atehimrightup | for george

"A hedonist," says George, who has definitely been called worse in his day. A shiver goes down his spine at the thought of Lee doing that though. He slides his hand along the sharp line of Lee's jaw and pulls him in for a kiss.

"Don't I know it," Lee says fondly, letting himself be reeled in for a kiss that tastes like tequila and lime. Even during the kiss, Lee can sense a presence. Maybe it's the predator in him, aware that they're being stalked. Maybe he's just being paranoid.

He pulls away from the kiss once his bladder can no longer be ignored, then hops off of the stool. It's only once he's on his feet that he's aware of just how drunk he is, and he laughs a little while squeezing George's shoulder. "I gotta hit the head. I'll be right back."

On his way to the back of the bar toward the restroom, he's half expected to be approached, but he makes it with no issues. It's a single stall and there's someone in front of him, and he sighs while leaning up against an old arcade game and waiting.

Alone at the bar, pleasantly drunk, George orders them both another beer, and waits. It's while he's sitting there, scrolling through his phone that he feels a proprietary hand on his shoulder. He knows it isn't Lee before he turns around, but it isn't anyone else he's slept with in Darrow, either.

"I assume you sent the shots," he says, his eyes flickering in the direction that Lee went in. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome," the man says. He's older than George by at least a decade, with a gym rat body and slicked back hair and an expensive watch, and he slides onto the stool Lee had occupied as if he belonged to him all along.

"Got me curious, though," he says, resting his elbow on the bar while moving his other hand from George's shoulder to his thigh as he leans in close. "What are you doing playing around with that kid?" He jerks his head toward the back of the bar, where Lee has disappeared into the bathroom. "Skinny thing like that? He can't possibly give you what you need. You need a real man, sweetheart."

"Oh, is that what I need?" Says George, something bristling in him at the way this uninvited man speaks about Lee. He's every inch the Earl of Buckingham then, haughty and imperious, drawing his shoulders straighter in his chair.

"He does just fine by me. My thanks, but you're found surplus to requirements, my friend."

Once the stink of money would have done something for him but he's a different man now

Lee pisses and rinses off his hands, flicking water as he walks past the pool tables and looks up to see someone in his stool. It's a man's broad back, and he has his hand on George. Lee goes still, feeling a stab of something he would hate to call jealousy. More irritation, maybe, and it only grows when he sees the unwelcoming look on George's face.

He hesitates even as anger rises in him, because surely George can take care of himself and Lee wouldn't want to give off the impression that he thinks he couldn't. Even if he does want to smash this guy's face in for making George's spine so stiff like that, when only moments before he was loose and relaxed.

"Oh, that's a lot of talking for such a pretty mouth. I can think of better uses," the guy says, lifting his hand from the bar to touch George's face, thumbing at his bottom lip, and Lee sees red. His shoulders and fists ball up at the same time, teeth clenching as he stalks his way back to the bar, laser focused on the guy's back.

"You're in my seat," Lee says once he makes it close enough, forcing himself to remain as placid as possible for the time being. He'll give the guy a chance, at least. "Time to hit the road, pal."

George is in the process of knocking the hand away from his face when Lee comes back. His face forms into a look which, previously, he would have saved for the Somersets of the world.

"So you see," he says, affecting his best bored drawl. "My friend is back and now you really are surplus to requirements." His dark eyes flick past the man to Lee. "Isn't that right, darling?"

It's what he calls Lee more often than not these days but, then, it's pointed.

The guy twists to look at him, smirking cockily as he slides off the stool. He’s a little taller than Lee and a lot broader, with big muscles that come from lifting heavy things in an air conditioned gym, rather than doing anything productive.

It’s clear by the look on his face that he underestimates Lee, but that’s okay. He likes it better that way.

