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ghostdnfie · 1 day ago

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Puddles and Pipes

Dnf and their demons are contagious, so here's today's brainworm inspired by George's shower being broken. Just a short little ficlet before I have to head out for a family dinner :)

It’s so stupid. It’s unbelievably stupid.

George shuts the tap off with a yelp, hopping to the side to avoid the rapidly forming puddle on the floor. This cannot be happening today.

“Dream!” he yells as loudly as he can, scrunching up his nose as he backs across the bathroom towards his towels. “Dream, help!”

It takes a moment, but finally he hears the heavy thumps of Dream’s feet approaching. “George?” he calls hesitantly through the door. “Is everything okay?”

“No it’s not–” George cuts himself off with a hiss, throwing a towel across the bathroom at the puddle still slowly creeping towards him, “it’s not fucking okay! Get in here!”

Dream stays silent on the other side of the door.

“Well?” George snaps, grimacing as he throws his backup towel onto the puddle as well. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“I thought you were having a shower,” Dream starts. “Aren’t you, you know, naked?”

George rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Not yet, I’m not. Now help me.”

The door creaks open slowly and Dream pokes his head in. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows pinched in worry.

“My shower fucking spit at me!” George snarls, ripping the door open the rest of the way and darting into the hall. “And now it’s leaking everywhere. Fix it for me.”

Dream looks between him and the shower a few times before sighing and heading into the bathroom. “How’d you even manage to do this?” he asks incredulously as he kneels by the faucet. “The water’s coming out of the wall.”

“I didn’t do anything,” George whines, bracing himself up on the counter with one hand as he leans into the room as far as possibly while keeping his feet safely outside. “I just turned it on as usual.”

“Well,” Dream says, shaking his hands as he stands back up, brushing his hands on his pant legs, “I don’t think I can fix this. I’d better call a plumber before too much more water gets into the walls.”

The plumber has to order a part. It’ll take up to three weeks to arrive, and until then Geroge’s bathroom has no water supply.

“So what am I meant to do?” he groans as Dream waves goodbye to the plumber and tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “I can’t just not shower for weeks on end.”

Dream raises his brows, considering. “Well…”

“Not anymore, idiot,” George scoffs, throwing a pillow from the sofa at him. “It was different when I lived alone and never went anywhere.”

“Just use the bathroom in the guest house?” Dream suggests, cocking his head slightly as he meets George’s eye.

George scoffs, crossing his arms. “So I have to go to an entirely different building every time I need to piss now? No, let me use yours.”

Dream blinks at him, eyes wide. “I don’t have a door to my bathroom,” he says slowly. “What would you do if I’m in my room?”

Shrugging, George looks away as heat creeps into his cheeks. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” he says quietly.

There’s another stretch of slightly charged silence before Dream clears his throat, also looking at the floor with pink cheeks now, much to George’s delight. “Doesn’t bother me either,” he whispers.

“Right,” George says, slightly unsure. “So I guess that’s our answer, then.”

Finally, Dream meets his eye, his gaze molten. “I guess we do.”

“And I didn’t get a chance to shower,” George continues, stepping slightly closer, “so…”

“Better do that, then,” Dream breathes, looking down at George through lidded eyes as he passes by, their shoulders brushing.

Swallowing thickly, George beelines for Dream’s room and nearly slams the door shut behind him. His heart is hammering in his chest and the wind feels knocked out of him. That was– that was something, right?

Blowing out hard, and massaging his chest, George hangs a left and makes his way into the bathroom. Dream’s shower is fully stocked, and then some, so he quickly turns the water on to warm up as he shucks off his clothes. Knowing the door is right there, mere feet of open space away, sends a little thrill up his spine. Dream could walk in at any moment and see him. All of him on display, the few parts of his body not yet familiar out in the open to be studied.

George kind of likes the idea of Dream studying his body, he decides.

However, by the time the water is pleasantly warm, the door hasn’t opened and with a sigh, George gives up waiting for it and steps under the flow. Dream has an assortment of shampoos and conditioners, as well as half a dozen body washes of varying scents, and the amount of choices is frankly a little overwhelming to George. Gingerly, he picks up one bottle of shampoo and brings it to his nose, sniffing it. No, that’s not the one Dream usually uses.

He picks up another, and does recognize this scent, but again it’s not the day to day smell Dream carries.

