest and lamenting that it wasn’t George he had in his arms, even as the thought made him feel guilty. His knot slowly started to deflate, and his erection went down, and when he was soft, he slipped the toy off and tossed it on the floor, not even wanting to look at it.
He was exhausted, and the sweat on his skin was making him cold, so once he’d wiped himself off as best he could, he turned off the lights and found a blanket hanging halfway off his bed, throwing it over himself as he slumped into the mattress. Finally, the incessant horniness seemed to abate for long enough that he could sleep, so he did, letting sweet oblivion whisk his worries momentarily away.
---
He woke up sweating and panting, shivering beneath the thin blanket, and yet completely overheated. He gulped, found his mouth dry and spit thick, and reached blindly for a water bottle from his nightstand. He chugged the whole thing in one go, crunching up the flimsy plastic as he went, and tossed it to the floor as he flipped over onto his back.
This sucked. This really, really sucked.
He felt like a discarded tissue, crumpled up and forgotten. Generally miserable and covered in the residue of various bodily fluids.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep like this, but he didn’t really want to do anything, either. Didn't want to move. Didn’t really know what he wanted—besides, well. George.
George, George, George. He whined at the thought of him, his hands curling around the pillow on either side of his head, squeezing it tight. The thick stink of his rut had already overtaken any lingering traces of George’s scent in the room, and Dream felt his heart twist painfully at the thought that he’d been abandoned by him.
It was his own doing—he knew that—but it still hurt. It didn’t make sense to his fuzzy, rut-addled brain. All he could feel was deep, terrifying loneliness at the thought that his mate had left him. He wasn’t even honry anymore, he was just distraught, and it finally broke him.
He sat up and reached for the bedside lamp, nearly knocking it over for a moment before he found the switch and got it on. He couldn’t remember where he left his phone, but with the light, he saw it was right there on the nightstand, and felt a little bit stupid for turning it on, but just grabbed it and slumped back into bed.
His fingers hovered over the screen, open to his conversation with George, but he couldn’t think of what to say. He typed something out, then deleted it, then tried again, then deleted that, too.
Finally, he gave up and just pressed call, rolling over onto his side and pressing the phone to his ear. He wasn’t even nervous that he didn’t know what he was going to say. He just wanted to hear George’s voice.
He picked up on the third ring, and Dream was greeted with a groggy “Hello?”
“Hi George,” Dream cooed, affection just oozing out of him. He already felt better, but the longing in his chest was expanding like a balloon. If he didn’t have George in his arms soon, he might just explode.
“Um. Is there a reason you’re calling me? Or, shoot, should I have not picked up?” It sounded like George sat up on the other side, his mattress creaking as he finally fully woke up.
“No, no. Please, don’t hang up,” Dream begged, his voice cracking, and he heard a small gasp on the other side of the line.
“Of course not,” he said. “What is it, Dream? What’s wrong?”
“I… I miss you George,” Dream whined.
“Oh, I know, baby,” George sighed, his voice sad but suddenly far less concerned. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
“No, no, I’m not.” Dream shook his head, tears threatening to fall at the thought that George was going to deny him. “I need you. I need—I—I can’t… please, I—George,” he begged, panting heavily, words dissolving into nothing.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright. Dream? Can you breathe for me?” George said, and Dream nodded, not remembering that George couldn’t see him.
“C’mon, baby. In… out…” George continued regardless, and Dream followed his lead, taking long, deep breaths. He still felt a little shaky, and there were still tears in his eyes, but the panic was subsiding, replaced with the cotton-headed feeling of just wanting to please George, to do whatever he asked. To be his and only his.
“Good job. Feeling better?” he asked.
Dream gulped, nodded, then remembered to speak.
“Yeah.”
“Good, that’s good,” George said, and Dream keened at the praise. “Listen, baby. You know I can’t come in there. But, I can keep talking.”
Dream frowned.
“George—”
“I could talk you through it,” George offered, cutting him off. “Get you off to the sound of my voice. How does that sound?”
Dream whimpered.
“But, I—I need you, George.”
“I’m right here, Dream.”
“No, you’re not. I can’t smell you. Can’t feel you.” Dream gulped thickly. His tears finally fell, running in two thin streams down his cheeks.
George was silent for a moment, then sighed.
