Archive of Our Own

“What if I just dropped out,” Sapnap says. Again. They’ve kind of been talking in circles.

“At least finish this semester, dude, there’s like two weeks left,” Dream replies. They’re lying shoulder to shoulder on Dream’s bed, Sapnap in one of Dream’s hoodies because it’s bigger than any of his and he kind of feels like shit right now. Everything is weighing down on him and he’s joked about dropping out before but it’s never felt more serious and believable in his head than it does right now.

“There’s no point when I’m going to fail the fucking assignments anyway,” Sapnap says. “Like. Quit while I’m ahead or whatever.”

“You’re not gonna fail,” Dream says, like it’s obvious and Sapnap is stupid. Which he is, really, too stupid to properly wrap his head around all the shit he has to learn for his assessments. “You’re the hardest worker I’ve ever met, Sap, you’re going to ace it and it’ll be epic and awesome and we can go and get a nice meal to celebrate.”

“We could go to a party and get drunk. Like normal people.”

“We could do that,” Dream says. “Or we could actually have fun. We could have our own party, if you want, I guess. So it’s just our friends. Anyway, we’ll figure that out later, once you’ve blown all your assignments out of the water. Out of the park? And then if you still actually want to drop out you can reconsider it. But if you finish these courses you can put them on your resume and stuff, so you may as well.”

“My resume,” Sapnap scoffs. “As if I could ever actually code for a living. I’m kind of useless, Dream, I’m only getting through shit because I study all the time rather than living my life.”

“So you’re gonna drop out so you can party and do hard drugs.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, no you’re not. I forbid it. I need you here. At least keep going till I graduate and then if you want we can go do something together. Make our own business. Be epic. Throw parties with champagne. I’ll be CEO and you can be my, like, second-in-command.”

“I’ll bring you coffee every morning,” Sapnap says. “It’ll be too hot and you’ll burn your tongue.”

“I don’t like coffee. You can bring me a doughnut.”

“I’ll bring you a doughnut every morning. It’ll be too hot and you’ll burn your tongue.”

“You hate me,” Dream says, immensely saddened.

“I do,” Sapnap agrees, rolling over and slinging his arm over Dream’s middle, pressing his face against his shoulder. “I’m not actually gonna drop out. I’m just sad today.”

“I’m sorry,” Dream says, quiet and genuine. “Anything I can do?”

“Do my assignment for me,” Sapnap jokes.

“I meant about — okay, whatever, idiot. No. I’m not doing your stupid assignments for you, you won’t learn that way.”

“I won’t learn any way. I’m stupid, Dream, my brain’s already full, I can’t learn anything else. My storage is full.”

“You’re not stupid,” Dream says. “You’re just stressed.”

“Sure.”

“You need to destress.”

“Okay, so let’s go party and I can do hard drugs and get laid. Easy fix. Let’s go right now, pregame with Punz.”

“That’s not — that’s not what I meant at all, dude. You’re stressed about not being able to learn. So get someone to help you learn.”

“I’ve asked you like fifty billion times —”

“Not me, I’m busy. Like pay someone. To tutor you. It worked for me when I was struggling! You’ve just gotta figure out how you learn best, or whatever. Which isn’t necessary the way the class presents the information. It can help to get a different perspective.”

“Right,” Sapnap says, something coiling in his stomach as he realises what Dream is hinting at. Who Dream is hinting at. “So give me a different perspective. Just send me your old notes or something! That’s not even cheating, that’s, like, ethical. Moral. Actually, I’m fine as I am. I’m not even worried or stressed. I’m so smart and epic and I learn things effortlessly. Like water off a duck’s back. Or no, wait, not that. Like… a sponge.”

“A sponge,” Dream echoes.

Sapnap huffs and bites the bullet. “I don’t need George to tutor me. I would literally rather fail ten million tests than be stuck alone in a room with him.”

“I didn’t even suggest George!” Dream says, indignant.

“You were going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I literally do, though. George tutored you. George is about to graduate with the same degree that I’m doing. George is very clever and very smart and very good at coding.”

“Well. All those sentences are facts.”

“And his dick is massive.”

“That’s… more of a rumour than a fact.”

“Right. Because you definitely totally don’t actually know the answer.”

“I don’t!” Dream says, trying to push Sapnap away, then grappling to tug him back as he nearly falls off the narrow bed. “Sorry. I don’t.”

“You look like a tomato right now, dude,” Sapnap says, batting Dream’s hands away. “I dunno why you’re so embarrassed about it. Wouldn’t it be more embarrassing to have not been fucked by George? Given how much he gets around?”

“Don’t — that’s, like, a mean thing to say.”

“It’s an objective fact,” Sapnap says. “He has all the rizz and you have none, that’s why you’re so buddy-buddy.”

“I think that George is a very misunderstood person,” Dream says, pretentious. “And if you stopped being a little bitch about it you two would get along. He sleeps with everyone and you sleep with no one, you’d be all buddy-buddy.”

“That’s like a mean thing to say bro,” Sapnap says, tone caught somewhere between deadpan and sarcastic.

“Sorry,” Dream says, immediate and genuine.

“I’m joking, you’re fine. It’s technically a fact, so. And you also sleep with no one. Pot calling the kettle black or whatever.”

“That’s literally just not true,” Dream scoffs. “Well. It won’t be true. I’m making moves.”

“Business moves?”

“Yes. I need — when I’m CEO I need someone pretty to cling onto my arm and gossip about people when I’m hosting boring parties. Anyway, I think you should ask George if he can help you, he’s a good teacher and it’ll help you a lot I think. You’ll be able to learn stuff rather than just having to memorise it,” Dream says.

“Uh huh. I bet I’ll learn a lot,” Sapnap says. “I bet he’s a great teacher. You know, I think George is smarter than you. I think he should be CEO and you should be the eye candy.”

“I can be both,” Dream says indignantly. “But yeah, George will be part of the business for sure. He can be my left hand man and you can be my right hand man. I’ll be in between so you’re not fucking bickering all the time.”

“So we’re both clinging to your arms and gossiping.”

“No, idiot. Do you want me to ask George or do you wanna ask him yourself?”

“I’m not — I don’t need a tutor, and I especially don’t need George as a tutor. I’ll be fine, Dream, really, I’m just having a shitty day and I’m picking something else to complain about to distract me.”

“Okay. Well, keep it in mind. I can tell him not to… bother you, as well, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried,” Sapnap scoffs. “I don’t care. George is literally… George, and I’m me, so like. That’s not gonna be an issue.”

“That’s kind of a mean thing to say,” Dream says, adding very sincerely, “I think you’re very hot and attractive and handsome.”

“Thank you, Dream, you are also very hot and attractive and handsome which is why you have people swarming all over you like flies, desperate for a taste of the drick,” Sapnap says, rolling his eyes.

“Never mind, I think you’re very ugly and rude and weird and I hate you,” Dream says, with the same mild, earnest tone of voice.

“You love me,” Sapnap says, snuggling closer to Dream, who wraps his arm around under his shoulders in return. “I’m gonna be fine. Like you said, I’ll pass my next assignment and then I’ve only got two more and then it’s break and we can get high with Karl and Punz and I can laugh while you try to make business moves.”

He fails his next assignment.

It feels like a punch to the gut, red painted all across the page. He’d tried fucking hard as well, pulled several all-nighters struggling to tweak mistakes. He knew it wasn’t perfect but he didn’t think it was this bad.

Bad enough that he’s currently being slowly but steadily fossilised under a mountain of blankets, having raided Dream’s bed.

