Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

woof!

George fiddles with the fidget cube in his hands absentmindedly. Dream had offered it to help ease George into this whole thing, something to keep him occupied for the first few times. This time, though, George also has the TV to distract him. There’s some random sitcom playing, but George’s brain is beginning to fuzz over, not really paying attention anymore. The angle isn’t the best, anyway— he has to look up slightly from where he’s kneeling on the floor.

It feels good, for the most part, to be sitting between Dream’s legs like this. It’s cathartic, in a way— allowing himself to let go of all his normal responsibilities. He is, however, starting to get a bit uncomfortable on his knees. It’s hard to tell how long it’s been since the scene started, but George would guess at least half an hour and his thighs are beginning to ache. As much as he would like to reposition himself, the collar, heavy against his throat, attached to a leash held in Dream’s steady hand, serves as a reminder to behave. It’s a reminder of Dream’s presence, too, sitting behind him on the couch, keeping him under a watchful eye.

George fidgets with the toy in his hands for a few minutes longer until his foot starts to tingle. He tries to subtly move it out from under him, but is admonished with a sharp tug of the leash.

“Dr—“

“Colour?” Dream asks lowly, keeping the leash taut.

“Green,” George replies. It’s one of the three words he’s allowed to speak during a scene.

Dream shoves him forward by the back of his neck, making him stumble and catch himself on his hands. The fidget cube rolls a few feet away.

“Dogs don’t talk, do they?”

George’s chest burns bright with humiliation as he shakes his head.

“I have some things to take care of,” Dream says, and George can hear him standing up before he unclips the leash from George’s collar. “Stay until I get back.”

George automatically wants to protest— Dream really wants him to stay on his hands and knees like this, alone? It’s a step up from what they’ve been doing so far, with Dream beside him the whole time.

He doesn’t, though, keeping his mouth shut and head down as Dream leaves the room. He hears a door open and close somewhere down the hall—probably Dream’s office—and then he’s alone with nothing but the monotonous sound of the TV to keep him company.

Seconds stretch on, and George stays like he was told. Although there’s no one watching, it’s fucking embarrassing. The fact that he’s on all fours like a dog, staying just because he was told, because he wants to please his owner. Truthfully, he doesn’t even think about disobeying. He wants to know what happens when he’s good, seeing as Dream hasn’t given him this kind of opportunity during play so far.

It can’t have been more than five minutes, but it might as well have been an hour by the time George hears Dream’s footsteps approaching. He perks up at the sound, turning his head to see Dream coming to crouch down next to him. He’s smiling gently, a sight George is glad to see.

“There’s my good boy,” Dream praises, ruffling George’s hair. “Did just what I asked, didn’t you?”

George nods, looking up at Dream with pleading eyes. The praise makes his stomach dip and he’s eager to see what Dream has planned.

“I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

George nods again, enthusiastic at the idea of getting a treat, even though he has no idea what that means in this context.

Dream chuckles, retracting his hand. “Roll over, puppy.”

George hesitates for only a moment before dropping to his shoulder and rolling onto his back.