Archive of Our Own

George knew he liked hands, well specifically his roommate’s hands. They were large, tanned, and covered with slivers of silver, scars from his childhood. They crossed over his skin in a spider’s web. He had the habit of watching whenever he held a glass, or picked something up, or opened a door, or any time he saw them. He loved the way he flexed his hands, making the veins protrude. He had thick fingers he wanted to taste . He wanted to lick every part, feel his hands caress him. 

But, it wasn’t just his hands, though that was a big part of it. His roommate was, to put it simply, dreamy . He had hair long enough for George to run his hands through, though he never dared. He had a smile that made warmth bloom in his chest like a summer flower. He was caring, attentive, giving George room when he needed it. 

His roommate was understanding of his more animalistic instincts, his feline qualities. He listened as George talked, told him how to show affection where he wouldn’t earn a scratch, and how George, himself, gave affection. He knew Dream held his heart in his palms, how much he loved, and George wanted him to know that, yes, he loved him too. 

At first it was platonic. They were fast friends in college, and moved in together after. They were inseparable, preferring to stay in for a movie than go to a party. For a human and cat-hybrid, there seemed no better match.
Dream was soft scratches behind silken ears and gentle hands that rubbed soothing circles over his spine. He avoided his stomach and his tail, letting George groom him when he was stressed. 

Then platonic feeling grew, morphed, flowered into adoration. George told himself it was just wishing he had someone who loved him as much as Dream, but could give him more. This person slowly became his roommate, and it was pointless to think it was anyone different. When he was alone in his room, drowning in his imaginations, it was no longer a faceless man, it was Dream. 

George knew he had a crush on his roommate, and he knew his roommate would never love him back. But he was okay with that. He learned to be content with cuddles with no motive, to be okay without wandering hands. He was okay without kisses in the moonlight. 

So he recited to himself as Dream and himself sat on the couch. He was curled into his side, pressed against his warm chest. He purred contentedly, nuzzling his nose further into Dream’s neck. He felt large hands, far larger than his, run along his spine, tracing the vertebrae. His tail curled around them both, and Dream let it lay over his lap without touching. However,  from the way he could feel his head turn to look at it whenever it curled slightly, George knew he was curious, and it was too easy, far too easy to get caught in the fantasy. He curled further into Dream, throwing an arm around his waist. 

“You can touch,” he mumbled. Dream’s hand froze on his back. 

“What?” he whispered, careful to not disturb the crystalline bubble they had created with the light of the tv settling blue over them. They felt underwater, drifting in serenity. 

“You can pet my tail, but don’t pull,” he sighed, melting even more into his roommate. He was warm, and George was cold. He was so cold in the ocean, with waves splashing over him everytime he remembered Dream didn’t love him back. He would choke in the salt water one day, but not tonight.

“Oh, okay. Tell me if I do anything wrong.” Always a gentleman, always perfect. His hand on George’s back continued its previous endeavors, running over bones, mapping them out with his fingertips in featherlight brushes. His second hand fell to George’s tail, just the tip. 

Slowly, he began to stroke the hazelnut fur. His touch was hesitant, but not ticklish. He didn't pull on the fur or his tail, just ran his hands over it, smoothing the soft hairs out. 

George settled into the feeling, the constant movement of Dream petting him. It was domestic bliss. He settled in, letting his eyes slip shut. His chest rumbled with purrs, and he would swear he wasn’t sleeping as the tide fell, and the ocean was no longer a threat.

He would swear he only slept a little.

For not very long. 

Maybe for the rest of the movie. 

Maybe Dream carried him to bed. 

“Stay,” he grumbled as Dream started to pull away after setting him onto his bed and pulling the covers over him. He caught his hand, holding tight with all the strength he could muster while being half asleep. 

“George? I need to sleep in my own bed.” George groaned, trying to pull Dream closer.

“Stay.” Somewhere in his sleep riddled mind, he knew he sounded like a child, but once the idea of being wrapped in warm arms and soft hands petting him with the utmost care, it wouldn’t leave. He wanted to know what it felt like to wake up next to Dream. He wanted to fall asleep with the sound of another heartbeat thudding under his ear as he slept on the rise and fall of Dream’s chest.

“Do you want me to?” 

“Sleep, stay. Please,” he whispered, far too candid for them. 

