atehimrightup | (no subject)

Horrifyingly, Lee feels a little like he might cry. George is talking about taking care of a fucking horse, but Lee wants it to be about him. This is so embarrassing, and he doesn't know what to do with the sudden ache he feels. After a moment the lump in his throat goes away, but his face is still flushed with confusion and shame and desire.

"Because he's dangerous otherwise," Lee breathes out, hands clenching into fists at his sides. He watches George move about the space, every step calm and measured. His heart pounds against his ribs. "He could hurt you if he doesn't trust you."

"Exactly that," says George, rubbing the curry along Bramble's side in small, circular strokes. "He's bigger than me, but he doesn't really know that, and I can't let him remember it. I've seen men die because they weren't confident enough when handling a horse."

What about handling a monster? Lee wants to ask, but he doesn't. He isn't bigger than George, but he is stronger, unnaturally so. He could hurt George, but George trusts him somehow, and Lee trusts him in return. But sometimes he gets so in his head, and he feels like he wants to whine and stomp his feet and run until no one could possibly catch him.

Mostly, he wants to not want that at all. He wants to feel safe, wants to know he's protected. He wants to be taken care of by someone who isn't the least bit afraid of him.

God, he's jealous of a horse. This might be a new low.

"You're very good at this," Lee says after a long, contemplative moment, and he realizes that he's been so distracted by George's hands on the horse that he's barely even looked at his ass in those riding pants, which feels like a crime. "Like, you're in your element here."

"I am, I suppose," says George, finishing with the comb and setting it down. He reaches for a brush, rubbing the horse in front of him down with slightly rough, long strokes. "Like I said, I understand them, but it's instinctive. I had to work on understanding people this well."

"I'm a very hard thing to understand," Lee says, and it comes out sounding sadder than he had intended. But George has come closer than anyone else by a longshot.

He leans back against the side of the stall and watches, imagining long, firm sweeps of George's hands over his body after he's been ridden hard. It makes him swallow, cheeks flushing, and he lifts his hands so he can bury his face in them.

"I don't think so. Not necessarily. I think I understand you perfectly, anyway."

That gesture catches George's attention and he steps away from Bramble with a final pat for his neck.

"This, though." He steps in close. "What's gotten into you?"

"Better now than ever," Lee admits with a soft smile. George finding out the truth had been so terrifying, but it's better now. Everything feels a bit lighter. He's seen the very literal worst of Lee, and he's still here. He's here, stepping into Lee's space with concern on his gorgeous features, and Lee stares at him for a long moment. His face is burning, but he wants to try to articulate this.

"I-- I think I'm realizing something," he says as he reaches out to put one hand on George's hip. He leans out from the wall, hesitating, and then gently nudges his forehead against George's shoulder. "I'm trying to figure out how to say it."

Lee always looks so beautiful when he blushes, but then he's leaning in, hiding his face, and George an arm around his waist, presses the other hand between his shoulder blades.

"Alright, then," he says. "Try for me."

Try for me, he says. Patient and gently encouraging, with one hand firm between his shoulder blades. Lee shivers, and it's a wonder that he doesn't melt to the floor.

"Watching you with the horse--" He begins, taking a breath and hooking his chin over George's shoulder. Bramble stares back at him and Lee swears there is judgement in his eyes. He clears his throat and pulls back, briefly meeting George's eyes and then looking at the mole at the corner of his mouth because it feels safer. "Fuck, um."

He takes a breath. "Remember the first time I let you-- after that fight. I asked you to be nice to me," Lee says, finally looking into George's eyes again. "I didn't even even know what I meant at the time, really. But watching you with the horse-- it feels like that's exactly what I was asking for. That's what I meant."

George's dark eyebrows pull together and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"I... Am not sure I follow, love," he says. "You want me to treat you like a horse?"

Well, that makes Lee feel stupid. His eyes sting and he swallows hard, cheeks flushing even further as he looks away and tries to take a step back.

"No, that's not--" He shakes his head a little and lets out a quiet huff. "Never mind, it's dumb. I don't know what I'm saying."

"No, no," says George, his arm tightening around Lee's waist when he tries to pull away. He shifts his other hand, fingers under Lee's chin to nudge his face up.

"Tell me again. I want to understand."

Lee huffs as George keeps him from fleeing, gritting his teeth and stamping one foot, and then he goes still and looks at the horse again, feeling humiliated.

"No," Lee says when George touches his chin, mostly just to be obstinate because he's so embarrassed. Then he huffs and lets George tilt his chin up, but looks somewhere just to the left of his eyes. "Fine."

He takes a breath and lets his hands hang at his sides. He thought that conveyed it pretty well. Be nice to me, like you were being nice to the horse. He isn't sure how much clearer he can make it. "I think I want you to act with me like you act with the horse. Like, the energy of it. The way you are."

His eyes sting and he makes a distressed sound. "I don't want to be treated like a horse. I want you to treat me like you treat the horse. There's a difference but I don't know how to explain it and I'm fucking embarrassed, so we can just forget it."

"No, no, I think I understand," says George, his hand smoothing down Lee's arm, squeezing his bicep lightly. "You want to be reminded of your place in the world." He leans in, his mouth closer to Lee's ear. "Which, to be clear, is you're mine. Entirely."

