atehimrightup | (no subject)

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george

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Lee is very unused to getting cars to go places. He's always just driven himself if he could, or walked if he couldn't. Hitchhiked, sometimes.

But now he's in a place where he can summon a stranger to drive him somewhere by tapping the tiny computer in his hand. The technological advancement in this place stuns him every single day. He can't even imagine how George deals with it.

He looks over at George next to him in the backseat of their current ride, watching him as he watches a touristy horse drawn carriage go by them with a big dopey grin on his face and, well, George is probably doing just fine.

He keeps staring, letting his gaze drop to the thin silver chain around George's neck. His going out collar, they've called it. Tonight is its first night in play, and Lee is eager to see how it goes.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Lee thanks the driver and slides out of the car, holding the door open and reaching out to take George's hand. "Come along, darling."

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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?"

Lee’s eyes light up as George goes so red, delighted by the reaction. He slides his hand as far up George’s thigh as he can reach under the table, squeezing hard just as the waiter comes back with the dessert menu.

“Which is your favorite?” Lee asks him, fingertips still digging into George’s thigh.

“Uh, I really like the merengue,” he says, and Lee hums thoughtfully.

“One of those and two slices of chocolate cake,” Lee says, handing the menu back over. “To go, please.”

George is quiet until the waiter goes, achingly aware of Lee's hand on his thigh.

"Please tell me I don't have to lick all of that off your boots," he says.

“Not all of it,” Lee assures him casually, lifting a brow as he reaches back to take his wallet out of his pocket. “But won’t you do as you’re told?”

He smirks and takes his card out, setting it down on the table. “Or are you going to be a brat about it?”

"I'll be good," says George, because he might have his brattish moments but, mostly, he wants to please Lee. Sometimes desperately. "I'll do anything you want."

George’s earnest declaration makes Lee’s blood heat up, eyes flashing as a muscle in his jaw twitches. The rush of power is thrilling, and Lee very much wants to go home.

Their waiter comes back with the check and Lee hands over the card without looking at him, too busy staring hungrily at George. Once he leaves, Lee gets to his feet.

“I’m going to go use the restroom.” He leans down to put his lips near George’s ear. “Maybe I’ll still be able to smell you.”

He playfully snaps his teeth and then chuckles to himself as he turns to walk away.

Still sitting at the table, take out containers in front of him, George is too turned on to really pay attention to everything that's happening. He barely registers when the waiter from earlier slides into the seat that Lee's just vacated, still talking about modelling and how George has got a great face and, before he really knows what's happening, the man plucks his phone out of his hand and starts to enter his number.

"That way you've got it if, you know, you need it," he says, shooting George a look he's seen many times before. And, honestly, how much can it hurt? He'd promised Lee he wouldn't let anyone fuck him, but there are a lot of other things two men can do.

When Lee comes back from the bathroom to find that waiter sitting in his fucking chair with George’s phone in his hand, he feels wildly upset. They both reek of lust while looking at each other and Lee feels a moment of intense insecurity.

George is supposed to be his right now, only his, and he wonders if maybe the idea of him wearing a collar in public isn’t such good one.

“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” Lee says once he gets back to the table, standing there awkwardly because he has nowhere to fucking sit. He glares at the boy, who gives him a cocky sort of smirk in return, and Lee bares his teeth as he feels a surge of impotent rage.

“The service left a lot to be desired,” he says as he picks up the billfold and draws a line through the tip box, signing angrily before taking his card back. He only looks at George to glare at him, swallows hard and turns to leave. “Enjoy yourselves.”

"Lee!" says George, all but scrambling to his feet, snatching his phone out of the boy's hand and grabbing the bag with the desserts. "I didn't...Jesus Christ, Lee will you wait?"

It's undignified and George is surprised, honestly, by how panicked he feels.

Lee doesn’t stop moving until he’s outside in the breeze, breathing in deeply as he stomps a few yards away from the door. Maybe he’s too hungry for this right now. Maybe he can’t handle it.

He turns to see George approaching him, worry in his big brown eyes, and Lee clenches his jaw.

“What does this mean?” He grits out once George is close enough, reaching out to take the small lock between his thumb and forefinger and give it a sharp tug.

Edited 2025-07-30 18:18 (UTC)

There's something deeply humiliating about the way Lee takes hold of the lock and almost shakes him by it. For once, George finds himself almost lost for words.

"I didn't...I know what it means..." He says, his dark eyes fixed on Lee's face, not trying to pull away. "It means I'm yours."

“Really? Because I was gone for a second and you let him take my seat,” Lee replies, letting go of the lock and taking a step back.

He feels crazy and he knows, he knows, that he’s overreacting a little. It would be different if George weren’t collared but he is, and when he is Lee feels so possessive that he could explode.

“Why did he have your phone?”

"He took it out of my hand about thirty seconds before you came back," says George, and he can't quite believe how upset Lee is about something that wasn't anything in the first place. "I didn't give it to him, if that's what you think. I..."