“I don’t know what to… Dream. You’re the one who insisted we—”
“I know, I know. But I was wrong,” Dream said. “I can handle it. I promise. I don’t even want to fuck you, George. I just want to hold you. To scent you. To feel you against me and… and know that you’re still there. I need to know that you still want me. That I’m still yours. Please, this feels too much like rejection.”
George took in a sharp breath.
“Are you sure?”
“I promise. I promise I’ll be good,” Dream begged. “I just want to be good for you, George. I’ll do anything, anything you want. Please . Don’t leave me alone…”
“Alright,” George finally agreed, the word coming out quiet and cautious. “Alright. I trust you, Dream.”
Dream made an excited half-growl, half-humming noise, new tears brimming in his eyes, this time from happiness.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you, George. Love you so much,” he babbled.
“I know, baby,” George chuckled, and Dream heard his door open down the hall. “I love you too,” he whispered, then hung up.
Dream pressed his phone to his chest, as if printing those words on his heart, then set it aside and sat up when he heard footsteps approaching his door. He quickly threw on a clean pair of boxers, then kneeled on the bed, poised like a puppy waiting for master to come home as he listened to a key slide into the lock on his door, the knob click and turn, and finally George was standing in front of him.
“Hey, Dream.” He smiled, soft, and Dream nearly melted with relief as his scent swirled into the room, the sweet lightness of it mingling beautifully with the lower notes of Dream’s rut.
“George—” He shuffled to the edge of the bed and reached out for him, and George shut the door behind himself, walking forward into his arms.
“Hi, baby,” George said with such warmth in his voice as Dream held him close, nose nuzzling against his neck and practically purring. He finally felt satiated, a deep hunger and longing fulfilled with just one touch of George’s embrace. That horrible feeling of teetering on the edge, simultaneously with a mate and without, sunk into the sweet solace of knowing he was here, and he was his.
“I love you, George. I love you so much,” he said as he rubbed his neck into George’s, heavily scenting him with the powerful, possessive pheromones of his rut. George giggled, turning his head to give him better access.
“I love you too, Dream. You know that.”
“I know. I know. I just…” Dream sighed, going still and squeezing George a little tighter in his arms. “I really needed you here. I’m so sorry I pushed you away.”
“It’s okay. This is all new terrority. We’re still figuring it out.” George pet his hair, and Dream keened, melting into the touch. “You just tell me what you need, Dream. And it’s okay if that changes.”
Dream pulled away then, just enough that he could look up into George’s eyes, his brows furrowed.
“But… I want to do what you want,” he said. “I just want to be good for you, George.”
George flushed, his lips twisting with embarrassment.
“Oh, I, uh… gosh, really, Dream?”
Dream nodded, and George looked away, laughing awkwardly.
“This is really not what I expected…” he mumbled, then collected himself and looked back at Dream, who was waiting patiently for direction. “Um. Okay. How about we cuddle?”
Dream lit up at that, immediately agreed, and pulled George eagerly into bed with him. George giggled as they went, letting Dream smother him with grabby arms pulling him into his chest and rumbling purrs as he rubbed their necks and cheeks together.
“You’re so sweet, Dream,” George said with a big, goofy smile, reaching up to cup Dream’s cheek in his hand. “Kiss me?”
Dream rumbled his agreement, an excited growl tumbling up from deep in his chest, and kissed George desperate and sloppy. The hand on his cheek wrapped around the back of his neck, while George’s other hand splayed wide and possessive on his chest, right over his heart. Dream half-purred, half-growled into the kiss, his hands twisting in the fabric of George’s shirt, legs purposefully tangling themselves together under the sheets. He got so lost in the hunger of their kiss, the slide of tongue on tongue, the occasional nip of teeth against bottom lip, that he didn’t even realize he was hard until his hips bucked, and the whole length of his cock pressed into George’s thigh.
George didn’t react—perhaps he’d already noticed, or just knew it was coming—but Dream panicked and pulled away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he spewed a litany of apologies, his body flushed and head swirling, the strength of his rut combatting with his adamant refusal to hurt George.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” George reached out, sliding his fingers up into Dream’s scalp, pulling away the hairs stuck to his sweaty face and forcing their gazes to meet. Dream searched for the fear and panic he expected, but found only calm eyes and a loving smile.
