atehimrightup | for george

“We’ll get there,” Lee assures him, holding the last of the smoke in his lungs until it starts to burn and then exhaling slowly through his nose. George isn’t wearing underwear, which is about the least surprising thing Lee has seen all day.

“Slut,” he says fondly, reaching down to push his own underwear over his hips. This puts his face level with George’s chest and Lee purses his lips to blow cool air on one of George’s nipples, wanting so, so badly to drag his tongue over it. But he can’t, and that only makes him want to do it more. “How are they feeling?”

He straights up and puts his hands on George’s chest, framing each nipple between his index fingers and thumbs. “Fuck, they really do suit you.”

That word is almost a pet name between them, now, and George smiles, quickly slipping into a shiver when Lee blows across his nipple. His cock twitches, filling against his thigh. He smirks when Lee puts both hands on his chest, flexing just a little.

"Sore," he admits. "Sensitive."

“I can honestly say that I’ve never wanted to play with any pair of tits more,” Lee teases, kissing lightly just above George’s nipple and then biting the spot gently, more just letting George feel the pressure of his teeth more than anything else. “Soon.”

He straightens up and cups George’s cheek, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth before turning to head toward the water. Instead of wading into it, Lee climbs up onto a cropping of rocks and stands at the top of it, standing under the moonlight for a moment before letting out a wild cry talking a running start to leap off of the rock.

He cuts through the air and then points his toes, slicing cleanly through the cool water and disappearing into the depths below.

"I'm glad you're pleased. You're the one who talked me into it, after all."

He makes a soft, pleased noise into the kiss and then watches as Lee clambers up the rocks. He stands there for a moment, naked and beautiful in the moonlight, and George doesn't have words to explain how he feels right then.

He doesn't jump, choosing to wade in instead, the cool. water a relief from the humidity of the night.

By the time Lee comes up for air, George is waist deep in the water. Lee keeps his chin above the surface, treading water as he watches him. He looks like something out of a storybook, too pretty to be real. It's astounding that someone could just walk around looking like George, and crazier still that Lee gets to touch him.

He swims toward George until his feet touch the rocky bottom and his shoulders are above the water. He stays a few feet away, and then sweeps his arm along the surface of the water to splash him, smiling widely as he does.

When Lee splashes him, George can't help but return the grin. It's infectious. He takes a step forward, careful on the uneven rocks.

"Oh, it's like that, is it," he says. "I see." Using both hands, he splashes Lee back.

"It's like that," Lee confirms, splashing him again as he moves closer. "Did they teach you to swim in that fancy castle of yours?"

Once he's close enough, he reaches his foot out under the water to hook an ankle behind George's knee, dragging him further into the water as Lee drifts backwards. This swimming hole would be the perfect place to make a kill. He hates that he thinks that, but it's a part of his brain that's always working. It's the animal part of him, the predator always on alert. He could lure someone out here, eat his fill and wash up, hide the bones at the bottom where no one could find them.

But he doesn't want to do that. Not here. He wants it to be theirs. He wants it to be a good, happy place, with no pain at all.

"I knew how to swim before I set foot in a castle," says George, not fighting the way that Lee draws him further into the water. "We had a lake. My older brother and our sister never got the hang of it, but Kit -- my younger brother and I -- my mother used to say that we were like fish."

He sinks further into the water, until it covers his shoulders, the moonlight catching his earring.

"I didn't know you had siblings," Lee replies, and it makes him realize how much they don't know about each other. "I have a younger sister, Kayla. She's a fucking brat but she's the only one who ever--"

He cuts himself off with a sigh, smiling wanly. His sister is the person he loves most in the world, but she isn't like him. Dear old dad didn't pass whatever's wrong with him to her, too. She was spared, and Lee will always be grateful for that. She was spared from so much because Lee threw himself in front of whatever threat came to her, even their own parents. Especially their own parents.

"I miss her," he admits, lowering himself into the water enough to hide his wobbling chin. "I didn't see her a lot even back home. I got out of there as soon as I could. Once my dad wasn't around, I mean. I wouldn't have left her with him."

It's probably the most he's ever said about his upbringing to anyone here, and he blames the weed and the ease that George makes him feel. He can't tell George everything, but he can tell him more than anyone else.

"I'm in the middle of four," says George, drifting closer, matching Lee's posture in the water. "John, me, Kit, and then Susan as the baby." He listens quietly to what Lee tells him, what Lee trusts him with. "My father died before I went to France," he says. "But he beat me enough before he went. My mother never raised a hand to me, but..." He shrugged. "She had her own machinations."

Lee stares at George's face as he speaks, taking it all in, and his eyes widen a bit at the part about his father before his expression hardens. He's angry at this man he could never meet, and he opens his mouth to tell George that he killed his own father. Not the how, but just that he did. He feels like George would understand, but the words get stuck in his throat and he can't seem to get them out.

"My dad is the one who did this," he says instead, lifting a hand from the water to brush his wet fingertips across the scar on his cheek. It's all he can seem to manage for now, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

George comes from a time where people carry scars. There's the one in the bend of his elbow, faint, where James bit him in the dark...another across his ribs where a mock duel got too enthusiastic. He'd never really thought about the scar on Lee's face -- it was as much a part of his face as his nose or his eyes.

"I never asked," he says, softly, drifting a little closer, his hand coming up out of the water and tracing the scar on Lee's skin. "I should have."

“No, it’s okay. I doubt I would have answered,” he admits with a small, self-deprecating smile. George’s hand comes to rest on his cheek and Lee tenses a little, but then shudders and relaxes, eyes falling shut as George’s thumb traces the groove in his cheek.

