Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s warm all around him, like steam in a sauna drawing prickles of sweat from his skin. It’s almost uncomfortable, unbearable , but the discomfort lies beneath a shadow of want . 

More warmth, against the side of his face. George’s mouth opens on instinct around a gasp, and the heat from the large, rough hand trails down his jaw. 

“Wider,” Sapnap whispers, gruff. 

George’s lips part further, and a different type of warmth fills his abdomen as the hand moves, and a thumb is pressed into his mouth. 

He closes his mouth, wraps his lips around Sapnap’s thumb. These are the hands that touch George often, the hands that have learned his body. The same hands that push and pull, poke and prod. George knows these hands well. 

He can feel himself falling, similarly to how it feels on a rollercoaster, like his insides are weightless. His body recognizes the danger. 

He pulls back, letting the thumb slip from between his lips. They’re moving, he’s nudging Sapnap’s shoulder, he’s fight-or-flight ing. He’s not sure which of the two this is.

Their positions switch; George brackets Sapnap’s wider hips with his thighs. The adrenaline coursing through his veins provides him with something that appears as confidence.

He cocks his head, admires the freckles adorning Sapnap’s reddened cheeks. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he whispers, as if it’s a secret. 

He knows the answer already — of course he does. Their push-and-pull is a dynamic that is familiar to everyone around them, but it’s their little secret that it bleeds into the bedroom as well. He rarely asks Sapnap questions that he doesn’t already know the answer to, because he knows Sapnap like he knows his favorite childhood book. With its worn pages and fading pictures, he always knows what happens next. 

Sapnap’s freckles contrast his increasing blush beautifully. It’s only up close that they’re really visible. Despite the fight for control they have every time they fall into bed, despite sharp tongues and rough hands, George thinks that if he could curl up small enough, he’d like to live on one of Sapnap’s freckles. Or maybe all of them; he’d jump from dot to dot like a frog on lily pads. 

“Fuck off,” Sapnap snarks, and George grins wolfishly. Now this is familiar. This is safe. 

It isn’t always on purpose. Sometimes, it’s a subconscious act of self-defense, the way George plays everything safe. Sometimes, playing it safe makes him come off in ways that are the opposite of the warmth around him right now: the warmth on his thighs and ass where he’s sitting atop Sapnap, the warmth on his palms which rest on his chest. The warmth in the air, formed from a mixture of lust and desire. Sometimes, playing it safe makes him cold. 

Tense. Rigid. Mean . 

But that’s all it is: the perception of coldness. George is not cold, and Sapnap cannot be frozen. He is not tense or rigid, not with Sapnap’s hands on his body. 

“Sapnap,” he chides, singsong-y. The younger man has a flame in his eye that sparks something deep inside of George. He loves this. They both do.

“Shut up , George,” he hisses, but George can tell that he’s close to breaking, close to succumbing to the heat and melting down until he’s putty. George knows. He knows exactly how to heat and mold him. 

“Say it,” he demands, not unkindly. 

“ Yes ,” Sapnap spits, fingers digging into George’s hips. 

Although George has every inch of Sapnap’s body memorized, knows what he feels like and how he likes to be touched, each time they come together like this he can’t help but relish in all the sights. Sapnap’s flushed cheeks, his spit-slick and parted lips, the heave of his chest and the dark hair that’s spread across it. He always takes his time, touching and feeling the places he already knows. It’s not enough to be used to touching Sapnap. He wants to know what each individual hair on his body feels like against the pad of his finger, and wants to spend hours and hours mapping him out by the millimeter. He wants his tongue to always be coated with the taste of him. He wants to breathe Sapnap. Live inside of him.

“ George ,” Sapnap whispers, annoyance clear in his tone. He can’t help himself from this position. Observing how Sapnap reacts to every barely-distinguishable touch from George is mesmerizing. It’s something he’ll never grow bored of. 

“Patience,” is all he says, anticipating the roll of Sapnap’s eyes that he knows is all for show. Sapnap likes to be good, especially if it’s for George. 

They both enjoy the bit of fight he puts up, without fail, every time they do this. It makes it that much more fun. Every touch is amplified with sizzling fingertips, embers trailed along pale skin. That’s not to say George doesn’t adore it when Sapnap’s finally melted down and pliant — obedient — but they both love how George forces him to get there. 

He cocks his head as he takes in the sight below him, focusing on the sensation of tightening fingers on his hips. He likes to take it slow, so he can see each minute reaction Sapnap has until he gets to the point he can’t conceal them anymore. Until he breaks.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, grinding on the hardened length underneath his ass. They still have pants and boxers on, so he knows Sapnap won’t feel any real pleasure from the movement, but the way the younger’s lips part to release a quiet huff as he moves satisfies him nonetheless. 

He knows that Sapnap is feeling particularly feisty tonight, natural tendencies to challenge and compete intensified. George knows him, knows his buttons, knows his weaknesses. It’s not an unfair exploitation of them when he leans down to nose against Sapnap’s jaw, a soft movement that has the younger turning his head to give George better access. He opens his mouth so Sapnap can feel the warmth of his breath brushing against his neck, and he relishes in the shiver of his body and hitch of his breath. He grins, still not pressing his lips to the skin, merely nosing along it in a way that acts as a tease. It’s a whisper of what Sapnap could be feeling, if George were to relent and trail plump lips and a wet tongue along his skin instead. 

“Look at you,” he whispers, his awed tone coated in sarcasm. “So obedient. So desperate. Huh, Pup?” He knows his voice is low and soft, that Sapnap can probably feel his words as they’re spoken against the shell of his ear. 

Sapnap sighs, like he’s holding back an even prettier sound. George loves his sounds. If he could, he’d put them all on vinyl and play them on loop in the music box in his brain. Not aloud, because they’re only for him to hear.

“C’mon. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” George teases, darting his tongue out once to lick the salt from Sapnap’s skin. 

If anyone were to ask, he’d say the action was to push Sapnap closer to the edge, urging him to fall and shatter for George. He’d never admit that things like that — licking and smelling and tasting and closeness — are self-indulgent, something George craves when it’s been a couple days and he’s surrounded by the darkness of his lonesome room. He wants to shrink and crawl into Sapnap’s chest from between two of his ribs and build a little hut beside his heart. The beat of it would soothe George, he thinks. 

Sapnap doesn’t push, though he does protest; he says “ George ,” once again, except this time it’s whiny and sounds more like a plea than a demand. George grins, bites softly at the edge of Sapnap’s jaw just under his ear. He makes sure his tone is sultry and unable to defy when he says next, “ Oh , sweet little thing. Let yourself go for me, hm? Be good and tell me you want me to fuck you. Don’t you wanna be my good little puppy?” He nibbles on the lobe of Sapnap’s ear when he finishes, and doesn’t miss his small whimper. He smirks again, this time with certainty that he’s won. 

He pulls back, sitting straight again and waiting for Sapnap to meet his eyes. 

More warmth, when he does. It pools in George’s abdomen, swirls around his pelvis and reminds him of the strain against his boxers. He watches Sapnap’s lidded eyes roam over his body, dilated pupils drinking in every inch. 

“Yeah,” Sapnap whispers, breathy. George is confused for a brief second, too lost in his admiration for the younger man that he nearly forgot what he’d asked for. It seems Sapnap’s just on the edge, head rapidly filling with a fog that leaves his limbs heavy, and once they finally become weighted enough they’ll drag him off of it and he’ll land right where George wants him. 

Sapnap swallows. George watches the movement of his Adam’s apple intently. “Yeah,” he says again, “I want you, George.” George’s chest swells with pride at how easy Sapnap is for him. Only for him. Although, Sapnap knows what George likes just as much as George knows Sapnap, and this response isn’t good enough. Sapnap knows this. He’s still got a bit of fight left, and George is determined to smother it until it’s nothing but a cold pile of ash. 

“Want me to…?” George taunts, playing with the chain necklace Sapnap wears and deliberately letting his knuckles graze his skin. Sapnap’s lips purse into a line, and George oh-so-slowly trails dainty fingers along his collarbones, and stops once they’re settled at the base of his neck. He watches more of that tulip-pink blush appear under his eyes, yet he makes no sound.

He places his palm over Sapnap’s throat, fingers on either side. He can feel Sapnap’s pulse thrumming under his fingertips and he has the urge to replace his fingers with his tongue, to feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Swallow him whole, if he could. Sapnap remains defiantly silent, though his eyes are getting blacker, and his lips have parted in anticipation for the dizziness that George’s fingers often bring. 

George knows that’s what Sapnap’s hoping for. He thinks he’s tricking George into giving him what he wants. However when George squeezes over the arteries on the sides of Sapnap’s neck and the younger’s eyes roll back in his head, George knows it’s he who’s playing the long game.

Sapnap’s face begins to redden deeper than his fluster, and when he cants his hips up George lets go. Sapnap breathes heavily, taking a few moments before opening his eyes. They’re no longer just lidded; they’re glassy, hazy. His pupils are wide and black, his cheeks are flushed crimson and his mouth is open, lips slick with spit. George wants to taste it.

The things George wants to do are disgusting, he thinks. If he were to let himself indulge in all his sick fantasies, he thinks it’d scratch an itch so deep within his brain that he’d never be the same again. He’d be ruined for anyone else. 

He thinks he already is.

“Please, George,” Sapnap breathes, high and whiny in the way George is so used to, now. It switches something inside of him, plummeting into a specific headspace within seconds. 

“Please what, mutt?” he coos, tone dripping with sweetness yet paired with harsh words, a contrast guaranteed to shatter Sapnap like glass against tile. 

His eyes widen, and he pouts so adorably George nearly falters. “N-no, George, ‘m good ,” he scrambles, clutching at George’s hips desperately. It’s not a challenge, it’s a plea; he wants to be good. He wants to be George’s sweet little puppy. 

George has him right where he wants him, miniscule and under his thumb, awaiting the inevitable. He’s officially gone — broken, shattered, gleaming , waiting for George’s skilled hands to pick up the pieces and eventually put him back together. 

“Yeah? You think you’re good?” George taunts. There’s obvious doubt in Sapnap’s eyes and a millisecond of hesitation before he responds, which means that he’s learning . 

“Yes,” he whispers, quiet because he knows that George is going to tell him exactly why he isn’t good. It still makes George smirk, though, the need that Sapnap has to be good for him. For him . Fuzzy pride tries to overwhelm his chest at the thought, the idea of Sapnap being his . More than just during tension-filled nights, more than this . And that’s a thought he can’t allow himself to have. It’s one that makes this far too dangerous. 

George cocks his head, admires the timid hazel eyes below him. 

“Open your mouth,” he demands, cock twitching when the younger obeys immediately. He brings his fingers to Sapnap’s jaw, cups his chin softly with his thumb on one cheek and his four fingers on the other. He leans down until his cheek is pressed against Sapnap’s, so his quiet words are spoken directly into his ear. 

“You’re nothing but a filthy mutt ,” he spits. Venom coats his tongue, drips off of it in lethal doses. Sapnap tenses, but George isn’t finished. “Look at you,” he scoffs meanly, “you’re a whore . You’re fucking desperate for it.” His fingers are tightening, indenting the skin of Sapnap’s cheeks with their pressure. “You wouldn’t know how to be good if I gave you step-by-step instructions. Would you? No, because you’re bad , Sapnap. And that’s all you’ll ever be. Isn’t it? A needy little slut. Nothing but a fucking cocksleeve waiting to be filled.” 

Sapnap’s mouth is still open when George straightens, and he isn’t moving. Isn’t reacting . When he tears his eyes away from Sapnap’s tongue to glance at the rest of his face, he notices a new wetness to his eyes. But they haven’t even done anything yet, so that means it can’t be from overwhelming pleasure. His stomach twists, and it’s different from how it twists when Sapnap’s sobbing in pleasure and begging George to let him cum. It’s ugly . It constricts the rest of his organs and makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Sapnap?” 

The younger swallows, and George can feel it on the side of his hand, which he then quickly removes from Sapnap’s face. 

“Um,” Sapnap starts, curt. It’s small in a weak way. A hurt way. It makes George feel like he’s been completely cut-out, like Sapnap has closed every door to himself and bolted them down. He’s never felt this before. He doesn’t like it. It feels like he’s being left in the dark, cold and shivering under lock-and-key. It’s uncomfortable and unenjoyable and it makes him want to flee, seek shelter in the confines of his own dark bedroom.

Sapnap is obviously trying to hide his expression, but he doesn’t totally succeed. George can’t put a name to what he’s feeling. The only word that comes to mind is bad , ironically. Sapnap’s gone soft, and George is on his way there, too. Another part of him is seized with guilt, yet he says nothing. 

“Um,” Sapnap repeats, a little more firmly, like he’s returned to his head. “Sorry. Uh. I don’t know what happened. I, uh, I’m pretty tired, actually. I think I might just… go to bed. If that’s okay.” 

This isn’t a drop. George has seen Sapnap drop enough times to know that this is something different. Something much bigger, and much meaner. His mouth runs dry when he realizes that this is because of him , because of his addiction to having Sapnap at his mercy. 

George’s heart tries to claw its way out of his chest and into Sapnap’s hands, desperate to show him he didn’t mean it. He thinks about taking it back, telling Sapnap he’s good , but that wouldn’t suffice and he doesn’t know what would. He feels a little panicked, like there’s something he needs to say, but there aren’t any words forming in his brain. His palms are sweating. 

He flushes under the shame of rejection. This is too big to brush off as nothing that bruises his ego; Sapnap is closing himself off and turning George away like a stray. He clears his throat. 

“Um— yeah. Yeah, of course.” Awkwardly, he climbs off of Sapnap’s lap and tries not to make the bed move too much. When he’s standing with his discarded shirt now balled up in front of himself, starts walking toward the door. He pauses and turns back toward Sapnap who’s barely watching him, and whatever infected his mind and forced him to hesitate disappears. He leaves without another word and closes the door softly behind himself, feeling like the air in Sapnap’s room could be disturbed by a singular too-loud noise, butterfly effect-ing and causing unmendable disaster. 

He doesn’t think about it. He retreats to his bedroom and closes his door and gets in his bed and he doesn’t think about it. 

It’s easy, the weightlessness that comes with coldness. He knows that his lack of guilt and remorse can’t be labeled as anything but. That doesn’t phase him though — he knows he isn’t cold with Sapnap, not really.

How could he be, when the thought of the younger man makes George feel like his insides are on fire? When their skin touches, and sparks ignite? If George is cold, frozen, then Sapnap must be a flame, melting him. 