Finally, on the third shampoo bottle, George finds what he’s looking for. It’s a pleasantly mild citrus scent, with none of the sharpness that usually turns him off citrus, that he immediately knows is the one that clings to Dream’s frame most of the time. Without thinking, he lathers his hair with it.

Finding the right conditioner is easier, simply reaching for the bottle that matches the shampoo, but then he’s back at square one for the body wash.

There's one bottle that looks unused, the cherry contents still filled to the top, so he passes over that one. The following two are again scents that are not the typical one Dream has.

The next two bottles bear the same scent, according to the labels: strawberry watermelon.

George sniffs them both in turn, switching back and forth to figure out which is the correct one. The one bottle, tall and yellow, is more strawberry heavy, he thinks. It’s not right.

The other one however, short, wide, and pink, clicks into place in his brain immediately. That’s Dream in a bottle.

George is halfway through washing himself when he hears it.

The door, finally opening.

He listens intently, his hands paused in their scrubbing, to Dream’s footfalls as he walks further away. Then he hears the creak of a bed, and the quiet hum of voices as though Dream’s pulled up a youtube video.

Heart now in his throat, George washes the rest of his body extra thoroughly. Dream’s right there. George is naked in the shower and Dream’s right there. His stomach swipes and he catches his lower lip between his teeth. It’s a little thrilling, is it not?

George finally shuts off the water once it begins to run cold, stepping out of the steam and grabbing for a towel. He dries himself off slowly, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if Dream’s appeared around the corner, but he never is. The disappointment sits heavier in George’s chest each time.

Is this something he really wants? Of course he’s considered it before; they’ve had many late night conversations about whether they should be more, but George had never taken them all that seriously. He’d been intrigued, there’s no denying that, but does he genuinely want more?

It almost feels like he might. Like he does? He does.

He definitely does. He wants Dream.

George’s eyes fall to his pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Of course, he hadn’t thought to bring clean ones down, too caught up in that– whatever that conversation was to think of it. He’ll just have to put them back on, run upstairs, and get changed.

His eyes jump to Dream’s hamper. There’s a second option to him here, and he’s going to have to wear dirty clothes either way.

He slips his own boxers back on, not wanting to go all in right off the bat just in case, and paws through Dream’s laundry until he finds a pair of sweatpants and one of Dream’s favourite shirts.

Once he’s dressed, George stares at himself in the mirror and bounces on the balls of his feet. He can do this, he can walk over to the bed and– and tell Dream that he’s his. In any way that he’ll have him, he’s got him. No more talking about the weather, George has made up his mind. He knows what he wants. Who he wants.

Giving himself one last moment to gather his nerves, George sets about strategically ruffling up his hair in that way he knows Dream likes so much. It’s time. He can do this.

Dream’s laying back on the bed with one arm tucked behind his head and the other propping his phone up on his chest, seemingly unaware as George walks around the corner.

George takes a deep breath. “Dream?” he asks quietly, knowing his nerves come across in his voice.

Dream looks up and his eyes immediately go wide, his phone dropping to the mattress as his cheeks flush crimson. “Ge–George, hey.”

“I–” George clears his throat, looking down and scuffing his toe on the carpet with his hands clasped in front of his stomach, “I’m done talking about the weather.”

“The weather,” Dream parrots slowly. “As in the– the storm that’s meant to be coming this weekend?”

George shakes his head. “The weather, Dream,” he says quietly. “I– I want the weather.”

Dream’s eyes get impossibly wider. “You want– really? You’re not memeing me?”

“Have I ever memed you about something this important?” George asks, laughing wetly as he shrugs.

“No,” Dream whispers, shaking his head, “you haven’t.”

Swallowing, George slowly steps up to the bed, meeting Dream’s eye before crawling up onto it. “Exactly,” he whispers, laying down beside Dream on his side, facing him and slinging a leg over his thighs.

Dream rolls to face him, still looking a little like his brain is catching up to their conversation. “You’re sure?” he asks. “Because George, I– I can’t have this go wrong. I love you too much for this to go wrong.”

A smile spreads over George’s face. “Simp,” he breathes, leaning in to rest their foreheads together, “and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

As their lips slip together for the first time, in a bed where they share scents and clothes, George thinks he has never been more thankful for an emergency plumbing emergency in his life.

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