“Okay, just tonight.” Dream took off his pants, reaching for his shirt, before he hesitated. George tore his eyes away, guiltily. “Do you want me to keep my shirt on? I usually sleep in my boxers, but-“

“‘S okay. Bed.” Perhaps there was a whine in his words. Dream pulled gently on the hem of the shirt, pulling it over his head. George kept his greedy eyes down, only following his hands as they contrasted with the dark blue fabric. The shirt was discarded on the floor, and Dream crawled into bed, under the thick covers that a cat-hybrid like George needed. 

He turned over, far too close to George. He could see the small freckles on his face, counting them like stars over mirrored water. He could feel Dream’s breath over his lips. How he wanted to move closer, to close the gap between them. He wanted to taste serenity, but he stayed put. He felt miles away from the man in his bed.

“Do you want to get more comfortable?” Dream whispered. George squinted at him. 

“What?” 

“You can take off your shirt too, if you want.” 

He nodded mutely, pulling off his shirt, but keeping his pants on. That was a line he couldn’t cross without Dream’s love. That would be too cruel to his own heart.

George looked back to Dream, pulling the covers to his chin. 

“Can I scratch?” 

George nodded, pushing himself closer to Dream, and the warmth rolling off his body. A hand came up behind his ears. Fingers threaded through his hair, gently pulling the strands, before finding the back of cat ears growing on his head. Dull fingernails scratched, ever so gently. George closed his eyes, pushing his head subtly into Dream’s open palm. He heard a low chuckle of melted chocolate. 

He felt a purr build in his chest, but he bit the inside of his cheek to hold it back. He was told he purred loudly, and he would hate to distract Dream, to keep him up then he would leave. He would leave George alien in his bed, under too many blankets and missing his favorite person. 

“You can purr. I’ll still fall asleep,” his roommate whispered, knowing George too well. The purr rumbled out, as he rolled closer. In the beginnings of sleep, he felt Dream pull him closer, carefully guiding him onto his chest. A hand was still tangled in his ear, itching it, soothing it from where it flicked around, trying to catch every sound. He shifted on top of Dream, trying to burrow further into his warm chest. He grabbed at his shoulders, grounding himself. 

He heard Dream’s breath hitch, but he couldn’t be sure, not when the air conditioner turned on. It was always on. Dream, always so hot, kept the house freezing. 

He fell asleep on top of his roommate, surrounded by soft skin and the steady beat of a heart under his ear. Fingers still played with his hair, making the sound of his purrs fill the space between them. 

It was the best he had ever slept.

“Mrrp,” George mewled when he woke to Dream gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Good morning, Georgie.” He looked over him with the afternoon sun glowing from behind in a warm halo. He smiled. He groaned, snuggling into the pillows and blankets, wrapping them around him. “It’s time to get up.”

“Don’t want to. Warm here.”

“I have food for you,” he whispered. Dream’s hands found his ears, scratching them lightly. George looked from under his blanket, smiling. 

“Food?”

Dream laughed, nodding. “Pancakes.” 

And George was standing, dragging the blanket like a cape behind him. Dream stepped back, letting George shuffle the blanket to properly cover his shoulders and bare chest. 

Together, they walked to the kitchen, where the delicious smell of cooked batter wafted from the stove. A stack of golden brown pancakes were presented on one of their many chipped plates, a spoonful of fruit on top, and a cup of warmed syrup. It was just the way George loved them, which, of course, Dream knew.

Attempting to remain aloof, to not melt into a puddle, George sat himself on the stool, folding his legs under him and further wrapping the blanket around him, so it didn’t fall and show his bare chest in the light of day, when he was more awake. Awake enough to have enough mind to be embarrassed, or at least shy.

Dream walked around their kitchen island, to watch George poke at the pancakes, stabbing a piece of fruit and sniffing it. 

“Is it good enough for you, princess?” Dream asked with a wolfish grin. George’s ears flattened as he glared at him, taking a bite of the fruit. 

“It’s fine.” He chose to blatantly ignore the heat curling in his stomach at the nickname.

Dream gave him a smirk, turning away to grab the cartoon of orange juice. He poured himself a tall glass, and George was sure he was drooling over the pronounced veins and strong fingers gripping, tightening. They twisted open the cap easily, but with care, delicate. Just the way they pet George. 