There is a difference between being cold and being smart. George is the latter. Why would he waste time dwelling on a situation and feeling shitty when he could simply just not? There’s no use in replaying the scenario in his head. There’s no use in feeling bad about it. For all he knows, Sapnap truly is just tired. Maybe he’s even asleep already. George refuses to work himself into a spiral of guilt over something that could very well be nothing. 

Undoubtedly, he tells himself, Sapnap will talk to him if it was anything more. And if he doesn’t, then George isn’t to blame. He can’t be expected to read Sapnap’s mind, after all. 

It isn’t difficult to let the negative emotions disappear; George has spent two decades mastering suppression and concealment. He simply does not think about things that are easier not to think about. He can flip a switch inside of his brain, and whatever thoughts are flooding his head begin to drain like he’s unplugged the sink after washing dishes. Anything complicated, anything anxiety-inducing, each thought swirls down, down, down until they’re gone through the drain. 

However, he is not stupid. He empties his brain to avoid spirals and sweaty palms and uncomfortable conversations, but that doesn’t erase his awareness of the thoughts he ignores. He knows they exist. He knows they’re there , still, hidden away in the pipes. A voice in the back of his mind.

Even though he shut off all of the bad , Sapnap is still there. In his mind, through phantom-touches, in George’s core. He thinks that metaphorically, Sapnap has planted a piece of himself inside of George. It would make sense, then, why he can’t stop thinking about him. Why he can’t stop feeling him, even when he isn’t there. 

It’s incredibly and insufferably frustrating. 

It makes him feel completely out of control. It’s like all of the years he’s spent mastering that numbness have flown out the window. In all the nights that he’s tiptoed back to his room after fucking Sapnap, he’s never felt like this . 

Consumed by thoughts and feelings about Sapnap, so strong they’re almost tangible in the air surrounding him. He unplugs his brain’s sink, but when he looks away for one second, the drain gets clogged with filth and gunk, a build-up of residual feelings he constantly ignores. The sink won’t empty and there’s nothing he can do about it except reach down and scrape out all the muck, which in turn means acknowledging those built-up feelings. 

It’s unfair. Had Sapnap not kicked him out, he wouldn’t be dealing with all this inner turmoil right now. With a simple sentence, Sapnap took all of George’s control from him. He could’ve just talked to him if something he said bothered him. Why is he suddenly the bad guy? 

Bitter resentment builds in his chest; relationships are a two-way street. Sapnap needs to communicate . But instead, he kicked George out with no explanation and shut him out. 

A brief flare of panic settles in George’s chest at the thought that follows: what if Sapnap shuts him out for good? What if he’s decided he doesn’t want George anymore? Now that he has all the power, he could lock the door and never let George back inside. 

A wave of frustration takes over as his lack of control is rubbed in his face. He feels on-edge, and he doesn’t know how to move forward. He doesn’t like being stuck in places of uncertainty. All he knows for sure is that he needs to get some control back. Relationships — friendships — are fifty-fifty, and it’s not fair for Sapnap to have all of the power in theirs. He needs to get Sapnap back. Particularly, back to the place that George likes having him, and the place that he knows Sapnap likes being in. 

Over the span of the next couple weeks, thoughts about their last hookup drifts toward the back of George’s mind. Between filming with Sam and Colby, filming with Bella, trips to L.A., and streaming whenever he gets the chance, he hasn’t even had time to think about Sapnap. They’ve seen each other, sure, but they haven’t spent time together. 

Now, finally, he’s back home and his schedule is clear for at least another week. He spent the last couple days catching up on some much-needed rest and quality time with Patches, but now that his internal battery is recharged, everything he hasn’t had time for drifts back to the forefront of his mind. 

Including Sapnap. 

George is pretty good at reading the younger man, which is something he prides himself on and uses to his advantage. They’ve barely had a conversation over the past couple weeks, but during their few small exchanges about groceries or Patches, he hadn’t sensed any malice. Though realistically, he knows that a few one-minute debriefs isn’t enough time to analyze Sapnap and pick up on any tension. There’s only one way to find out. 

He rolls out of bed and pads over to their shared bathroom, brushes the sour taste from his mouth and even throws on some deodorant. He runs a hand through his hair in the mirror and notices he could use a shower, but ultimately decides that it can wait. He goes pee, and when he’s done he runs his hands under the tap and uses the water to try and tame his hair a bit, which he counts as washing his hands and feels sneaky pride bubble up like he cheated the system. 

He doesn’t bother changing out of his sleep clothes — a worn t-shirt and a pair of briefs — because even if Sapnap’s mad at him or something it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He’s looking a little rough; maybe his bare legs will distract Sapnap from his greasy hair. 

He heads into the hallway and decides to check Sapnap’s bedroom first since there’s still a few hours before he usually streams. He doesn’t bother knocking, because he never does, and Sapnap stopped getting mad about it quickly after they started hooking up. At this point he might as well just always be prepared for George to come in. 

Sapnap’s sitting at his desk using his laptop, scrolling through Twitter by the looks of it. He has headphones on and doesn’t hear George enter. He closes the door and then walks over to Sapnap and tugs his headphones off of one ear. 

Sapnap jumps, clearly startled, and it makes George smile. The younger man turns around quickly, his startled expression turning into a glare as he meets George’s eyes. 

“Christ, George. You scared me.”

He doesn’t sound actually pissed, so George goes and makes himself at home on the younger man’s bed. His back rests against the headboard and he laces his fingers together on his stomach, notices the cautious look on Sapnap’s face. 

He turns back to his laptop after a moment, like he realized George wasn’t going to say anything. The brunet huffs dramatically. 

“Sapnap, I’m bored. Hang out with me.” 

Sapnap’s fingers twitch where they hover over his keyboard. George only notices because he’s spent a lot of time studying the younger man, and he’s seen that movement before. 

“I’m busy, George.” 

“No you’re not,” he scoffs, “you’re literally on Twitter.”

Come on. He can do better than that. Is he playing hard to get or something? He goes two weeks without George’s attention so now he’s trying to make him work for it?

“Yeah well I— I’m streaming soon. I don’t have time.” 

Hm. His voice is a little smaller, like he knows that George can tell he’s bullshitting. The corner of George’s mouth quirks up with amusement and he says, “Liar. It’s not even two.” 

Sapnap sighs sharply, his shoulders suddenly tensing with frustration. The hand that’s resting on his desk curls into a fist. The smirk drops from George’s face as he prepares for Sapnap to yell at him. He must be having one of those days where everything George does annoys him. Usually it’s just because he wants George to fuck it out of him and they’ll have awesome rough sex, but the older man has too much pride to initiate something first after last time. Sapnap will get desperate enough eventually. 

He doesn’t explode, though, which is a little surprising. He just spins his chair around so he’s facing George, lips pursed into a thin line like he’s holding something back. He looks at George with a hardened stare for a moment, and it almost intrigues him. Sapnap isn’t one for bottling things up, letting George get away with pissing him off. It’s a little concerning, he supposes. 

“George, I don’t want to hang out,” Sapnap says after a tense moment, voice forcibly calm. 

And George knows it’s the worst thing to do, but honestly, considering their usual banter, the visible self-restraint in the younger man’s body language is funny. He can’t help himself, it makes him chuckle. 

The reaction is immediate. Something dangerous ignites within Sapnap’s eyes, a mix of anger and annoyance. It looks like he winces, but the scowl that appears on his face makes George think it was more of a recoil. 

Gone is the intentionally calm tone as Sapnap spits, “You’re such a fucking dick.” 

Okay, clearly Sapnap is mad. Jesus Christ, George wants to roll his eyes. Why is he being such a baby? 

He furrows his eyebrows, feigning oblivion, “Because I want to hang out with you?” 

He raises his voice, “Because you don’t give a shit about what anyone else wants. Or needs. Ever. You’re so fucking—”

He cuts himself off and looks to the side, takes a breath like he’s composing himself. Something in his expression suggests that he regrets saying anything at all.

He meets George’s eyes again. “You’re selfish.” 

That one confuses him for real. How the fuck can he call George selfish when everything he does is for Sapnap? He’s spent so much time learning the other man, learning who he is and what he likes and—

“Oh, fuck off with that kicked puppy look. I’m not falling for it, George. Not anymore.” 

His voice comes out small and timid when he says, “I don’t understand why you’re so mad. All I did was ask you to hang out, and you’re—”

Sapnap cuts him off, “You know that’s not all you did.” A second passes and then he laughs incredulously, shakes his head and looks at the ceiling for a moment. “You’re like— you’re like literally gaslighting me right now. This is fucked.” 

He props an elbow up on his desk, covers his mouth with his hand while he watches George. The older man feels like he’s the one being studied now, but it’s clearly not for the same reasons. He hates it. 

Anger climbs up his throat like bile, making his face and eyes feel hot. He feels his defenses rising as his hold on his composure begins to slip. 

Sapnap must see it on his face because he drops his hand from his face, straightening a bit as his shoulders tense once again like he’s preparing for the blow. That almost angers George more, that Sapnap thinks he can predict how George is going to react, and that he assumes the worst. 

“Why are you being such a bitch?” he asks, tone harsh. 

The sheer rage that takes over Sapnap’s demeanor is so intense that George actually thinks he might hit him for a second. But no, all he does is grip the arms of his chair and look George dead in the face. 

“Get the fuck out.” 

George scoffs disbelievingly, “No, Sapnap, I can’t read your mind. You have to— fucking— communicate, if you—”

Sapnap’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “I have to communicate? You degrade me and grind me to a pulp when I’ve been nothing but good, when I’ve done nothing but try to satisfy you, meet your expectations, and when I’m very obviously upset by it, you — once again — act like a kicked puppy and then basically ignore me for two weeks, and I’m the one who needs to communicate?” He scoffs meanly. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I knew you wouldn’t apologize, and I’m not shocked you didn’t even think to check if I was okay. But to not even— acknowledge it? To act like it didn’t even fucking happen, and then act all innocent with your stupid fucking puppy dog eyes like you’re a fucking victim ? No. Fuck you. I dunno if our other friends fall for that shit, but we both know you’re not that dumb, George. I’m not gonna just let it fucking slide this time.” 

George’s brain stalls for a moment after the initial shock of Sapnap’s outpour. 

Wow. Okay. That’s a lot to process. He doesn’t even know where to begin. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? 

His defenses are fully heightened, and Sapnap’s harsh words feel almost like betrayal. After everything. After everything George has done for him, after all the time they’ve spent together getting to know each other intimately, after George let Sapnap in, closer than anyone else has ever gotten, this is what he has to say about him? 

“How could I— how could I have possibly known you were upset? I wasn’t ignoring you, idiot, I was busy. With work. I’ve barely been home.” 

Sapnap’s expression changes then. He doesn’t quite look disappointed, but it almost looks as though some form of hope he’d had disappears. It’s clear that whatever had been fueling his anger fizzles out, as he drops his shoulders and the emotion in his eyes changes. It looks similar to defeat. 

“Whatever, George. I’m not doing this.” His voice lacks all the intensity it had moments ago; now it’s just quiet and sad. 

“Sapnap—” he cuts himself off because he isn’t sure where he was going with that. He’s angry, sure, but strangely he doesn’t want to push Sapnap any further. He thinks that defending himself or explaining his perspective or getting mad at him would only make this worse. This isn’t like their regular arguments. 

Sapnap is passionate. He’s all loud voices and solid morals and strong opinions, never one to back down. So to see him look so… hopeless, well, it isn’t something George is used to. 

“Just go,” he says, when George doesn’t continue.

He isn’t even looking at him anymore, and instantly he’s reminded of their last hookup where his demeanor was the same. Sad, defeated, small.  

George doesn’t want to leave. He just wants them to be normal again. What does Sapnap want from him? He’s here. He’ll take whatever harsh words the younger man throws at him, and he’ll even be nice afterward. How are they supposed to fix this if Sapnap won’t even be in the same room as him? 

“Sapnap,” he starts, searching for the words to convey that to him. 

He doesn’t even get to try, because Sapnap looks at him again, and presses, “George, please. Please just go.” 

His eyes are pleading, and his expression is guarded like he doesn’t want George to know the depths of what he’s feeling. Like he’s protecting himself. From George. 

He almost wants to refuse, to stay in Sapnap’s bed surrounded by his presence and his boyish scent, so he can figure out how to fix everything. Sapnap would have to give in and tell him what he wants eventually, right? 

But it’s obvious that he doesn’t trust George right now. He doesn’t find comfort in George’s presence like he normally does. He doesn’t feel safe to let his guard down. 

So that means George needs to gain that trust back. Get him to lower the walls he’s put up. Like he said, get him back to where they both like him to be.

Okay, that’s a start. At least George knows where to start — which he thinks might be the only reason he actually listens, standing from Sapnap’s bed and walking timidly to the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder. No better time to start than now.

“Are you okay?” 

Sapnap looks up at him, distrusting. 

“No,” he admits. 

George struggles awkwardly. “Can I help?” 

“No.” 

George purses his lips, tilts his head down as he turns the knob and leaves Sapnap’s room. 

He doesn’t bother him for the next couple days. He hopes it’s obvious that he’s giving Sapnap space, letting him process and all that. On day three, though, he really starts to get antsy. 

The initial anger has mostly subsided, because Sapnap tends to overreact and say shit he doesn’t mean. George can let go of that if it means going back to how they were. He’s had this weird sense of unease in his chest ever since their conversation the other day, like an itch crawling underneath the layers of his skin.

This is new territory. They’ve never had a real fight like this before. And if George wasn’t so sure he’ll be able to get the other man to warm back up to him again, he’d genuinely worry about having to move back to England. 

He so badly wants to be angry at the younger man for shutting him out. He wants to dish it right back and refuse to seek him out. He wants to ignore him until he comes crawling back, apologizing for kicking him out and begging to be fucked again. 

He really tries. He replays Sapnap’s cold words on a loop in his head, he pictures the way he wouldn’t even look at him afterward. He focuses all of his energy into turning everything he feels into anger. 

It doesn’t work. 

He can’t get past the warmth of Sapnap’s body and the fire in his eyes and the way he comes apart for George so nicely. He can’t get past the meaningless fight for dominance, the push and pull, the way they just know each other, physically and spiritually. 

He knows Sapnap. He knows his body; knows the spot behind his earlobe that makes him gasp, knows how to flick his wrist just right to make his legs shake, knows exactly where to curl his fingers inside of him to make his spine arch off the bed. He knows smaller things, too. Innocent things, like how he likes to be held, how he likes for George to lay on top of him and settle all his weight there. He knows that his mouth purses into a thin line when he’s angry, that his hands clench at his sides when he’s stressed, that he runs a hand over his beard as a self-soothing habit.

