Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

when your legs give in (and your lungs give out)

The smaller laughed too much at something the other said, placing his hand on the man’s arm when he calmed down, flashing a smile. He began speaking, something Dream was completely unable to decipher from his seat, though from the way the man frowned sympathetically, George was either painting him as a villain, or creating a sob story.

A hand was raised, waving over a bartender, and a drink was ordered. Subtly, George angled himself to smile victoriously in the direction of Dream. The fucker.

George whopped when he finally finished the eyeliner. For such a pain in the ass of a product, it did not enhance his eyes the way it should have… granted, that was his original intention. Minx had told him that brown would be more natural, and black would be dramatic. It wasn’t time to be dramatic quite yet. Not for the first try.

“Done yet?” Dream asked, knocking on the door.

“You’re so impatient, my god, Dream!” George called back, rolling his eyes as he smiled at himself in the mirror. He looked softer, more doll-like. His eyes looked more open, and the blush and lip colouring was very photoshop-esque.

“Say it again, I dare you.”

The brunet sighed loudly, dramaticized to ensure Dream would hear him just before he opened the door. “Yes, I am done.”

“You look beautiful,” the taller of the two breathed.

When George was returning, it was with his drink of choice in hand, and a prideful glow around him. “Told you I would.”

“Did you tell him about how wicked and cruel I am for not getting you one?” Dream questioned as George took back his seat.

“Mmnope,” He shook his head, “I told him I forgot my wallet at home. Name’s Eric. Nice lad.”

“La- hey!” While distracted with the jealousy and testing George, Dream had let his guard down, and the tricky brunet stole his drink. The Floridian watched as his partner made direct eye contact while very explicitly ignoring what Dream had told him; no.

“Disgusting. What kind of psychopath drinks gin and tonic for fun?” He slid the drink back across the table to its rightful owner.

Dream looked down at the drink, then back to George. Then again. And again. His face was flat, unimpressed.

“You got something to say, Dreamy?”

George grinned, “I mean, I guess you look okay. If I squint.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Is this how we’re playing tonight? You look so pretty, but you talk so mean.”

“And you hate to see me leave but love to watch me go. You’re so poetic, Dream,” the Brit snipped, stepping forward, chest to chest with the taller.

“You have got to watch your mouth,” he warned. “Or soon you’ll find yourself a little… preoccupied, lets say.”

As Dream threatened the smaller man, he placed a hand on his waist, just high enough to technically not be George’s ass, but low enough that should the shorter go on his toes, it certainly could be. The other went to George’s chin, angling it upward to catch in a kiss. It started as something soft, savoury, which simply wouldn’t do. The brunet caught Dream’s lip in his teeth and bit lightly; not enough to draw blood, but a shock.

“Bitch,” Dream scolded, pulling away. “Last warning, baby.”

“Oh no!” Replied George, his voice as sarcastic as he could muster.

“We’re leaving. Immediately.”

As the words left George’s mouth, Dream’s was on him, not unlike a dam being broken and a gentle stream becoming a roaring river. Teeth clashed, causing them both to wince, but not enough to convince them to stop. George’s lip was gently bitten, effectively removing most of the vanilla flavour, and colour… it was nice while it lasted, though. The hand that had been directing George’s chin moved to his waist, allowing Dream to hold and manhandle him a lil’bit. With a slight lift, and a quick turn, it was George whose back faced the bed, giving Dream the ability to bully the brunet backwards until his knees hit the mattress.