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Ink snaps another photo.
Dream tugs on his binds again.
“Were these absolutely necessary?” Dream says, utterly full of salt. Ink almost gags, but the sweetness of Dream’s wrists handcuffed to a bed saves him.
“Yes,” Ink says, moving to another angle.
“You…” Dream blushes. “You don’t even do this stuff, why do you need references?”
Ink could tell him the truth, but then he’d probably purposefully escape his binds and ruin the whole thing.
“Hey! I can enjoy all forms of media! Besides, it’s not like I need you naked or anything! Now do your best to look captured and terrified!”
“Oh, I am terrified,” He mumbles. So sassy.
Still, his expression is just exquisite. Several pictures later, and Ink decides that’s enough.
“Now, moving onto our next shoot,” He undoes the cuffs around Dream’s wrists, helping him off the mattress.
“There’s more?” Dream sinks to the ground in a deadweight. “We’ve been doing this forever! I’m tired, it’s my day off!”
What a baby. His Blue-enforced day off since he’d never take one of Blue hadn’t put his foot down. Still, he doesn’t get like this with anyone else. Desperate for everyone’s approval, subservient for Nightmare (whether he’s aware of it or not), and especially sensitive to his friend’s opinions of him. He only shows his true, sassy, salty, displeased face with Ink.
“What better way to spend your day off than with me, your bestie ever?”
Dream glares at him, crossing his arms. “I am not moving!”
Fine.
“Fine!” Ink shoves his camera in his inventory and picks Dream up. A little more difficult than usual as Dream puts all his effort into making it as hard as possible for Ink, but he weighs nothing no matter what.
“Ink! Put me down!”
“Nope! You brought this one on yourself!”
Luckily, Dream doesn’t bite him. He carries him two rooms over, depositing him on the floor in front of his changing screen. Dream flops on the ground, waving his arms and legs around and smacking Ink in the face.
Ink swallows blood, sticking out the tongue he bit, but he smiles. It doesn’t really hurt, anyway.
Dream stares at him, wide-eyed. “S-sorry,” He says, before remembering Ink is hardly affected. Ink watches it in his eyes, the way they dilate, the way his brow bone furrows. Dream scowls at him. He’s so pretty.
Ink snickers at him, belatedly realising the image of his bloody teeth might be a bit unsettling. He only smiles wider, getting to his feet and throwing the clothes he kept at Dream’s face.
Dream shoves it beside himself, rolling onto his side. Ink holds out a cowboy hat.
“Ink, what is this?”
“Your next outfit!”
Dream throws the hat at Ink’s face, his revenge. Ink catches it in his hands, waving it around. “You’re wearing it. You promised.”
Dream groans, turning onto his stomach and throwing a mini tantrum on Ink’s floor. Today is beautiful.
“Relax! Blue’s making pancakes!”
Dream turns to face him, his sockets watering. “You know his pancakes are evil!”
Aw. Maybe Ink is pushing him too far. “You haven’t eaten his pancakes in years. They’ve gotten better.”
Dream wails. “You are the last person I would trust to review anyone’s food!”
If it had been Nightmare instead of Ink, Dream would probably let himself cry. No, wait, they’re not there yet. That development isn’t for another six months. Instead, he redirects his frustration towards anger.
Ink knows this emotion, one he doesn’t experience; Hangry.
It’d probably be annoying on someone else, but on Dream, it’s just cute, and that’s not bias. All of their friends would agree, even Nightmare. Easy to tease, easy to frustrate. Blue says that’s what happens when you hold it all in. You become sour.
Like a lemon.
If Ink could love anyone, it would be Dream first, probably.
Ink pulls him to his feet, guiding him behind the changing screen and shoving the clothes into his arms. “Come on, this is the last one, I swear.”
Dream drives him out with a couple well placed kicks.
Ink bounces on the balls of his feet, impatient. Dream emerges, finally, wearing a white blouse with red embroidery, a frilly, red, calf-length skirt with a slit up to his hips and gold details around the hem, and brown, steel-toed boots up to his thighs.
He shimmies awkwardly, hands holding onto a pointed cincher around his waist.
“Um, can you…?”
Dream grunts as Ink laces him up as tight as it will go, then stares at himself in the mirror.
“I hate you.”
He looks mildly pleased with his reflection.
“Uh-huh,” Ink says, placing the brown cowboy hat on top of his head.
“I really hate you.”
“Yeah,” Ink takes his hand and drags him outside. “I think a gold backdrop will look better, don’t you?”
———
“Do you have them?”
Ink shows off the printed photos in his hands, grinning wickedly. Nightmare matches his grin, though significantly more wicked. He reaches for them, and Ink pulls them away, tutting.
“Ah-ah, not before I get mine!”
Nightmare rolls his eyelight, procuring his own set of photos. There’s less of them, but Ink’s eyelights go starry at the sight.
Dream with his guard down, open, sleeping, flushed, laughing, and frustrated. Moments he wouldn’t have noticed anyone was watching him, the benefits of Nightmare’s complete control over his domain.
That being said, the photos are rather innocent. Either Nightmare genuinely respects his brother, or he’s saving the good stuff for himself.
They swap hands.
Ink giggles and dances home all the while, clutching his ill-gotten goods to his chest.