His phone is in his hand. Ringing. He’s calling George. Probably a bad move but whatever. Whatever. He’s gonna chicken out if he waits any longer. Maybe George just won’t pick up and he’ll be spared.

No such luck.

“Hello, Sapnap,” George drawls.

“Hi,” Sapnap says, nervous.

“Are you crying?” George says, tone teetering between incredulous and amused.

“No. I’m not. Anymore. I was. I failed an assignment.”

There’s a pause. It’s broken by sudden obnoxious chewing noises.

“Okay,” George says, mouth full. “Here I was thinking you were calling because you’ve been missing our fun little chats, but in reality you’re only calling because you need some help.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap mutters. “Dream said I should call you. To be clear. I would never want to call you unless the situation is immensely dire.”

“Uh huh,” George says, slipping into a light laugh. “Okay, sure. I’m busy right now but you can send me some of the stuff you’re struggling with and the failed assignment and we’ll go from there and organise a time to meet up. I charge hourly, I’ll give you half off because we’re kind of friends-in-law, or whatever. In fact, depending on how time-consuming you are maybe you can get off with taking me out to dinner.”

“I don’t — I’ll just pay you. In money,” Sapnap says. He can’t think of anything much worse than a dinner with George.

“Okay,” George says. “Offer stands. I take many forms of payment.”

There’s a pause. Sapnap struggles to think up a witty response, distracted by being annoyed at his cheeks heating up, mind dipping into several intriguing scenarios that he has to actively shake his head to get rid of.

“That was a joke. You can laugh. Or cry, whatever, I don’t care. Send me the shit and I’ll look over it tomorrow or something. Go buy yourself some chocolate, cheer yourself up, you’ll be fine. It’s one failed test, not the end of the world. You may be shit now but I’ll fix you right up. Bye.” George hangs up before Sapnap can reply.

“Okay,” he mutters, the word dampened by the sudden heaviness of the blankets crushing him. He wriggles his way out, probably flushed and sweaty and gross and all red and raw and whatever the fuck else. A shower would probably be good right now, to scrub the detritus off. He settles for splashing water over his face.

He dithers over it out of spite but ends up walking to a store to buy some chocolate. It does cheer him up, which is annoying to say the least.

Sapnap sends the stuff George asked for. George sends back lol. They organise a time for George to come over. It feels weird to phrase it like that, but it’s literally just the truth, George is coming over to their dorm room.

Dream promised to make himself scarce while they were studying. Sapnap’s not sure exactly where he is.

He’s currently alone in their door room, outfits laid out on his bed, feeling faintly pathetic. More than faintly. Extremely pathetic. George is probably going to show up in a t-shirt and sweatpants, chewing gum and sipping coffee because he’s a fucking freak like that, and here’s Sapnap debating what he should wear like it’s a date or something stupid like that.

He settles for a big hoodie and small shorts, disguising the stuff he doesn’t like and drawing attention to the parts he doesn’t mind. It feels safe but also interesting. Maybe. Hopefully, he almost adds but then doesn’t.

He and George have been in the same room alone together several times, but only in snatches, because they’re both Dream’s friends and sometimes their time with him clashes or overlaps or he’s doing something he thinks both of them will like so he invites them along. Sometimes George launches an attack on Sapnap’s home territory, coming over to hang out with or bother Dream in their dorm room.

Dream will duck away to use the bathroom or spend way too fucking long looking at clothes, forcing them to talk to each other to avoid lingering in awkward silence, which George for some reason doesn’t seem to mind, which means that Sapnap has to carry the whole fucking conversation, and George always baits him into setting up traps for himself.

Their conversations are awkward and stilted and George makes fun of Sapnap, laughter creeping behind every word he says, and Sapnap struggles to not let it upset or anger him. Sometimes fails, which makes George find him even funnier. He has barely an inch of height on Sapnap but it always feels like more, even more than his heeled boots allow for.

Anyway, the point is, George is a little bitch and Sapnap hates him with the kind of violence that’s primarily fuelled by a sickening mix of envy and lust. But it’s whatever, it’s whatever, George sailed through the classes with plenty of time spare to blaze himself indelibly across campus and Sapnap trudges through them like he’s trapped drowning in molasses, but who cares. George has a near-permanent collar made of purple-red hickeys and Sapnap’s only ever been kissed twice, but who the fuck cares.

Sapnap slathers deodorant on and spritzes his wrists and neck with his fancy cologne, the bottle he’s only used like three times on special occasions. He brushes his hair, musses it, brushes it, musses it, shoves a cap on. He examines his face in the mirror. His beard looks good, he thinks. It used to be patchy as fuck and George would lay into him for it but it’s growing in much better now. His face is a little flushed like he’s blushing in preparation so he rubs cold water over his cheeks which doesn’t really help. His skin is kind of bad but not horrific and there’s not a whole lot he can do about that anyway so he tries not to worry too much about it.

George has skin that belongs to a vampire, pale and smooth as piano keys, blooming rosy when he laughs to match the soft pink of his lips. Sapnap isn’t really sure what a pregnancy glow is exactly but he thinks George has something similar to that, a permanent lustre that shines from him, drawing people in like an enchantment. Maybe he’s secretly an evil witch like that old hag from Snow White and he goes home every night and cackles himself into saggy, wrinkled skin, as rotten as his soul. Except obviously he doesn’t because he goes out every night and ends up in someone else’s bed. But like, whatever, it’s a fun thought to have. Maybe George is a vampire. Or like a sex demon. Something slightly less and yet slightly more than human.

Maybe Sapnap is about to give his soul in payment for some bored, snarky explanations that don’t really help him at all. George will probably try to rile him up, like always. Sapnap will rise to the bait as he so often does because it’s kind of fun to fight with George even though he always loses, always goes in knowing George will have the last laugh.

Whatever. Whatever. He needs to — focus, or something along those lines. Focus on his work, that is, his studies and the assignment he failed and all the coding shit he can’t figure out how to understand, rather than thinking about the glass of metal the glints from between pink lips when George laughs and the tendons in his neck and the ridiculous curve of his ass, soft and tempting.

Sapnap needs to get a fucking hold on himself. George is going to be here in like five minutes and Sapnap is — Sapnap is setting up his room, straightening everything out, hiding non-existent evidence.

All too soon, there’s a sharp rap at the door. It’s such a fucking George knock, a single harsh bang and then, while Sapnap is taking apparently too long to gather his thoughts, a constant and unrelenting hammering.

Sapnap pulls open the door with a glare. “What’s your fucking problem?”

“What’s yours?” George retorts, pushing past him. “Besides having a breakdown over simple coding issues. Okay. You’ve made your desk all nice and neat, that’s cute. Hidden all the trash away. Sit down, then, let’s get to it, you’re paying me by the minute, Sapnap.”

“I thought it was by the hour.”

“Depends on how annoying you are. Sit.”

He sits with performative reluctance.

“Okay, so. I’ve looked over the shit you sent me. The underlying issues all overlap, we need to take a couple steps back to solidify a couple of more basic concepts and then the rest should slip into place. Make sense?”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t be fucking snarky. I’ve got some stuff set up on my laptop,” George says, setting said laptop onto the desk, shoving aside Sapnap’s to make room for it. “We’re going to go through it. Once you’ve wrapped your pretty little head around it you’re going to debug the problems I’ve made. Then we’ll move on to the stuff from your current course, then you’re going to go through the assessment to fix your issues, and then I have a few more problems that are similar to the content that will be in your next assignment. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says.

“Good,” George says, in a weird tone of voice that shudders down Sapnap’s spine. He drags Dream’s desk chair across the carpeted floor to set it next to Sapnap’s, who shuffles his own chair along almost instinctively. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I don’t bite.”