George squeezes his arm and Lee's gaze snaps to his eyes as he speaks, nodding almost eagerly because he thinks that George is starting to get it. He wants to be reminded, wants to be cared for with tender authority while being respected at the same time.

And then George's lips just barely graze his ear and Lee does whimper then, reaching out to grab George's hips as he nods. "Yes, I am. Entirely. And I don't want it to be mean. I don't want to have to beg. I just-- I want what you were just doing. But for me."

The horse huffs, ears flicking, and Lee turns even more red. "Shut up, Bramble. He's mine."

"I wouldn't make you beg," says George, gently, still stroking Lee's arm, a smile ticking up the corner of his mouth. He turns his head, brushing his lips against Lee's skin. "Let me finish up here, and we can talk about it more? I want to make sure I'm giving you exactly what you want."

He pulls away. "Can you grab the tack for me? I'll handle the saddle."

"Okay. Yeah, of course. I don't want to rush you," Lee says sincerely, biting his bottom lip. "I feel bad. I came here to watch you doing something you love and I've made it about me."

Still, he's glad to be given something to do, even if he has no idea what the fuck a tack is. He glances around the stall and it seems obvious enough, so he picks up the strappy leather thing that went over the horse's head. The leather is soft and warm and smells kind of good, like dust and hay and contentment, and he holds it against his chest as he looks at George imploringly, eager for further instruction.

"Don't feel bad. You know I like it when you actually ask for what you want." George bends, lifting the saddle off the floor. "Come on. The racks are this way." He walks out of the stall and down the length of the stable to the saddle room. "In your head is this before or after sex?" He says, matter-of-factly, as he starts putting things away. "During?"

"It's easier when I know how the fuck to say it," Lee replies, watching very closely as George lifts the saddle. The muscles in his arms and neck shift and Lee swallows hard, following after him eagerly with bits of leather hanging from his arms. "I wasn't expecting to be confronted with this new thing today."

George is so casual about it, is the thing. It's not all that surprising. He's a lot more experienced than Lee with this type of thing, and presumably has had a lot more time to think about what sex means to him. For Lee it was always just this primal thing, like scratching an itch. He never had the time for it to be anything else. He's glad for George's calm and level-headed approach to it sometimes, even if it does make Lee flustered. He knows that he's in good hands. Which, well-- that's the thing, isn't it?

"Um." He ponders the question and holds out the tack for George, brows furrowed as he thinks. "The whole time, I think? Mostly before. Maybe not so much during the actual sex." He swallows and glances around, though they're alone in the room. "I'm not entirely sure. I sort of just had this epiphany like five minutes ago."

George starts to take the tack from Lee, carefully putting it away. "And that's why we're talking about it. I want to make sure that I'm entirely clear on what you want." With everything put away, he steps in again, hand cradling the side of Lee's neck, pulling him in to kiss him. "What about the pain? For correction purposes?"

"This is already kind of doing it for me. To be clear," Lee tells him, because George is carrying over that same calm energy from the stall while Lee is just all over the place. He doesn't let Lee's weird energy rattle him, just steps in close and touches him, and Lee goes still at the hand on his neck. He's grateful to be kissed. It seems like he's able to breathe easier afterward.

"Um. That's fine. You know that I'm okay with a little pain," Lee assures him, brow furrowed slightly as he thinks about it. He likes that he added that it's for correction purposes. It's not a punishment, but a reminder. It's an instruction on how to do better, and Lee thinks he would be very okay with that. "I like the correction part. Like, it's not to hurt me, right? It's to keep me focused. Like what you said about the horse. You'd never hurt him. So that's-- yeah." His eyes glaze over a little bit. "How would you do it?"

He smiles at that. It might be deliberate, how he's touching Lee, how he's pitched his voice. He's calibrating. He's got many talents, but this -- being the answer to a lover's fantasy -- is one of his greatest. It's the one that still comes easiest.

"Hmm," he says, thumb stroking against Lee's pulse. "With a horse, it'd be the bit or the crop. The crop would be easy enough to emulate, obviously. And the bit -- a gag of some sort, maybe. You wouldn't need a voice."

He reaches out with his free hand, stirs the leather straps hanging on the rack.

This might kill him. He really thought he would just come watch his beloved boyfriend gallop around on a horse for a bit and then they'd go home. Now he's all flustered and feels like he's just discovered this brand new piece of himself and he has no idea what to do with it.

But George does.

His voice is low and calm, thumb gliding soothingly over his pulse, and Lee rests his hands loosely on George's hips and just stares at him with this utterly besotted look in his eyes. George's very pretty hand glides over leather straps and Lee swallows hard.

"I don't want to be a horse. I feel like I should say that again," he gets out, chuckling softly. "I am very much a boy. But-- yeah. Watching you like that, it-- I dunno. It was like something clicked. Like oh, that's what I've never been able to articulate. That's what I want. But you're doing it to an animal, so I got embarrassed. Sorry I was a brat."

He's kind of rambling, which he doesn't usually do. It happens when he gets nervous sometimes. "I'm just confused."

"I'm not talking about a bridle, don't worry," says George, his voice warm. "And you've been a brat before -- it's not that much of a surprise. A riding crop, though." He makes a soft, thoughtful noise. "I don't have one. We'd have to buy one."

"Takes one to know one," Lee teases gently, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of George's tight pants while staring at the side of his face, quirking a brow. "You seem fixated on the hitting me with a riding crop part."