Y'all ✨sometimes ✨ I can be funny, and this is one of those times. istg I almost shat myself writing this 😭

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𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝒫𝒪𝒱

Fine dining isn't something I do often. Usually I only go out when business partners invite me, or I have to flatter potential clients. My first experience was with Techno, surprisingly. We had talked for hours about my growing company and he decided to take me out with him and Phil to celebrate a multi-million dollar deal they had landed.

Safe to say, I was embarrassed out of my mind. I had no idea what to do, I pretty much broke every rule in the place and I almost left. They both took pity on me and taught me the basics. Techno was definitely going to do the same to George now that he's working for them. Might as well save him from the humiliation.

It wasn't all self-less though. Anything was worth it to keep him in that suit for a little longer.

"If you start taking tomatoes off shit, I'll kick you out myself." I mumble, pulling my keys out of the ignition. He taps his foot nervously, looking out the window at the fancy establishment. "Although, if you don't wanna do this, say the word and we'll go back home and order some pizza."

"Tempting. But if we go home, you'll take that off." He hums, gesturing to the suit he picked out for me. "So I suppose I'll suffer through a formal dinner with you."

He opens his car door and shuts it with me still inside, rapping the window with his knuckles to get me to hurry the hell up. I don't even attempt to hide the harsh blush on my cheeks as I step out of the car, sighing when I spot a few cars pulling up next to us.

George reaches for my hand and I pull away slightly. "George, I'd love to hold your hand, but there are people watching us." I murmur into his ear, putting some distance between us. He scans the area and sighs, smiling up at me like it was no big deal.

We hurry over to the doors and I watch a few people struggle with their cameras as they watch us. We manage to get inside before they get to us, exhaling with relief. I reach for his hand, as we're seated at our table, reciting all the pretentious steps in my head to make sure I don't forget anything.

George stares at the wide array of silverware laid out meticulously in front of him, chewing his bottom lip. He looks around at the decadently dressed individuals around him. He looks back at me. I'm doomed, he eyes me silently.

I chuckle, watching the waiter approach our table. Huh, this one is new. I've been here quite a few times, and I've never seen him before. He whirls around us with practiced ease, filling up our glasses with champagne, assuring us that our food will be served shortly.

George looked too afraid to touch anything, keeping his hands in his lap at all times. I watch him in amusement, tilting my head as he makes panicked eye contact. "Dream, how do I say I need to pee without sounding like I'm homeless?"

I clear my throat."Excuse me good sir, may I request an interval to urinate inside this fine establishment's porcelain throne?" Goddamn, my British accent is coming along nicely.

He glares at me as I try not to die of laughter, choked sounds coming out of my throat as we get glances from the table next to us. I know George is five seconds away from flipping them off. He stands up heatedly, placing his napkin on his chair and scooching out.

Low and behold, his salad fork decided to fuck with him and falls down onto the spotless marble floor. The clatter echoes through the room, and any conversation that was going on, quiets as everyone tries to find the idiot who interrupted their meal.

The idiot in question was brick red, looking like he was going to cry and fall over laughing simultaneously. I had my own issues at this point, trying not to let the teakettle-like sounds building in my throat escape as tears bead into my eyes.

So I excuse myself with him, and we both head to the bathroom, avoiding the exasperated stares from the expensive people staring at us. George promptly closes the door, hand clamped over his mouth as he tries hard to keep his giggles at bay.

"T-that...' I wheeze. "That was–"

"Shut up," He gasps, shoving his face into his hands. "Oh my God."

"Do–you still need to u-urinate in the porcelain –" Coughs explode up my throat and I watch his face morph into one of amused annoyance as I lean against the vast array of sinks encased in clean marble.

"I hate you so much." He mumbles, going into a stall with an amused huff.

A few seconds later, a dude walks into the bathroom. I school my expression into one of prestige, because I'm a classy adult. Unfortunately, George didn't hear the goddamn door opening.