“Your friend and I are having a conversation. So fuck off,” the guy says to Lee, reaching out to poke him hard in the chest with a fingertip. Lee sways backwards and quirks a brow, but it isn’t until the guy turns back to George and roughly grabs his arm that something inside of Lee snaps.

Gritting his teeth, he grabs the guy by the shoulder and yanks him back, rearing one arm back to give him one hard jab in the nose. It instantly starts to bleed, and Lee’s eyes darken like a shark’s. He’s so, so hungry.

“You’re dead, you little shit,” the guy growls out, and Lee easily ducks the miscalculated punch he throws. The second punch lands, hitting Lee in the temple, and he lets out a feral sort of shout before tackling the guy down onto the sticky bar floor.

It all happens so quickly and, all at once, George realises that the only other time he'd seen Lee in anything approaching a fight, he'd been pulling his punches. He gets off the stool, reaching for Lee, trying to stop him because he's intensely aware that this is for him.

"Christ, Lee, he's not worth it."

Lee ends up on top of the guy, landing another punch to the face, and Lee finds great satisfaction in how stunned the guy looks. Like he was only being tough because he didn’t expect Lee to fight back. That’s how all these guys are.

He can hear George yelling something, but mostly he just hears the blood rushing in his ears, and the voice inside of him telling him to eat. But he can’t, so he punches the guy again instead.

“It’s worth it if he learns some manners,” Lee growls out, grabbing the guy’s hand and uncurling his fingers with a strength that has the guy on the ground looking stunned. People are crowding around them now, but Lee barely notices. All he sees is red. “Here are two big ones. No means no, and you don’t fucking touch people who don’t want to be touched.”

Lee jerks his hand until he hears a snap of bone, two fingers breaking cleanly, and then stands up and spits blood onto the ground as the guy cries out in pain.

“Maybe now you’ll learn, asshole.”

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lee," says George, dark eyes widening when Lee breaks two of the man's fingers like it's nothing. George takes hold of him by the bicep and pulls him back a step. "People are looking and we would probably be better not to be here." He glances over his shoulder. "We should go, love. Now."

George tugs at him and Lee finally breaks out of the haze of anger, blinking and looking around. People are staring and when he turns to look at George, it’s impossible to read his expression.

Lee just nods, letting himself be led out of the bar and down the street. George is stomping and not really looking at him and Lee’s heart jumps up into his throat as blood runs down his cheek. The guy got one lucky shot to his cheek and the stupid ring he was wearing split his skin just over the sharpness of his cheekbone.

“Are you okay?” Lee asks, horribly concerned even as George drags him down the street like a child in need of reprimanding.

"Am I okay?" says George, stopping in the street and wheeling around to face Lee, dark eyes wide, colour in his cheeks high and hectic. He sees the blood on Lee's face and frowns, raising his hand to smear it on pale skin. "Am I okay? Jesus Christ, are you okay? I've never..." he blinks. "What happened back there?"

Lee stops short when George rounds on him, his own paler eyes wide as George raises his voice. Lee has a hard time reading him, unsure if he's pissed. He seems kind of pissed, but he reaches out to wipe at the blood on Lee's face, so he's getting mixed signals.

"That guy was an asshole!" Lee says, feeling the need to defend himself. "I told him to leave, okay? I gave him a chance, but then he-- he grabbed you after you had already said no! What was I supposed to do? You said no and one thing I'm never gonna do is stand there while someone acts like you don't have a say over your own fucking body, George. Okay?"

Lee heaves in a breath, staring into George's eyes with a fierce expression. "I don't feel bad about it. He deserved what he got."

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Lee," says George, sharp, a little exasperated, but it's driven by fear and adrenaline, not anger. "You think that was the first time somebody I didn't want to fuck out their hands on me? I could have handled it." A muscle in his jaw ticks and he lets out a little exasperated noise. "You didn't have to do that for me, darling."

"I know you don't. I waited, okay? I tried. I know you don't need me," Lee gets out, expression hardening at the thought of other's putting their hands on George when he didn't want it. He swallows hard and crosses his arms over his chest, realizing only then that his knuckle is split open. Again.