“I’m not scared,” Sapnap says. “And you do fucking bite, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?” George says, amused, and Sapnap expects him to prod, kind of wants him to, like wiggling a loose tooth, but then George just raises an eyebrow and says, “I’m here to help you not be a failure, Sapnap. Stop staring at me and start learning. You should’ve learnt this stuff a couple semesters ago, so hopefully this will be quick and you just need to reinvigorate your memory.”

“Reinvigorate,” Sapnap snorts, turning to look at George’s laptop.

“I’m not here to teach you English, idiot,” George says, lips curving into a sneer. “If you’re going to turn and gape at me every time I speak, we’re going to be here for a long time and you’re going to learn nothing. Focus on the screen.”

Sapnap focusses on the screen. George reads through and explains the concepts and techniques better than the lecturers ever did. Sapnap works his way through the problems George wrote up with relative ease, settles back into his chair with a slight grin, expecting and maybe, maybe hoping for some praise. He doesn’t get it, which in all honesty he’s not surprised by, but it’s a little annoying when George just pulls up more worksheets and shit to read over.

“You’re kind of a bitch,” Sapnap remarks, for no real reason. George is being polite, informative, helpful, answering Sapnap’s questions with only a small amount of contempt. Maybe Sapnap is getting bored. Maybe cocky. Maybe it’s getting harder to focus on the screen when George is sitting so sharp and soft and pretty beside him.

“Oh?” George says, disinterested. “So then you just need to add the —”

“Yeah. You’re so… high and mighty.”

There’s a pause. Sapnap’s skin itches with potential.

“You know what Dream said when he heard I was tutoring you?”

“Probably something dumb.”

“He said not to make a move on you. He was all serious about it. Made me promise him and everything.”

“He’s a good friend,” Sapnap says, wondering with excited apprehension where this is leading.

“So am I,” George says simply. “I don’t break promises. So stop trying to start something and just listen to me. I’m not helping you if you don’t wanna be helped.”

“I want to be helped,” Sapnap mutters. “I wasn’t trying to start anything. Just stating a fact.”

“Okay,” George says, and he goes back to talking through the lesson. Sapnap shifts in his seat to reach over for his drink bottle, takes a slow sip, sets it down. His legs are spread wider than they were, maybe. Shorts inched a little higher up his legs, exposing pale skin.

George’s voice doesn’t falter. Sapnap listens carefully to what he’s saying, actively trying to understand. Annoying as it is, George is a good teacher. Sapnap is learning, less hyper-aware of the smell George carries, cologne and deodorant and something heavy underneath, instead growing more focused on the coding that slowly sinks into comprehension for him. He has an annoying suspicion that maybe what he said jokingly to Dream was right; George isn’t interested in him. Or maybe he is just keeping his promise to Dream. Or maybe he genuinely hates Sapnap, or just finds him annoying or amusing like some fucking court jester, and the tension Sapnap feels is unrequited.

Whatever the reason, Sapnap is resigning himself to the fact that he’s probably going to learn how to understand all the things he’s confused about and then George is going to grin and leave and make some comment that slips in through the gap in the slamming door.

And then.

George puts his hand on Sapnap’s thigh.

Sapnap is asking about something, trying to connect all the threads George is giving him in order to make a proper blanket, and George pats his leg to catch his attention, getting him to pause so he can correct him on something.

George has his attention. However, the useful words slipping from his mouth are being deafened by the electricity being singed down his nerves from their point of contact. George's hand is cold against his leg and he doesn’t fucking move it, just lets it lay there, just above his knee, even as he falls silent and looks at Sapnap expectantly.

“Sorry,” Sapnap says, voice embarrassingly squeaky. “Could you repeat that?”

George repeats it. Sapnap listens, focusses, pulls it into his brain by force. George’s hand is on his leg. It stays there like a brand, burning white hot despite the chill from George’s fingers, running colder than Sapnap, which is unsurprising overall given that he’s pretty sure his brain is about to spontaneously combust.

Sapnap listens, though, comprehends and understands, because George’s eyes are on him, dark and heavy like a challenge.

They’re working their way through the failed assignment, Sapnap reading through, finally able to spot the mistakes he’d missed when he trawled through it however many times before handing it in.

Every time he thinks he’s fixed a mistake he glances over at George. If he’s still wrong George will shake his head and he’ll try again. If he’s right George will nod and slide his hand a little higher. The implication is clear and Sapnap is struggling not to squirm, little jolts sizzling through his skin, terrifyingly addictive.

He starts saying things, too, small praises that are all the more delicious because of how bored George sounds, good job and nicely done and it scratches at some kind of itch in Sapnap’s brain that he didn’t even know was there.

He reaches the end of the code and glances over at George, eager. By now George’s hand is laying over his shorts, only the tip of George’s thumb touching his skin, atop his thigh. He wants it to slide up, curve over, slip inside.

“You missed a couple, go through it again,” George says.

Sapnap bites down the urge to argue back, wanting to hear George call him good again. Maybe a bit past mere wanting, maybe he’s desperate for it, struggling not to wiggle around for fear George would remove the firm pressure of his hand.

He scrolls through carefully, knowing that trying to speedread through it likely won’t actually get him closer to his goal any faster. He’s smart like that, able to keep his head clear and calm and collected even when the prettiest boy alive has a hand resting on his upper, upper leg like possession.

He catches the mistakes. George says good, just that, good, and Sapnap doesn’t know how he makes a four letter word sound so weighted. Probably practice.

George says good and shifts his hand a little higher, a little heavier, Sapnap’s skin shivering under the touch even with the double layer of fabric between them.

Sapnap hits the end again, glances over at George, who is looking at the screen, his profile sharp and elegant. He tilts his head towards Sapnap and says, low, “Good boy,” which shudders through Sapnap’s spine to settle heavy between his legs.

And then… nothing. George just stares at him, hand resting on Sapnap’s leg, unmoving.

“George,” Sapnap begins, and then falters.

“Sapnap,” George replies, bored and maybe faintly amused.

“Are you gonna touch me?”

“Do you want me to?” George asks, eyes dipping pointedly down towards Sapnap’s spread thighs and lingering there.

Sapnap fights the instinct to squish his legs together, glaring at George as he laughs.

“Is that a no?” George says, smirking like he already knows the answer.

Sapnap carefully shifts his legs wider apart, face flushing.

“You need to say it out loud. I’m not doing anything until you ask for it.”

“That’s stupid,” Sapnap mutters.

“It’s called consent, idiot. Come on, your dignity is about as small as those shorts, you can give me a little yes please.”

“Yes please,” Sapnap grits out.

“Yes please what?”

“Please touch me.”

“I am touching you,” George says, fingers tightening demonstrably on his leg.

“Touch me more,” Sapnap demands. George arches an eyebrow, lightens his touch. “Please.”

“Touch you more?” George says, scathing. “What’s that even supposed to mean? You need to be clearer with what you want, Sapnap, there’s your first lesson. Spreading your legs like a whore and hoping for the best is all well and good but it won’t get you what you want. You need to be good and ask.”

“How many — how many lessons do I get?” Sapnap asks.

“I guess it depends on how good you are.”

Sapnap should say here, I can be good, I’ll be good for you, I’ll listen so well and nice and good. He doesn’t.

“I guess that’ll depend on how good of a teacher you are.”

George’s gaze doesn’t waver. Sapnap feels like his stare has sliced through all of Sapnap’s layers to nestle somewhere inside his brain, scouring all his thoughts as if with bleach. Sapnap holds his own, though, despite the fact that he can feel that his face is deep pink by this point, his body growing increasingly squirmy under the simple steady touch of George’s hand. God knows what more touch will do to him. Make him catch on fire or something, complete spontaneous combustion. There are worse ways to go, he figures.

