atehimrightup | happy birthday, george

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george

happy birthday, george

Lee has never put much stock into birthdays. His own never really mattered to him, because it never really mattered to anyone else. He would always try to get something for Kayla on her birthday, but that was about the extent of it.

All that is to say that Lee feels woefully prepared to plan a birthday for his-- whatever George is. Boyfriend? That feels so juvenile, like it isn't important enough.

He stresses about it more than he probably needs to, but he's never had the opportunity to celebrate something like this with someone he cares about. Which is already sort of a big deal, but George was the lover of a literal king and was undoubtedly showered with expensive gifts on a regular basis. Lee has no idea how to compete with that, even though he can hear George's voice in his head telling him that it isn't a competition. Which is good, because he'd probably lose.

The actual night isn't much of a problem. He comes up with a plan pretty easily, one that's simple but romantic, he thinks. It's the gift that's the problem. Because nothing in this whole goddamn city is good enough for George. Nothing that he can afford, anyway.

Just days before, he still hasn't found anything and he's getting sort of desperate. He distracts himself by going on a hunt because he really does need to eat, which sort of just makes him feel worse because of the guilt. But the guy is (was) a verified scumbag and women walking alone at night will be safer without him around, so he doesn't feel too bad.

In the guy's pocket is a receipt for a pawn shop that Lee has never heard of, so he goes to check it out the next day. It's in a terrible part of town and there isn't really even a sign. Inside it's dusty and unorganized and Lee just assumes it's some sort of front for something else. Still, he decides to look around while some guy comes out from the back and eyes him with wary suspicion, like he's surprised to see someone in the shop at all.

He finds a dusty jewelry display case and heads toward it hopefully, crouching down in front of it. Inside are mostly gold chains and tennis bracelets, all generic shit that wouldn't suit George at all, and he's about to give up when he spots a blue velvet box tucked back into a corner, half-hidden under a gaudy necklace. It looks like earrings and Lee rises to his feet and coolly asks to take a look at them, not wanting to show any excitement and inadvertently drive the price up. He knows how these places operate.

The guy takes them out of the case and Lee picks them up, doing his best to keep a placid expression even though he's pretty sure he just found what he's looking for. The box looks well-preserved but very old, as do the earrings themselves. He has no idea if the stones are real, but they look like it. There's a small piece of yellowed paper tucked inside, and when Lee discreetly unfolds it he finds elegant cursive scrawl and, most importantly, it's dated 1827. That confirms that they’re old, probably very old, and this guy doesn’t seem to really realize what he has. They're perfect.

Lee is prepared to use every trick in his arsenal to haggle a deal, but it's not even that hard. The guy seems wholly uninterested in this alleged business, and Lee is annoying and persistent, so he ends up getting them for a price that, while painful, won't leave him destitute. When he leaves the shop, earrings tucked carefully into his pocket, he feels lighter than he has in days.

George's birthday comes and they sleep in, then fuck a few times and sleep some more. Lee makes them a late lunch and then tells George that he needs to go run a few errands before they go to dinner, but there's an obvious twinkle in his eye. He leaves George's apartment and goes to his own where he's left all the supplies, and then goes and sets everything up before heading back toward George's building, texting him and telling him to come downstairs, even as he parks and gets out to go meet him by the elevators in the lobby.

He's nervous, but he thinks that this might actually go well. He might actually pull it off.

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George rolls his eyes, fondly, rummaging through the bag to find the lube and dropping it onto Lee's stomach for safe keeping.

"Just George for now," he says, holding out his hand, palm up. "Spit."

“Not baby?” Lee asks with a knowing smile, stomach muscles tensing as the lube slaps against his damp skin. George holds out his hand and Lee realizes all at once that it’s a lot more embarrassing face to face, when he has to sit up a little to reach George’s hand, propping himself up onto his elbows.

He flicks his gaze up at George, looking at him from under his lashes as his jaw works, cheeks flushing with heat as he spits into George’s palm.

George doesn't miss the blush, and he smiles, before he adds his own spit to Lee's in his plan, spreading it over his fingers.

"That's fine, too," he says, shifting his hand between Lee's spread thighs to rub spit-slick fingers over his hole. "Remind me how you want it, love."

“You’re supposed to be the one doing the talking,” Lee reminds him playfully, though he can’t help the way his expression melts at the pet name. His breath hitches as George rubs at his hole, just tender enough from their earlier round that it makes him shiver.

“I want it possessive,” Lee says again, but this time it makes him blush. Maybe because he’s looking George in the eye, and it feels a lot like an admission. “I want it dirty.”

He stares up at George’s face, mouth falling open at the slick press of George’s fingers. And then he does that stupid chin tilt that makes him look so hot and smug, and Lee loses his mind a little bit. “I want you to talk a lot and tell me you like me and call me a good boy.”