He swallowed with his very dry throat, blushing as he looked back down to his plate. This was stupid. He was better than falling for his really sweet, loving roommate who was also hot enough to make him melt in his arms. 

He ate, but everything was soured by the sweetness oozing from Dream’s presence. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything to bother George, to enthrall him. He just stood there with his stupid puppy face, watching as George ate his pancakes. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. He was watching George for any sign of discomfort, anything to indicate Dream could step in. 

He hated it. He hated it so much. It just reminded him what he couldn't have. The care in his roommate’s eyes was a mockery. It made him ache.

As he stabbed at his food, he decided he was just horny. He was ridiculously horny and that’s all this infatuation was. He needed to get laid, but the only person he trusted enough to see him so vulnerable was Dream. 

“I’m done,” he announced, pushing his empty plate away. “I have some work to do, so I’ll be in my room for the rest of the day.”

“Okay, Georgie, that’s not very long. It’s already two,” Dream laughed, collecting his plate to wash it. George stuck his tongue, but his back was already turned. He slid off the stool, taking his blanket with him as he returned to the solitude of his room. 

Ever so sensitive to scents, he could smell the lingering salt water of Dream. He smelled like an ocean breeze, cleansing, grounding in the worst way. He made George feel everything all at once. 

He collapsed into his bed seconds after closing his door. He laid there, groaning into his messy blankets, surrounded by the sea salt smell he came to love. 

He let the scent waft over him, making his ears twitch. His tail swished restlessly behind him. 

The heat of “princess” and good night pets, and good morning- afternoon- pancakes settled low in his gut. They stirred as a storm at sea. The grey brewed, clouding his mind with humidity-thick lust. 

It choked him with the intensity of a ship, thrown on the waves. He thought of Dream’s hands running on his spine. How would they feel skin against skin? His hands were rough, slightly calloused, enough to make George hyper aware of every movement.  

Dream would draw every moment out. He would caress George, pulling whining mewls from him. 

Maybe Dream would be willing to learn everything about cat-hybrids. He was always a curious soul, eager to help. Would he learn all the ways to make George unravel? 

Would he follow through? 

There was a reason he had always been so hesitant to let Dream touch his tail. Maybe he wanted Dream’s hands to travel further up, maybe he wanted stray fingers to glide over the base, where skin met fur. Dream would want to learn, at least George hoped he would. 

When the pressure was too much, the air too thick, he succumbed. 

He turned over, laying on his back, pulling his pants down to his ankles with too much haste. He wasted no time wrapping a hand around his dick. It was dry, painful. 

Because nothing was perfect without Dream, nothing like this would be. He groaned, reaching into the drawer by his bedside, twisting his body uncomfortably, but with a small tube in his hand, it didn’t matter. Back laying down, George squeezed enough clear liquid onto his fingers to evenly coat them. 

He began to stroke his cock, starting slow, teasingly running up and down. Dream would tease him. He would watch him fall apart with ease under his hands.

It was too easy to imagine large, tanned hands wrapping around him, dwarfing him. He would look so small, breakable. But Dream would take care of him. He would know everywhere that would make Goerge shatter.  

Every stroke up, he twisted enough to make him moan loudly. It was too loud, he knew that. 

A small part of him wanted Dream to hear. He wanted him to barge in his room, tear Geogre’s small hand off of himself and replace it. 

At the thought of Dream towering over him with his smirk, promising to take care of him, George came. 

He cried through his orgasm, painting his chest white. He laid there panting, and guilt followed. It ebbed through his tired body in a salty tide, washing in with the crimson of a shipwreck. He wanted to curl into a ball and let the world swallow him, to disappear into the sand and become fertilizer for a large tree. The tree would be the tallest tree, carved with Dream’s love and his betrayal. 

He really wanted to cry, but he dragged himself up with too much effort, going to the bathroom to clean himself off. To wash away evidence of what a bad roommate he was, what a bad friend he was. 

After his bath, he felt better. Not by much, but he could think of Dream without blushing and wanting to scream, so he counted it as a win. It wasn’t as if it was his first time getting off to the thought of him. But after last night, falling asleep in his arms, something had changed. It shifted, and Geogre felt like he was drowning again. The salt water stung his eyes. 

