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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George takes the bite of cake, chewing meditatively, giving it far more thought than a simple question really deserves.

"When I was a little boy," he says. "The cook would make posset when we got sick. With lemon and honey and sack. And cinnamon. I think that's my favourite, even now."

George takes so long to consider it that Lee finds himself deeply invested in the answer, taking another bite of cake for himself.

When the answer does come, Lee doesn’t even tease him for having a cook like he normally might, because there’s something sad about a young boy being sick and looking to a cook for comfort and not his mother.

Lee can relate to that, except he only ever had himself to look to.

“I’ve never had it. That isn’t surprising,” Lee says with a self-deprecating laugh, feeding another bite of the cake to George and feeling so pleased by it. He really does like to take care of people. Certain people, anyway.

"It's creamy," says George, swallowing the mouthful of cake, chocolate smeared on his bottom lip. "And warming and it tastes like being five and not knowing that there was anything wrong in the world at all. I shared a bed with John when I was a boy. He's two years older than me."

Lee stares at George with an indulgent expression as he speaks, and he’d be surprised if there weren’t visible hearts in his eyes. His chest feels like someone took an eggbeater to the inside of it.

“Hm. I think the closest I have to that is s’mores. My dad took me camping sometimes and we’d make them,” Lee says after a moment, smiling sadly as he busies himself with cutting another bite of the cake. “There were good days with him, sometimes. They just made the bad days that much worse.”

He clears his throat and smiles wanly, lifting another bite of cake to George’s mouth. “Kayla’s four years younger than me. We shared a room when she was little, too.”

He hates the sudden sadness in Lee's smile, and he ignores the cake, nudging the fork aside so he can lean in and kiss Lee's mouth instead. "We could make s'mores," he says. "You've told me about them. They sound delicious."

Lee laughs softly, fondly, as George leans in to kiss him. He sets the cake down on the bed so he can touch the side of George’s head instead, thumbing in front of his ear while the delicate pearl of his earring rests against the digit.

“They are. And very messy,” Lee says with a wider smile, holding George’s head still while he licks chocolate frosting from his lip and chin. “We can make them. And I’ll learn to make posset so we can have that, too.”

Lee kisses him again, slow and deep and lingering. He never knew that he could be this happy.

"Sounds like a solid plan," says George, his lips brushing against Lee's. "You can bring some things over and get settled and we can eat nothing but dessert to celebrate." He grins. "I also remember you once saying you were going to do a shot out of my belly button, but we never got around to it..."

George grins that happy, boyish grin that shows all his teeth and makes his crinkle and Lee feel like he isn’t standing on the edge of a cliff anymore. He’s been pushed off of it, and now he’s in free fall.

“Oh, is that right?” Lee laughs and blows a raspberry against George’s neck, then kisses across his collar bones and mouths at his earring, tugging so gently before letting it go and kissing his lips again.

“I’ll slurp firewater out of your hair belly button any day,” he teases between kisses. “That’s how much I like you.”

"It was your idea," says George, with a gentle shove to Lee's shoulder that's all play. "Not mine. And, anyway, you've slurped worse from worse places. I've personally witnessed it."

George pushes his shoulder and Lee rocks back as if he had used great force, tossing his head back and laughing. “It’s true. I’m not very discerning with where I put my mouth.”

He kisses George again and slides a hand down his flank, fingernails scratching lightly over his stomach and ruffling the soft hair there.

“I like your hairy belly,” Lee assures him. “I can’t even grow a single chest hair.”

"You make me sound like some kind of beast," teases George, squirming a little when Lee scratches at his belly like that. It is, at best, a dusting of hair, and George has never really thought about it until now. He's never grown much facial hair and his chest is as smooth as it was when he was fifteen. "Can't all be smooth like a girl."

George twists under his hand and Lee worries that he may have accidentally hit on some insecurity that he wasn’t aware of. The thought makes him feel a quick stab of despair and he lifts his hand to George’s neck, pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

“Please, if this is a Beauty and the Beast situation, you’re definitely Beauty,” Lee assures him, nudging their noses together and then nipping teasingly at George’s bottom lip. “Even if I am smooth like a girl, apparently.”

As usual, the reference passes George by, but he rolls his eyes and pushes Lee back until he's flat on his back and George can lean over him, one arm across his chest to pin him down so that he can really look at him. Lee's hair is longer than it was when they met, the bright colours he'd put in it after Pride faded. His eyes are the prettiest that George has ever seen. The sharp lines of his face are lovely. It pains him to think that Lee can't see himself the way that George does.

"You look like a beauty from this angle," he says.

George pins him down and stares at him so hard that Lee furrows his brow a little and blushes from the intensity of it. He knows that he’s far from ugly, but he’s well aware of his flaws. He’s always too skinny.

So skinny, no matter how much he eats. It’s never enough.

The compliment makes Lee grin, understanding dawning as he reaches up to touch George’s face. “Oh, no. You don’t know the story, do you? I know it’s old but I guess it’s not that old.”

He smirks and tugs playfully on George’s earlobe. “It’s a fairytale.”