His blush runs down to his chest and he lets his head fall back a he takes a deep breath. “All in that dumb posh accent of yours. Fuck, it’s hot.”

"Aha," says George, making it sound like he understands everything suddenly. He starts to press a finger into Lee's ass, slowly, because it's probably not slick enough, but not giving him much time to adjust, either. "You want to be told that you're beautiful, and you're mine, and I'm pretty sure I could talk you into any filthy thing I could think of because you're such a good boy? Such a perfect little slut."

“Ngh,” Lee says eloquently, staring up at George with a helplessly aroused expression, eyes glassy and cheeks pink. It all goes straight to his cock and he nods eagerly, breath hitching as George’s finger sinks into him. It’s not as smooth as if there were lube, but Lee kind of likes the slight drag. It makes it feel more primal, in a way.

“Yes,” he whimpers out, nodding jerkily and breathing hard. “Yes to all of that.” His cheeks go even ruddier and he clenches the blankets in his fist. “I’ll be a good boy. I promise.”

Edited 2025-08-27 15:37 (UTC)

"I know you will." George has always prided himself on being able to adapt to whatever a lover wants him to be, and it's never difficult with Lee. He moves the finger inside him, fucking him slowly.

"You liked it when I fucked you like an animal in the grass, didn't you? Liked being put on your hands and knees and fucked like that." He grins. "I could take anything I wanted when you're like that, and you'd let me." He starts to work another finger into Lee's arse. "Let me hear you say it -- you're a filthy little slut."

Lee nods again, breath catching when George grins. He’s so absurdly beautiful. Especially in firelight. Especially when he smiles. Especially when he’s looking at Lee like he’s the only thing that matters in the whole world.

“I did. I would,” Lee assures him, whimpering again as George adds a second finger. He clenches down around them and rocks his hips a little, jaw working at the next command.

He feels embarrassed, but he knows he doesn’t need to. Still, it takes him a moment, and he feels like he’s blushing all over.

“I’m a filthy little slut,” he says in a quiet voice, making himself meet George’s gaze. “Only for you.”

Lee had asked for him to be rough, and he isn't there, her, but his touch is possessive. He leans down and claims a kiss.

"You can do better than that," he says. "Louder. Like you mean it."

Lee leans up into the kiss eagerly, moaning softly and sucking on George’s bottom lip before he pulls away. He feels half-crazed and so eager to please, because George overrides his basic urge to be obstinate and contrary.

He wants to do whatever George says, even if it’s embarrassing.

“I’m your filthy little slut,” Lee says emphatically, because he wants to make it clear that there is no one on earth who could make Lee act this way. No one except for George. “I’ll do whatever you say as long as you don’t stop touching me. You can have anything, baby. All of me and then some.”

"Mmmmm," says George, smiling at that. "You're so beautiful when you're like this. Jesus, look at you -- cock leaking, fucking yourself on my fingers. You want another one, don't you?" He shifts, barely ghosting the fingers of his free hand along the length of Lee's cock. "I want you so turned on that you're babbling. Brainless. Just holes and a cock."

Lee nods at the question, unabashedly eager, keeping himself up on his elbows so he’s closer to George’s face, lean muscles in his stomach tensing under pale skin, each ridge defined.

“Oh my god,” he says again, hips twitching when George’s fingers tease along his cock. Lee honestly, genuinely had no idea that he could even this turned on. And George wants him to babble, so he does. No filter.

“I didn’t even know that I could get like this. No one else has ever gotten me anywhere close,” he begins in a raw voice, shifting more of his weight onto his elbows so he can rock back onto George’s fingers more effectively. “Only you, baby. Only you could make me this fucking crazy. This pathetically needy.”

He lets out a low groan and stares up at George as if hung the moon. “I told myself not to ever let myself need anyone. But I need you, George. I need you in every way that I can have you and I’d let you do anything to me, baby. I’d let you bleed me dry if that’s what you wanted. Because I’m yours.”

Arousal hits George like a wave and he twists his fingers in Lee's arch, starting to press a third one into him.

"You do like it best when it's me that's bleeding, though..." He says. "Or when I bite you. I haven't forgotten."

“Fuck.” Lee heaves a breath at that and squirms a little, slamming his hands down onto the blankets as he stares up at George’s face. His eyes widen a little, going shiny and vulnerable as he opens his mouth and closes it a few times, like he’s trying to work up courage.

Even now, flayed open as he is, he can’t seem to get the words out. He was worried that George didn’t like the bleeding. He never said anything about it after and it felt like too much to ask for, so Lee has sort of come to the conclusion that it was something they tried once, and that would be it. Even that feels like a gift.

Embarrassingly, he feels his eyes start to sting. Even if he never wanted to do it again, it means so much to Lee to have had it even once. He thinks about it all the time. “I still can’t believe you let me do that. You’re so fucking good to me and I don’t deserve it. I don’t.”