Lee learned at a very early age that he can’t be soft. He can’t be weak, because that would mean he can’t survive. He doesn’t want to admit to himself how much he’s come to crave the tenderness that George shows him. He doesn’t want to need it. Oh, but he loves it.

“Here’s to our dads rotting in hell,” he says with a low chuckle, reaching out to loop an arm around George’s waist under the water, drawing in close enough that their foreheads brush together. “Mine would be so fuckin’ mad to know I’m out here kissing a boy. Just makes me want to do it more.”

"Just kiss?" says George, teasing, his hand still on Lee's cheek as the tips of their noses smudge together. He wraps his other arm around Lee's neck, keeping him close. "Boring. I'm sure we can piss him off more than that."

"You think kissing me is boring?" Lee jokes, sighing contentedly as he's drawn into George's warm embrace. He shouldn't need it, and he knows that he can't come to depend on it, but maybe he can just let himself have it for a little while. Until it all inevitably blows up in his face. Because George might understand Lee killing his father, but as for what he did after? What he has to do all the time to keep the bloodthirsty monster in him at bay? He isn't sure how anyone could understand that.

"I'm open to suggestions," he murmurs as his hand slides down to grab at George's ample ass under the water, using that grip to bring their hips together, cocks slotting in alongside each other. It's simply delaying the inevitable, but Lee will take all of this that he can get.

"You know I don't," murmurs George, biting his lip over a smirk as Lee fondles his arse, as his cock slides against Lee's under the cool water. As if to prove his point, he shifts, brushing a soft, lingering kiss over Lee's lips.

"I haven't seen you for a few days," he says. "Did you think about me?"

They've texted -- pictures, messages -- but it isn't the same as sharing space.

Lee's brow furrows slightly as George kisses him, because it feels so nice and it's so much more than he deserves. The soft voice, the warm embrace, all of it feels so good and Lee doesn't know what it all means and he knows it won't last, but he never wants it to stop.

"I think about you all the time," Lee admits in a low voice, like the words are being ripped from him. He swallows hard and kisses George again, this time a little more passionately, rocking their hips together under the water. "Did you think about me?"

He'd been teasing, giving Lee an excuse to spout some filth, so he isn't necessarily prepared for something that feels so close to an admission. They kiss, hips moving lazily against each other.

"I did," he murmurs, smudging kisses along Lee's jaw. "Often."

“Fuck. You’re a demon,” Lee says with a breathless laugh, tipping his head back to make room for George’s questing mouth. “Last time I was here, I just thought about how much better it’d be if you were here.”

He lifts finds George’s mouth again, biting softly at his lower lip and then licking away the sting. “How much more fun it would be to fuck you under the stars.”

Lee grabs the back of George’s head and kisses him a little more hungrily, swept up in the sheer force of him. “You look so pretty in the moonlight.”

Most men wouldn’t appreciate that particular word being used to describe them, but he hopes that George understands that Lee means it as only sincere flattery. He isn’t used to anything pretty. Pretty is a luxury. Pretty things are beyond his reach. He isn’t meant for pretty things. But George is the exception. Touching him feels like holding a diamond in his dirty, calloused hands.

It's not the first time that George has been told that he's pretty. It's not even the first time that he's been told that he looks pretty in moonlight. He doesn't bridle at the compliment.

"Here I was, hoping to enjoy that filthy mouth," he murmurs, one hand under the water, squeezing, his fingers straying into the cleft of Lee's arse. "And all you have for me are soft and beautiful things."

Lee goes still for a moment, unsure of how to take that. It feels like he’s being too much, like he’s overstepping, maybe reading too much into all of this. He pulls back to look at George with a vaguely confused expression, swallowing hard as he looks away for a moment, nodding jerkily.

If George wants him to make better use of his mouth, he can do that.

“Well, you’ll have to back up then,” Lee says as he pulls away and puts his hands on George’s shoulders to urge him backward, looking at his chin rather than his eyes. “I can’t breathe underwater.”

Often, Lee guards his feelings -- George recognises it because it's something that he's good at himself -- but he watches hurt confusion play out across Lee's features as clearly as if it was written on a page.

"Don't do that," he says, his voice still soft even though they might as well be alone on the face of the Earth. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant..." He smiles. "I like it when you tell me what you think about doing to me. I like hearing you talk."

“I was talking,” he points out, but maybe he was saying too many of the wrong things. Too many feelings, maybe. “But I get it.”

At least he thinks he does. It brings him back to reality and in a way, he supposes he should be thankful.

“I did think about fucking you,” he amends, grateful for the darkness that disguises the flush on his cheeks when he realizes that he misunderstood George’s earlier question.

Like he's stepped on the wrong stone and slipped, George has the familiar sense of being on unsure ground. He'd felt it a lot with James but, somehow, didn't expect to feel it, here. He'd thought he'd known what was happening here but, for a moment, he feels all at sea.

"Good," he says, finally. "That's... Yes. I think about that too."

Lee closes his eyes for a moment, feeling like an idiot. It's only now that he's realizing how deep he'd gotten, how he'd twisted the situation all up in his head. It was probably a mistake to bring George here. He isn't sure what he was thinking. Truth is, he probably wasn't.

"Okay, let's fuck then," Lee says as he pulls away and heads back toward the blanket on the shore, his back to George as he slowly emerges from the water. "I want you on your hands and knees."

He can fuck George, but he can't look him in the eye. Not right now.

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