"Dream, why the fuck is this toilet spraying my arse?" He asks indignantly. "Can't these people wipe their shit with toilet paper like the rest of society?"

Oh my God.

The dude looks distraught, a slight tinge on his cheeks. This time, I can't help but laugh, wheezing uncontrollably as the man swallows a smile, washing his hands in the most awkward way possible, face tilted towards the door like he was planning his route of escape.

"Stop laughing at me, I'm serious!" George flushes the toilet, opening his stall door before I can tell him not to. "I press a button and suddenly there's a garden hose up my–"

He stops speaking. We both watch as the man clears his throat, the blush on his cheeks ramping up at least a thousand degrees as he clears his throat, nods awkwardly at both of us, and walks out.

"Before you freak out, we're probably never gonna see that dude again after today." I struggle to breath, watching as he washes his hands, ghostly pale. He strides over to me and dumps himself into my arms, burying his flushed cheeks into my shoulder, shaking with giggles that vibrated against my skin.

 He clamps his hands over his face to hide his horrified smile, looking up at me through his fingers. "Dreeeeam, why the fuck wouldn't you tell me there was some random dude in here while I was talking about my arse?"

I almost let out a quiet aww, tugging at his hands to meet his embarrassed stare. "Ok, ok–to be fair, I was trying not to bust a leak out here. I think I'm gonna puke if I laugh one more time."

"I think it's time to go home,"

"Nooo. The best part is the food, come on George." I flash my puppy dog eyes at him and he looks at me with indifference. I keep staring at him and he sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"I hate you." He relents.

"You love me." I grin. George rolls his eyes.

We walked out quietly, keeping an eye out for the dude, but he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he's on the balcony floor. Or he left from the sheer emotional trauma. Hopefully the latter.

–

"George. No, I'm going to kill you." I pull back a smile, looking at him with warning. Technically, you could pick off things you didn't want to eat and place it to the side of your plate. But it was frowned upon, especially in a business setting.

The flawlessly-roasted tomato slice stares up at him and his eyes narrow when I tell him to stop. "Would it be better if I threw up all over the table?" He murmurs at me.

"Valid." I grimace.

He grins his stupidly adorable grin and scoots the fruit far away from the rest of his food.

The courses were small, but tasted so incredibly good that I was willing to sit through the almost-silent ambience of these restaurants just to admire the beautiful plates of cuisine. Colors burst across each course, bright green lettuce with fresh fruit for one course to perfectly cooked steak that pulled apart with a touch of a fork for the next. Pretty yellow and orange sauces embellished plate after plate, each one filled with new flavors and sensations. And the best part: fresh-made vanilla bean ice cream with passion-fruit puree for dessert, came last.

I had ordered us a seven-course, since a twelve-course like Techno made me sit through was absolute torture. As we finally got through the final course, George's eyes were about to close and he was restraining the urge to hold his stomach in pain. Even with such small portions, I feel fully stuffed as well. I tip the staff that helped us and the bartender well, leading him out of the restaurant.

"You've successfully taught me manners." He rests against my shoulder, definitely on some sort of food-high.

"I definitely haven't. It was a colossal fail." I deadpan. "Can't these people wipe their shit with–"

"Dream, I will hurt you." He threatens. I chuckle as we walk out to my car, holding the door open for him before climbing into the driver's seat myself.

He immediately curls into his side, smushing his face against the window. The steady hum of rain fills the silence and I watch the fat raindrops splotch onto my windshield with little mercy. George is already asleep when I snap out of nature's trance and finally reverse onto the road, the slide of the windshield wipers whistling a steady lullaby.

George's suit is riddled with creases from his awkward sleeping position. His tie was loosened haphazardly, his dark hair ruffled into a mess on his head. Yet, I don't think I've ever seen something so perfect. I jolt as someone honks at me and I look up at the traffic light that had long since switched colors, easing onto the accelerator to avoid him slamming into his seatbelt.