“You don’t think I’m a good teacher?”

“I’d say you’re… adequate.”

“Adequate. Okay,” George says, nodding like he’s taking it as genuine criticism or whatever. His hand is suddenly gone from Sapnap’s thigh, the loss of the warm weight shocking a stutter into Sapnap’s breath. Before he can complain, George continues, saying, “You’re going to finish the rest of my questions. If you do them well and without complaint you can have a reward.”

“A reward? You gotta be more specific, George.”

“Unless you don’t want one?” George asks, standing.

“No, I — no, George, okay, I’m sorry. I want… I want that.”

“Want what?” He doesn’t sit back down, just stares down at Sapnap with a jet-black gaze, the golden warmth of his eyes swallowed entirely.

“A reward.”

“Like a good dog,” George says. “Right?”

“Yes,” Sapnap says, hands clenching in his lap. “Yes, sir.”

George hums softly, leans over to pull up a document on the laptop, chest brushing Sapnap’s shoulder. He shifts away when Sapnap tries to get closer, pulling back after one final, resounding click of the mouse.

“Debug,” he commands. “Do you want me to go so you’re not distracted?”

Stay Sapnap almost demands immediately demands, but then he actually thinks over George’s words and figures that, yeah, if he wants to get the dumbass problems solved quickly —and he really really does — then it’ll be best if he’s not hyper-focussed on the sound of George breathing, on the weight of him pressing through the air in the room, on the fucking smell of him.

“You should go,” Sapnap says, mournfully. “Come back soon, though, I’ll be quick.”

“I bet you will be,” George laughs, and then his hand is flicking Sapnap’s hat off his head, fingers ghosting through his hair, and then he’s gone and Sapnap wastes several seconds staring blearily-eyed at the screen. It takes him a moment to snap out of it, brain snagged on thoughts of George’s fingers in his hair, harsh and unforgiving, but he shakes himself as loose as possible and then sets about solving the problems George has written up for him. It’s not as hard as he feared it would be, and he gets through it pretty easily, even with half his brain tuned to listen for creaks outside the door.

Sapnap speeds through the code, correcting the errors and soon enough reaching the end. And George still hasn’t returned. He knows George is going to come back because it’s his laptop that Sapnap is currently using, and also he said he would. He’s probably loitering, though, lingering around to be annoying. Maybe Sapnap should poke his head out, check the corridor, see if George is there? But will that make him look desperate? To be fair, he is desperate, a deep-set ache settled between his legs, tension tingling down his spine with every movement he makes.

But what is he supposed to do? Sit pretty and wait? George told him to be good, more or less, but he didn’t really explain what being good entailed. Sapnap can do what he wants, really. He checks over the problems once more, running the code and finding no mistakes. Pleased, he carefully saves the progress and settles back in his chair, mulling over his options. George should be back soon, surely, it’s been almost fifteen minutes. What is he even doing? Maybe he’s waiting just outside the door, leaning against the wall, scrolling mindlessly, waiting for Sapnap to cave and beg for him to come back.

Sapnap’s hand finds its way to where George’s rested. His is bigger but the impact of it feels lesser, somehow. Whatever, it still feels nice, good enough, still makes him want more.

He thinks of George saying good as he slips his hand between his spread legs, breath hitching as the touch singes through his body. The layers of clothing make the sensation rougher, the friction slightly painful as he rubs his fingers experimentally against the hardened bud of his dick. George’s voice spills through his head again, but this time instead of the good Sapnap craves, he’s saying bad with such contempt and disdain. Sapnap’s whole body shudders at the thought as he grinds his hips up to meet his steady fingers, a moan slipping from his mouth.

He’s being bad. The thought sends a shiver pricking up his spine. He shouldn’t be touching himself, he should be looking over the work George set for him and then waiting pretty and patiently for him to get back. So he can have his reward.

He falters, almost completely stops, because maybe doing this will mean George will veto the reward? Leave him with nothing, no touch but his own, which he knows wouldn’t be enough now he knows what George’s hand feels like on his leg, cold and firm.

But. George didn’t actually tell him not to, and he’s started now anyway, and he kind of wants to know what’ll happen if he’s bad. Kind of wants to know if George will bite him harder. Not that he has anything to compare it with, but still.

By now he has his head tipped back, the fingers of his free hand gripping the armrest and the fingers of his occupied hand slowly but purposefully working himself up, faintly painful zings of pleasure making him bite down on embarrassing whimpers.

He slips his hand under the waistband of his shorts and boxers without really thinking about it, fingers dipping down to drag the slick evidence of his desire up to smooth the friction as he strokes his fingers over his dick.

His hips rock up into the touch, and then he hears the door open and he tries to pull his hand away, but the waistband of his stupid tight shorts catches his wrist and it takes him far too long to tug it free, long enough that it’s exceedingly obvious what he was doing.

He stares at the computer screen, hand fisted by his chest, feeling George’s amused gaze burning into him.

“The door was unlocked,” George says, finally kicking it shut behind him, pointedly flicking the lock into place. “Anyone could’ve walked in.”
“Well, they didn’t,” Sapnap says.

“You were being so loud, as well, I could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“That’s such a lie,” Sapnap scoffs, but George arches an eyebrow and a shudder goes through him at the idea that it might be true.

"It was like you wanted someone to hear you. Someone to come in and shut you up.”

“Maybe I did,” Sapnap says.

“Yeah? You want me to leave you to it, then?”

“No! I mean — I meant — I mean you. Idiot. You should… shut me up, or whatever.”

“I don’t think I want that, though. I quite like how you sound when you’re all… whining and whimpering. Moaning like a whore. I’d like to hear you beg like that. So desperate.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap breathes out, blood pounding between his legs.

“I’d like you to be polite, as well, can you manage that? Or do I have to teach you?”

“You should probably teach me,” Sapnap says. George is still by the door, so far away from him, smirking across the room with those infuriating purple bruises staining his neck.

It’s kind of a fucked thought but Sapnap is pretty certain that if he ever got the chance to, he’d bite hard and deep enough to scar.

George finally walks towards him. Sapnap thinks he should probably stand up, but George would still be taller regardless and he thinks George probably likes looming over him, looking down on him.

“Give me your hand,” George says. “Other hand. Idiot.”

“George —”

“Give me your hand.” It’s a command. Sapnap is torn between curiosities, wanting to know what happens if he keeps disobeying, wanting to know why exactly George wants his hand. The hand with slicked fingers, no less.

He gives George his hand.

George takes it by the wrist, his dainty fingers gripping painfully tight as he lifts it up, eyes dark and impossible to read. Sapnap resists the heavy urge to tug his hand back to safety.

George’s gaze shifts, snapping from the glaze dirtying his fingers to meet Sapnap’s wide-eyed stare. He smirks, dark and bright as his eyes, and then he puts Sapnap’s fingers in his mouth.

His mouth is wet and warm and Sapnap can’t compute much beyond that, George’s lips stretched pink around his fingers as his tongue slips between the index and the middle.

There’s a lewd noise as George pulls Sapnap’s fingers back out. George releases his grip on Sapnap’s wrist and his hand drops uselessly into his lap.

“You’re so easy,” George says, but he sounds pleased. “Taste good, though. Go lie down on the bed and I’ll give you your reward.”

“Thank you,” Sapnap says, breathless.

“You can thank me after,” George mutters. “Up. Go lie down. If you don’t start listening to me quicker I’m going to get bored of you.”

