atehimrightup | (no subject)

"I very much doubt it," says George, amused but not at Lee's expense. "It tends to be more obvious when steak has spoiled."

He looks up, twiddling the thin stem of his glass between his fingers.

"Oh?"

“Mm.” Lee nods and props his chin on his hand as he watches George with a sultry, appreciative gaze, keeping his voice pitched low.

“I like the way it turns your slutty mouth all red,” he says with a smirk, eyes bright with mirth. “Like it’s been smacked.”

George's eyes shade darker at that, and he smiles, very deliberately lifting his glass and taking another sip.

"Well, you know I'm not adverse to that," he says. "Not when it's you."

“Not with me,” Lee repeats, rubbing at his chin as George drinks. “But you will look at other people while you’re on a date with me. Interesting.”

He’s mostly teasing, but there is a bit of an edge to it, one that should tell George that Lee isn’t going to forget it, one way or another.

“I want you to do something for me,” Lee says suddenly, leaning forward with both elbows on the table, linking his fingers together and resting his chin on them. “Think you can follow instructions?”

He hadn't realised that he especially had been looking at other people, and he manages to look sheepish, at least. Still, when Lee leans forward, intent clear in his eyes, George feels a little shiver go through him.

"Yes," he says. "I'll try."

“Good.” Lee glances around to make sure no one is looking their way, then leans in a little more.

“I want you to finish that glass of wine and then take your phone and go to the bathroom,” he begins in a low voice, pausing to pick up another piece of bread and tear at it with his teeth. He chews while George stares at him, enjoying the attention immensely. “And I want you to get yourself off.”

He lifts his dark brows and then reaches for his wine glass. “Take a video of you finishing and send it to me. Then come back.

It's not the most obscene thing he's ever been told to do, but there's something about the thought of filming it, rather than having it just be witnessed, that makes George's face flush bright red just at the thought of it. His cock has been half hard since Lee put the collar on him in the apartment and, suddenly, it's all he can think of.

He picks up his wine, knocking back what's left in glass in one swallow.

"Yes, sir," he mumurs, as he pushes his chair back from the table and stands.

George’s pale face flushes such a beautiful shade of pink that Lee feels a rush of something like pride. He manages to keep a straight face as he leans back in his seat, tipping his glass to George as he stands.

“Don’t take too long,” he tells him, watching him walk away while sipping from his glass. He pours them each another glass and munches on bread, smiling to himself as he thinks about what George is doing, and what he might be thinking about.

The server brings their food after a few minutes, being overly friendly to Lee, who just smiles blandly at him before glancing toward the hall leading to the restrooms again.

Be a good slut and make it extra pretty for me, he texts to George. Between that and the giant rare steak sitting in front of him, he’s feeling pretty good.

The text from Lee comes through once his cock is already in his hand, and George barely bites back a moan. It takes him a moment to figure out the angle, how to hold his phone steady while he strokes his cock and rocks his hips, breathing harder and faster until he spills over his palm and his fingers, managing not to get any on his trousers or his shirt. Without really thinking about it, he flips the camera, filming his face in close up as he sucks his fingers clean.

He hits send and then washes his hands and slips back out into the restaurant itself.

His phone buzzes in his pocket a little sooner than he thought it would, and Lee chuckles to himself as he pulls it out to hold it just under the table. After triple checking that it’s on mute, he scrubs through the video enough to confirm that he completed the task. The last shot of his face is unexpected, but not unappreciated.

Later, Lee will watch it all the way through. Maybe he’ll make them watch it together.

He feels turned on and hopelessly fond, and also very hungry, when he puts his phone away. And then he glances over and sees George leaning against the wall with a bright, come dumb smile on his flushed face while a woman literally twirls her hair and giggles at him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles under his breath, but mostly he’s laughing. Still, he puts on a straight face and sends another text.

You done flirting right in front of me yet?

George's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he checks the message. He frowns and glances at Lee, shoving his phone is his pocket, smiling in apology before he steps away.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, sitting down in front of his food. "I didn't mean...I got distracted."

“Yes, I can see that,” Lee says flatly, not looking at George as he reaches over to pick up his fork. He knows that George doesn’t like it when Lee goes quiet and ignores him, so that’s what he does. He’s not mad, really. But that one was particularly egregious.

He flicks out his napkin and sets it on his lap, then starts to cut a bite from him his steak. He chews slowly and looks over toward the bar again, watching as the girl walks behind it, eyes narrowing slightly.