Drive now. Ogle George later.

The valet driver jumpscares me at my window and I hand my keys to him, giving him some cash with it. I leave the clothes we wore before Rene's in the backseat to take it to dry-cleaning tomorrow. George doesn't even twitch when I open his door and he slips from the frigid window into my arms. "We're here," I shake his shoulder gently. "George."

He sighs in his sleep, mumbling an indignant go away. My skin tingles as he tucks his nose into my shirt, the irritated frown on his face relaxing again. "What do I look like, a public transportation service?" I mumble, slipping an arm underneath his legs and hoisting him up.

This is the last time I'm picking him up for the sole reason being he's too lazy to walk on his own. The last time.

The lady at the lobby desk stares as I make my way over to the elevator. The doors close and I lean against the railing as we shoot upward. George's head bumps against the mirrored wall and he groans, scrunching his nose and opening his eyes. "Ow, you idiot." He rubs his head, pouting up at me.

The elevator door opens and I stare at him, underwhelmed by his attempt to make me apologize. "I will drop you right now." I threaten, slipping one hand out from under him just slightly.

He yelps and hooks both his arms around my neck in reflex. "No Dream, don't! Stop!" He yells when I wheeze, shifting him back with my arm secured under his legs. George doesn't let go of my neck, grip still tense as I stroll down the hall.

"I won't drop you love," I tease, satisfied as roses bloom across his neck, tinting his ears a sunset pink.

"Shut up." He sulks, handing me our apartment key from his pocket. "The next time you're whining to me, I'll tell you to fuck off."

"You would never." I grin, creasing the heels of my shoes to take them off.

George wiggles his feet, kicking his off without a care in the world. "I would. Now shut up and take me..." He yawns. "–to bed."

I stare. "...you want me to take you in bed?"

"What, no!" George's eyes pry open, burying his cheeks into his hands. "I said to bed. You're–you're such an idiot."

The embarrassment crawling up my neck dies with the mortified expression on his face. "I mean, either one works." I smirk.

"Dream!"

I let him off for now, struggling to keep my eyes open as we entered my–our bedroom. It's not like George actually used his own bed. My bedroom had quickly become ours in everything but name, at least in his head.

"This suit is so hot." He mumbles, spreading out like a starfish on top of the plushy comforter when I dump him down onto the bed with a short sigh. "I'm like...sweating."

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" I ask mindlessly, looking down at him with a tiny smile. His eyes shine with mischief and I look away, bracing myself for his teasing retort.

"Get me out of it,"

My eyes snap back to his. I was expecting something dumb to come out of his mouth like usual, but I definitely wasn't expecting that. This british fuck gives me whiplash. One minute he's shy, and the next minute he's asking me to take off his fucking clothes.

"Shut up," I snort, silencing myself when he heaves himself up, hooking his chin on my shoulder. There was something in the way he looked at me that made me melt in my seat. George knew exactly what he was doing, fluttering his eyelashes in a way that he must have practiced in front of a mirror.

"Stop doing that." I mumble, cheeks heating from his doe-eyed stare. His lips find my neck, fingers fiddling with the deep blue fabric hiding my shoulders from view.

Shifting behind me captures my attention, and I watch as he slips off his suit jacket, smoothing out the creases. He reaches over, laying it gently on the other side of the bed. I still sit there like an idiot, staring at him. George rolls his eyes.

"Fine, you first then." He hums.

His fingers dance across the soft fabric, playing with each pearly button before tugging them open. His attention was focused solely on the task at hand. I shrug my suit off and the tight-fitting waistcoat slips off with it.

"This is awkward." George mentions, probably because he's trying to disguise the fact that he's staring at my chest like no tomorrow. I say that like I wasn't staring at him.

"Gimme a smooch George." I pucker my lips and scrunch my eyes shut when he laughs, pushing me away with a strangled yelp.