Sapnap’s legs are kind of unreliable at the moment, but the bed isn’t far and he manages to get there just fine. He perches on the edge of the bed and tries not to gaze at George too pathetically. He probably fails but he figures George has made plenty of people pathetic, so. Whatever.

“Sapnap,” George says, musingly.

“George,” Sapnap says, smiling probably too wide, trying to mimic his tone.

George frowns a little. “You’re, like… annoying.”

“No I’m not,” Sapnap pouts, as George closes the distance to stand right in front of him. “You’re mean.”

“You’re cute,” George practically spits, like he’s embarrassed to say it. “It’s annoying.”

“Oh,” Sapnap grins. “You’re cute too.”

Geirge just scoffs, and settles his hand surprisingly soft on Sapnap’s shoulder. He counters the softness by shoving him down hard, though, and Sapnap is staring up at the popcorn ceiling, breath caught in his chest.

“You’re being so slow, don’t you want your reward?”

“You haven’t even told me what it is,” Sapnap grumbles, shifting so his head is laying against the pillows.

“You should’ve figured it out from context clues by now,” George says. “Guess you’re just stupid. No brains for me to fuck out of you anyway.”

“Guess you should test that hypothesis,” Sapnap suggests. George is still standing, hands in his jacket pockets, staring down at Sapnap like he’s blinkered to everything else that exists. It’s a little intense but mostly just makes Sapnap feel warm and hot and desired.

“Maybe next time,” George says, nonchalant.

Next time next time next time bounces around Sapnap’s head, and then: “Wait, you’re not going to fuck me?”

“I have a better plan.”

“What if I want that to be my reward?”

“Too bad,” George shrugs. Sapnap watches him open the drawers of the bedside table. There’s nothing in them; Sapnap isn’t stupid enough to be that obvious. George moves over to Dream’s, shutting the top without reaction but grinning at the contents of the second.

“What is it?” Sapnap asks, sitting up to try to peer over.

“Nothing. Lie down.”

“I wanna see!”

George nudges the drawer shut with his boot. They have a slight heel, black leather polished to gleam. Sapnap lies down.

“What’s my reward, then?”

George grins and slips his tongue out, exposing the ball of silver adorning it.

“Oh,” Sapnap says.

“Oh,” George mocks, then abruptly stops, cocking his head. “Why are you wearing shoes on the bed?”

“You told me to lie down!”

“I guess I did,” George says. “Can I keep my shoes on, then?”

“No, idiot. Take them off.”

George arches an eyebrow, drops slowly to one knee. “You’re very eager for that.”

“Yeah, because I don’t want dirt on my sheets,” Sapnap scoffs.

“But you’ve already dirtied them.” George’s fingers are quick and dexterous with the buckle of his boot. He’s wearing black socks underneath them.

“My shoes are clean, I don’t know where yours have been.”

“I wasn’t talking about the shoes,” George says, pulling off the second shoe and chucking both in the general direction of the door. “Socks on to keep it no homo?”

“I don’t care,” Sapnap says, sensing a trap.

“Want me to take your shoes off?” George asks, kneeling on the bed, fingers brushing over Sapnap’s ankle, tracing the edge of his sock.

“Are you gonna be weird about it?” Sapnap asks accusingly.
“Do you want me to be weird about it?” George grins. The piercing flashes again as he speaks, bright and stunning like a drop of liquid lightning has landed on his tongue.

Sapnap supposed to say something, there was a question or a snide comment or something, but he’s understandably distracted. George notices, of course, and slips his tongue out again, letting it loll down, pink and wet.

He laughs. Sapnap can’t even be upset by it. George’s slender fingers tug at his shoelaces, pulling the loops free. His touch is delicate as he lifts Sapnap’s ankle to slip the shoes off his feet, throwing them one by one onto Dream’s bed. The cold of his fingers drenches Sapnap’s skin, phantom touches lingering even after he moves on to the second shoe.

His fingertips slip under the elastic of Sapnap’s sock, and then he’s peeling it off with a tense tenderness. The sock is flung onto Dream’s bed, and then the other is removed with the same intent slowness. Sapnap is hyperaware of his own heartbeat, of George’s breathing, of all the tiny creaks from the foundations of the building. The second sock joins the first on Dream’s pillow and then George’s fingertips drag across the top of Sapnap’s feet, gone so quick he thinks he might’ve imagined the touch. It lingers, though, monochrome and aching like the afterimage of staring too long at a lightbulb.

George settles kneeled between Sapnap’s calves, traces his hands up them, up his thighs, stopping at the barrier of his shorts to fiddle with the hem.

“Off?” he asks.

Sapnap, words still lost, merely nods. George’s hands find the sides of the waistband and Sapnap lifts his hips, letting them get dragged down his legs, bending at the knee when it becomes necessary. And then they’re tossed to the floor, and Sapnap is displayed under George’s critical gaze, wearing tight boxers, the blue fabric darkened with his arousal.

Sapnap’s eyes are glued to George’s face, which is focused intently on the wet patch, the heaviness of the gaze sending a shiver through Sapnap as he wonders what George might be thinking, what George might be wanting to do to him.

“Hoodie off?” George asks, voice husky, moving to grab the hem of it.

“No!” Sapnap exclaims, batting his hands away. “Sorry. I — sorry. Can I keep it on?”

“Of course,” George says, pulling back to give Sapnap a reassuring amount of space, which he’s grateful for. “You don’t have to apologise. I don’t want you doing anything you’re uncomfortable with, okay? You have to tell me if I’m doing or suggesting something you don’t want.”

“Okay,” Sapnap says, relaxing, smoothing out the hem of the hoodie. “I will.”

“Good,” George says, very sincerely, and then his hands are on Sapnap’s thighs and the strangeness behind the tone is forgotten in favour of thinking about the fact that George’s hands are on his thighs and soon George’s tongue will be between his legs. “Can I touch?”

“Yes,” Sapnap breathes out.

George’s hands shift, one moving to rest on his hip and the other slipping inwards. Sapnap gasps as George’s thumb slides over the wet patch on his boxers, the slickness having soaked through the fabric. George hums, low and dark.

“You’re so wet.”

It takes Sapnap a second to respond, George’s thumb rubbing idly over the dampness all the while. He’s applying barely any pressure but the teasing lack of pleasure makes it all the more tantalising.

“You were — you were groping my thighs for like an hour, dude, what do you — what do you expect?”

George lets out a scoffing laugh that burns across Sapnap’s chest. “Don’t call me dude right now, idiot. So you have sensitive thighs? Or are you just all pent up and pathetic?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says, ready to agree with anything George says if he just keeps moving his thumb, strokes getting larger, digging deeper, grazing against Sapnap’s straining dick.

The touch disappears and Sapnap can’t help but mewl, eyes cracking open to glare pathetically at George.

“So whiny,” George coos. “So needy.”

“Please, George,” Sapnap says, uncaring of the crack in his voice.

“Please what, darling? What do you need?”

“Can you — can you — take them off, please?”

“Okay,” George shrugs, but then he’s settling back, crossing his legs so he can slowly drag his socks off, inch by inch of soft pale flesh. Once they’re properly off he drops them off the side of the bed and leans back on his hands so he can lift his bent legs up, flexing his feet and wiggling his toes for a second before twisting back into a kneel and staring expectantly at a befuddled Sapnap. “If you want something you need to ask properly, Sapnap, or else how am I going to give you what you want?”

“Can you take my boxers off, please?” Sapnap mutters. He can feel his face flaming red.