"I didn't do it just for you," he admits in a low grumble, turning his head to the side and clenching his jaw. "I did it for everyone that says no and isn't listened to. Including me."

Everything about Lee's posture then is tense and defensive and George forces himself to stay open, hands hanging at his side. Something in his chest clenches like a fist at what Lee says. He's been lucky, in his life. He hadn't felt safe when he first went to court, sure, but nobody ever forced him. He'd used his body in a myriad of ways, but at least he'd always had the luxury of telling himself that it was his choice.

That muscle ticks in his jaw again.

"I didn't think of it like that," he admits.

Lee shrugs a little at that, and then forces himself to uncross his arms when it no longer seems like George might be angry with him. He looks to the side for another long moment, feeling oddly vulnerable as his eyes sting, and then he finally meets George's eyes again.

"I'm sorry that I made a scene," he admits, reaching up to drag his wild curls back from his face. "But I'm not sorry for what I did. I'd break the hand of anyone that tried to hurt you. And it's not because I don't think you could handle yourself. I know you can. It's because I want to break their fucking hand for daring to try, okay?"

"Okay," says George, and he steps in, cradling the side of Lee's face with one hand. There's barely an inch in the difference in their height, so he has to lean up just a little to kiss Lee's forehead. "What do you need, right now?"

If there are consequences, they'll deal with them when they get to it.

"I don't know," Lee admits, feeling a little like he might burst into tears when George kisses his forehead. He covers his face with both hands instead and heaves a shaky breath. "I'm so drunk, man. And I'm hungry."

But at least George isn't mad at him, so he calls it a win. He lowers his hands and puts them on George's face instead, eyes going dark when he leaves a smear of his own blood on George's cheek. "I want to go home. Or wherever you're going. I want you to not be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," says George, turning his face to kiss the heel of Lee's bloodied hand. "You scared me. That's all. Let's go back to my place. We can sober up -- or keep drinking, if you prefer -- order food. Be there together."

He strokes one hand over Lee's bright hair.

"That'll help."

Lee is so pumped full of adrenaline right now, so keyed up for a fight or a fuck, and then he watches George kiss his hand. He gets Lee's blood on his stupid, perfect mouth and Lee is suddenly so turned on that he feels like he might die.

He stares at the bright crimson streak on George's lips and then leans in to lick it off, sucking at George's bottom lip and biting softly before he forces himself to pull away, reaching up to cover his mouth with both hands as he takes a ragged breath.

George just said that Lee had scared him. The last thing he wants to do is do it again. He nods, hands still over his mouth, and then eventually drops them. There's blood all over his face. He can smell it.

"Okay," he says shakily, nodding a little and then wrinkling his nose. "Or-- Or I can just go home. I didn't mean to scare you, George. I never want to scare you."

"I was scared for you, not of you," he says, and he takes Lee's hand. "Come on. We'll get you cleaned up and get some food in you."

He can't help but think of that night when Lee was bruised and bloodied and they'd taken a bath and everything had changed.

"Okay, But you didn't have to be scared for me. I had him handled," Lee says a little glumly, letting George take his hand and lead him down the street, feeling a little bit like a child. Embarrassed, sullen. Like a problem that needs to be solved.

"From being nobility to playing nursemaid for a broke loser with anger issues," Lee jokes, suddenly feeling awful for foisting himself on George. Twice now, he's had to help clean up Lee's messes. "This place really threw you for a loop, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," says George, fondly, as they walk down the empty street hand in hand. "What this place gave me was the choice of who I wanted to spend my time with, when I knew it wouldn't get me anything other than more of their company."

He squeezes Lee's hand. "I wouldn't even have been allowed to choose my own wife at home. But here I am." He looks across. "You don't end up in my bed as often as you do by accident, you know."

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