He knows Sapnap better than anyone. He takes care of him, and there’s no one else who could do it better than himself. He gives Sapnap what he needs until he’s barely verbal, flushed and fucked-out and brainless in his bed. He’s all Sapnap needs. 

But it’s not enough to know him like this, and to take care of him. George wants to be the heart that pumps blood throughout Sapnap’s body, keeps his lungs moving and his body warm and oxygen moving throughout it. He doesn’t just want to be all Sapnap needs; he wants to actively be needed by the younger man, all of the time. 

He wants all of Sapnap. For himself. He thinks of tipping a glass upside down and catching every last drop of liquid onto his outstretched tongue. If Sapnap were condensed into a glass of water, that’s what he’d do. And maybe some people would say that’s selfish, but George doesn’t think so. Not when he gives so much of himself to Sapnap — more than he’s ever given anyone. 

He’s pissed Sapnap off before, obviously. That’s no secret. And usually pouting and sucking up to him wins him back over, breaks him down and targets his weakness: wanting to be wanted by George. Cherished and worshiped by him. But this time is different, and the subject of sex is touchy. George isn’t going to mess it up by offering a blowjob to mend his wounds or whatever. Even though he gives good head and it’d probably work. 

He wouldn’t ever admit he misses Sapnap, but he can’t deny that going from having sex and hanging out with him often to nothing, not even ordering takeout together or anything, is a noticeable change. A bad one. It’s not even like they were friends with benefits and the benefits have been taken away; the whole thing has been taken away. He’s being punished, and Sapnap won’t tell him how to make up for it. 

He feels the loss deep in his gut. 

He decides to try his luck, the festering discomfort and unease becoming unbearable. He sighs, sprawled out on his bed, and navigates to Sapnap’s messages on his phone. 

George

How can I make it up to you

He runs the pad of his thumb over the volume buttons on the side of his phone, feeling a spark of hope and relief when he sees the little bubble pop up that indicates Sapnap is typing. He types for long enough that George starts to get distracted, mind wandering aimlessly down a senseless trail of thoughts. He sighs as the bubble disappears, and then reappears. Jesus, how long is the list of things George has to do to repay him? 

Finally, after what feels like an hour, his response appears. 

Sap

its not about making it up to me and the fact that you cant see that is the problem 

George groans. He’s trying to make things right and Sapnap is speaking in riddles. He sighs and purses his lips, deciding to loosen his tight hold on his dignity by just a smidge so Sapnap will know he’s serious about fixing this. 

George

I don’t know what you mean

I didn’t mean to hurt you 

I just want to know how to fix it 

Sap

i seriously cant tell if youre acting dumb on purpose to avoid apologizing or some shit or if youre genuinely just stupid

like can you try and see this from my perspective? 

and understand where im coming from 

A brief flare of annoyance passes through George’s chest, not even at the insults, but at the feeling that Sapnap’s just drawing this out. Blowing it out of proportion to make George feel bad so he can get something from him. He’s able to remind himself that Sapnap isn’t really the type of person to do that, and sometimes things that seem small to others can strike an insecurity and really hit home for him. 

George’s eyes light up at that thought. Okay. That’s what he means by seeing his perspective. He can do that. Admitting that he did something bad by being careless with his words in bed might bruise George’s ego a bit, but if that’s really what Sapnap wants then he’ll get it over with. That’s all he needed to know. He just needed to know what to say. 

George  

I made you feel bad? And made you feel like I didn’t care

I do care Sap. It was heat of the moment and afterwards I thought you wanted space. And then I really was just busy 

I didn’t know it was this big for you or I would’ve done things differently

Sap

what would you have done differently? 

He wasn’t expecting that question. He thinks back to their argument, to all of the things Sapnap said when he finally burst. 

George

Well I wouldn’t have said those things in the first place if I knew it would hurt you 

But I would’ve checked if you were okay 

And asked what you needed from me, given you reassurance

He debates tacking on a couple cornier messages, like how he wishes he did those things and regrets that he didn’t. He decides to see how Sapnap responds first, and if he needs to play up the sappy shit then he will. 

Sap

it really sucked george 

you know i get like 

idk. you know that shit affects me 

George

I know

I fucked up 

He bites at the skin on his thumb in anticipation, feeling hope brew in his abdomen at the way this conversation is going. It’s not completely better yet, obviously, but the lack of argument and the fact that Sapnap’s talking to him at all is good. It’s one step closer. 

Sap

yeah you did. and honestly dude its concerning that you didnt see that until i yelled in your face 

George

I know

I was being an idiot 

Sap

yeah.

George worries his lip between his teeth, an unfamiliar sensation of nerves erupting near his lungs as he types out his next text. He’s taking a leap here — Sapnap could start to calm down a little, or he could respond with another speech about how George doesn’t care about him. He wants to scoff at the ridiculous idea. 

George

Can I come to your room? 

It’s like he’s a teenager admitting he has a crush or something. He hates the feeling of walking on thin ice, where one wrong move would send him plummeting into freezing waters. He hates that he feels this way around Sapnap — one of his best friends, someone who takes up so much space in George’s mind, his perfect match chemistry-wise. He shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around the younger man. 

Sapnap finally responds a couple minutes later. 

Sap

okay

George smiles. He knew they’d be fine. Hopefully Sapnap tones down the overreactions. If George can look at things from his perspective, he should try and do the same. Fifty-fifty. 

As George stands from his bed and makes his way to Sapnap’s room, he hopes the younger man is finally over it. He wonders if this will be like some of the other times they’ve made up from arguments, where Sapnap pouts and gets all clingy. Desperate for George’s attention. He smirks to himself, imagining the sugary-sweet words he’d whisper to make Sapnap soft in the way only he gets to see. 

Sapnap is in his bed when George enters his room, back propped up against the pillows with his comforter covering his legs. He looks a little tentative, but also like his guard has been let down a bit. George breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Hi,” he says, closing the door behind himself. 

“Hi.” 

He hovers awkwardly, unsure of where the younger man stands. He doesn’t know what Sapnap wants or expects from him. And that isn’t something George is used to — he can normally tell just by looking at him. His guard hasn’t been let down completely, clearly. 

After a moment, Sapnap pulls down the edge of his comforter in an invitation for George to join. The brunet smiles, walking over to the bed and climbing in beside the other. 

They lay with their shoulders pressed together, just being in each other’s presence. 

George isn’t sure what to say. He just wants things to be normal between them, but that includes Sapnap feeling good around him. Sapnap needs to feel like he has control over what happens, even if George knows in his own mind that he won’t stop trying until they get back to where they were. 

After a couple minutes, Sapnap speaks. 

“You really hurt me, George.” His voice is small, and the hurt he’s referencing is audible in his tone. 

“I know,” George insists, turning his head to look at him. 

When Sapnap meets his eyes there’s a profound wariness to them, like he’s battling with his desire to forgive and his desire to protect himself. George realizes now, while seeing the heaviness of those emotions all over Sapnap’s face, that he truly feels like he needs to protect himself from George. That he doesn’t feel safe within their intimacy. He doesn’t know what to say to make it better, to show Sapnap that he can let George in again, but he does know that he wants to. He won’t give up the spot he’s built for himself in Sapnap’s life, or the little home Sapnap has built inside of George. 

“I want to fix it,” he repeats. It’s the truth. He wants Sapnap to trust him the way he always has, to get him back to the place where he willingly hands himself over to George. 

“I know,” Sapnap sighs. 

George turns onto his side and rests a gentle hand on Sapnap’s waist. 

“Will you let me fix it? Will you let me be nice to you?” 

Sapnap’s eyes roam over his face as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, not giving an answer right away. He’s hesitant, and George needs to mend that. This isn’t them. 

He shuffles closer, gains confidence in the hand that dips down to Sapnap’s hip, tugging so he’ll roll over to face George. When he does, George dips his fingers past the hem of his sweatshirt, kneading the fat on Sapnap’s lower stomach and hips; one of his favorite parts of the younger man. 

He watches him battle the conflict in his head, lets his eyes linger on the plush lip trapped between his teeth. He feels a familiar hunger claw at his stomach, darkening his gaze as he drags it over the younger man’s form. When his eyes trail back up to Sapnap’s, they’re still hesitant, unsure. 

“Please?” George tries, moving just an inch closer. 

Sapnap releases his bottom lip, and George’s eyes catch on the sheen of spit coating it. He wants to lick it off and replace it with his own. Finally, he releases a soft breath, and George squeezes his hip again in subtle encouragement. 

“Okay,” he whispers, features softening when George smiles brightly. 

“Thank you,” he says, enraptured as he watches each tiny shift in Sapnap’s expression. He brings his hand up, smoothing the slight crease between his eyebrows with his thumb, and then trailing it down to his jaw. He scratches his beard, the familiar prickles on his fingertips serving as comfort. 

After the forced hiatus from Sapnap, every inch of skin that he maps out for the millionth time feels like it wakes up each of his nerve endings individually. His hips, his stomach, his thighs, he touches everywhere he can before he does anything else. He feels possessive as he squeezes at Sapnap’s curves, watching his reactions intensely. George looks into his eyes, their faces so close it feels like he can see into his mind.

He reaches around Sapnap and grabs his ass harshly, kneading the flesh in his palm, and Sapnap’s jaw goes lax and his lips part to release a huff of air. George smirks. 

Sapnap’s breath ghosts over his lips, and the growing hunger develops into need for the younger man’s taste. He inches his face closer, his hand growing rougher in its movements, and brushes the side of his nose against Sapnap’s. He lets the younger man take the final step, sighing when he feels plush lips meet his own.

George presses into the kiss immediately, unable to control it if he wanted to, but also wanting to show Sapnap how much he wants him. He feels a hand bigger than his own settle gently on his ribs, and he uses the hand on Sapnap’s lower back to pull him flush against his chest. 

He licks a stripe over Sapnap’s bottom lip, and he parts his lips in response, letting George in. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when George licks across the back of his teeth, once again overcome with the primal desire to know every part of Sapnap inside and out. 

George pushes at his hip so he’ll roll onto his back, never disconnecting their mouths as he climbs on top of him. Sapnap’s hands settle on his hips, gentle but firm, likely grounding himself. George pulls back from the kiss just to pepper them down his jaw, to his neck, to the spot that makes him gasp. He smiles against his skin at the sound, nipping his earlobe lightly and reveling in the way he can feel Sapnap getting hard against his ass. 

“George,” he breathes, squirming slightly as he stretches out his neck to give him more access. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” George purrs, earning a soft whimper. 

He closes his eyes and listens to Sapnap’s breathing pick up as he kisses and licks across his neck, occasionally sinking his teeth in and savoring the rumble against his chest when Sapnap groans. He starts rolling his hips, slowly grinding against the younger man’s bulge. 

Sapnap starts letting out little breathy whimpers, hands tightening on George’s hips, but still never guiding him. Each sound he makes drives George closer and closer to feeling fucking insane; he can’t believe he almost lost this. Lost him. 

He moves back up to Sapnap’s lips and kisses him with a new fervor, hands squeezing at his ribs hard enough for his nails to leave little indents. He groans gutturally as he swipes his tongue across Sapnap’s, wants to crawl inside of him, wants to claim him in any way he can. 

He needs to prove himself. He needs to offer Sapnap something, like how he’s offering George his trust right now. He doesn’t know how to prove his complete and utter… devotion to Sapnap. His borderline obsession. 

He won’t let Sapnap fuck him, but there has to be something else he can give him. Sapnap’s hips buck up against George’s ass and he makes a punched-out sound that has the older man’s cock twitching in his shorts. 

He pulls back, admires the bright flush to Sapnap’s cheeks and his spit-slick lips and his heavy breathing, one of his favorite sights that he hadn’t realized he missed so badly. 

“I want to try something,” he declares, hands never faltering in their possessive grabbing all over the other, almost absentminded. 

“What?” Sapnap asks, breathy and soft, so sweet for George. He licks his lips. 

“I want to do something I’ve never done before,” he admits, watching the way Sapnap’s eyes search his face. 

“What is it?” he asks after a moment. 

George swipes his thumb over Sapnap’s bottom lip. “Do you trust me?” 

His eyebrows furrow, and he shifts awkwardly underneath the brunet. “George—”

“Sapnap, yes or no. Do you?” 

Sapnap’s reddened bottom lip is tucked between his teeth again, chewing nervously as he continues searching George’s face for some kind of tell. His hands flex against George’s hips, and then he whispers, “Yes.” 

George beams. “Good,” he says, on purpose, and smirks as the blush dusting Sapnap’s cheeks deepens in color. 

He leans back, shuffling down Sapnap’s legs. “You have to sit up,” he instructs, holding a hand out for the younger man and leading him up to sit on his knees in front of George. He looks timid, which makes sense, but he watches George’s every move like he doesn’t want to miss a second of their time together. 

“Can you take your shorts and boxers off?” he asks nicely, running his fingers through Sapnap’s curls. He said he’d be nice, after all. 

The younger man nods shyly, hips rising so he can tug off his clothes. “Shirt too?” he asks, and George smiles. 

“If you want.” 

He fiddles with the hem of his hoodie, and ultimately pulls it off. George can’t wipe the smile off his face. He feels giddy, like he’s been in withdrawal and now he’s finally getting another fix. Euphoric with the idea of giving Sapnap something special and gaining his trust back. 

While George swiftly pulls off his own clothes, Sapnap stays knelt on the bed with his hands in his lap, and he can’t help but praise, “Look at you, being so good for me,” in a sultry voice. Sapnap’s mouth drops open as his eyes start to become lidded. 

George shuffles over and sits on his knees in front of Sapnap once he’s naked, taking a moment to just admire the sight in front of him. Sapnap’s big, hairy thighs, the flush that spreads from his cheeks down his neck, his dark, disheveled curls, the dark hair that’s spread across his chest and down his stomach, leading to the thick patch of it surrounding his cock. And god, his cock. It’s average in size, smaller than George’s, but he always leaks so much and it drives George insane. 

Sapnap shifts under the attention. “What are we doing?”

“You’ll see, little one,” George coos, shuffling closer to Sapnap and taking his own cock in hand. 

The younger man watches hungrily as George fucks his cock into his fist, swiping a thumb over his slit and collecting the drop of pre-cum. After a tantalizing minute, George takes Sapnap’s cock in his other hand and strokes him at the same pace he does himself. 

