atehimrightup | for george

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george

for george

There's a food truck festival in Petros Park that night, and Lee takes George mostly so he can see his face while trying new things, like squid balls and deep fried cheesecake. It's a good time and once they're full, neither of them are ready for the night to end so they wind up at a bar not far from George's place.

It's sort of mid-tier, not super nice but not a total dive, either. They get a few rounds at the bar, leaning against each other and laughing, and Lee realizes that he's drunk sort of all of a sudden, like it snuck up on him. It makes him more handsy, makes him bite at George's shoulder through the sleeve of his shirt. It makes him notice how many eyes are on George all the time.

The bartender brings them a round of tequila shots on a little tray complete with a salt shaker and lime wedges, and Lee looks up at him questioningly.

"We didn't order this," Lee tells him, and the bartender waves him off and tells him someone asked for them to be sent over. "Who?"

The bartender just shrugs and turns away to help a group of rowdy young women, and Lee glances at the shots before looking around the room a bit suspiciously. "Hm."

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It’s not until he releases it that Lee realizes that he’d been holding his breath. He’s relieved that he didn’t take it too far, didn’t hurt George too much. He had been worried about that last bite, but he trusts that George would have told him if he had an issue with it.

“Good. Me too,” Lee says with a grin, slumped back against the sofa as he continues to massage George’s foot. “I’ll do the lotion after you have your shower.”

"I find myself in no particular rush," he says, still luxuriating in the way that Lee is touching him. He reaches back to touch the bite mark on his shoulder. "Did you break the skin?"

It feels tender enough.

Oops. Maybe he’s not out of the woods yet.

The question makes him go still, cheeks flushing with shame. He swallows hard when gives George a jerky nod.

“I— just a little. I didn’t mean to,” he says in an unsure voice. “I’m sorry.”

George frowns at Lee's reaction. He isn't angry, not at all. There's a part of him that likes it, that feels claimed by it.

"I don't mind it," he says, gently. "In the moment, it felt pretty fucking good."

George can’t understand why Lee gets so worked up about this. He doesn’t know what Lee has to hold himself back from every single day. He feels a fresh wave of guilt, but George’s quiet, sure voice thankfully distracts him.

“Oh. Really?” Lee looks over at him and laughs a little, feeling relief wash over him. He studies George’s face with something a little like awe in his expression. How did he end up in this weird place, in this weird time, with George? It feels like nothing short of miracle.

“Well,” he begins with an amused huff, one corner of his mouth quirking as he picks up George’s other foot to start giving it the same attention. “It felt pretty fucking good for me, too.”

His thumbs dig into the arch of George’s foot and he looks over again. “You’ll have a bruise to match the one on my neck. Which I’m very happy with, for the record.”

"How romantic," says George, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, shifting contentedly as Lee starts to rub his other foot. He takes another sip of water, settling back against the couch cushions.

"Did it bleed?" There's no judgement in his voice, just honest curiosity.

“Very,” Lee says with a chuckle. The question makes a small shiver jolt through him and he shakes his head a little.

“Not really. It wasn’t deep enough,” Lee assures him, and he feels a little sick that part of him is disappointed. It takes a hell of a bite to make someone really bleed, and he’s not going to do that to George.

“I’ll put antiseptic on it so you don’t get rabies,” Lee jokes, and then he laughs again. “Do you even know what rabies is?”

"I've heard of it," he says. "Something to do with dogs." He's quiet for another long moment, thinking something through. "But you'd have liked it. If it had?"

“It makes animals go rabid,” Lee explains, working his hands up the back of George’s calf, rubbing his thumbs into the muscle. The question makes him pause for a moment, feeling caught like a deer in headlights, but he makes himself remember the conversation they had at the shop.

“That’s a complicated question,” Lee begins, somewhat hesitant as he goes back to massaging George’s calf, glad to have something to do with his hands. “I don’t want to bite you hard enough to make you really bleed, because that would hurt in a way that goes beyond what we’re doing here. I don’t want to hurt you in that way.”

He goes quiet for a moment, cheeks warm as he looks resolutely at a spot on the blanket. “But I would have liked the blood that would have came of it, yes.”

"I've been bitten hard enough to draw blood before, and I agree," he says, not pulling away from Lee's touch. "I don't want you to hurt me like that, either." He thinks about it for a long moment, reaching out to trail his fingers against Lee's bare arm. "I...wouldn't be adverse, though. To bleeding."

“What?” Lee’s voice is low and dangerous, jaw tensing as he looks over at George. He knows how hard one has to bitten to bleed like that. The evidence of it is etched into his skin.

The thought of someone doing that to George enrages him. But there’s another, much more darker thought: he’s jealous that it wasn’t him.

Before he can get too worked up, George says something that stuns him into silence. Lee glances down at George’s hand on his arm and then back at his face, brow furrowed slightly even as his eyes go dark. “What do you mean?”

"James, once. While I was sleeping." He extends his right arm, tracing the barely there silvery marks that teeth had left in his forearm. He remembers telling his mother about it; like a lover at play? she'd asked him, and he'd told her that it was more like a terrier at the hunt.

"I mean," he says. "That, if that's something you want, I wouldn't mind it."

“Why? I thought you said he was good to you,” Lee says, a little distressed as he takes George’s wrist. He’d noticed a smooth bit of scar tissue there, but apparently never examined it closely enough to realize it was in the faint shape of teeth. Seeing the scar makes Lee’s lip curl and he swallows hard, swiping his thumb over it. There’s a voice inside him telling him to bite down, to cover the scar with one of his own, and he ignores it.

