It's Funny

Chapter Two

TRIGGER WARNING: Use of the f slur, internalized homophobia, implied homophobic parents.

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If he were gay, he would have known before now, right? I mean, he's twenty-one. If he was gay, he would've figured it out ages ago. Right?

He thinks back, tries to see if there was any sign that he liked dudes before whatever the hell is going on now. He thinks hard, dredges up anything that could help him with this bizarre new problem of his.

So, okay, sometimes he'd see a conventionally attractive man, and he'd think about what it'd be like to kiss them. But that's not gay, everyone thinks that sometimes... right?

He's never jacked off to a guy, in porn or anything else like that. Well... except that one time in high school. But it was high school, everyone did a little experimenting.

It's not like he'd ever had a crush on a dude before. Unless you count that stupid infatuation with some boy he had in middle school. But...

Holy shit, he's gay, isn't he?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

That's bad.

No! It's not bad. There's nothing wrong with being gay!

Unless I'm the one that's gay, his mind tacks on quickly.

His mind then helpfully reminds him of his parents, and, Christ, what would his parents think?

His mom would be devastated. She'd cry. She'd sob over the fact that her only son was gay. His dad would be furious. He'd hate that his son had grown into some sort of pansy piece of shit. The idea of having to come out to them makes his throat close, and panic to settle in his brain.

So, like any man in their 20's struggling with intense emotions, he ignores it and decides to jack off instead.

He opens PornHub, settles on some video of a brunette chick with nice tits getting railed by some guy who's almost grotesquely muscular. He starts to stroke his cock but he's not getting anything out of it. He can't focus on the video, it's just not doing anything for him.

A frustrated noise forces its way out of his throat, and he slams a fist down on his desk.

Desperate to prove he's not gay, he continues to watch the video, jacking off furiously (literally, in this case). Despite his eyes being locked into the screen, his mind wanders.

Wanders right to George. George, pinned underneath him, his face and chest flushed, droplets of sweat on his forehead, his hair ruffled, his eyes half-lidded and full of lust, moaning out his name-

Dream cums and feels like he's going to throw up. He closes his browser and stands from his chair, storming to the bathroom for a shower.

He rinses his hand in the sink first, then starts the shower. While he waits for the water to heat up, he looks at himself in the mirror.

There are bags under his eyes, he hadn't been able to sleep last night. His hair is a mess and he wants to rip it out in his frustration. He takes his clothes off and looks over his naked body.

He doesn't look gay.

Gay people don't look a certain way, asshole, he scolds himself.

He stares at himself until the mirror is fogged over, then he steps into the shower and under the scalding water. He hisses at the burn, but he doesn't step away or adjust the temperature, he simply takes the pain.

Maybe if he punishes himself enough, he can condition himself to be normal.

Being gay isn't abnormal, you piece of shit, he tells himself.

He doesn't cry, that's just water from the shower.
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He only gets out once the water runs like ice. He returns to his room with a few messages from Sapnap and George asking him to hop in a call and play some Minecraft with them.

Part of him wants to ignore it. He doesn't want to face George after what he did.

But he knows that he can't ignore them forever, so he puts on his headphones, turns on his mic, and starts up Minecraft. He clicks to join the call, and is greeted excitedly by his friends.

The relief he feels is instantaneous. He's with his friends. This is normal, and fun, and he can finally stop fucking thinking. He can just play Minecraft with his best friends and chill out for a while.

They laugh and joke, just like normal, just like they always do. And that means he flirts with George. It's natural, he doesn't even really realize what he said until George replies, equally flirtatious, hinting at vulgarity.

His face flushes, and his chest tightens. He feels nauseous and like he can't breathe.

It's not a big deal, you stupid faggot, it's not George's fault that you're sick in the head, his brain spits, get over yourself, he's just joking with you.

The thought makes his mouth go dry. He tries his best to laugh it off and to continue like nothing happened, but his friends can tell that something is amiss. They've been friends for years, of course they know that something is wrong.

George pipes up, "Dream, are you alright?"

"What? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine! Sorry, I just have a bit of a headache or somethin'..."

"Are you sure? If I went to far with that joke, you can tell me."

"Yeah, man, you can tell us if somethin's up," Sapnap jumps in.

"Seriously guys, I'm fine. Nothin' happened, I'm just feeling a little off."

He almost feels bad for lying.

It's not like you can be honest. What would George think if he knew you'd cum to the thought of him twice? He'd think you were disgusting. You ARE disgusting.

Almost.

The trio move on, joking and laughing and messing around in the game, but now he's much more careful not to flirt with George. If his friends notice, they don't say anything.
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Days go by, and every night he jacks off to the sound of George. Guilt churns in his stomach, swirls heavily like black ink dropped in water. He cries a lot. He's always been more emotional, cried a bit more than most men he knows, but it's only gotten worse.

Sort of dumb you didn't realize you liked cock sooner, seeing as how you've always been a little weepy bitch.

He's curled in his bed, hands tugging at his hair, jaw clenched, and tears running steadily across his face. The way the tears run sideways and wet his ears is almost enough motivation to move, fucking move, but he can't do it. He can't fucking do it.

He hears his phone ring and he ignores it. Ignores his friends.

How pathetic and selfish do you have to be to make your friends worry about you like this? You're a piece of shit.

He lets out a guttural cry, between a sob and a frustrated yell. He tugs harder at his hair, as if the bad thoughts will come out with the blond strands.

His phone rings again, and he lets it. He knows he shouldn't make his friends worry, but it will only be worse if he answers the phone, so instead he wallows in his guilt and shame.

A/N: Heyo, I really like how this story is going, and if you like it as well (and want to see more) please let me know!