“I’m—well. I’m getting hard, too,” George admitted with a breathy chuckle, and Dream’s gaze flashed down, trying to see for himself, but they were covered by the sheets. “You want to be good for me, right?” George asked.
Dream nodded, eyes flicking back up, warmth rushing into his chest like a flood breaking a wooden gate.
“Tell me, Dream.” George took one of his hands and led it down, pressed it into the growing hardness of him. “Tell me how good you want to be.”
“Oh, fuck, George,” Dream groaned, stroking him through his pajama pants, reveling in the way his cock twitched and filled out in his hand. “Everything. Everything I do, I want it to be for you. Want to give it all up. Don’t want to think,” he rambled, rutting against George’s thigh because he couldn’t stop himself.
“Holy shit…” George sighed, wrapping both arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Really?”
Dream just nodded and whined like a desperate puppy, and George rewarded him with a glorious gasp and his hips bucking up into Dream’s hand.
“Well, uh, in that case,” George spoke rushed between panting breaths, “Can you… just push me down. Into the bed. And get us off together?”
“How?” Dream asked, even as he took George’s hips in his hands and pushed him down into the mattress, climbing atop him.
“Fuck!” George threw his head back and swore as Dream rubbed their cocks together, humping him through their clothes. “Like that, Dream. Just like that—but no pants. And lube, please.”
Dream nodded wordless agreement, sitting up and frantically shucking off his boxers. George sat up and started removing his pants, so Dream grabbed the lube off the nightstand and squirted it into his hand, watching with panting breath and hazily focused eyes as George shimmied out of his boxers, baring himself to Dream. He’d seen George’s cock many times before, but he’d never felt so hungry just from looking at it, never felt this deep a roll in his gut, never lost so much of his conscious mind to the melting heat of mate, mate, mate .
He slicked up his cock with quick, sloppy strokes, then squirted out more lube, probably far too much, and reached for George’s to get him slick, too. George gasped and shivered, the lube cold between his warm cock and Dream’s wide hand, but it quickly tempered to the heat of them, and George’s hands were at his back, pulling him down.
Dream kissed him as he took them both in one hand, the lube squelching obscenely with each stroke, and, gasping, George started to rut up against him, sounding completely overwhelmed.
“Oh, fuck, Dream,” he groaned. “That’s so good. So fucking good.”
Dream caught a moan in his throat, softened it to a whine. His hand fumbled between them, and all he could think about was getting lower, closer, pressing his chest to George’s so he could feel all of him, all at once. Finally, he took his hand away and gave in, wrapping his arms behind George’s back and just humping him with no help from his hand, their cocks sliding together between their stomachs, hips rutting with wild abandon.
George grabbed a fistful of Dream’s hair and let out such lovely cries of pleasure. Dream rumbled with pride, something snapping inside, that alpha need to fuck and claim and breed driving him to push George’s hips up, holding him against his chest like he was something small and precious and praying to be broken open on his cock.
He only rutted between their stomachs, though. Only humped their cocks together, strokes teasing, rough, yet so sloppy with lube, it was almost like he was inside him. He felt both inside and out, like they were both in each other, like he didn’t know who was fucking who. The closer he got to release, the less he cared which way it was, as long as they were giving themselves up to each other, and they were. They were.
“Dream—ah, shit—I’m gonna—hng!” George went tense beneath him, gripping his back so hard it almost hurt, and Dream felt his cock twitch against his as he came.
Dream growled, thrusting faster, harder, licking at George’s neck as he gasped and mewled in overstimulation. Finally, Dream felt his release coming too, and bit down right over the fading scar of his last claiming bite as his hips locked up, pressing George hard into the mattress so his knot was trapped firmly between them as he spilled and spilled and spilled.
“Holy shit,” George panted, sweaty and limp under him.
Dream purred, licking over the wound to lap up the few drops of blood beading up where he pierced the skin.
“Good?” he asked in a low rumble that was hardly his voice.
“Yes, Dream. Very good,” George chuckled breathlessly and pet a hand through his hair. “Such a good alpha for me. Did just what I asked.”
Dream shut his eyes and shivered out a whimper, floating so light on euphoria, he hardly knew where he was. Not that it mattered; George’s arms were the only place he wanted to be.