Sapnap moans loudly at the first stroke, thighs tensing and eyebrows pinching together. George sees his fingers digging into his thighs and it fills him with delirious pride. 

Once Sapnap relaxes into the pleasure a bit, George nudges his leg so he’ll spread his thighs, and then he situates himself between them. He watches Sapnap’s face as he presses their dicks together, stroking them simultaneously as best as he can. Sapnap makes another gorgeous sound, almost pained, and his eyes don’t move from where they’re pressed together. 

“How does it feel?” George asks, taking in every molecule on Sapnap’s face, each minute shift in expression. 

“Good,” he pants, “really good, George, fuck—”

And then he stops, releases them, and Sapnap moans urgently. George shushes him, takes himself in hand again and strokes himself slower. 

When he takes Sapnap in hand again his movements are slow, positioning their lengths so that the tip of their cocks are touching. George mourns the loss of watching Sapnap’s face intently but he needs to look at what he’s doing; the positioning is a little awkward and he’s never done this before. 

He keeps the hand on Sapnap’s dick still, and with the hand on his own, he rolls his foreskin up over his cockhead. He tilts his hips so the tip of his dick presses harder against Sapnap’s, pauses for a moment and registers the younger man’s hands clenched in the bedsheets, and then resumes. 

He rolls his foreskin even further up his length, doesn’t stop even when he’s completely sheathed, and continues rolling it slowly until it begins to stretch over Sapnap’s cockhead, too. 

Instantly, Sapnap moans, broken and desperate as every muscle in his body tightens. 

“Holy shit, George, holy shit,” he keens. 

“Stay still,” he says, working his foreskin up and over Sapnap’s dick until it catches on the mushroom head of his cock. It’s so tight, he needs to pause and take a second to breathe. 

Sapnap is nearly trembling, the slow pace and the heat of being inside George making his chest heave with restraint. 

“Fuck,” George groans, giving the first stroke over their dicks and feeling his foreskin move along Sapnap’s length with the movement. 

Sapnap’s back arches, moaning loudly as he brings a hand up to tighten a fist in his own hair. 

“Do you like that?” George asks, breathy. 

“Yes! Yes, oh my god, George— it feels so fucking good,” he keens, eyes trained on where George fucks their cocks together. 

“You like being inside me?” 

Sapnap’s head snaps up to meet George’s eyes, surprise on his features until he shivers, stomach jumping with the wave of pleasure. He whines, nodding his head rapidly as his eyebrows furrow. 

“Tell me,” he urges, feeling delirious with what the view of Sapnap is doing to him right now. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, George tightens his fist over the head of Sapnap’s cock, changing the pace and fucking his foreskin around their dicks torturously slow. 

Sapnap’s breath gets caught in his throat, hands gripping the sheets for dear life as his muscles tense up again. George has the pleasure of watching as he forces himself to relax in order to be able to answer, “I love being inside you,” in a whiny tone that makes George’s head drop momentarily. 

“Good boy,” he groans, and Sapnap gasps as his hips twitch up toward George’s fist, attempting to fuck himself further inside. The praise spurs him on, only wanting to be good and to cum, and he babbles mindlessly as George picks up the pace again. 

“I love it George, fuck— feels so good, I love being inside you, love it so much, love you so much, fuck fuck fuck George please—”  

“Please what?” he taunts, the confession barely registering in his brain, and then being brushed off as heat of the moment. He watches Sapnap try to constrain his writhing so he doesn’t slip out of George’s grasp, or the tight heat that envelopes the top half of his cock. He’s twitching adorably, visibly trying to keep himself still as the pleasure takes over his body. 

“Please what, Pup?” he asks again, Sapnap’s broken moans and whimpers only heightening the full-body pleasure he feels. 

“Please, wanna cum. I’m so close,” he pleads, eyebrows creasing as his expression contorts with pleasure. His abdomen tenses every time George squeezes a little harder, knuckles turned white with the grip he has on the blankets. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum inside me?” George purrs, smirking with a dangerous satisfaction when Sapnap cries out and his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Yes, yes George please, wanna cum inside you so bad, ‘m so close, please, please please please—”  

“Shh, that’s it, little one. Cum for me. Cum on my cock.” 

Sapnap throws his head back as his thighs tighten around the outside of George’s, his stomach twitching as each euphoric wave of his orgasm runs through his body. He makes a devastatingly hot punched-out sound, and George feels his cum pulse from his cock and coat the head of his own, making him drop his head and groan. He can feel Sapnap’s dick throbbing in his hand, can feel his own twitching as he rapidly approaches his own climax. He strokes Sapnap through it, and his cum dribbles out past George’s foreskin that’s wrapped around the tip of his cock. The glide is so different now that their cockheads are so wet, and as Sapnap begins to flinch away with the beginning shocks of overstimulation it makes him slip out of George’s warmth and his hold. 

The unexpected sensation on the sensitive skin of George’s cock sends his orgasm crashing into him, and he continues stroking himself quickly and watching Sapnap’s cum drip off the head of his cock. He grabs onto the other man’s shoulder as he finishes, aiming his release to land on Sapnap’s crotch and mark it as his. 

Sapnap’s breathing heavily as George starts to come down from his high, and in a lasting moment of his sex-driven haze he reaches his hand to smear his cum all over Sapnap’s groin. “You’re mine,” he growls. 

The younger man moans when he makes sure to rub some on his cock, the overstimulation fully setting in. George wipes his hand on the sheets, knowing Sapnap’s still too out of it to chastise him. 

“Holy shit,” he says between heavy breaths, watching as Sapnap starts to come back to his mind after having it melted inside of his head. George grins. 

“Yeah,” Sapnap agrees breathlessly. He chuckles incredulously, rubbing a hand down his face and over his beard. “Holy shit.” 

George stands from the bed, stretching out his legs after being in an awkward position for so long. He picks his discarded t-shirt up from the floor and uses it to wipe the cum off his cock, smirks to himself when he notices Sapnap watching. 

“Do you want me to clean you up?” he asks, picking up the rest of his clothes and throwing on his shorts. “Or are you good?” 

Sapnap clears his throat and stands to collect his clothes as well. “I’m good,” he says, shifting his weight between his legs awkwardly when he realizes he can’t get dressed too since he’s covered in their cum. 

George is about to easily accept his answer and turn to leave his room, but he’s reminded of tonight’s mission and pauses, rolling his eyes playfully. “Shut up,” he teases, tugging Sapnap’s wrist to bring him closer so he can wipe him down, too. His shirt’s already dirty, after all. 

Sapnap smiles shyly, “Thanks.” George pinches his hip gently in response. 

He nudges him once he’s finished, guiding him back into the bed so they can cuddle. George flops onto it dramatically once Sapnap lays down, causing him to giggle which melts the awkward tension away from the room. He extends an arm in invitation, sighing contently when Sapnap shuffles closer and rests his head on George’s chest. 

The brunet runs his fingers through the younger’s now-sweaty curls, trails them along his shoulders, traces a map between each blemish and freckle that dots his skin. He loves Sapnap’s skin. It’s always so warm, and every little imperfection is something else for George to touch and cherish and know. He likes being familiarized with little parts of Sapnap that the younger man himself doesn’t even know about. It makes him feel good to have those little things to himself, makes him feel like Sapnap is really his. 

After maybe twenty minutes, when their heart rates have slowed and their breathing has regulated, Sapnap whispers, “George?”

He hums in response. Sapnap pauses, not answering right away. Then, in a small voice, “Please just— be nice to me. This was nice. Is nice. I just—” he sighs, “please.” 

George’s hand stalls amidst the shapes he’d been tracing along his shoulders. “Okay,” he promises, equally as quiet. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Things mostly return to normal over the next few days, but George is still being careful. It feels like this thing between them is fragile right now, and one careless word could shatter it to bits. 

He’s currently on a plane to visit Karl, and normally Sapnap would come too but he has commitments with NRG that he can’t miss. Honestly, George thinks some space for a couple days might do them some good, in case there’s any lingering feelings or whatever that Sapnap needs to process. George, however, is just relieved that whatever this thing between them is wasn’t ruined. Yeah, he knew logically that Sapnap would come around, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be happy about it. 

The flight goes by shockingly fast, and before he knows it he’s being wrapped up in a tight hug and processing just how much he’d missed Karl. 

“Hi,” Karl giggles into his hair, swaying them back and forth in the middle of the airport. 

George feels waves of tension melt off of him at the familiar comforting affection. “Hi,” he grins. 

Karl pulls back, grabs George’s bag for him and leads them to the exit. He’s already cheerily rambling about plans he’s made for them, and George is relieved to hear that most of them will take place at Karl’s house; it’ll be an overall chill visit. He appreciates those types of visits, especially because he couldn’t have them for so long. 

“Sucks that Sap couldn’t make it,” Karl says offhandedly, unlocking the doors to his car as they approach it. 

“Yeah.” George opens the door to the passenger seat and settles into the car. Karl gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, quiet as he slowly maneuvers through the parking garage and pulls out onto the road. 

“It’ll be nice to catch up just us though, won’t it?” George asks, once they’re on the highway away from bustling traffic. 

Karl glances at him with a playful smile, “‘Course.” 

They talk the whole drive, catching up on what they’ve been up to lately and sharing funny stories. It’s lighthearted and refreshing, and George has a weird urge to tell Karl about him and Sapnap and see what he thinks of it, but decides against it. He and Sapnap haven’t told anyone, not even Dream. The last thing he needs is Sapnap flipping his shit because he told Karl their business. 

They finally reach the house, and George has no problem making himself at home as he sprawls out on the living room sofa. It’s big enough that Karl can lay on the other end of it and tangle his legs with George’s, and they debate what to order for dinner while scrolling through various delivery apps. When they finally agree on a restaurant, Karl orders their food and pays for both of them. 

“You’re like my sugar daddy or something,” George jokes, smiling when Karl laughs brightly. There’s always been something about the other man’s vibe that can light up any room, and George admires that about him. 

“You’d like that,” Karl quips. 

“You paying for my stuff all the time? Yeah, I would.” 

Karl smirks, “No, you’d like being my little Discord kitten.”

George scoffs, but he’s sure he’s blushing at the younger man’s shameless flirting. “You’re so dumb.” 

“You love me,” Karl laughs, poking his toe into George’s side until he laughs too. 

“Whatever. Idiot.” 

When their food arrives, George convinces Karl to let them eat dinner on the couch. They throw on a dumb show and eat in relative silence, the hunger fully setting in once the food is in front of them. It’s nice, just being with Karl. A break from the weird tension around Sapnap, no image to uphold for an audience, just spending time together.

When they finish, they get cozy on the couch and continue watching the show as the sun sets outside. After a little while, Karl announces, “I have a pre-roll, if you wanna smoke.” 

George lights up, “Duh. Go get it.” 

Karl smiles mischievously as he rises from the couch and disappears down the hallway. He returns about a minute later with a plastic baggie in hand, presumably housing the joint. 

“C’mon,” he says, nodding toward the back door. “We’re not smoking inside.” 

“Why not ,” George whines, even though he’s already standing up to follow Karl toward the sliding glass doors. 

“I don’t want my house smelling like dank,” Karl giggles, opening the door and stepping out onto the back porch. 

It’s a little chilly, George notices as his socked feet make contact with the wooden porch. He watches with interest as Karl places the joint between his lips. He lights the joint with one hand and shields the flame with the other, taking a long breath in to make sure the entire thing gets lit. 

He tilts his head away from George as he exhales the smoke, taking another hit before passing it to him. 

George has smoked before, but he doesn’t do it often. He’s sure he’s going to cough but he knows Karl won’t judge him or something stupid. He places the joint between his lips, still holding it with his thumb and index finger. He inhales deeply, feeling the smoke hit the back of his throat and enter his lungs. It warms him up against the autumn air. 

He watches the puff of smoke disappear into the air when he exhales, and that’s when the burning tickle scratches at his throat and causes him to cough. His eyes are a bit watery, but he sees Karl smiling at him through the slight blur. He takes another hit, a smaller one, and doesn’t cough on the exhale. 

They pass the joint back and forth, eventually falling into casual chatter as a calming haze infiltrates George’s mind. By the time Karl stubs it out, the cold air is barely noticeable. He tosses the roach into a little ashtray on the ledge of his porch, and when he turns back toward George he’s wearing a soft little smile that the brunet can’t help but mimic. 

“Wanna go back in?” Karl asks, standing closer to George than he normally does. It makes him giggle; everything just seems so silly. 

“Yeah,” he answers after a moment, noting the fond look in the younger man’s eyes as he takes George’s hand and leads them back inside. 

The temperature of the house feels good on George’s skin, like how he imagines frozen food feels as it defrosts. He realizes that’s a stupid thought but he’s always found his mind to be quite entertaining when he’s high, so he lets it pass. Karl leads them back to the sofa, and George immediately reaches for the fuzzy blanket that’s folded over the armrest. He sits down and covers himself with it, and yep, he was right; it’s extremely soft, and it feels fucking awesome. 

“Hey,” Karl pouts, “don’t hog.” 

Normally George would roll his eyes but all he can do is smile, tossing over some of the blanket so they can share. Karl makes a dramatic show of grabbing George and pulling him closer so they can cuddle up underneath the blanket, leading them both into another fit of giggles as George lets himself be tugged into the younger man’s space. 

He’s always enjoyed Karl’s casual affection, as much as he acts like he doesn’t. It’s nice to just be held sometimes without an expectation for anything else. Plus, the weed makes it feel like his nerves are more sensitive or something, so every touch feels even better. 

He has his head resting on Karl’s shoulder, the younger man’s arm wrapped around him. When he starts lightly tracing his fingertips up and down George’s arm, the sensation gives him goosebumps, like little tiny sparks are lighting up on his skin. He can’t help but close his eyes and relax into the feeling, letting his mind wander from each senseless thought to the next. The show is still playing on the TV from before they went to smoke, and George briefly tunes into the sound of the dialogue happening on the screen. 

It sounds weird in his brain, like the characters’ voices are over-animated and silly. He has no idea what’s going on in the plot, so the words don’t make sense to him, either, and everything paired together makes him laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Karl asks, amusement in his voice. 

“Just— what the fuck are they on about?” George laughs even harder, opening his eyes and gesturing to the TV. 

Karl looks confused for a moment, eyes flicking over to the TV and then back to George. Then, he erupts into laughter, and George finds that he can’t look away from his face. His slightly crooked teeth and bright smile aren’t hidden behind his hand like they normally are when he laughs, and George takes the opportunity to admire him gladly. 

“You’re an idiot,” Karl manages, “how high are you?” 

