The Apocalypse [Dreamnotfound AU]

Bullseye

Tw: swearing, weapons

George's mouth goes dry and he almost takes an instinctive step back at the look in Dream's eyes. At the clench of his jaw and the way his fingers are curled into loose fists.

Everything about him looks like a predator and George clearly remembers the last time he saw Dream like this. The kiss that had happened after. Warmth churns in his stomach and he can't look away.

Dream takes a step toward him, slow and intimidating. "Is that any way to treat your boyfriend, George?"

George scoffs, but it sounds hollow. "What are you talking about, idiot? I was just teaching your precious Lil Nas X how to fight. It's not my fault you were in my way."

"That's not what you said before. You called me your 'practice dummy'.

"Same difference."

"Is that all I am to you?" Dream asks, taking another step so that he's towering over him. George has to tip his head back to meet his eyes, his heart in his throat, his hands hidden in his sleeves. "I thought you loved me, George."

"I said I liked you, idiot" George corrects, feeling pink brush over his cheeks. Even with a knife still in his hands, he feels helpless as Dream backs him up against the wall of the cafeteria. His thoughts puddle and blood rushes through him as Dream leans down so that they're face-to-face, his eyes dark and liquid.

"I meant what I said earlier, George," Dream says, his breath warm against George's lips. "About you with a knife..."

That was hot, George.

The words come back to him in a rush of heat and George's breath hitches despite himself. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Dream leans closer to him, their lips an inch away from brushing and his mind goes blank.

He smells vanilla and warmth and a million other distracting scents. Dream smirks, brushes their lips together in a ghost of a kiss and - before George can even process what just happened - he pulls away, eyes simmering.

George doesn't know if he wants to lean forward or pull away, but his eyes are locked on Dream's, his skin hot, his lips burning.

Until the tense silence is interrupted by a loud, annoying voice. "Are you guys having a staring contest or something?"

George nearly jumps out of his skin while Dream looks annoyingly unbothered. Quackity's standing there, eyebrows raised so high they're half-hidden by his beanie. He's holding his broomstick in one hand and a knife in the other; carrying it as gingerly as he would a bomb.

"What do you want, idiot?" George asks, trying to regain his composure. Something infinitely more difficult with Dream's eyes still on him. "We're trying to train."

"You call that training?"

"Yes," George replies, even as his cheeks feel warm. "What's your excuse? Knife-throwing too difficult for you?"

Quackity looks offended. "I'll have you know, I can throw knives just as well as you. Better, actually."

"Let's see it," Dream interrupts, raising a brow. He flips a knife out of his belt and hands it to Quackity, who takes a step back.

"A magician never reveals his secrets," he says in a posh accent.

"What does that even mean?" George asks and Quackity mumbles something under his breath. "Why are you even here?"

"Cause we're gonna do a contest," Quackity announces. "Techno wants to see who's the best at throwing knives."

George and Dream exchange a look. "Okay?" George says, just as Dream says, "Should be easy enough."