“Georgie, are you ready for our movie?” Dream burst into his room in his sunshine energy, his scent drowning out the feeling of water pressure choking him, pulling him down. It was the air above the water. “What’s wrong?” He rushed to George’s side, who was sitting in the center of his bed, trying to will away tears. “Georgie?” A hand brushed his shoulder, asking if Dream could hold him. George sniffed, looking in front of him. 

The sheets were wrinkled, baby blue. They had picked them out together. 

He turned so Dream could wrap him in his arms, and he did. They didn’t need to speak as they sat there. George fell into his hold, letting Dream comfort him, but it felt vile. He felt dirty, crying because he fantasized about his roommate, and now he was the same one comforting him. 

It was some sick twist of fate. 

Warmth chased away the cold, and tears dried in tracks on his face. 

“Let’s watch a movie, okay? We can cuddle.”

He nodded into Dream, letting himself be carried to the couch. They settled into the worn cushions, George tucking his head into Dream’s neck. It was bliss, and he forgot the storm of his mind an hour earlier. Dream picked out a random movie, and it played softly in the background. It was obvious neither of them were really watching. It was more to fill the silence. 

Dream’s hand began to trail up Geogre’s back, leaving a wake of sparks. George shifted closer to Dream.

“Pets, please,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if Dream heard him, but with a chuckle, his hands found his ears and began to scratch lightly. His other hand ran over his back, over his shirt. 

“Can I?” Dream whispered, turning his head so the words fell into his hair. His fingers played with the hem of Geogre’s shirt, pulling with enough pressure, so he knew what Dream was asking. He nodded, and felt a warm hand snake under the fabric, splaying out over his skin. 

It was electric, sparks igniting on waves and sending them crashing in his chest. 

His fingers traced up his back and down in a steady tide of water falling onto soft sand. They settled into a beautifully steady rhythm. 

Dream’s hands would run up with his nails on his skin. They would circle his shoulder blades and lay flat on his back, then trail down. His fingers would run down, settling on his lower back. His thumbs would run circles, then the pattern would repeat. 

It was calming. 

“Can I pet your tail?” He said it with the grace of flowers opening. 

“Mhm,” George hummed, moving closer to Dream. The hand on his back, ran down, just past the band of his pants. He didn’t expect that. He thought he would pet the end of his tail, but when the long fingers he had dreamed inside of him stroked the start of his tail, he jerked forward. 

“Shit, George, are you okay?” Dream began to withdraw his hand, but he held his wrist, stopping him. 

“Yeah, just surprised me. You can keep going, but it’s um,” how does he tell Dream that he would turn him on, already had, “an erogenous zone?”

He pressed his face into his neck, hiding his blush. He felt Dream’s hand move in the pants, just enough to brush against the base of his tail. He whimpered pathetically. 

“Can I still touch?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed. Neither of them moved, breathed, not when Dream’s hand, oh so delicately, wrapped over his tail and stroked once. 

George bit his lip, trying to stop himself from outright moaning. He gripped Dream’s shoulders tight, shifting to try and find a better spot for them both. Dream’s arm was bent to reach behind him and move, while George was twisted to lay half on his chest.

“You can, um, you can sit on my lap.” 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, wasting no time climbing over his thighs. He set himself down to sit perfectly, chest against chest. Under him, he felt a considerable bulge, and he wasn’t the only one enjoying this. He had to hold himself back from rocking down onto Dream. Instead, he squeezed his thighs tightly, leaning to fall onto his shoulder. 

When he was comfortable, Dream started to move his hand again. He just started stroking the fur, exploring where his tail wrapped down his thigh. He moved up and down, smoothing the fur. It was more curiosity than anything devious. Then, Dream began to feel his skin meeting his tail. He felt every part with the pads of his fingers, mapping out every inch. He traced the bones in his tail and lowest vertebrae. 

There was the ocean, but it was calm. Light waters with gentle ripples instead of waves. There was the smell of salt water, of Dream. 

It wrapped around him, and all George could focus on was the feel of Dream. His hands were pressed along his back, still stroking his tail. 

Every slight pull sent a spark of pleasure running through him. He bit his lip, trying to stop himself from whining. He shifted under the constant pressure of Dream abusing where he had specifically said would make him aroused. Either Dream didn’t care or wanted this.