"Stop, you idiot." He smiles, eyes widening when I grab his wrist and pull him into my lap, slipping my fingers into the knot of his tie to pull it from his neck. His eyes were all droopy now, struggling to stay awake as he pulled my shirt off over my back, gaze running over any expense of skin visible.

Chilly air blankets my body with goosebumps. George closes his eyes, laying against my chest, his soft exhales sending shivers down my spine.

"Are you sure you want me to–"

"Mmhm."

"What happened to no stripping until our third date?" I tease.

"I'll waive the fees and charge you a late penalty later." He mumbles through half-lidded eyes, staring up at me with a tired grin.

I snort as my hands act of their own accord, discovering moon-kissed skin underneath the stark white of his silky shirt. His arms cross around his stomach in instinct, almost alert when he opens them. He watches my expression and relaxes again, and I almost die right then and there.

"Dream, hurry up." He mutters, closing his eyes and trying to get comfortable again.

The elastic band of his suit pants hugs his figure tightly, and I lift him up slightly to strip them off of him. My heart aches as he sighs in relief, clinging to me with a vulnerability that only comes out when he's numbingly tired or very rare occasions.

"George," I hum, chuckling quietly when he refuses to loosen his grip around my waist. He exhales, features squished with annoyance. "Lemme go get you some clothes baby."

His grip loosens automatically, and I mentally pat myself on the back. I don't wait to see his undoubtedly comical expression. Instead I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, waiting for the pins and needles in my feet to fade before trudging to my closet.

When I walk back with fluffy pajama pants and hoodies in hand, I suppress a snort at the sight of George feigning sleep, bashful pink staining his cheeks and pooling into the tips of his ears. His eyes flutter shut the rest of the way when he hears me coming, and I hide a smile, allowing him to think I don't suspect anything.

His exhales stagger when I pull the pants up his thighs, brushing my fingertips against his skin every once in a while. I had picked out one of my hoodies for him, and the grin that spreads across his pretty features when I pull it over his head validates me enough to press a kiss to his forehead. It was all so sickeningly domestic in the best possible way.

I almost have a heart attack when he yanks my neck down, crashing his lips to mine. I push him back down to the mattress, locking our mouths together in a sweet rhythm. His tongue tasted like warm vanilla and the slightest tang of fresh fruit, and nothing has ever felt more perfect than this moment.

We pull back, and George hides his smile into his shoulder, falling back onto the bed. "Nervous for your first day?" I mumble, tugging the soft blanket over our legs. He opens his eyes to stare at me as he contemplates an answer.

"Your mum will be because of this big di–"

"George," I wheeze. "You can't say that, you've literally met her."

"And?" He asks, laughing deliriously.

"So are you?" I shake my head and he scooches closer, chocolate eyes finding mine as I lay a hand on his waist. His laughter fades, a quiet hum taking its place.

"A bit." He admits. "I mean, I'm working under Technoblade and Phil. They're like, legends."

"Hey," I complain. "I'm a legend too!"

"You're almost a legend." He corrects.

"Ouch." I grumble. "Well I was going to tell you you'll do great. But now that you've insulted my status as a celebrity, you can suck my ass."

"Alright then." He shrugs, tugging at my pajama pants.

"What?" I wheeze. "George, what is wrong with you?"

His laughter vibrates my chest pleasantly and I stare at him, an incredulous smile frozen on my face. He looks at me with squinty eyes filled with gilded tears of humor, covering his mouth with his hand. I pull at his fingers, lacing mine with his. I wonder if he knows how beautiful he is. I bet he doesn't, because if he did, he wouldn't cover up his irresistibly sweet smile.

"If he overworks you, I'll kick his ass." I muse.

"You? Kicking Techno's ass?" George raises an eyebrow teasingly. "He's like a foot taller than you. And you know, buff."