He sniffs and swallows hard, sliding his elbows out from underneath him so that he lands on his back, wanting to move past that last bit. “I love it when you bite me. I love it when it bruises.”

His mouth is open to tell Lee that he didn't expect to enjoy it as much as he did, but then Lee all but collapsed back, his eyes glassy with tears, his cock leaking, three of George's fingers buried in his arse, and it's too much. George can't think straight for a moment. His mother wanted him to rule the planet, but he just wants to give it to this boy.

He leans over Lee, still fucking him with his fingers, mouthing the skin on his belly before he nips at him, playful at first, but sharper.

"I like the idea of bruises," he says. "Mark you up as mine."

Lee feels so worked up, out of his mind with lust, and he makes an embarrassing sound when George bites him. He practically squeals, curling in on himself a little and reaching down to put a hand on the back of George’s head, not to push or guide him, but simply to touch him because he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“Please,” Lee pants out, whimpering and arching his back like he’s offering himself up. He told George once not to make him beg, and he isn’t. It’s Lee begging all on his own. “Please, baby. I want it so bad. Please, mark me up like I’m yours. You won’t hurt me. I’ll be so good.”

His fingers still buried in Lee's body, George sucks up a mark on Lee's bare skin and then he bites him, hard enough that he knows that it'll bruise. It isn't so much the sensation of biting that goes to his cock. It's the way that Lee reacts to it that makes him feel wild.

Even though he was pleading for it, it’s somehow still almost a surprise when George bites him so hard. The pain is sharp, blossoming outward from the spot and immediately fizzing out into intense pleasure, and Lee lets out a humiliating yelp. It’s loud enough to startle birds out of trees somewhere above them and between that and George’s clever fingers, he comes very close to tipping over the edge.

“Fuck, it feels so good,” he moans out, shoving himself back onto George’s fingers and pulling his hair, lifting his head to look down at him. “More. Please? Whenever you want.”

His fingers still, for the moment, buried as deep as he can get them, he kisses his way up to Lee's chest, his lips brushing against the scar there. He remembers what Lee said -- about not wanting those scars.

"What if this was me instead?" He asks. "My teeth." He's not sure he wants to bite Lee hard enough to actually scar but he likes the thought.

George’s mouth brushing over the scar on his chest makes Lee shiver, and that’s even before the question, which George asks like it doesn’t tilt Lee’s entire world on its axis a bit. He gasps and then lets out a strangled noise, like a bitten off sob, and closes his eyes tight.

He still remembers what it felt like to have his father’s teeth sink into his flesh, the primal fear and bone deep betrayal, and he feels it all over again whenever he sees those scars in the mirror. George can’t know what he’s offering, not really, but Lee can’t help the way he nods as tears spill down his cheeks.

“If it was you, I wouldn’t feel sick whenever I saw it in the mirror,” Lee admits, reaching up with his free hand to cover his eyes. “I would love it if it was you.” He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, shoulders shaking a bit. “I’d be honored if it was you.”

Lee's crying so much that it gives him pause and George lifts his head.

"Was that too much?" he asks, pressing a gentler kiss against Lee's skin.

“Shit.” Lee shakes his head, feeling embarrassed in a different way, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “No, I’m okay. I just— I got these on the worst day of my life. I hate them.”

He turns his head and covers the scar on his cheek, sniffling a bit and blowing out a breath before glancing down at George almost cautiously, wondering if he meant it, but Lee soon realizes that he let himself get too wrapped up in it all.

“You were just saying things, weren’t you?” Lee asks quietly, and it feels like something in his chest sinks with the realization. “Fuck, sorry. Really, I’m okay. I am.”

George frowns, and he draws his fingers out of Lee for a moment because if feels weird to leave them there, right then. He strokes his hand along his flank instead and kisses his chest.

"I was," he says. "But I didn't realise how much it meant to you. I...how hard would I even have to bite?" He traces the scar with the pad of his thumb.

Lee makes a distressed sound when George pulls his fingers out, worried that he’s messed up such a great night. He closes his eyes hard, swallowing back the disappointment he feels, but he’s not upset with George. He’s upset with himself for taking it so seriously.

He shakes his head at the question and reaches up to put a trembling hand over George’s on his chest, lifting it to press a kiss to his palm.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Lee assures him, smiling a little and nuzzling into George’s palm and looking at him pleadingly, hoping they can just move past it. The last thing Lee wants to do is make George feel like he needs to do something he isn’t comfortable with. “I liked what we were doing. I just— I got caught up for a minute. I’m sorry.”

"Don't be sorry," he says, smiling, swiping a tear from Lee's face with the pad of his thumb. "I...the one on your belly is definitely going to bruise. You still want more?" He wants, desperately, to give Lee what he wants, but there's a part of him that remembers just how much it had hurt to be bit hard enough to scar, and that part of him baulks at the thought of doing it to Lee. "I want to give you more."

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