“You’re being so good, you can make sounds,” Dream whispered. Elation soared in George. He wanted this. He was making him feel good, letting lust cloud his mind. Dream wanted to make him feel wanted, pleased. He was willing to give George what he needed after months of hiding his fantasies in tangled sheets and starlight. 

George could only nod, just as Dream gave a sharp pull, wringing a low moan from him. “You sound so beautiful, baby. So pretty, all for me.” He whined low in his throat, starting to move his hips in time with Dream’s hand. His other one had snaked down from his hair, falling onto his waist. Dream guided his movements, so George was thrusting against him directly. “You feel so good.” 

“Dream~” he whined, moving his hands from shoulders to biceps. He gripped tightly, nails digging into his shirt, probably leaving strawberry marks on his skin. A flash of possession struck him. He really liked the idea of marking Dream, especially when his angelic hands were holding him like he was the world. He moved his hips frantically, looking for anything to relieve the growing pressure of his steadily growing erection.

“C-can I kiss?” He stuttered as Dream met one of thrusts with his own hips. He moaned outright at the force of their dicks brushing, even if it was through layers of fabric. It was thick and messy when they met, but he repeated the action with every movement from George.

“Please,” Dream said, almost a whine. George pulled his head from Dream’s neck, and he saw what a mess his roommate was. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide. He was smiling with his cockiness that rarely made an appearance, but when it did, George’s knees went weak. 

Yet, even while grinding on Dream, George was nervous about kissing him. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, even with hands he so admired covering his waist and tail. The one on his waist slithered up, pulling George’ shirt up with it. Before pulling it completely off, Dream paused. 

“Is this okay?”

“More than,” he gasped, and he lost his shirt, then lips found his.
There was no gentle tide, no soft sand. It was rough. Dream’s lips were chapped, providing delicious friction to their kiss. His tongue was devious, sinful when it licked into his mouth. Ivory teeth nipped at his lip, drawing another moan from him. Dream kissed him as if it were the last thing he would do. He was a drowning man, and George was the air he needed to live. 

They pulled away, gasping for breath, speeding up their movements. His thighs burned and he stood on the precipice of more, staring over churning waves that he knew he could find salvation within. The foam washed under him, making the water cloudy. He wanted to jump in, no matter how cold the water was. 

George fell back onto Dream’s shoulder, mouthing at the sight where shoulder met neck. He didn’t leave any mark, but bit lightly to leave red, just for the night. It was an imprint of his sharper teeth, perfectly preserved on tanned skin.

His tail’s base was being caressed, worshiped, and with the constant pressure on his dick, he was close. It felt so good, better than anything he had guiltily imagined.

It was better than anytime he had shut himself in his room, reaching for toys and lube, biting his hand to stay quiet. 

“Dream, close,” he panted against the salty skin. He licked away the sweat, and Dream moaned. 

“Your tongue, do that again.” He had licked Dream before, grooming him nearly every day, but the sensation was heightened by their lust. He loved to care for Dream the way he cared for him. He wanted to make him feel good too. It was Geogre’s turn to smirk, and happily obliged. He licked a stripe up his neck, sucking a bruise under his ear. It was lilacs blooming in summer rain, fresh beginnings. Dream threw his head back, giving George all the room to his skin he wanted. It was a blank canvas for him to paint crimson and lavender. 

He sucked marks and hickeys into his neck and shoulders, leaving splashes of color. While he did, he could feel Dream watching him, and his ever moving hand drifted to George’s collar bones. 

“I think you like my hands?” Dream whispered, turning to press the words into George’s silken ear. He knew George did, why did he tease ?

“So much, so fucking much,” he groaned, all the same. He couldn't try to deny it, too many times caught staring rid him of any plausible deniability. 

“Can I wrap one around your pretty little throat?” He really, really wanted that.

He eagerly nodded, biting a mark on his neck to stop the would-be embarrassing sound begging to escape his chest, but a finger hooked under his chin, forcing his eyes to meet Dream’s. They were dark as a starless night, reflecting George’s reflection back to him.

“I need words, my love. Can I choke you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. The hand stroked a path down, trailing on the edge of Geogre’s jaw. Graceful fingers wrapped around his neck, not pressing, just resting. The heavy weight made his cock throb in his pants. 