"What the fuck?" My jaw drops. "He is not a foot taller, he's like, half an inch taller. I could totally take him! Should I be jealous, Georgie?" Jesus, I'm being dragged today.

"Hmm." He pretends to think about it.

"Man. I guess I'll start hitting the gym more." I pout.

He laughs, closing his eyes to press a short kiss to my nose. "He's not my type." He assures, scrunching his nose. His eyes crinkle as devilish delight dances across his features.

"What's your type then?" I smirk.

"Discount Tony Starks with fluffy blonde hair and an ego the size of Brighton."

He's such a cheeky bastard. I fucking love him. "You're really hurting my feelings today George." I sniff.

"I'm sorry baby." He mocks. 

"It's fine love." I retort.

"Oh my God, you're so stupid and I hate you." He groans, smushing his face into his pillow to avoid my eyes. I noticed quite quickly how shy he could get with certain things. Gentle touches in public, pet names, compliments. It was a hit or a miss with him, depending purely on the day. And I adore it wholeheartedly.

"You love me." I sing, rolling on top of him. He barely has time to cry out before I'm peppering him with kisses, giggling at his indignant yelps claiming he's going to puke out all the expensive stuff he ate if I make him laugh anymore.

"Dream," He groans, holding his stomach with a grimace. "I have work tomorrow."

"Just take a massive shit in the morning and you'll be fine." I shrug.

"There are some things that can be left unsaid." George deadpans.

"You were complaining about a problem, I provided a solution." I defend, shifting him off me to sit up. He frowns, chin tilted up to stare as I press my back against the detailed carvings of the headboard of the bed, opening my arms.

His forehead crinkles with unease, but he crawls forward, depositing himself in between my legs, wrapping his arms around me. I place a gentle kiss on his temple, feeling a bit bad. I probably shouldn't have booked a seven course. It's really difficult to do without any prior experience.

I turn him around, feathering my fingers under his hoodie. I feel his heart quicken, eyelids flickering open to look at me, searching my eyes. My fingertips meet warm skin and he shivers at the contact, squirming a bit. "Is this okay?" I ask gently.

He nods, so I continue running my hand over his stomach, pressing into the skin ever so gently. He exhales, the tension in his limbs dissipating, fully focused on my touch. I watch as he fights a smile, tilting his face to rest against my chest, sinking into me like putty.

I creep up his torso, kneading the tension away with firm hands, humming under my breath as I fall into a routine, staring out our windows. He falls asleep, shallow inhales fading into soft exhales.

It doesn't take long for me to follow suit.

—

I wake up on my side, when I distinctly remember falling asleep sitting up against the back of the bed. More importantly, I'm alone.

It was a weird concept, relationships. I've been sleeping alone for years, save for when Sapnap and I would fall asleep on the couch playing video games.

Now, waking up alone seems unbearable. The warmth that came with the morning was gone, and the fatigue that came back punctually with dawn weighed on my shoulders with a harsh rebuttal. How dare you enjoy mornings. Be fucking exhausted.

And I call myself a morning person. Right.

It's only after I blink the sleep out of my eyes that I notice an orange glow at the tip top of my vision. My hand raises to scratch at my forehead, only to rake my fingernails against neon paper. The adhesive pulls at my skin as I peel it off, and I stare at the bright post-it.

Went in a little early to meet some people. Try not to cry okay baby? Also breakfast is in the fridge :p

"Such an idiot," I grin at the messy scrawl, storing it into my night table drawer.

Me: so how's your first day going love?

Prince George <3: shut up :]

Me: so?

Prince George <3: fine. Lots of work

Me: you have to work during work :O

Prince George <3: I'm hanging up

Me: we're not on call?

Prince George <3: lol I have to go. Bye

Me: don't get fired

Prince George <3: ha

Huh, that was weird.

And I have got to change his contact name on my phone. Sighing, I haul myself over to the shower. Back to reality. 

//

dnf has been dnfing so much, twitter is in shambles