“Hi, how are you?” George responds instantly, no filter from his brain to his mouth to stop his stupid jokes. Karl just laughs harder, and it’s contagious. 

When they finally start to calm down, George’s eyes slip peacefully shut again, and he says, “This is fun.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm. Everything feels… better. Softer, in a way.” 

Karl hums, bringing a hand up to run fingers through the brunet’s hair. It feels incredible. His senses must be heightened or something, because he’s never felt quite so relaxed from just a simple touch. 

“That feels so good,” he mumbles, leaning more of his weight into Karl’s side. 

Karl hums again, “I feel like everything kinda feels different when you’re high. Like, more intense, I guess.” 

“That makes sense,” George agrees, his words feeling heavy as they leave his mouth. He feels warm inside, happy and calm. He’s had a couple bad highs before and it’s so special to feel so comfortable around Karl and be certain in the fact that he’s safe. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for the younger man, and so thankful that they finally get to do this. Just hang out and be in each other’s presence. 

Karl’s fingers are still running through his hair, scratching at his scalp every few seconds. The sensation starts to build up into something more electrifying rather than soothing, and he can’t tell if it’s just because he’s high or if there’s really something charged in the air around them, but what he does know is that the mix of his sappy feelings and the heavenly sensation on his scalp is starting to make him itch for something more.

“Have you ever kissed someone while high?” he asks, the question tumbling past his lips before he can second-guess it. Whatever. If Karl thinks he’s weird he’ll just blame it on the weed. 

Karl answers casually, “Yeah, a few times.” 

Well shit. There is no way George will be able to stop thinking about that. The press of soft lips against his own, the glide of wet tongues and greedy hands and heavy breaths. He pictures it: Karl with red-rimmed eyes kissing someone, giggling into it when he teasingly nips their bottom lip. 

George is so dominant with Sapnap, always taking control and enjoying every second of the power he feels when he does. But something about being high, having the edges to his brain all smoothed out and soft, and knowing Karl has more experience with weed than George does makes a burning curiosity start to fester in his stomach. 

He takes another step, “Did that feel good, too? Like— more?” 

“Yeah,” Karl answers, tone soft and light. He pauses, and then asks, “Why?”

George shrugs, “Just wondering.” 

He can hear his own heartbeat but it’s not like the anxiety that comes with a bad high, it’s a nervousness. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s nervous but he decides not to analyze it and hopes that it passes. 

But then, Karl asks, “You wanna try?” and the nerves shift into anticipatory butterflies, filling his chest and then traveling down toward his lower abdomen. 

He stammers awkwardly, doesn’t want to misinterpret his question. “What? Like—”

“Kissing. Do you wanna try it? It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

He sounds so sure, so casual about it. George supposes it really isn’t a big deal. Plus, strangely, he’s kind of turned on for no reason and the thought of kissing someone while feeling so generally good sounds really nice. 

“Um. Sure, I guess. Yeah.” 

Karl squeezes him tighter for a second, and his tone is lighthearted yet sincere when he says, “We don’t have to. Just thought it could be fun. You don’t have to say yes, George.” 

“No, no, I know,” he’s quick to assure. “I— I want to.” 

Karl eyes him, so he adds, “It does. Sound fun.” 

The younger man snorts, “Okay. Sit up, then.” 

He does, and he feels so warm and fuzzy all over, which only increases when he’s face-to-face with Karl. His droopy eyes are even more lidded from the weed, a tad bit pink. They’re soft, inviting. 

His gaze dips down to Karl’s lips, the corners of his mouth upturned into a small smile, his tongue slipping out to wet the plush lips that George suddenly needs to feel against his own. Karl lays a hand on his arm, just above his elbow, gently urging him closer. 

He feels his heart beating against his chest, breaths speeding up with the anticipation. He leans in slightly, closing his eyes. He waits for Karl to close the remaining distance between them, and before he does, he places a gentle hand on George’s cheek. Then, he’s kissing George, soft and sweet and perhaps a bit timidly. 

It’s innocent: closed mouths, gentle. Karl’s lips are soft and warm against George’s, and the hand on his cheek slips down to the spot where his jaw meets his neck. It reminds him that he has hands, too, and he hesitantly reaches one up to hold onto Karl’s forearm. 

Okay, Karl was right. This does feel good. George has had his fair share of kisses, but this just feels a little more pleasant and intense somehow. The second he feels the younger man start to pull away, he allows their lips to disconnect, but then immediately pushes forward to capture them in another kiss. 

It’s a little different this time, like there’s more determination behind it. The timidity is gone, and it’s been replaced with desire to keep feeling this feeling. His chest feels like there’s butterflies in it, flapping their wings against his insides and sending little tingles throughout it. After a moment, he feels warmth and wetness against his bottom lip as Karl glides his tongue across it, and a wave of lust blooms in George’s abdomen as he parts his lips in response. 

One of Karl’s hands slides down to hold onto his waist as they start making out, and he uses the leverage to tug George closer. The older man goes willingly, gaining a bit of confidence with his own hands as he places them on either side of Karl’s neck. 

Their movements grow heated, driven by something different from innocent curiosity. George’s head goes quiet and it feels fuzzy around the edges, no thoughts passing through as he focuses solely on the sensations of Karl. His lips, his tongue, his hands, and all the feelings swarming inside of his body. 

Karl guides him onto his lap, and that’s when George realizes that he’s hard, but he isn’t worried about Karl judging him or making fun of him. He trusts Karl, and also, he feels too good to be able to worry about anything anyway. 

Shivers run up his spine as the younger man’s hands settle on his hips, firm in their grasp but gentle enough. George lets his own hands explore, sliding down and settling on Karl’s chest, just touching and learning him. He can feel Karl’s warmth under his palms as he moves them along the expanse of his chest, over his collarbones and shoulders, down his biceps. He gives his arms a slight squeeze before trailing back up and returning them to the sides of his neck. 

They’re both breathing heavily, and George is really hard, and it feels like there’s an itch deep in the pit of his stomach that’s starting to claw its way through him. He pulls back, breaking their kiss, eyes closed as he rests his forehead against Karl’s. 

Karl’s hands start to rub up and down his sides, a little over his back, too. “Good?” he asks, voice breathless in a way George hasn’t heard before. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding softly.

Karl moves to kiss George’s cheek, making him smile, but when he starts trailing his lips down toward his jaw and then onto his neck, it’s wiped off his face. They’re just small pecks, but each time he feels the younger man’s lips touch his skin it’s like a mini firework erupts under them. At the first brush of an open mouth, able to feel the saliva on the inner parts of Karl’s lips, George gasps. 

He clutches Karl’s shoulders, eyes squeezed shut tightly as the younger man does it again, a little more firmly this time. His mouth is warm and wet and his hands are gripping George’s hips, likely leaving little bruises. 

He gasps again when Karl’s tongue darts out to lick at his neck, and he thinks Karl’s going to stop, ask him if it’s still okay, and in the haze of his desperation he tries to tug him closer so he doesn’t pull away. He ends up just kind of pushing himself into Karl, and subsequently pushing his boner firmly into Karl’s stomach. 

“George,” he rasps, almost sounding like a warning, grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin of his neck. 

Through the thick fog in his head, George doesn’t have the capacity to look for the words to respond with, so he moves one of his hands to lace his fingers in Karl’s hair. He doesn’t pull, but he holds him in place. He can feel the younger man’s hot, heavy breaths, but he isn’t moving, he’s just breathing, so George whispers, “More, please,” in a needy little tone he can’t feel ashamed of right now. 

Karl’s next breath comes out shaky, and a couple more seconds pass before he leans back in and bites George, hard. 

It rips a moan from his chest, he’s fucking throbbing in his underwear and holy shit, why did that feel so good? The dull pain just heightens the pleasure, and he digs his nails into Karl’s shoulders as he sucks and licks over the teeth marks he left. 

“Karl,” George breathes out, dangerously close to a moan. 

The younger man detaches his mouth from George’s neck and blows cool air onto the spot. He hums questioningly, but George can’t answer. He doesn’t know what he was going to say. Or ask for. His eyes are still closed and he doesn’t want to leave the tranquility of this blissful moment. 

“George?” Karl pushes after a moment, his hands resuming their previous movement rubbing up and down his sides. 

George blinks his eyes open and meets Karl’s, bright blue and a little hazy. He smiles at George, and something shifts in his expression, then. 

“We should probably go to bed, whaddya think?” 

It takes a second for the words to settle in George’s head, and then another for his vision to focus on Karl. His lips are quirked up in a small, kind smile, and there’s something definitive about the look in his eyes. 

George nods, then swallows. “Okay,” he agrees, looking at Karl for a moment longer before climbing off of his lap. He sits beside him on the couch, just breathing, trying to steady his heart rate. There’s a calmness surrounding them, like a bubble of safety and comfort. They’re just two people. Two friends. 

His lips are tingling a bit, and he’s still hard, but the lust has decreased and mostly shifted into a fuzzy warmth. He’s happy. 

After a couple more minutes, he decides he’s ready, so he stands from the couch and waits for Karl to do the same. They walk in a comfortable silence down the hall, and before George enters the spare bedroom Karl grabs his wrist softly and pulls him into a hug. 

He breathes in the scent of the younger man, his regular smell tinged with the earthy smell of weed. Karl’s so warm. 

He smiles at George when he pulls back, and then says, “Goodnight,” quietly. 

“Night,” George smiles. 

The trip is exactly what George needed. 

They spend the couple days he’s there doing all the little things Karl had planned for them, which mostly consisted of a movie marathon and lots of Mario Kart. It’s super easygoing, and it presses the restart button in George’s brain. They don’t smoke weed again. 

When the time comes for George to leave, there’s an unfamiliar look in Karl’s eyes as they hug near the airport entrance. He’s smiling and joking, but something about his demeanor is off. George can’t tell what it is, but he’s not going to ask. They didn't talk about that first night, and George is determined to keep it that way. It’s just unnecessary awkwardness. 

They say their goodbyes, and then George is heading through security. He feels refreshed, ready to go home and make sure things with Sapnap go back to totally normal. He hopes the younger man has worked through whatever was going on in his head. 

He dozes for most of the plane ride, and then takes an Uber home from the airport. He can feel the anticipation starting to bubble up in his chest when he starts to recognize his surroundings, knowing he isn’t far from home. And fuck it, he won’t deny it, he’s really looking forward to getting Sapnap in bed. They weren’t hooking up as often as they normally do before he left and he couldn’t jerk off at Karl’s, so he’s started to feel a little pent up and he can’t stop thinking about finally getting his way with the younger man again. Yeah, he’s only been gone a few days. He’s horny, sue him. 

His mind slips away from himself as he gets lost in thoughts of Sapnap, his body, his sounds. He doesn’t realize he’s started to let himself get worked up until the car turns onto their street, and he shakes his head with a silent scoff as he refocuses on getting home. 

He doesn’t know why he’s half-expecting Sapnap — or Dream; or both — to be in the living room when he walks inside, eagerly awaiting his return like he’s been gone for months. It’s silly. He just thought that maybe… Sapnap would be thinking of him the same way George had been? Like, come on. He’d never say he missed Sapnap, but he was looking forward to being back in the same house. Wasn’t Sapnap?

On his way down the hallway to his room, he stops outside of Sapnap’s office and hears the sounds of him streaming, faint with the soundproofing but still audible. He chooses to believe that’s why he wasn’t downstairs when George got home. He pads the rest of the way down the hall to his bedroom and leaves his bag by the door to be ignored until someone makes him unpack it. 

He flops down onto his back on his bed and pulls out his phone, opening the Twitch app and clicking on Sapnap’s stream. He just wants to check and see how long he’s been going, so then he can make an estimate on how much longer it’ll be until he’s done. 

Hm. Twenty minutes. He’ll still be streaming for a while, then. 

He tries really hard not to think about the fact that he started streaming right before George got home. He tells himself the younger man is stupid and probably didn’t do it on purpose, but it doesn’t really help with the ugly, murky feeling in his stomach. 

He watches the stream for longer than he’d admit to anyone, just watching Sapnap speak and move animatedly, looking at his face and noticing all his little ticks. And then he starts playing chess and George can’t really see his face so he gets bored, and closes the stream, along with his phone and his eyes. 

The lingering tiredness from the plane hasn’t really gone away yet. Plus, he has time to kill before Sapnap finishes streaming. 

His stream ends a couple hours later. Sapnap cut it a little shorter than usual, because despite his brain screaming at him that he knows better, he wants to see George. It’s a constant battle between his brain and his heart, it seems. 

Once everything is powered down he slips out of his office and makes his way to George’s room, his heart rate increasing with anticipation. He knows it hasn’t been very long since he’s seen the older man, but with how tense things have been he can’t help but feel a little nervous. 

He knocks on the door, getting no response. 

“George?” he tries. 

A shuffling sound, and then, “Yeah.” 

He can already tell by George’s voice from behind the door that he was sleeping, and Sapnap takes a breath before entering. He’s always a little bit softer when he’s sleepy. 

The lights are off, and he closes the door behind himself as George stretches out his limbs on his bed. It’s still light enough outside that the older man’s pale skin is cast in a soft glow, Sapnap’s eyes immediately dipping down to the sliver of skin that’s exposed from his shirt riding up in his sleep. 

“Hey,” George says, voice raspy. 

“Hi.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, and George is looking at him like he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t seem to be feeling any of the nervousness that Sapnap is. He feels small under George’s gaze, which he likes when they’re in bed, but can otherwise be intimidating. 

He takes a couple steps closer to the bed, giving in to the tug in his chest that feels like he’s being drawn closer by an invisible string. George looks pleased, smiling as he approaches. 

“How was the trip?” Sapnap asks. 

George sighs, “It was good. We just chilled at his house, mostly.” 

Sapnap nods, “That’s nice.” 

He shifts his weight between his legs awkwardly, unsure whether George wants him to stay or not. He’s sprawled out like a starfish in his bed just looking at Sapnap, something in his eyes that the younger can’t quite place. 

Then, George shuffles over to make room for him. He doesn’t say anything, but Sapnap knows it’s an invitation. Timidly, he climbs onto the bed and lays down on his back beside George. 

He can feel the older man’s eyes heating up the side of his face, but he keeps his own focused on the ceiling. George will have to say something if he wants Sapnap. He hopes that by now, he knows that. 

George turns onto his side to face him, but still, Sapnap doesn’t break. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling and tries to control his breathing, ignoring the antsy feeling in his chest that makes him want to shift uncomfortably. Then, he feels a dainty hand at the hem of his hoodie, George slipping his hand underneath it to rest on Sapnap’s stomach. 