“If you insist,” George says. His fingers find the waistband, either side of Sapnap’s hips, and he tugs them swiftly down and off. Sapnap expects him to fling them away like he did with all the other clothes, but he doesn’t, just sits there holding them as he gazes down at where Sapnap is now fully exposed. It’s a lot, and Sapnap instinctively tries to press his legs together but George is between them. He settles his hands on Sapnap’s bent knees, to soothe but also to stop the movement.

“Pretty,” George says absently. His hand trails up Sapnap’s legs, tracing the crease of his hip and brushing over the contained trim of ginger-tinged hair that thins out over soft skin as it spills up towards his navel. “Want me to touch?”

“Please,” Sapnap begs, pressing into George’s hand.

George hums as if in thought, index and middle fingers running along Sapnap’s outer folds, ghosting across the dripping slickness, so close to where Sapnap needs him to touch and yet always teasing, taunting, denying.

Heat coils heavier in Sapnap’s stomach as George lifts his boxers to his face, coal dark eyes burning through Sapnap’s as he inhales deeply, the dirty underwear pressed over his nose and mouth.

“Smells good,” he mutters, low, as he drops the boxers next to him on the bed.

“Guess you should see if it — if it tastes good,” Sapnap says, voice catching as George’s finger grazes over his dick, which twitches hopefully at the touch.

“I already know it tastes good, darling,” George smirks.

“Don’t you — don’t you want more, then?”

“Hmm. I suppose so. Are you going to get greedy, or will you lie still and be good?”

“Guess you better hurry up and find out,” Sapnap huffs out.

George’s whole hand is suddenly pressed flat between Sapnap’s legs, resting there for a moment before pulling slightly away and tapping back down again, the sensation making Sapnap’s legs shudder, a small squeak escaping him.

“Do you think if I slapped you here properly it would hurt?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious.

“Don’t,” Sapnap says, twitching away slightly.

“Just a simple question, Sapnap.” George’s hand follows his movement, presses down, and Sapnap can’t help but roll his hips up into it. “Answer it.”

“I — yes, it would hurt, please, George, you have to — please,” Sapnap whimpers as George takes his hand away.

“I don’t have to do anything,” George says, wiping his slick palm on Sapnap’s thigh.

“Please what? Words, darling, come on, you’re not that stupid yet, surely.”

“Please touch me, you said I’d get a reward, can I please have my reward?” Sapnap rambles.

“Sure, darling, keep begging that nicely and I’ll give you whatever you want,” George says.

“Want you,” Sapnap says, before George can ask. “Want you to touch. Make me — make me feel good, please, George, it’s so — you’re so good I need you, I need you.”

“So fucking desperate,” George breathes out. “You’re perfect, Sapnap, you know that? So loud and needy and wet for me. I believe you when you say you need it. No need to cry, darling, I’ll give it to you, you just lie there and whine all pretty for me.”

“I’m not crying,” Sapnap says. Whines, really, but whatever.

“Not yet,” George says lightly. “So. How do you want me to touch you?”

“Anything, anything you want,” Sapnap says, instantly.

“I’m asking what you want. Tell me or you get nothing,” George says, harsh yet nonchalant.

“I don’t — I don’t know, I’ve never… can you… I guess I’d like for you to, um. You know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Eat me out,” Sapnap mutters.

“A little louder, sweetheart.”

“Eat me — eat me out,” Sapnap says. “Please.”

George hums, shifts to settle on his front, legs bent up because of the smallness of the bed so his bare feet kick idly in the air as he makes himself comfortable, shoulders nestled between Sapnap’s thighs.

He gazes at Sapnap through thick dark lashes as he dips his head down.

The first long, slow lick has Sapnap clamping his teeth down around a moan, eyes fluttering shut.

"None of that," George chides. "I want you to be loud for me, darling. Don't disappoint me.”

"Sorry," Sapnap says, the word tapering into a moan as George's tongue slips between his dripping folds, dragging the slickness with him as he licks up to Sapnap's dick. Sapnap's hips snap up at the contact, and George's hands wrap around his thighs to grip his hips, tutting.

"Lie still, take what I give you," he says.

“Sorry," Sapnap whimpers again, and maybe he is kind of crying, tears pricking at his eyes as George kittenlicks over his dick. "Sorry, it just feels so -- it's so much, George, I can’t."

"I've barely done anything," George pulls back to say, hands rubbing soothingly at Sapnap's hips. "You'll be fine, honey, just let yourself feel good. I've got you.”

"Okay," Sapnap whispers, letting his head fall back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut as George's continues his ministrations. His tongue explores every inch of heated pink skin, the tip dipping inside to draw out more sweet liquid and sweet noises. The slick mixes with George's spit as he licks over Sapnap's hole and dick, the same mixture surely smeared over his lips and chin as he bobs his head, flicks his tongue.

It's all so hot, so warm, and then the occasional shudder-shock of cooler metal, pressing into Sapnap's most sensitive parts. The piercing slides smoothly over his dick as George takes it into his mouth, wet heat surrounding him entirely. Wet noises mingling with Sapnap's mewls as George sucks at the hard bud, Sapnap nearly screaming as teeth graze lightly over the incredibly sensitive skin. George's fingers pinch a gentle apology, sliding in to rub over his tummy as George adjusts his position.

Sapnap's hands are fisted in the sheets, George's hands teasing over the sensitive skin low on his stomach, the sensation combining with the overwhelming feeling of George sucking and licking over his dick. Every firm press of the piercing sends a shiver through Sapnap, moans spilling continually from his mouth.

It's so much, tipping past too much, Sapnap's head and stomach and dick full of hot red blood, pounding bright and bold, coiling crimson and tightening, tightening, tightening along with George's lips around his dick before spiralling open, pleasure coursing through him in sparkling waves. It renders him boneless, pain sizzling through him as George licks over him one last time, lapping up the slick from his hole. His piercing drags over heated skin, burning across his dick with white hot flames that lick up Sapnap's skin to blind him.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the sound of someone sobbing; the second thing is that the someone is him, chest heaving and cheeks wet. The third thing is strong slim arms wrapping around him like ribbon, pulling him into place and holding him together.

"Hi," George says -- right, yeah, George, who just sucked the soul out of him via his dick and is now probably going to make fun of him for crying about it. Sapnap wants to squirm away but his limbs are too tingly to listen to his commands and all he manages is a tiny wiggle and a discontented whimper. "You're okay, baby, it's okay, I've got you. You did so well, moaned so nicely for me. How are you feeling? Are these good tears? Was it just too much?”

It's too many questions, for sure. Sapnap settles on a confused hum. Why isn't George piercing him with meanness right now? He's seen Sapnap as vulnerable and exposed as he'll ever be, sobbing his way through an orgasm, surely this is perfect material for cruelty. But George is just holding him careful and quiet as Sapnap whimpers his way through the last of his tears, waiting patiently for... Sapnap isn't sure what.

Except he does, he realises.

Reciprocation. It's not that hard to figure out. George is many things but he's not known for his generosity. Anyone who stakes a claim to the patchwork quilt of his neck will have their own throat mangled in return. It's only fair.

He's feeling better, now that he's not scared of George laughing at him. The crying was a little scary but George is holding him so nice and warm, and Sapnap lets himself relax into the feeling of it, the gentle pleasure of the afterglow.

"Feeling okay?" George asks quietly, maybe having picked up on the fact that Sapnap's brain is mostly liquified. "You can just shake your head or nod if you're struggling to talk, it's okay.”

"I'm okay," Sapnap says, small and a little sniffly. "Just a lot. Sorry for... crying. Um.”

"You're fine, it's okay. Are they good tears, or... ?”