He knows -- he thinks, anyway -- that it's part of the game, that Lee can't possibly be this upset because he stopped to talk to someone for a moment, that's doesn't stop the slightly oily feeling starting in his stomach, the desperation to please, to earn Lee's approval again.

He pours himself more wine and picks up his knife and fork.

"Was the video what you wanted?" He asks.

“I didn’t get a chance to watch it,” Lee says airily. “I got distracted.”

It’s only then that he glances at George, quirking a brow as he takes another bite of meat. It’s perfectly rare, melting on his tongue, and he licks his lips. There’s nothing like a good steak.

Well, not nothing.

He lets George stew for a little while longer and then knocks his boot against George’s ankle under the table, smirking at him and jerking his chin at George’s plate.

“You did well at that part,” Lee assures him. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

He doubts that's true, but the humiliation of it is perfect. George's face flushes again, down under the collar to his chest, and he nods, cutting into his food and taking a bite. It's delicious, and he makes a soft sound of pleasure.

"I don't think I've told you how good you look tonight," he says. "I like the shirt."

“Buttering me up now?” Lee teases, playfully clicking his tongue, but it’s clear that he enjoys the compliment. He’s never cared terribly much about clothes, and still tends to enjoy hunting for stuff that catches his eye at thrift stores even though he technically doesn’t need to do that anymore.

The shirt he’s wearing now was a good find— well fitted and wine red, with black embroidered flowers on the shoulders. He paired it with black slacks and his boots, rolling the sleeves up to reveal is toned forearms and leaving the top few buttons undone.

“Thank you,” he says more sincerely, then smirks again. “You also look very good. But you knew that. Everyone in this restaurant knew that.”

"Just enjoying the view," says George and that much, at least, of genuine. For once, George isn't wearing blue; his shirt is pale grey, unbuttoned low on his chest, and his trousers are black and snug, his boots polished.

He nods his head, acknowledging the compliment. People look at him. They have, for years.

“I’m glad,” Lee replied with an indulgent smile, though it fades at bit at the way that George nods. He sets his knife down and reaches across the table to put his fingertips under George’s chin, lifting it until they’re looking each other in the eye.

“But they don’t see how I see you, do they?” He says in a low voice, thumbing at his chin before letting go of him.

“It’s a good thing, too,” he says in a more teasing voice, picking up his knife again and miming a few quick jabs of the knife with a smirk on his face. “Or I’d really have to fight them all off.”

George laughs at that, shaking his head a little.

"Nobody's ever seen me the way you see me," he says, touching the lock on the collar before he goes back to his food. He knows that's true for both of them.

“That goes both ways,” Lee assures him, but he does feel that familiar sour twist of guilt. George sees him in ways no one else has, but there is so much of himself that Lee keeps locked away.

He smiles as George touches the necklace and slides the toe of his boot up over George’s ankle under the table. They enjoy their meal and their wine, and their waiter comes over to ask if they’d like another bottle.

“No,” he says plainly, looking up at the kid and smirking a little when he sees that his gaze has drifted back to George like he just can’t help himself. Lee stays quiet just to see how long it’ll go on, quirking a brow as he steeples his fingers under his chin.

George looks up, smiling in a way that he thinks is neutral, but it's all the encouragement the boy needs to launch into a monologue that's half about dessert and half about how he's an aspiring model and he'd be happy to pass George's details onto his management and...

George holds up his hand.

"We can choose from a menu, if you've got one." He doesn't want to get accused of flirting again.

Lee watches the whole thing, deeply amused, and ducks his head to hide a smile when George cuts him off.

The guy leaves to go get them a menu, and Lee reaches under the table to squeeze George’s knee.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, giving George a heated look as he smirks.

George flashes a smile at that, boyish and genuinely pleased, and covers Lee's hand with his, squeezing.

"I try," he says. "What are you thinking for dessert?"

That big grin does something to Lee. It always does. The best way to describe it is that it’s like someone is reaching into his chest and squeezing.

“Oh, I know what I want for dessert,” Lee says in a low voice, one full of promise. He leans forward in his seat, reaching out with his free hand to trace his fingertip along George’s jaw. “We’re getting it to go. You should pick something that would taste good being licked off of my boots.”

George's face immediately goes brightly, vividly red and, under the table, his cock twitches.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes. "Alright." He blinks, trying to compose himself. "Something with cream, then?"