He runs his fingers through his happy trail, seemingly innocent and staying away from his waistband. Just touching. Feeling. 

Sapnap’s conflicted, two sides of himself pulling in opposite directions. Something settles in him at the touch, wanting desperately to lean into it and take whatever else he can get. But he also wants to hold out, stay true to his word and make sure George knows he can’t just take whatever he wants, especially without offering much in return.

The thing is, though, that he can. He does. 

When George starts squeezing at his tummy, Sapnap turns his head to meet his eyes. The older man grins. Whether it’s with glee or pride, Sapnap isn’t sure. 

“I missed you,” George whispers, like it’s a secret. Almost like a reward. Sapnap really tries not to show how he melts a little bit at that. He must fail, because George’s eyes glimmer with something knowing as they trail over his features, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small, satisfied smile that Sapnap would never admit makes his heart beat faster. 

He doesn’t say anything; he can’t. The wound on his heart is still healing, and if he lets himself be honest, vulnerable, he’s putting himself at risk of undoing all those stitches. He doesn’t move as George leans closer, as his eyes dip down to his lips, as his hand moves from his stomach to his hip. He watches as George tilts his head a little bit, the way he always does when he’s about to kiss Sapnap, and then something catches the younger man’s eye.

There’s something— there’s something on George’s neck, and he has to strain his eyes to make out what it is in the dim lighting, and then—

His heart sinks. 

It sinks to the bottom of his fucking stomach, and he only feels that gut-wrenching emptiness for a second before he’s overcome with nausea. 

George sees it on his face. He knows something’s wrong, but Sapnap isn’t looking at his face. No, he’s looking at the fucking hickey on his neck. It’s faint, like it’s been there for a couple days. But there’s no doubt in his mind that that’s what it is. George has left enough hickies on Sapnap for him to know what they look like when they start to fade. 

“What?” George asks, tugging at his hip to try to get him to roll over and face him. 

The nausea makes Sapnap’s heart float up to his throat next, blocking any words from coming out. 

Karl? 

And he doesn’t— he shouldn’t even be mad about it. George isn’t his. He’s made that abundantly clear. 

He should have fucking known. George has always been completely fine with Karl’s affection, but oh, when Sapnap tries to give him a hug— 

“Sapnap, what?” 

There’s a million feelings swarming inside of him right now, like his mind can’t pick one to focus on. There’s too many. This is— this is too much.  

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, voice stronger than he’d been expecting. When George’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, his brain decides which emotion to zero in on. 

Anger. 

Boiling, all-consuming, white-hot rage. 

“What?” 

He pushes George’s hand off of his torso and glares at him with what he’s sure looks like disgust. “Were you going to tell me, George.” He spits the words at the older man. 

“Tell you what?” George is defensive, feeding off of Sapnap’s anger. 

“That you’re fucking Karl too. Were you gonna tell me or just, I dunno, pretend it doesn’t matter?” 

George still looks confused and it pisses Sapnap off because— holy shit, if George fucking lies right now… 

He needs to get out of this room. 

But then realization falls over his features, and he brings a hand up to his neck like the hickey burns him. 

He knows before George even starts talking that whatever he says is just going to make this worse. He knows George. George doesn’t do reassurance, he doesn’t own up to shit, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Sapnap’s scrambling off the bed before he even makes the decision to. 

“Sapnap, come on,” he says, like Sapnap’s being unreasonable. It makes his hands clench into fists at his sides, and he genuinely thinks he might beat the shit out of George. He takes a deep, controlled breath, puffing his chest out in defense as turns around. 

“What.” 

George is sitting up, at least, but he doesn’t look how Sapnap would expect. He’d expect worry; panic even. Stammering around his words. But no, George almost looks… annoyed, and sort of confused, and definitely defensive. Of course he does! Sapnap’s stupid to assume he’d feel any kind of remorse. 

“Why does it matter to you?” George asks, tone flat. 

Sapnap gapes at him in shock. Is he— is he fucking serious? 

“Why does it matter to me, George? Are you that fucking stupid? Maybe because, I dunno, STI’s, first of all. And not to mention the fact that we just got past our— our shit, and you immediately go and fuck one of our friends? Really? How many of our friends do you hook up with, George? I mean, Jesus. I honestly,” Sapnap starts laughing, in pure disbelief, “I honestly didn’t think you could go any lower, dude. You’re such a piece of shit. I dunno why—” he cuts himself off with a sigh, throwing the best look of pity he can muster at George, and not registering whatever expression is on the older man’s face. 

“I shouldn’t have forgiven you. The apology I had to fucking ask for, by the way. You’re fucking— you’re vile. You’re toxic and selfish and you don’t give a shit about how anyone else feels. I fucking—” he takes another breath to compose himself, or else he’s going to say something he regrets. 

“I’m fucking done, George.” 

And he leaves. 

He throws George’s door open and storms to his bedroom, slamming the door behind himself. 

He wants to— he wants to fucking scream or something. He’s not thinking straight; he’s barely thinking at all, really. All he’s able to focus on is the way he’s about to burst with rage, unable to release it. 

His eyes land on the empty glass sitting on his nightstand, and he doesn’t process anything, not until after he’s already picked it up and whipped it at his wall. 

It’s loud. It shatters, broken pieces of glass scattered across his floor. And then it’s like everything inside of him cracks, and he shatters right alongside the cup. The initial anger he’d felt, which drove his rant to George, it shatters, breaking down and revealing all the other shit he’s feeling. The hurt, the pain, the sadness, the betrayal. 

And then, his heart shatters, too.

The stitches haven’t just come undone — George took a knife and stabbed it right through the muscle. His heart is bleeding out. 

Stitches be damned. 

The next couple days are tedious. 

Whenever he’s not sleeping or working, George is sitting in the living room. 

He won’t seek Sapnap out, doesn’t want to poke the bear before he’s had time to cool down, but he’ll sure as hell try to catch him in a common area. 

It doesn’t work. He doesn’t know if Sapnap somehow stocked up on snacks and drinks to harbor in his room when George wasn’t out here, or if he just hasn’t left his room at all, but by day three it’s a little concerning. 

George figured it wasn’t worth it to tell Sapnap that he and Karl didn’t have sex. Even if Sapnap believed him, he doesn’t let grudges go easily. And he was very, very pissed off this time. 

I’m fucking done, George. 

The words buzz through his head on a loop, taunting him. 

Sapnap didn’t mean that. 

George just needs— he just needs to wait it out. Last time, he actually did the thing Sapnap was upset about, and he still got over it. Surely it won’t be any different this time. 

He’ll tell Sapnap that he didn’t have sex with Karl eventually. There’s no use trying to force the conversation now, when he’s unwilling to listen to George. But once he cools off and comes back to George’s bed, he’ll tell him. 

He can’t say that he isn’t a tiny, tiny bit pleased at the thought that Sapnap is jealous, but he knows better than to call him out on it when he’s already mad. He’d just deny it. It’s okay, though. George knows. 

When the clock hits ten P.M. and George has been sitting on the couch all day, he heaves himself up with a sigh and retreats to his bed. No sign of Sapnap. Again. 

He curls up under his covers, scrolling mindlessly through TikTok and Twitter to distract himself from the uneasy feeling in his belly. His brain feels clogged again, but it’s different than it usually is. 

Normally, when his head gets clogged he’s forced to think about everything he’s been ignoring. This time, though, he hasn’t stopped thinking about Sapnap, but he can’t identify the reason he feels so… off. Like something just isn’t right. Like something notable inside of himself has been shifted, just slightly, out of its rightful place. 

It’s unsettling, to say the least. The feeling, and also the fact that he can’t figure out where it’s coming from. It feels like his mind is clouded by Sapnap and everything George has been thinking, and everything of significance is hidden behind the fog. His brain is betraying him, creating blind spots in his own damn head. 

When the TikTok video playing on his phone loops for a fourth time, a text message startles him back into his surroundings. 

His heart skips a beat when he sees that the message is from Sapnap, and ignores the weight of disappointment when he realizes he texted the Dream Team group chat, not George individually. It’s probably nothing important. 

Sapnap

going out. be back late, don’t wait up

What? What the fuck? 

George doesn’t process the rush of emotions and adrenaline that floods his system, floundering while trying to figure out what’s going on. 

Dream

ok text when u get home

Really, Dream? He isn’t the slightest bit curious where Sapnap’s going? George can’t ask him, so he’d hoped that Dream would. He suddenly feels like the two of them are ganging up on him. They have to be. 

So — let George get this straight. Sapnap doesn’t leave his room for three days, at least not during daylight hours. And then, randomly, after those three days, he decides he’s going out? At ten P.M.? No information given, no warning? Just don’t wait up? 

And Dream doesn’t have anything to say? They can’t expect George to believe that. Dream is too caring for his own good — he feels responsible for his friends. He doesn’t want to know where Sapnap is going? Or who he’s with? What if there was an emergency? 

They have to have been talking. It would make sense, too; surely Dream noticed that Sapnap hasn’t left his room and checked on him. What did Sapnap say to him about George? Did he tell him everything, exaggerate the whole story and now they both hate him? Fuck, maybe they’re planning to kick him out, force him back to England. 

I’m fucking done, George. 

He scoffs incredulously into the darkness of his bedroom.

Seems like he might’ve meant it after all. 

It’s loud. That’s all Sapnap really knows at this moment. 

The bass is so loud that he can feel it in his chest and it makes him kind of queasy, which isn’t aided by the drinks he’s had so far. He orders another anyway, scanning over his shoulder for Punz, who disappeared into the crowd a while ago now. 

Honestly, he wasn’t going to come. When Punz texted him, he was still sulking in his bedroom and really had no intention to leave. But then the image of George and the fading hickey on his neck flashed through his mind again — like it has been constantly for the past three days — and it sent a familiar pang through his chest. Though this time, instead of wallowing in self-pity, he scoffed at himself and began to resent the sadness. 

He felt stupid. Frustrated. Annoyed. 

He knew better than to trust George. He was naive to think the older man would consider his feelings even the tiniest amount, especially after the whole degradation thing. 

So, he crawled out of the mass of blankets on his bed and took a shower. And then he texted Punz and agreed to come out. 

He refuses to let George take anything else away from him. First he took his trust and spat on it, and then he took his heart and smashed it. He doesn’t get to take his fun, too. 

The bartender hands him his drink — he thinks it’s his fourth — and he steps to the side of the bar to let other people order. They got here right as the club started to fill up, and he lost track of Punz barely thirty minutes later. 

He’s definitely feeling the drinks. He didn’t go for beer like he usually does; he wanted something harder. The first thing that came to mind when he got up to the bar was a rum and coke, so that’s what he’s drinking for the night. 

He’s not tipsy enough that he has no shame, however, and he feels a little awkward standing by himself beside the bar. He pulls out his phone and pretends to check it, unsurprised by the empty notification center. 

He scrolls through his Twitter timeline while sipping on his flat drink, unable to actually process any of the words he’s reading through the blare of the over-remixed pop music. Someone taps his shoulder, startling him a bit, but he’s grateful to be able to shut his phone off. 

He turns around, and— 

Oh. 

It’s a woman. And she’s— she’s really pretty. 

His nerves spike back up but he still smiles kindly, taking in the appearance of the girl smiling back at him. 

“Hi,” she says, loud enough to be heard over the music. 

“Hi.” 

“I’m Ally,” she tells him, tilting her head in a way that’s innocent, but that makes her eyes sparkle a bit. 

“Sa— uh, Nick,” he catches himself.

She doesn't look like she recognizes him from the internet, doesn’t have that star-struck interest in her eyes like most fans do. His intuition has gotten pretty good with this stuff. It’s had to, over the years. 

He doesn’t want to be Sapnap tonight. He just wants to be Nick. 

“Nick,” she repeats, definitely flirting. “Nice to meet you.” 

Sapnap blushes, he knows he does, but if Ally notices she doesn’t make it obvious. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to ask if she’s here alone and come off as a creep even if he’s just trying to make conversation. He panics for a second, praying she doesn’t take his lack of response as rejection, but thankfully she saves him. 

“Are you here with anyone?” she asks. 

“Uh…” he starts, smoothly. “I came with a friend but I haven’t seen him in like an hour.” 

Ally smiles, “Same here.” 

Sapnap nods, and he has to consciously force himself to hold eye contact. She tilts her head again, smile shifting into something that looks more like a smirk. 

“Good thing we found each other, then.” 

Sapnap hopes to god his shock isn’t visible on his face. 

“Yeah, guess so,” he replies playfully. “Can I, uh. Can I buy you a drink?” 

She looks him up and down, like she’s examining him, and it makes him extremely nervous — but weirdly in a good way? By the look in Ally’s eyes, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. 

“Yeah,” she smiles.

They walk back over to the bar, and luckily a young couple is just leaving, two stools freeing up for them to claim. Ally orders a moscow mule, which Sapnap thinks sounds cool and tough, so he downs the rest of his rum and coke and orders the same. The taste surprises him a bit, expecting something closer to ginger ale, but he doesn’t mind it. 

They talk and talk; his fifth drink is helping to settle his nerves. He learns that Ally is visiting family in Orlando and that she lives in New Jersey. She has straight hair that reaches just below her shoulders, such a deep brown that it almost looks black. She has big brown eyes and full lips, and she’s a few inches shorter than him. Objectively — and subjectively — she’s stunning. 

When he finishes his sixth drink, she stands and takes his hand, pulling him toward the sea of dancing bodies with a playful grin. He’s past tipsy now, so he goes easily, his anxiety having fully dissipated with each sip of alcohol and each minute spent with Ally. 

He dances, laughing with her when he lifts her hand and twirls her around and she does the same to him. He can’t hear her laugh over the music, but she throws her head back with a wide smile, and he wishes he could. 

He hasn’t had this much fun in a long time. 

The carefree, only-two-people-in-the-world kind of fun. 

He lets his hands slip down to her waist while her arms wrap around his neck, and they’re smiling and sweating and dancing completely off-rhythm and he feels light. Like he could float away. 

He thinks he sees a sparkle in her eye before she’s turning around in his hold, pressing her back up to his front and deliberately pushing her hips into his. The vibe changes instantly. It’s still amazing, but the innocent carelessness is gone. In an instant things turn heated, intense, and Sapnap’s heart jumps up into his throat.

Ally keeps swaying to the music, rubbing her ass on Sapnap’s crotch, essentially grinding on him. She grabs his hands and guides them from her waist down to her hips, giving him the confidence to squeeze, to pull her closer. Even with the people surrounding them, when she moves the right way he catches the scent of her shampoo, something floral and soft and tempting. 