"Yeah," Sapnap says. "And then I got, like, freaked out about it a bit.”

"Okay," George says, squeezing him a little tighter. "Did you like it? What's your review?”

"Uh, ten outta ten, five gold stars," Sapnap says, finally risking a glance over at George, who grins wolfishly at him, chin and lips glistening with spit and slick. If it were red rather than clear it would look like blood. Sapnap supposes that's true of most liquids and feels slightly stupid.

"Good," George says, bringing his hand to Sapnap's face so he can swipe away his tacky tears with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Excellent. I aim to please."

Sapnap nods awkwardly as George scrubs his sleeve over his own face. How long will they be resting for? Is George waiting for him to make the move? He takes a deep breath to hype himself up to say, "Your turn now, right?”

“Hmm?"

"Your turn. For... y'know. I can help you out. Return the favour," Sapnap says, trying to force down his nervousness. He wants to do this, he really does, wants to find out what George tastes like, wants the weight and heat on his tongue, George's fingers teasing and tugging at his hair.

"You don't have to return the favour, Sapnap, it was good for me as well, I enjoyed it a lot. You're cute when you're all squirmy and loud. You get flustered so easily.”

"I want to," Sapnap says, trying to deflect away from the thought that he's always squirmy and loud when he's with George, just in a different way. Immensely annoyed rather than horny out of his mind. Maybe a little horny, he amends, feeling again the urge to sink his teeth into George's spiked-punch neck. George kind of incites that in him. Hence his suspicion that George is secretly a succubus. Speaking of. "I really want to.”

“Okay, then, if you’re so needy for it,” George chuckles. He shifts as he speaks, pressing closer so Sapnap can feel his hard dick against his hip, the feeling pulling a gasp out of him. George is big. He knew that already, obviously, being the resident slut doesn't exactly lead to secrecy. He knows a lot of things about George that he struggles to disremember when they're arguing, often deliberately mulls over early in the morning when Dream's left for his poorly chosen lectures.

Still, it's one thing to know and another thing to feel it, knowing that soon enough it's going to be inside him. Sapnap has to bite back a moan at the thought.

"Do you need to rest for a little longer?" George asks. Sapnap can't really think of anything worse.

"No," he says, wincing a little at how eager he sounds.

“Nice," George says, amused. "Ever done it before?”

“Huh?"

"Ever sucked a dick. Idiot.”

"Oh. Um, no, never. I... haven't." Sapnap isn't sure why he's asking, George knows he's a virgin, and has made countless comments about it.

"You've been rooming with Dream for like a year and you've never sucked his dick?"

"No? Have you?”

"No, I don't do that," George says, pulling away slightly. Sapnap manages to stop himself from whining when he realises George is standing up so Sapnap can suck him off.

"Don't do what?" Sapnap asks. He grabs his boxers and pulls them back on to cover up some of his nervousness.

"Sucking dick sucks, Sapnap, it's awful, it tastes bad and they're, like, in your throat and you feel sick, and your jaw hurts and you have to think about not biting down on accident. And then they, like, cum, and you have to either swallow it down even though it tastes like battery acid mixed with glue, or spit it up and look like an idiot, or they cum on your face and it gets in your eyes and it's such a pain to deal with. It's awful. You'll love it. Stand up for me, darling.”

Sapnap is perching on the edge of the bed, staring up at him with no small amount of morbid awe. "What about the piercing, though?" Sapnap asks. He's been watching the silver flash the whole time, transfixed by the memory of it against his dick.

“Decorative," George jokes. "I mean I eat people out sometimes, I guess, that's fun. I told you to stand up.”

The last sentence lilts up, questioning, testing the waters.

“You did,” Sapnap says, making no move to stand.

George hums lightly, stares Sapnap down with dark chocolate eyes, rich and bitter. “There are countless people in the building who would be more than willing to suck me off, Sapnap, and I have no doubt they’d do it better than some cocky virgin. Get on your knees.”

Sapnap slips off the bed, settles on his knees, the carpet rough against his bare skin. He examines George’s bruised neck and hopes his knees will match it.

“I’m not going to be gentle just because you’ve never done it before,” George tells him. Warns him? “If you want me to stop you’re gonna tap my leg, okay, hit it a couple times and I’ll pull out and check in with you. Got it?”

“Uh huh,” Sapnap says, nodding vigorously, eyes glued now to the tent evident in George’s sweatpants, visible even though they’re pitch black.

George pinches the brim of his hat and takes it off, flings it aside, fingers tangling through Sapnap’s hair tugging his thoughts out before he can complain. He yanks slowly, experimentally, until Sapnap lets out a pained whimper, at which point he smirks and abruptly releases his grip. Sapnap struggles to steady himself.

George tugs his sweatpants and boxers down at the same time, dick springing free, shiny and flushed. Sapnap’s hands fist by his sides, itching to touch. George’s dainty hand looks particularly small as strokes himself a couple of times, Sapnap is obsessed with the sight, wants to compare it with how his own larger hand would look wrapped around George’s thick cock.

George rubs the tip of his dick over Sapnap’s cheek, precum smearing against his beard, and Sapnap wonders if the slight scratch feels good, pinpricks of pain. George guides his dick over Sapnap’s lips, which loll open obediently.

George’s fingers settle in his hair again as he pushes in, Sapnap’s jaw straining against the intrusion, instinctive panic flickering through him as George's dick meets the back of his throat and pushes further. He stays still, though, hands rubbing at his thighs, tears pricking at his eyes as his stomach roils against the sensation, throat clenching around the intrusion.

George pauses as Sapnap gags, and he wonders if he should reach out, tap George's thigh, but there's a morbid curiosity mingling with his natural competitive nature. George’s fingers tug sharply at Sapnap’s hair, the sting of pain shivering down Sapnap’s spine. George’s hips jerk forward just a little and Sapnap's nose presses into the thatch of hair above his dick, which is now all the way into Sapnap's throat. The feeling is dizzying, Sapnap's head spinning as his body both protests and celebrates the success. George's hand moves to the back of his head, pinning him in place, and he can feel George's dick twitching in his mouth, in his throat, and he's about to whack George's leg when he starts pulling out anyway.

He doesn't take his dick fully out, lets the tip rest on Sapnap's tongue while his mouth lolls open so he can suck in desperate breaths, head clearing surprisingly quickly, leaving him with no lingering discomfort beyond a desire for again and more.

It's awful. You'll love it. George's voice echoes through his head even as he says in real life, "That was quite impressive, Sapnap, well done, good job. Good boy.”

The praise sends a shiver through Sapnap. George laughs and pushes in faster, though not quite as far this time, pushing just past the spot that sets off Sapnap's gag reflex.

As promised, he doesn't go easy.

The pace isn't quite brutal, but it's certainly not gentle, and tears quickly pool in Sapnap's eyes, stomach swooping every time George pushes a little too far a little too fast. He doesn't mind it, though, kind of likes the feeling of George's hands clenched in his hair dragging him forwards to meet the harsh snaps of his hips, kind of likes the sharp ache building in his throat, kind of likes the way the tears spill over and rush warm down his cheeks to mingle with the strings of spit dripping from his mouth. George keeps talking, good boy becoming good toy becoming good slut. The praise and degradation fades into groans of fuck, so good, and then George is pressing in right to the hilt and spilling down Sapnap's throat, cock pulsing painfully against the convulsions of Sapnap's muscles.

He's a little disappointed he doesn't get to taste, but then George pulls halfway out, like before, tip resting on Sapnap's tongue as George strokes himself a few times, pumping the rest of his cum into Sapnap's tongue. It's not great -- weird texture, bitter and salty -- but it's satisfying, knowing he made George feel so good, and he swallows with a certain pride.