He’s feeling so much all at once, and he blinks rapidly as he tries to process it all, still holding onto George’s wrist while staring over at him.

“I’ve never— I don’t—“ He’s practically stammering, so he cuts himself off and takes a breath, staring at George like he can’t make sense of him, eyes wide and awed. “I don’t even know what that would look like. I— I don’t want to hurt you like that.”

"He was," says George because that much, at least, is true. "But also mercurial. Ruled, on occasion, by his whims."

He feels utterly safe here, lying on the couch with Lee in a bubble of golden light.

"You've said you don't want to bite me that hard," says George, and he admits to being relieved by that. "But biting is not the only way one might draw blood."

He’s right about that. There are plenty of ways to draw blood. Lee thinks of the pinwheel in the drawer in George’s bedroom, and how a sharp enough knife can cut through skin so cleanly that you barely even feel it at first.

For a long moment, he doesn’t know what to say. He has to swallow a lump that rises into his throat and then looks over at George with helplessly confused expression.

“You’d do that to yourself,” Lee begins, hating the way his voice trembles slightly. “Just to indulge some weird urge of mine?”

"I like giving you what you want," says George, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Right then, it feels like it might be. "Small enough cuts or nicks wouldn't scar. It wouldn't need to be gallons of the stuff, right?"

He sits up, reaching for Lee with his free hand, wanting to settle him.

Lee stares at George as if he’s speaking a foreign language. He is, without doubt, the first person to ever try to give Lee what he wants. In most situations, honestly, but especially this one. George thinks about him, really considers him, and Lee doesn’t have words for how that makes him feel.

He’s still staring when George sits up and reaches for him, and Lee has to blink and shake his head a little and he takes George’s hand in his own.

He should tell George no. It would be the right thing to do, because George doesn’t have all the information, doesn’t know what exactly it is that he’s offering up. Lee feels like he would be even more of a monster for accepting.

But.

The way that George is looking at him makes Lee want to sink into it. George looks at him like there’s nothing wrong with him, and Lee wants so badly for that to be true.

“No, I- I’ve never done anything like that before, but— no.” Lee’s face goes red, chin quivering slightly as he leans in closer, feeling ashamed and hopeful and a little like he might explode all at once.

“I just want to taste you,” he admits in a quiet voice, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering his chin.

Lee leans in, face flushed and, for a moment, George genuinely thinks he's going to burst into tears. Instinctively, he shifts until he can gather Lee in against him.

"I've said it before, but I don't really see why it's different from come," he says. "We can try it, at least?"

George envelopes him into his arms and Lee goes willingly, clutching at him and letting out a breath. And then he laughs at what George says, but not unkindly. More out of disbelief.

“It’s just—“ He paused to try and consider exactly what to say. For a wild moment he wants to confess all of it, because there are times when he thinks that it might all end up okay, but then he comes to his senses. George is understanding, and even indulgent. But there is very big difference between what he’s offering and what Lee has to do to survive.

“It’s something I’ve always been ashamed of,” he admits. “I’ve always felt like I was built wrong. Like I was put together as a joke. I crave men and— and blood and pain. I’ve always wanted all the wrong things but I never asked for that. I just—“

He cuts himself off and breathes in deeply, turning his face in against George’s neck. “You make me feel like I’m not as fucked up as I’ve always thought I was. It’s a lot to process.”

Lee curls in against him and George wraps both arms around him, one around his waist, the other around his shoulders, fingers idly stroking through the curls at the nape of Lee's neck.

"I like spending time with you," murmurs George, though 'like' doesn't really do justice to the way it actually feels. "And, from what I've seen, most people are fucked up, one way or another. I'm happy I can give you something that makes that a little easier." He turns his head, kissing Lee's forehead. "My whole life, for years, has been a transaction. I like that you don't want anything from me I wouldn't willingly give."

“You give me so much,” Lee says quietly, letting out a shaky breath as George kisses his forehead so tenderly. “How could I possibly ask for more?”

He pulls back enough to be able to lift his head and kiss George on the mouth, letting it linger as he reaches up to cradle the side of his face.

“I like spending time with you, too. And— yeah, we can try it if you want,” Lee says against his mouth, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “But believe me, baby. I’m already more satisfied with you than I ever thought I could be.”

George smiles, that unguarded look that seems to be on his face more and more these days. He catches the heel of Lee's hand with a kiss.

"You're not asking, darling," he says. "I'm offering."

A warm smile spreads across George’s face and Lee can’t help but to return it, thumbing at the beauty mark at the corner of George’s mouth.

“You are a miracle,” Lee tells him, leaning in to nudge their noses together before giving him another kiss, this one almost chaste.

Every time Lee calls him that, it makes him think of Somerset, and how good it has felt to fuck him as a form of revenge taking. Still, he doesn't linger on the thought, returning Lee's kiss.

"I need that shower," he says, still smiling.

“Right,” Lee replies, kissing him again and knuckling at his eye before sliding away to give George room to get up. “I can clean up out here and come join you in a few? Or take one after. Up to you.”

He says it in a way that makes it clear that he’s fine with whatever George wants. It’s been long enough since the sex ended, and they’ve talked. George taking some time for himself won’t hit him quite so hard this time, because this time Lee isn’t afraid that he’s pulling away, or has any regrets.

He chuckles a little and pushes playfully at George’s thigh. “Assuming that I’m invited to stay over.”

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