She then brings a hand up to move her hair to one side, tilting her head to put her neck on display like the finest of fruits, daring Sapnap to lean down and take a bite. In the midst of the alcohol coursing through his veins and the music blaring through his head, he’s still taunted by the image of George and the mark on his neck. 

He’s practically drooling with the desire to kiss Ally’s neck, to taste the salt on her skin as evidence of their fun together. But it still feels wrong, like he’d be betraying George, even though the older man did the same exact thing. He doesn’t think any amount of alcohol could erase that guilt. 

Ally pushes her hips back into his again, rubbing her ass on his growing erection, and he decides fuck it. George will not take his fun. 

He dips his head down, pulling her close while he leaves open-mouthed kisses along her neck, careful not to leave any marks out of respect for any boundaries they haven’t had the chance to discuss. She reaches a hand up to scratch at his stubble, then the hair at the nape of his neck. After a moment she turns back around in his hold and gives him a look filled with nothing but lust, and leans up to ask directly in his ear, “Bathroom?” 

He nods, flushed, praying his hard-on won't be visible in the dim light on the walk to the bathroom. Luckily the bar has individual restrooms, so they stumble into one and lock it behind themselves, and the anticipation sobers Sapnap up a bit. By the look in Ally’s eyes, past the desire, he thinks it’s the same for her. 

He feels no guilt or regret when he finds her hips again, guiding her to lean against the door as he crashes their lips together. 

He isn’t thinking about George. 

It’s past three A.M. when Sapnap gets home. 

George is sitting in the living room in the dark, practically watching the clock tick by when he hears the front door open. 

Sapnap is loud, like he’s stumbling, shuffling around to kick off his shoes and close the door. George is on high alert, his spine straight as a board, staring in the direction Sapnap will be coming from. 

He hears the door close and lock, and then Sapnap is rounding the corner into the living room toward the stairs. He doesn’t see George, but it doesn’t matter, because the older man is already rising from his seat on the couch and approaching him. 

“Where were you?” he asks, and it comes out as more of an accusation. 

Sapnap turns around looking startled, and George can immediately tell that he’s drunk. He tries to hide the scowl from his face.

“None of y’r fuckin’ business,” Sapnap slurs, turning to continue toward the stairs.

George grabs his wrist, not harshly, just to keep him there. Sapnap looks at him then with a new fire in his eyes, almost challenging. George looks him over, scanning for clues as to where he could’ve been. His eyes land on his neck, and he curses himself for leaving the lights off and not noticing the necklace of hickies he’s wearing right away. 

Instinctively he pulls Sapnap’s collar down, inspecting closer and spitting, “What the fuck is this?” 

Sapnap sneers, “Wha’s the problem, George?”

The brunet scoffs, unwilling to let go of Sapnap until he gets some answers. Where the fuck was he? Who gave him these hickies? 

Anger rises up his throat like burning bile, face heated so warmly he thinks steam could be coming out of his ears. Did he fuck someone? Did someone fuck him? 

His stomach feels weird, turning over at the thought of someone fucking Sapnap. His Sapnap. 

“Did you sleep with someone?” he accuses, anger shadowing over all of his other feelings. 

Sapnap’s gaze turns into something different then, his feigned disinterest wiped clean off his face. He’s building his walls back up, but the alcohol makes him sloppy, and there’s cracks in the walls that allow George to see glimpses through them. He looks hurt and angry. Vulnerable. 

“Why do you fucking care?” Sapnap raises his voice, almost like he’s daring George to answer the question. He doesn’t look small the way that George has seen before. 

He’ll admit, it throws him off a bit. The push back, the defense. Sapnap usually cowers to George’s anger, and they never outright talk about their… situation. Sapnap has certainly never used it against him before like he is right now.

He looks like he has nothing left to lose, and it’s jarring. 

When George doesn’t answer in the first few seconds, Sapnap continues, voice only growing stronger.

“Why, George? You didn’t care when it was you. With Karl. You fucked him, why can’t I fuck other people?” 

And then it hits George like a semi.

Sapnap thinks George had sex with Karl. He never corrected him. 

And then Sapnap went out and had sex with someone else as — what, revenge? Because he was jealous? 

The jealousy was amusing at first. George didn't think he’d take it so far. As far as to — to fuck someone else.  

Sapnap just stares at him with this knowing look, and George can tell he thinks he’s won. 

He doesn’t even know what they’re fighting over anymore. 

“I didn’t have sex with Karl, you fucking idiot.” His words are harsh. 

And then it finally happens. The pipe in his brain that he uses to drain out anything bad has been clogged with suppressed feelings, filling slowly over time with everything George purposely ignores. But he’s ignored it for too long — it’s overflowing, splashing onto the floors of his mind, spilling all the things he doesn’t understand too fast for him to process. 

He can’t stop it; it’s too late. The composure he works so hard to keep up begins to crack, like the pressure from the overflow is too much for it to bear. It spills in his head and travels down to his mouth, needing to escape from somewhere.

Sapnap looks taken aback, but it doesn’t matter, because everything is finally coming out. 

“You fucking idiot!” George yells. “Why the fuck would I have sex with Karl? I just got you back!” 

Sapnap looks bewildered. 

“He just— we just got high and made out for like— ten minutes. And never talked about it again. Never did it again. You didn’t— you never fucking asked me, Sapnap! You just— you assumed. And then you got your feelings hurt. So much of,” he waves his hands around the space between them, “everything could have been avoided if you just talked to me. You just— you get hurt and ignore me and sulk like you expect me to read your mind, and when I can’t, you explode. And now,” he laughs cruelly, “look what you’ve done.” 

That last sentence flipped a switch inside of Sapnap. His glare returns, sharpened. 

“Look what I did, George? Really? What the fuck was I supposed to think you did with him? You fucking— you thrive off of this, George. You wanted to hurt me. You like the fucking— the power trip, or whatever. You’re a sadistic piece of shit and you abuse the power you have over me. You’re cruel. I fucking hate you. I hate you!” 

Those three words cut George deep. They stare at each other, breathing heavily. Then, Sapnap continues, 

“You wanna know what I did, George? I went to the bar and met a girl. Yeah,” his words are dripping with bitterness, “believe it or not, people are interested in me. She approached me, and we hit it off. We talked and then we danced and then she started grinding on me.” He pauses, straightens himself up and dips his voice low into a taunt when he continues. He doesn’t break eye contact. 

“Then I took her to the bathroom and bent her over the sink and fucked her until she screamed my name. Even got her number, too, I guess she liked it—”

“Stop talking,” George demands. 

Sapnap’s eyes flash with something dangerous, almost pleased. 

He pauses for a moment, and then continues, “She was pretty, too. Hot. Nice tits, big ass—”

“I said shut the fuck up,” George seethes, nothing but pure anger fueling him. What the fuck is Sapnap’s game here? What does he want? Does he want George to be jealous? Because if so, he fucking wins. 

George is off-balance. Sapnap looks calm as can be, a barely-there smirk poorly hidden on his face. He knows he has the upper hand, which is dangerous for George. He doesn’t like being in this position, he doesn’t like how calm and collected Sapnap is, and he doesn’t like the fact that Sapnap’s dick was in another person. A girl, too, like George means nothing. 

How could he do that? Pretend there’s nothing between them? Does he feel anything?  

“You say I’m sadistic, yet you’re the one who went and fucked someone else without sparing a thought about me. About us.” 

George’s voice is no longer raised, but he knows there’s more than just anger in his tone. If Sapnap picks up on it, he doesn’t say anything. 

“You let me believe you slept with Karl.” 

He says it like that’s enough. Like it excuses everything. 

The coldness in Sapnap’s eyes, the stone expression on his face, the way he’s completely closed off from George… 

It’s like a slap to the face. It’s a reality check, for sure. Sapnap may not have meant it when he said he was done with George before, but after tonight, if George doesn’t fix this, he knows it’ll be for real. He can see it in his face. 

He’s going to give up on George. On them. 

He wants to give in to the walls threatening to raise, defend himself and weave some half-truth to keep himself in the clear. But looking into Sapnap’s eyes, he just knows deep in his bones that it won’t be enough. Sapnap has caught on to his patterns, and now he’s paying attention. He won’t let anything slide.

George doesn’t know how to give him what he wants, though. He doesn’t even really know what Sapnap wants. 

Honesty? Love? 

George isn’t the guy for that. 

But he won’t lose Sapnap. He refuses. 

“I wanted to know you wanted me.” 

Sapnap scoffs and rolls his eyes, like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “Fuck off, George. I’ve done nothing but want you. I wanted anything you’d give me. But I don’t want the games. The manipulation. I won’t take that. Not anymore.” 

Sapnap looks away, behind George, his anger subsiding, too. 

“I didn’t—” George struggles to find the words. “I didn’t know. Not— not for sure. I’m not…” he sighs frustratedly, “I’m not good at this. Or with words. I don’t know how to…” he gestures between them again, and then sighs as he gives up. 

“What, George?” Sapnap urges, and when he meets his eyes again they’re sincere. They’re pleading. They’re drawing George in and unwinding the jumbled string in his head, pulling it straight until his thoughts untangle.

“I don’t know how to do this. With you. I just— I’m so confused, all the time.” There’s a bundle of anxiety in his chest that comes with this rawness, but he continues anyway. The look in Sapnap’s eyes is hypnotizing him, or something. 

“I don’t— I don’t want you to sleep with other people. I want to be enough for you. I want to be… I want to be the only person you need. And you— you’re that, for me. You’re— you’re in my head, all of the time. You’re always around me. It fucking— it drives me insane, Sap. And when you’re not here, or when you’re mad at me, I don’t even— I don’t know what to do with myself. So I— I do anything just to get you back. To keep you here. With me.” 

He ignores the way his face burns and he looks at the wall beside them. The silence drags on, and he almost expects Sapnap to laugh at him, or explode, or tell George he hates him again. He doesn’t know where those words came from. Somewhere deep inside him, surely. Hidden. 

He didn’t know he felt those things. It came out of nowhere. It’s like he’s been so focused on having Sapnap, on making sure he stays, that all he’s thought about is how good it feels to have him. Not why it feels good, not why it’s only Sapnap he feels that way about. 

Truthfully, he’s just as scared as Sapnap is. He always has been. He’s just better at hiding it, working around it. And he’d never tell Sapnap that. 

“What are you saying, George?”

His tone is guarded like he doesn’t dare let himself sound hopeful. 

“I don’t know.”

Sapnap purses his lips, studying George through a thin layer of annoyance. 

“That’s not good enough.” 

George looks down, looks at the wall, looks anywhere but Sapnap’s face as he figures out what the fuck he wants to hear. He’s already been so vulnerable. He’s shared more than he ever thought he would, and still, it’s not enough. 

“That’s the problem, I suppose,” he says dryly, kicking at the floorboards. 

Sapnap looks confused, so he elaborates. 

“It’s not— I’m not… enough. For you.” 

Sapnap rolls his eyes, and he looks genuinely annoyed. 

“Stop with the self-pity bullshit. I’ve been begging for— for you.” He sighs. 

“George, you’ve always been enough. But it’s like every time I start to trust you, you pull some shit again. Just because you’re enough, just because I want you, doesn’t mean I can put up with that. Or that I should put up with that. I don’t— it seems like I’m the one who’s not enough. Because every time you start to really have me, you fuck it all up and break another piece of me. And I can’t— I won’t sit here and beg you to— to stop breaking me. To want me. To want me.”  

George’s anger has dissolved, and all it’s left behind is exhaustion. He’s tired of this. He feels…

Defeated, almost. 

He can’t focus all of his energy into his rage. He listens, because that’s all there is to do. He hears. He does his best to absorb what Sapnap is saying and not let it spark the flame of defense again. He’s too tired to put his walls back up. 

And the words— they hurt. They cut him like a knife. He never let himself consider the fact that maybe he’s been hurting Sapnap. Ignoring things and pinning everything on the younger man, always quick to blame it on his immaturity, it’s finally fucking him over. Once and for all. 

He can feel it. This is it.

If he doesn’t make things right now, he never will. This is truly his last chance. Sapnap isn’t stupid and he won’t stay squished underneath George’s thumb any longer. 

All of the other emotions start to seep in through George’s skin slowly, one by one. Hurt, and now sadness. The pleading look of guilt he’s wearing isn’t fabricated for Sapnap’s sake; he feels it. He feels his eyes prickling and it makes him want to bristle and run away, protect himself, and then he realizes that’s how Sapnap’s been feeling this entire time. 

His eyes go blurry with tears, and he whispers out a pathetic-sounding, “I’m sorry.” 

He blinks, the tears fall, and Sapnap’s eyes widen in what looks like complete surprise. He looks wary, like he isn’t sure whether George is acting and putting on a show, which is fair. 

It still hurts. 

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says again, clearer this time. 

Sapnap nods, a small movement, almost like he’s just gotten confirmation that that’s really what he heard. 

“Okay,” is all he says. 

He just keeps looking at George like he’s see-through. He feels exposed and he curls in on himself a bit, but he lets Sapnap look. If this is what he needs to do for the younger man to trust him, to take him back and accept him, then he’ll do it. He’ll crawl underneath a microscope and let him look. 

“You’re really manipulative,” Sapnap says, like it’s a casual observation. 

George furrows his eyebrows, feels frustration flare in his chest because no, he’s being more honest than he’s ever been right now. He opens his mouth to tell him that, but Sapnap cuts him off. 

“Like, in general. You’re so fucking toxic.” 

George purses his lips and tries to smother the flame within himself. He takes the harsh words. 

“It needs to stop. I can’t— you can’t do that. I’m not— I’ll never be yours, George, like— you don’t own me. And you never will.” 

He nods. He doesn’t— he doesn’t want to own Sapnap, he just— he wants Sapnap to be his, and he… he wants to be Sapnap’s. 

The younger man looks at him skeptically, seemingly confused at the lack of a fight. 

He continues, “And like you said, you can’t read my mind. But I can’t read yours either, dude. I never know when I’ve pissed you off, or if you don’t really want me and you just want sex. You have to— we both have to communicate for this to work. Because you don’t, either. Neither of us are perfect.” 

He nods again. That’s— that’s what he’s been saying. But… he guesses Sapnap’s right. He just— he pretends to communicate. He says whatever he can to make sure his true feelings stay protected, like that way he can’t get hurt. 

Clearly, that’s not how it works. 

Sapnap then says, “You need therapy.” 

George bristles, but he doesn’t get a chance to rebute. 