George's tight grip on his hair loosens, fingers petting through the curls as he pulls out fully, dropping down to one knee with a grunt. His hand moves to stroke Sapnap's cheek, thumb swiping away the tears.

"So good," he whispers, and Sapnap tries to respond but can't manage anything more than a scratchy gasp. George chuckles softly, thumb running under Sapnap's lips and pushing the few dribbles of cum and spit he gathers into Sapnap's mouth. He sucks eagerly, George blurry through his watery eyes, blushing at the smile he sees as his vision clears.

"There you are," George says, pleased. "Stand up for me, gonna get you in bed now, yeah? Look after you for a while, make sure you're doing okay. I got a couple snacks while I was out, and a juice thing that might help your throat.”

George helps Sapnap to his feet, leading him to settle in the bed, propped up against the pillows with a blanket over his lap while George grabs the snacks from his bag. As he said, there’s a bottle of fruit juice, as well as a protein bar and a packet of chips.

George uncaps the bottle and hands it to Sapnap, who takes a careful sip, and then chugs half of it when he feels how it soothes the scratch of his throat. George holds both options up, sets the protein bar on the bedside table as he settles in next to Sapnap. He opens the bag and eats a few while Sapnap finishes the relatively small drink off, and then they sit in silence sharing the chips.

Sapnap’s pretty sure the silence is comfortable. He feels comfortable, at least, warm in his bed with George pressed softly next to him, occasionally lifting a chip to his mouth and feeding him. He hopes George feels the same, even if it is just a temporary truce in their inevitable war.

Once the chips are gone, George tosses the empty bag aside and wiggles down to lie properly, tugging Sapnap’s hoodie so he joins him.

George arranges himself around Sapnap, arm tucked under his upper back, Sapnap’s head resting on his shoulders while George’s fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear.

“You like sushi, right?” George asks, hand petting through Sapnap’s hair.

“Yeah?” Sapnap says, a little confused. Are they backtracking into awkward smalltalk? Maybe George doesn’t really know how to talk to him without trying to instigate a fight, so he’s starting simple. The idea that George wants to talk to him without just wanting an argument he knows he’ll win sits pleasant in Sapnap’s sluggish mind.

“Okay, good. You pay tonight as payment for my tutorage.” It’s said simply, like it’s obvious. Like Sapnap has no real worth to George beyond the help he was hired for and the meaningless sex they just had.

“I thought I already gave you your payment,” Sapnap jokes, trying to alleviate his upset.

“No,” George laughs. He squeezes Sapnap a little closer. He isn’t sure what to make of it. “You pay for dinner tonight and we’ll call it even.”

“I can just pay you,” Sapnap says weakly, because he doesn’t think he can stand a whole dinner alone with George. They’ll go back to snapping at each other with biting insults that George always has the upper hand with, and each punch will hurt even more now that he’s had a taste of the strange softness George currently has. Dextrous fingers tender in his hair, warm body pressed snugly against his, voice low and almost kind.

George hums vaguely. “When’s your next assignment due?”

“Next Friday,” Sapnap says, confused again. He figures George is probably used to the weird gooey sleepiness that’s buzzing through him right now, because George has done exactly this with who knows how many people, and that’s why he’s thinking about other things, and it seems all over the place to Sapnap but if he could actually think properly right now he’d probably get it.

“Okay. When you’ve passed that assignment, we’ll go out again and I’ll pay.”

Maybe he wouldn’t get it. What? The fuck? “Huh? Why? Like to celebrate?”

When he or Dream gets a particularly good grade they’ll go out sometimes, get a fancy dessert or something. Maybe Dream does that with George as well sometimes? Or told him about it?

“No, like. Go out. On a date. Idiot.”

Sapnap’s brain chooses to focus on the idiot for several seconds, trying to come up with an answering insult, before the rest of the words are properly processed in his brain.

“What?” he breathes out.

“I’d like to take you out on a date, Sapnap. You be a gentleman and pay for the first one and then I’ll pay for the second.”

“Why?” Sapnap says, slightly embarrassed by how genuinely befuddled he sounds.

“Because I like you?” George says, as if it’s obvious.

“But… you don’t,” Sapnap says. “Do you?”

“I like you a lot. You’re very fun to talk to.”

“We don’t… talk, though. You just make fun of me and I yell at you,” Sapnap says.

There’s a pause filled by a soft hum from George. “I only make fun of you because you’re cute when you’re annoyed. Cuter than usual. I can stop if you want me to. Well, I won’t stop, like, being kind of instigative, but I can be nice as well. I won’t be mean all the time.”

Sapnap mulls it over in his head. He feels kind of stupid about it, like he’s got a fucking 24-carat diamond in his hand and he’s examining it closely, deciding whether he should keep it or toss it aside to be snatched up by someone else.

“If we go out to dinner tonight and I don’t end up wanting to throttle you, I’ll pay,” Sapnap says.

“Fair enough,” George says, laughing. He’s so warm and close and real and Sapnap can’t get enough of it. He’s never been so close to anyone before, not like this, skin on skin and warmth blooming through him like liquid light. “Have you ever dated someone before?”

“No,” Sapnap says timidly. “Would we be dating?”

“If you’d like,” George says.

“Would you?”

“Would I like to date you?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says.

“Yes,” George says. “I would. Look, Sapnap, this is going to sound dumb and cliche, but… I know you’re aware of my reputation. Not the best. I’ve never really dated anyone either. But I think it would be fun to try it with you. We can figure it out together.”

“Together,” Sapnap echoes. “That sounds nice.”

It feels like a foolish thing to say, but George just smiles and tugs him closer, pulling him half on top of him so their legs are slotted together, Sapnap’s face laying on George’s shoulder. It’s nice. Everything feels nice right now, George’s arms around him and their bare legs tangled like the fresh stems in a flower crown and their mouths close enough that they’re probably sharing the same air, almost.

“Yeah, I think so too,” George says, quiet, tilting his head to press a kiss to the top of Sapnap’s head. “I like your hair. It’s soft. Nice to touch.”

“Nice to yank on as well, apparently,” Sapnap laughs.

“Well, yeah. But I like playing with it as well. It’s like… I don’t know. I’ve never really played with someone’s hair before.”

“Really? So I’m special?”

“You’re very special, darling,” George says, with perfect sincerity. “I remember when we first met, you and Dream were arguing about American football and I thought it was so dumb but then I couldn’t stop looking at you. Your cheeks went all red because you were annoyed… and then by the end I decided I agreed with you even though I didn’t even know what on earth you were on about.”

“I remember that. You were like, ‘you’re both dumb but Dream is more dumb’.”

“I actually said, ‘you’re both idiots but Sapnap is less of an idiot’. I remember saying it. And you tilted your head and squinted at me all confused. Your nose scrunched up. I wanted to… I don’t even know. You blush so easily.”

“Well,” Sapnap argues, and then can’t think of an argument. “No.”

“Yes,” George teases. “You do. It’s cute.”

“You’re cute,” Sapnap grumbles.

“Thank you. Are you sleepy? I’m sleepy. We should have a nap. Or I can have a nap and you can watch me sleep, it’ll be great.”

“You’re so weird,” Sapnap says, nose scrunching up. “I could nap. Nap and then dinner?”

“You’re a visionary. A genius, if you will. Are you comfy?”

“I guess,” Sapnap says, as if he’s not the cosiest he’s ever been in his whole damn life.

“Good,” George says, impossibly soft. “I’m glad. I want you to be comfortable, darling.”