"I don't even know what a fairytale is," says George, still leaning across Lee's chest. "I guess a lot can change in four hundred and some years."

“Wow,” he says, truly gobsmacked by that one. He tries to think of a different word that George might recognize. “Folklore? They started as these super dark cautionary tales and sort of transformed over generations to be stories for kids where the bad guys always lose and the hero gets to live happily ever after.”

Lee looks up at him and smiles widely, feeling hopelessly charmed. “Do you want me to tell you a fairytale?”

"Folklore," he says, nodding and then settling down still draped across Lee's bare chest. "My nurse used to tell us tales about the wee folk before bed." He rubs his cheek against Lee's skin. "Yes. Please."

“Yeah, same thing,” Lee says, smiling as George settles on top of him, cheek pressed over his heart. He lifts an arm and curs it around George’s back, fingers drifting up and down his spine as his other hand comes to rest on George’s arm.

He had been familiar with the fairytale as a kid, and one night while flipping through the channels bored (so before George, because he doesn’t spend many nights bored anymore), he’d stumbled upon a Disney version of the story. He’d watched it and missed Kayla fiercely, because she always loved the princess movies so much.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you a story,” Lee says indulgently, lifting the cake away and setting it on the bedside table. “We have to start how they all start, right?”

He clears his throat and cards his fingers through George’s soft hair, fluffy and clean after his shower.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in provincial France. She was smart and kind and also said to be the most beautiful in all the land,” he begins, squeezing George’s shoulder and kissing the top of his head, murmuring an aside. “Present company excluded, of course.”

Edited 2025-08-02 22:36 (UTC)

George laughs at that, a warm huff of breath against Lee's skin. Beautiful, yes -- but kind and clever? He's not sure anyone would have ever made that mistake about him. Kind, maybe, at some point in time.

"So this is Beauty," he says. "I'm following. la Belle."

Edited 2025-08-03 05:16 (UTC)

“This is Belle,” Lee confirms, and he figures he should stick to the Disney version. It’s more of a classic fairytale.

“Her father had to go on a trip, and all Belle asked for as a gift was a rose. On his way back, he got lost and found a castle with a rose garden. He picked one to bring to Belle, but the Beast that lived inside the castle caught him and threw him in the dungeon.”

Lee finds that he’s enjoying himself very much. It’s so nice to just lay here, warm and satisfied, and feel safe enough to tell stories like children.

“Belle searched for her father and found the castle, and offered to exchange her freedom for his. The Beast accepted,” Lee continues, carding his fingers through George’s hair. “The Beast seemed angry and cruel at first, but the more that Belle came to know the Beast for who he was on the inside, the more she liked him. Eventually, she fell in love with him.”

"Le Bete," murmurs George, though he's still not sure he sees the comparison with Lee. Still, he doesn't interrupt the story further, idly trailing his fingers across the bare skin across Lee's ribs. He does smile when Lee says the beauty fell in love, remembering what he's confessed earlier when Lee didn't understand a word.

"Then what?"

The deeper that Lee goes into the story, the more his flippant little joke from earlier seems a little more real. George is Beauty, and Lee is a beast. Not on the outside, but the inside. Where it really matters.

He clears his throat and shakes his head a little, continuing with the story as his hands slowly travel over whatever parts of George he can reach.

“Belle found out that her father was in trouble and the Beast granted her freedom and freed her from their deal,” Lee says, fingers tightening slightly in George’s hair. “Even though it would mean terrible things for the Beast. So she left the castle and went to help her father, and the Beast was alone again.”

Lee lets him stew for a moment, then continues.

“But she came back! She was free but came back because she loved him. And because she came of her own free will and her love was true, it broke the spell.”

He wishes it were that simple.

“It turns out that the Beast was actually a prince, and he’d been cursed years earlier by a witch for having an ugly heart. She turned him into a Beast and made it so that only true love given freely would break the spell.”

Lee takes in a deep breath and lets out through his nose, kissing the crown of George’s head. “He was restored to his normal handsome human form and they got married.”

He smiles to himself, mouth pressed to George’s head. “And they lived happily ever after.” There’s a lump in his throat suddenly, and he swallows it back. “That’s how fairytales always end.”

"I like that," he says, a little dreamily, lulled by Lee's voice and the warmth of his skin, the softness of the bed beneath them. "Happily ever after." It doesn't seem entirely plausible, but none of this does. He kisses Lee's skin. "You're good at that."

“At what? Tellin’ stories? That’s good.” Lee smiles as George kisses him, reaching over to grab the blanket and flip it over their bodies.

“There’s a lot of fairytales out there.” He’s pretty sure that George is actively fucking one of them, but they don’t need to get into that one right now. “Most of them involve someone being too beautiful for their own good. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

His voice is warm and fond and he gives George a squeeze, fingertips gliding up and down his arm.”

"Oh, shut up," says George fondly, pinching Lee's side lightly. He'd come back from France fully aware of how beautiful he was and how far that could get him. It's different here. It doesn't matter at much. Lee's told him that much.

"I like the idea of this being our bed, as much as it's mine."