“You have shit you need to work through, man. Honestly, I probably do too. But I don’t trust you. I don’t trust that if I forgive you, you won’t just go back to the way things were. And I can’t do that. I won’t. I won’t do this if you don’t go. Go and really try.”  

George’s lips curl back into a thin line, his brain automatically searching for a loophole to somehow get out of this. He stops himself, though. He catches his pattern. He thinks of the drain in his head and the muck that clogs it. He thinks of the invisible pull toward Sapnap even when he’s not around, the pull that feels impossible to ignore like an itch under his skin that he can’t reach. He thinks of the pure rage he’d felt when he saw the hickies on Sapnap’s neck. 

He knows Sapnap’s right. He knows he’s an asshole. It’s just— the fucking vulnerability. It feels embarrassing. Or shameful, maybe. 

Fuck. 

“Okay,” he says. And he thinks he means it. 

Sapnap nods, and George untenses, just a fraction. 

“Okay.” 

The next three months are rough. 

George doesn’t tell Sapnap much about his therapy sessions, but he can see the slow progression in the older man’s behavior. 

And it is slow. George is all rough edges and jagged lines, a stark contrast to Sapnap’s smooth curves and sharpness. They say opposites attract, but there’s nowhere for their edges and lines to slot together. They don’t fit, and thus it takes time to create those spaces to meet without clashing. 

It’s not easy. It really sucks, actually, but George is trying. Sapnap can tell that he’s trying. 

George even comes to him one day, pink cheeks and avoidant gaze, and says that his therapist suggested he joins them for one of their meetings. He goes, and the things the woman says about George’s progress is relieving, to say the least. 

They’re getting there. Slowly, maybe, but still. 

They didn’t have sex for six weeks. It wasn’t on purpose at first, but when Sapnap tried to initiate it three weeks in, George had said he wanted to wait. That he wasn’t ready for it, that he was scared it would set him back. 

Sapnap had never been happier to be rejected. 

When they started having sex again, it was soft. Gentle. Kind. 

So much so that Sapnap cried a couple times, and then George did, too. It was jarring to see the older man cry, especially during sex. But he was so kind, treating Sapnap like he was something to be cherished and valued rather than something to possess. It was a big change, and they were tears of happiness and relief. 

Sapnap doesn’t ask for more. He doesn’t ask for a label and he doesn’t tell George that he loves him. 

Part of it is because he doesn’t want to push George too far, scare him off. Or set him off, maybe, as scary a thought that is. He has more than he’d ever expected from George, and he won’t risk losing it now. 

Another part is that he still doesn’t trust George, not completely. Or, George’s intentions. He’s not sure. All he knows is that there’s a section of himself, of his heart, that he keeps guarded. He knows logically it’s probably unnecessary, since George is putting in the effort. But he can’t help it. He’s still scared, still wary. Three months is a long time, but it’s also no time at all. 

They’re in George’s bed, hair a mess and lips red and puffy from kissing. George is on top of Sapnap, his hands roaming freely over his torso as he licks into his mouth. They’ve been making out for a while now, and Sapnap’s starting to get antsy. 

He squeezes George’s hips and pulls away long enough to breathe, “George.” 

The older man sits up straighter, smiling down at him. It would be an exact replica of how they were positioned all those weeks ago, if it weren’t for the softness in George’s gaze, and the fondness in his smile. He trails his thumb across Sapnap’s bottom lip as he waits for him to verbalize his desire. 

Instead of doing that, Sapnap parts his lips so the brunet’s thumb slips between them. George’s eyes darken as he closes his lips around his finger, tonguing at it and suckling softly. George licks his lips, pushing his thumb a little further inside. 

“What is it, puppy? Hm?” 

Sapnap’s breath hitches at the pet name, waiting a couple more seconds before letting George’s thumb slip from his mouth. 

“Want you in my mouth,” he admits, blushing despite having gotten used to asking for what he wants. 

George smiles, gaze flicking back up from his mouth to meet his eyes. “Yeah?” 

Sapnap nods, “Yeah.” 

George’s hands roam over his torso again, silent for a moment before saying, “Not yet, sweetheart.” Sapnap’s pupils dilate further, his irises being swallowed up by the softness of George’s words. “Lemme just take care of you, hm?”

Sapnap squirms, but after a moment he nods. “Okay.” 

George grins happily, moving to undress the younger man. He takes his own clothes off, too, and then settles back into his position on top of Sapnap. 

His hands resume their work of mapping out his upper body, taking his time to memorize every curve, every blemish. George knows his words won’t suffice — he doesn’t know how to explain the depths of his feelings for Sapnap. He uses his hands instead. 

No part of Sapnap goes untouched, George makes sure of it. His hands are gentle, kind. He tries to convey everything he can’t say through his touch. 

Every few moments he meets Sapnap’s watchful gaze, and the eye contact is intense. Burning, like they’re both aware of the ball of energy in between them. When he finally dips down to press a soft kiss to his sternum, Sapnap makes a beautiful whimper sound in the back of his throat. 

George’s lips replace his hands, kissing every inch he can. He reaches a nipple and kisses it softly like he has everywhere else, but can’t help himself from darting his tongue out to lick at it, too. He flicks his tongue over the bud, closes his lips around it to suck on it lightly, even nips it between his teeth, drawing the first moan out of the younger man. George smiles, moving on to his other nipple. 

Sapnap’s hands find his hair, just as gentle. He’s breathing heavily and George is in a trance, focused on nothing besides the man splayed out underneath him. He relishes every stuttered breath, every tiny sound he’s able to pull from him. 

He makes his way down Sapnap’s torso, leaving a few self-indulgent marks along the way that’ll bruise a pretty purple come morning. When he licks a stripe through the younger man’s happy trail, Sapnap starts to beg. 

“George,” he says, voice small and wavering. 

A kiss underneath his bellybutton, “What, darling?” 

Sapnap releases a shuddery breath. “Please.” 

George hums against his skin, and flicks his eyes up to meet hazel looking back at him. Sapnap looks fucked out already, and George hasn’t even done anything. His eyes are lidded and his pupils are blown, his pretty pink lips are parted and slick with his spit. His hands are fisted in the sheets like he’s restraining himself, chest heaving. 

“Please what?” George teases, and the response is instant. 

“Please— touch me. Anywhere. I’ll take— I’ll take anything. Just— please. Touch me, please, George.” 

He can’t help the smirk that stretches across his lips, but his own self-restraint is slipping so he decides not to tease the younger man any longer. He hooks his fingers into Sapnap’s waistband, sliding both his shorts and boxers off all in one go. 

Sapnap sighs when his cock springs free and slaps against his stomach, flushed pink and already leaking. He’s watching George with rapt attention, waiting patiently for whatever he’ll give him. 

“Grab me the lube,” he instructs, his voice husky with his own desire. The younger man wastes no time in reaching over to the bedside table and retrieving the well-loved bottle from the drawer. 

George takes his time slicking up his fingers, drinking in the sight of Sapnap’s restless twitching and heated gaze. He parts his legs almost subconsciously, blushing furiously afterward. George smirks, shifting so he’s comfortable between the younger man’s legs. 

He circles his rim with his middle finger, only adding a small amount of pressure; not enough to enter yet. He bends down to press chaste kisses to his hip, and — to the younger man’s surprise — when he sinks his finger inside Sapnap’s hole, he also takes the head of his straining cock into his mouth. 

Sapnap moans brokenly, thighs tensing momentarily at the unexpected pleasure. George doesn’t do more than suckle and lick the tip of his cock while he adjusts to the intrusion of his finger, waiting for him to relax. 

“Fuck,” Sapnap breathes, sounding needy. 

George hums, causing the younger man’s eyes to squeeze shut for a second. 

When they reopen, George begins thrusting his finger in and out of Sapnap’s tight heat, preparing him for the second. He takes his time, circling the head of his cock with his tongue and avoiding his prostate. 

Each time he adds a finger he sinks a little bit lower on his cock, bobbing his head to the rhythm of his thrusts. He focuses solely on prepping the younger man, completely avoiding his sweet spot and relishing in his growing desperation. He takes a little longer than he really needs to, but Sapnap doesn’t seem to mind when the head of his cock bumps against the back of George’s throat. 

“Fuck— George,” he pants, his hands having moved from gripping the sheets to gripping his own hair. The older man decides he’s ready, pulling his fingers out and pulling off his dick, letting it slap lewdly against his stomach once again. There’s nothing but pure need in his eyes, so George makes quick work of slicking up his cock and positioning it against Sapnap’s rim. 

He leans over the younger man, one hand at the base of his dick and one beside his head, propping himself up. “Do you want it, baby?” he teases, rubbing himself against Sapnap’s hole. “You want me?” 

Sapnap looks like he’s about to scream. “Yes, fuck— George, please, please I’ve been good,” he begs breathlessly. 

“Yeah, you have,” George breathes, pushing inside the younger man. 

Sapnap’s mouth drops open in a silent moan as George slowly bottoms out, never breaking eye contact. Their faces are close and it makes something possessive and primal bubble up in George’s chest, having Sapnap’s eyes locked onto his as he fills him. 

Sapnap’s arms loop around his neck as their hips meet, and his eyes are filled with something so intense George thinks he might fall right into them. He drags his hips back slowly, leaving just the tip of his cock inside, and then slams back in. 

Sapnap moans desperately, clinging onto George who groans at the tightness enveloping him. He starts his pace, fucking him slowly, but hard.  

“George,” Sapnap moans, mouth unable to close. 

“Yeah, fuck, you feel so good, puppy,” George grunts, twitching inside of Sapnap when he sees his eyes roll back into his head. “So perfect for me.” 

“So deep,” Sapnap whimpers, bringing a hand down to rest on his tummy, as if he can feel George there. It makes George’s hips stutter as he groans, increasing the speed of his thrusts and filling the air with the sounds of skin slapping together. 

He leans back on his knees to grab onto Sapnap’s hips, pulling him into each rough thrust. Sapnap’s arms lie above his head on the pillow, and he looks completely blissed-out in a way George wants to burn into his memory. 

He angles his hips differently to brush his prostate on every thrust, panting out, “That feel good?” when Sapnap’s tongue lolls out. 

“Yes,” he moans, back arching beautifully. “Yes, George, fuck— oh my god.” 

George can’t help himself now — he’s too lost in his own lust. He bends down to shove his nose into the pit of Sapnap’s arm, inhaling the scent of his musk deep into his lungs. He moans on the exhale, shifting to suck pretty marks into his neck, fucking him deep and hard and fast. 

Sapnap’s hands tangle in his hair and he whimpers, “George, ‘m close, ‘m gonna cum, please,” in a small, needy voice, and George straightens back up to watch the show. 

“Go on, baby, you can cum. Dirty yourself for me, yeah? Cum on my cock.” 

He does, instantly, and George grins wolfishly as he fucks him through it. His tightening around George’s cock has him tumbling close to the edge as well, falling forward onto his arms as he slams in a couple more times. He groans as his orgasm washes over him, stilling inside the younger man and watching the fucked-out expression on his face. He’s overcome with lust and desire, but there’s something else there, too. Sapnap rubs his hands along George’s back as he cums, and it’s like he’s coaxing the words straight from his mouth. 

“Fuck,” George pants, coming down from his high. “God, you’re so good. Fuck, I love you.” 

He lays his weight onto Sapnap, burying his face in his neck to hide his burning cheeks. 

Sapnap tenses as soon as the words leave his mouth, his hands halting their movement for only a second before resuming. They breathe heavily into the dark room, bathing in each other’s warmth. 

George isn’t dumb, though; he senses the tension in the air. 

He recognizes the awful timing of his admission, something that could be downplayed as heat of the moment. 

Even though they’ve both come down from the high of their orgasms, George’s heartbeat hasn’t slowed. He knows he has to say something — say more — and it’s scary. 

He has to, though. He has to. 

He pushes himself up onto his forearms and meets Sapnap’s lidded eyes, which are kind, but alert. He pulls out, both of them grimacing at the sensation, and rolls over onto his back beside Sapnap. 

He extends an arm in invitation and holds Sapnap close when he curls himself around George. It’s better this way — George knows the words will get caught in his throat if he tries to speak while looking in his eyes.

So, instead, he kisses the top of Sapnap’s head and whispers his confession into his hair. 

“I do, you know.” 

It’s all he can say. 

Sapnap hesitates. “Hm?” 

George takes a breath. 

“I do. Love you. Like—” 

Sapnap tries to move so he can look at George’s face, but he stops him.

“Just—” he sighs, frustrated at the difficulty of saying what he means. 

“Like— I’m in love. With you.” 

He takes another breath, relief washing over his muscles and allowing his heart rate to settle. When Sapnap doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, George consciously decides not to worry, giving him the space to collect his own thoughts. 

A minute later, “Really?” 

It’s soft, perhaps a bit insecure. 

George nudges him so he’ll meet his eyes finally. He smiles down at him, “Yeah.” 

Sapnap beams.  

George giggles, and it’s like the air around them shifts instantly, giddiness filling both of them to the brim. They giggle in each other’s arms for what feels like hours, and it’s the happiest George has ever felt in his life. 

Sapnap’s chin is resting on his sternum, George’s head tilted down so they can see each other. When their laughter dies down they just look at one another, soft smiles on their faces that neither of them can wipe off. 

After a few moments, Sapnap lifts his head to press a loving kiss to George’s chest. 

“I love you too.” 

The next morning, George has breakfast ready for Sapnap when he wakes up. It’s McDonald’s breakfast, sure, but it’s the thought that counts. Sapnap’s honestly glad he doesn’t have to choke down something homemade and unavoidably inedible. 

They’re not perfect. But Sapnap has been learning that George has his own ways of showing his love, instead of saying the words. And he knows that the fact that he said the words at all is a big fucking deal. 

It makes him giddy to think about.

They definitely still have a long way to go, and that includes Sapnap, too. He still can’t let go of the lingering fear that a switch will flip and everything will go back to the way it was, even though George hasn’t done anything to justify that fear. 

Sapnap doesn’t think the word trauma is the right fit, but it’s something. He hasn’t told George yet that he’s thinking of starting therapy, too. 

They still have a while to go, but the point is that they’re getting there. They’re making spaces for their edges to fit together and they’re making compromises along the way — like George’s admission of those three little words. 

They eat their McDonald’s hashbrowns in bed while watching TikTok on George’s phone, and something settles into place. With the knowledge that they’ll be able to work through the obstacles thrown at them, Sapnap allows himself to feel loved. 

And boy, was it ever worth the wait.