Flame and Spade (A DreamNotFound Story)

Chapter 5

George's mind was surprisingly clear as he could feel himself start to fall. However, a sense of disappointment tinged his mind. He had been wanting to get to know this strange Earthen boy. George squeezed his eyes shut, accepting his death - until a strange warmth circled his waist. Clay's calluses brushed the exposed skin at his midriff, George's  shirt riding up as Clay hauled him off the ledge and cradled him to his chest.

The momentum carried George too far, until he was pressed flush against Clay, heart beating rapidly and adrenaline coursing through his veins like electricity. He noticed all too late how close he was, and glanced up - only to find Clay gazing down at him, soft lips parted in awe and green eyes sparkling.

Though George was spared from any harm, still Clay held him tightly in his arms, George finally noticing the way his own arms were thrown around Clay's neck. It was too intimate, too raw - to be locked in a lover's embrace on a balcony with sweeping views.

But yet, George never wanted it to end, for the press of Clay's build had finally seemed to penetrate the coldness surrounding him. The eye contact was intoxicating; George could feel his knees go weak, pulse fluttering like a cloud of butterflies had dissolved any pretenses he had.

Each butterfly was a thought, swirling rapidly through his head; yet all too soon they turned to moths. As Clay opened his mouth, to finally speak, his hands ever so slightly scraping George's navel, George turned away. The vulnerability that had shone in his chocolate eyes had been replaced by a hard, black wall of obsidian.

"You should go." George said firmly, stepping back and wrapping his arms around himself.

"But I-"

"Now." He said, eyes glinting like sharpened steel. It was for his own good, George thought to keep the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. We can't be seen to be close. Clay stumbled away from George and turned to rub the back of his neck.

"Oh, uh. Sure." Frowning and looking like a wounded puppy, he turned and left the room, taking George's small bubble of warmth with him.

. . .

It was only after washing up, tucking himself into silk pajamas, and slipping under his covers that George let himself revisit the memory of Dream first coming through the portal. It has stunned him, shaken him to the core. How could one person be so irresistible?

Dream had been wearing an emerald tunic, dampened with mist off the portal which made it cling to his washboard abs and muscular arms. He was wearing black combat boots and silver leggings, showing off his long legs.

Oh - and he was tall, taller than George's father. It was quite unfair that George had always been on the short side, and had to crane his head to take in Dream's angular jawline, fluffy golden hair that looked softer than Strider feathers, chapped yet plump lips - and his eyes.

They seemed so open, so pure - and seemed to hold vast glades, the very color of the moss described in the books George had so avidly read. Like deer leaping through forests carpeting the mountains, the small flecks of amber and gold in them like pools of sunlight dancing on the forest floor. George happily fell asleep, lulled by the faint memory of Dream's arms holding him safe.

. . .

Washed, dressed, and trotting down the broad stairs to breakfast, Clay was confused. The way George had stared up at him, his lip catching on George's held breath had been magical - Clay had no clue why George had shut him out so quickly.

He had been in the palace two more days and had barely caught wind of George - not due to his efforts. The Prince always seemed to turn the corner and disappear just when Clay would reach the corridor he had just walked down. It was infuriating, Clay thought, and tantalizing how briefly out of reach George always seemed to remain.

He hoped the ceremonial journey to the Overworld would help bring them closer, but he truly wasn't sure. Shaking off the thoughts like a dog shakes off water, Clay reached the dining room and walked in; but froze.

. . .

George was sprawled in one of the plush velvet chairs at the head of the table, legs dangling over the arm. He was in matching robes, furlined, crimson and long, brushing the floor. Yet it wasn't the cruel sneer twisting George's face, or the way his crown was lopsided on his head, that made Clay pause.

It was the two girls, giggling and feeding him grapes by hand, and giving him small sips of wine. George finally turned to see Clay frozen in the entrance to the room like a deer in headlights.

"Ah, the Earthling decides to join us!" he jeered, eyes icy and cold. "About time, though I can imagine how a peasant like you must enjoy the beds here." Clay searched for a hint of the George he thought he had known - but there was nothing. He sat down as far away from George as he could, grabbing a small cup of coffee on the way to his chair.

It was this he clenched in his hands, though it was scalding hot, as he had to listen to George's jeers and snide comments, the giggles of the two girls, and George's father's cruel laugh. Clay glanced up from his coffee to watch him, if only for a second.

The King seemed too focused on one of the girl's ample anatomy for a married man to be, and the predatory gleam in his eye made the coffee in Clay's stomach turn sour.

"Coffee? How plebian" George sniffed, pushing his chair back from the table and standing abruptly.

"Ladies, it was a pleasure, but you must leave now."

Winking, George swept from the room and past Clay. However, as he passed Clay's chair, a small scroll of parchment fell into Clay's lap. He unfurled it, taking care not to let anyone else see. In looping, scrawled writing it read:

Meet me  in my room in one hour.

G.

. . .

this is very shitty so i apologize, i promise i haven't forgotten abt this fic i've just been SO BUSY - but i'm back to posting regularly now, expect something in the next few days. (also don't be surprised if i rework this chapter jdishdidhdks i need more sleep)

as always, have an amazing day; you deserve it.
xo, minecraft idiot.