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 Lee's hand and threads their fingers together. He's intensely aware of the silver chain, the delicate lock, that he's wearing, just visible under the open collar of his shirt. He's not yet entirely sure what the rules of this collar are. He supposes he'll find out.

"What kind of food is this again?"

"American," Lee says with an amused smirk. It's still a thrill to walk hand in hand with George. He's not sure that he'll ever get used to it. "I looked for British places but I wasn't in the mood for beans on toast."

He snickers and gives George a teasing look. The American versus British thing is funny only to Lee, and he knows it. That sort of makes it funnier. The other day he made a joke about throwing tea into the harbor and it was totally lost on George, but the adorably confused expression on his face was worth it.

They enter the steakhouse and step up to the hostess stand, where a gorgeous blonde in a small black dress greets them. Lee gives his name, and she begins to lead them to a table. It's a much fancier place than Lee is used to, especially considering that his barometer for if a place is fancy is if they have cloth napkins. He can probably count on his fingers all the times he's eaten at a place with cloth napkins, and they've all been in Darrow

"As usual, I have no idea what that is," says George, blithely. "And, I've told you before -- your country wasn't even a country when I came from, so..."

The girl who shows them to their table is, while not strictly George's taste, lovely, and he flashes her a bright smile when they reach the table. The lights are low, but he doesn't think he imagines it when she blushes.

"It smells good, at least," he says.

"Let me have my fun," Lee replies with a good-natured laugh. He sits down and steeples his fingers together, watching with a bland expression as the hostess stares at George. She smells like lust, and Lee realizes that he now knows what lust directed at George specifically smells like. It makes him hungry, and he kind of wants to bite into her thigh. But maybe that's entirely unrelated to her smell.

"Oh, thanks! I just got this perfume yesterday," she says as she sets George's menu down in front of him, flipping her hair out of the way to present her cleavage. So he can get a better whiff, I guess.

"I am also here," Lee declares loudly, once it seems clear that the hostess is content to just stare at George forever. "And I'm pretty sure he was talking about the steak."

He glances at Lee, picking up on the slight sharpness of his tone. Dark eyebrows raise slightly.

"I was," says George, his eyes dipping to her cleavage before he can help himself. "But the perfume is also lovely." He ignores the menu for a moment, picking up the wine list instead.

George looks down at her chest even then and Lee almost laughs. Instead he just stares at George, blinking slowly before jerking his head toward the hostess and reaching out to take his menu from her hand.

"We're all set here," he says firmly, enough so that the hostess finally seems to realize she is overstepping and takes her leave. Lee stares at George blankly for a long moment and then glances down at the menu, flicking his hand noncommittally. "Order a bottle of whatever you want. As long as it goes well with red meat."

This is going to be an expensive meal, but it's okay. George is worth it.

That look, combined with Lee's tone of voice, is enough to give George pause. This is his first time, other than that club, of wearing any kind of collar in public, and he's not entirely sure how to carry himself yet, but clearly he's misstepped.

He picks what sounds like decent red from the list, and then opens his food menu.

"Most of this sounds familiar, at least."

George looks a little wary, so Lee lets his gaze soften as he watches him from over the top of the menu. They’re both trying to figure out how this is going to work, but Lee certainly doesn’t want George thinking that Lee is upset with him.

He will file it away for later, though.

“That’s mostly why I picked it,” Lee says with an easy shrug, glancing down at the menu again. “It’s meat, potatoes, vegetables. Hearty stuff. I thought you’d like it. I knew I would.”

"I like trying new things," he says, because he does. Indian food, in particular, he enjoys, but, in general, he quite likes modern food. The alcohol is also vastly improved, particularly the beer.

His hand grazes Lee's knee under the table as he flips through the pages in front of him.

“I know you do,” Lee says, feeling slightly off-kilter for a second. “But familiar is nice sometimes, right?”

He’s nervous and he knows that there’s no real reason to be. They go out to eat all the time but this feels different, and it’s not just because of the collar. It’s a romantic sort of place, with low lights and a flickering candle on the table. Part of it, he’s sure, is that he just feels completely out of place, like he isn’t meant to be somewhere as nice as this.

He’s not sure if George would be able to relate to that so much.

Before he can get himself worked up, George’s fingers slide along his knee and Lee smiles to himself, reaching one foot out to rest it against George’s. He hasn’t seemed to notice yet that Lee polished his boots.

"It is," says George, smiling when Lee seems to settle from the physical contact. George idly traces the shape of his knee cap through his trousers as he decides on which steak, which sauce, which sides.

They've never really labelled what they are, but, increasingly, he's felt like the word "boyfriend" might be most appropriate.

A waiter comes, handsome and younger than either of them, and George orders wine and water, flashing a warm smile at the boy before he glances at Lee.

"Anything else?"

The touch is casual and intimate all at once. George is touching him simply because he’s there and it makes Lee so, so happy.

When their waiter comes over with a basket of bread and does a bit of a double take at seeing George’s smile, Lee nearly rolls his eyes. There really are no entirely straight guys in this city, it seems. What a world.

“Go ahead and order, baby,” Lee says in a low, silky voice, quietly authoritative while barely glancing up from the menu. The waiter clears his throat and finally stops staring, and Lee smirks to himself.

It really is so fun, having what everyone else wants.

A smile quirks the corner of George's mouth at Lee's tone of voice, the pet name. He orders and, for once, knows exactly what to expect when his food comes. Lee's right -- familiar is nice, sometimes.

He leans back in his chair while Lee orders, idly fiddling with the chain around his neck.

Once the server is gone, Lee reaches for a piece of bread. He tears it in half and holds a piece out for George, watching as his fingers slide along the silver chain.

“Is it comfortable?” Lee asks, and maybe he doesn’t just mean the necklace itself. He’s checking in, reading the temperature. They’re both learning as they go.

George takes the piece of bread, tearing it again and popping the piece into his mouth. He thinks for a moment.

"It is," he says, nodding. "Easier to forget I'm wearing it than the other one."

“Yeah, I noticed,” he says in a playfully stern voice, but he’s smiling. Still, he’s glad to hear it, nodding as he takes his own bite.

The waiter brings the wine and sets a glass in front of Lee, pouring what’s barely a sip into it and then stopping. He looks like he’s waiting for something and Lee blinks as he’s stared at, then furrows his brow irritably when he realizes that he’s obviously missing something.

“Just pour it,” Lee bites out quietly, and the guy nods and pours them each a generous glass before setting the bottle on the table and leaving.

"He wanted you to taste it," says George, gently, picking up his own glass and taking a sip. With the collar on, he won't drink much, but it's good.

"Mostly, if it doesn't taste of cork or vinegar, you're fine," he says. It feels nice to be the one teaching Lee something, for a change.

“Oh. That’s dumb,” Lee replies, though he shoots George a grateful look. “Is he going to wait for me to taste my steak, too?”

He watches George drink from his glass, the way his full lips cradle the rim of it and the tiny silver lock on his throat bobs as he swallows.

Eventually he tears his gaze away and picks up the glass to take a sip, looking at it and smacking his lips a little. “Yep, tastes like wine.”

He laughs, mostly at himself, and then goes back to staring at George. “I’m a really big fan of you drinking red wine.”

"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.

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