“Close, so fucking close.” They were hardly words, more of a breathy whine of a siren, enchanting a sailor. But it was Goegre who was enthralled. 

“Cum for me,” he cooed. 

In a moment he was cumming. Fingers tightened on his throat, just barely restricting his breath, but hard enough where there would be amethyst bruises. He wanted to look in the mirror and see Dream with him, wrapped around his throat.

The hand on his tail gave a final pull, then dipped lower, to run a single finger over his rim. It pressed lightly, as if to whisper ‘next time.’

He came like a teenager in his pants, spilling into his underwear. He threw his head back as bliss washed over him in a warm wave. He gave a few meager thrusts, and collapsed onto Dream with the embers of pleasuring still floating in his bloodstream.

Both his hands withdrew and wrapped over him, holding him tight. 

“You’re beautiful when you cum.”

He whined, hiding his blush against the array of hickeys he left on Dream. 

“Want to take care of you,” he murmured, pulling away.

“You don’t-”

“Want to,” he cut Dream off. He slid from Dream’s lap, falling between his thighs onto the floor. He looked up, opening his eyes wide, playing innocence. 

“George.” A warning.

“Can I suck you off?” The response. Dream let out a low curse, hands falling to his waistband. 

“Of course, darling. Tap my leg if it's too much.” He yanked his pants down, so his dick sprung out. It was red, leaking profusely. Fuck, of course Dream was, well endowed in that department. 

George licked his lips, reaching up. He dragged his sharp nails up Dream’s thighs, leaving red trails behind. He gripped the skin, letting it bulge under his palms. He massaged the area, blinking up to Dream.

“I want your fingers.”

“Baby,” Dream cooed. George grabbed one of his hands, bringing two fingers into his mouth. He loved the reassuring weight of them pressing on his tongue. They were the ambrosia of the gods, but George was just a mortal. As he hollowed his cheeks, he could see Dream throb . “Are you ready?”

He nodded in response, but hadn't let go of his fingers. He loved the taste of them, how they brushed the back of his throat, making him want to gag. Slowly, and with a whine from George, Dream pulled his fingers out, letting his hand fall to his cock. He stroked it with spit-slicked fingers before guiding it to his awaiting mouth. 

He lolled out his tongue, and licked the tip. 

Dream groaned, his breath hitching. 

“You will be the death of me. You and your tongue.”

His tail swished at the praise. George leaned forward, taking him into his mouth easily. He definitely hadn’t practiced with dildos before, certainly not waiting for this moment.

It was just how he imagined. Heavier than fingers on his tongue with the salt of pre-come coating his tongue. He was big in his mouth, but he could take it, was happy to.

He bobbed his head up and down, still adjusting before sucking harshly and dragging his tongue over the skin. 

Dream cried loudly, falling back onto the couch. 

“Fuck, warn me.”

George tried to smirk up at him, but failed, so he licked the underside and Dream’s breath hissed from between clenched teeth. 

“Your tongue, George, god.”

Dream’s hand found his hair, starting to guide George up and down. The steady pressure of a hand on his hair made a purr build in his chest. When Dream’s dick hit the back of his throat, it rumbled out. He purred around Dream and he came, so responsive, so sensitive after George had grinded on him and came on his lap.

George swallowed every drop of his release, making a show of licking his lips when Dream pulled out. 

Before he could say anything, Dream lifted him back onto the couch, kissing him with the gentleness he always showed when touching George. 

“You are perfect, and I think I could love you,” Dream whispered against his lips. 

“I think I already do.” 

He felt Dream smile, then stand. 

“I’ll get us cleaned up, then we can sleep together. Okay?”

“Sounds perfect.” Dream left him on the couch, shirtless and happy, so happy. 

He was already half asleep when Dream returned with fresh clothes for both of them and a warm washcloth. He stripped George, cleaning him and pulling on new underwear and pants. George merely laid there, content to feel taken care of. Dream wiped himself down and changed.

“Here,” he whispered, pulling one of his own hoodies over his head. It smelled like sea breeze, and it didn’t feel so bad when he drowned in it. He pulled the collar to his nose inhaling deeply. Dream chuckled, but didn’t comment, carefully lifting George from the couch and carrying him to his room.

They fell into bed, together, and fell asleep, together. 

George was warm, purring when the hands he loved scratched his ears and the heart he loved beat under the weight of his head.