atehimrightup | (no subject)

Lee blushes, and George smirks. He can't help but imagine the way the crop would feel on his bare skin, but this isn't about him, right now. "Do you mean for correction or just in general? Because I was using a curry comb before, but I don't think that would feel good on bare skin."

"I don't think I will need to be corrected that much," Lee says in a quiet voice, biting nervously at his bottom lip. He feels insecure, suddenly. The focus on correction makes him nervous, even though he's the one with a riding crop in his hand. "I can be good."

He blinks a few times and turns to look at the wall of toys, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes it all in. When he came to something of a realization earlier, he hadn't expected plugs and toys and he can't help but to feel a little overwhelmed. Not necessarily in a bad way. He just feels anxious and unsettled, which isn't at all unusual for him. And that's the problem.

"I'm at a loss here," he admits as he keeps staring at the wall, eyes darting back and forth. "I'm open to suggestion."

"I don't think you will, either," says George, stepping in behind Lee, pressing against his back and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "And, honestly, I don't think we need any of that. I don't think that's really what you need." He leans his chin against Lee's shoulder for a moment. "I do like the idea of a gag, though. I wear them more often that you and I do think it'll help put you in the mind that I think you're looking for. Just listening to me and letting me handle everything."

The tension bleeds out of him a little when George presses in close, head tipping to the side as George's lips find his neck. Lee's eyes fall shut at the low sound of George's voice and he finds himself nodding a little, then opens his eyes and looks at the gags on the wall, wincing a bit when he stops on a rather complicated one.

"I want to still be able to breathe through my mouth," he says quietly. "I-- I don't want to be muzzled or anything like that. It-- I think it'd make me think too much about-- you know."

A muzzle would make him feel like even more of a dangerous animal, and he'd never be able to relax. "But-- yeah, that sounds good. I trust you."

George makes a soft, thoughtful sound as he looks at their options. "I joked about a bit earlier, but that's not a bad idea. Something between your teeth, but still pretty mobile. You could breathe around it, talk around it. Better than a ball, definitely. Nothing with too many straps."

"Okay, yeah. I could try that," Lee agrees easily, watching as George pulls something off of the wall. There are so many other things, most of which Lee couldn't even begin to identify, but he can't stop looking at George. "Is that enough to start? I kind of just imagined you using your hands."

He doesn't want to rush, and he knows that George was teasing him about drawing it out, but it's making him nervous. He feels all full of energy, like he wants to pace around, and he swallows hard as he shifts on his feet and stares plaintively at George.

"I think that's enough," says George, gently taking the crop out of Lee's hand. It's a more modern design than he would ever have used during a hunt back home, but it's graceful and he appreciates that. "You can go and wait for me, if you want. I'll pay for these."

"Are you like, telling me to go?" Lee asks, reaching out to curl his hand around George's wrist. "Because if so, I will. Otherwise I kind of never want to leave your side. You were already gone so much today."

He realizes what he's said and wrinkles his nose, laughing a bit and leaning in to press a kiss to George's cheek. "Come on, let's go before I make more romantic declarations next to the horse tail butt plugs."

Grinning, he drags George toward the register. "And we're splitting the cost because this is a partnership, baby."

"No, I'm not telling you to go," says George, unreasonably pleased. After they pay, they walk out, hand in hand.

"I'm going to make this good for you," says George. "I promise."

Lee shivers at that, feeling warm and turned on and loved, and he can't help but to press George up against the truck and give him a long, drawn out kiss.

"Are you going to keep the pants and boots on?" He asks against his mouth, laughing huskily and kissing him again while reaching out to tug open the passenger side door. "Please say yes."

His grin softens and he gives George one more kiss before stepping away. "I know you will."

"If that's what you want," says George, easily, as he climbs into the truck and shuts the door. "The shirt negotiable here, is it?"

"For you, shirts should always be negotiable," Lee says as he hops in next to him, smirking over at him as the truck roars to life. "You are just-- so fucking nice to look at."

After leaning over to steal one more quick kiss, Lee drives them home. Thankfully, it's not very long before he's pulling into his usual parking spot. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, and Lee takes George's hand as they walk through the lobby of their building. George is holding a discreet black bag, but the loop of the riding crop sticking out the top of it sort of gives it away.

They ride up the elevator with an old white-haired lady who keeps shooting them disgusted looks, whether because of the sex toy bag or because they're holding hands or because Lee is staring at George like he wants to drop to his knees right here, he can't be sure.

If George even notices the way the woman was looking at him, he doesn't given any indication. His hand stays firm in Lee's. After he lets them into the apartment, he shrugs out of his jacket.

"Go and stand at the foot of the bed for me," he says, slipping back easily into the tone he uses with horses, calm and measured. "I need to put these flowers in water."

Well, that answers Lee's question of how and when they're going to do this. George's voice is calm but leaves no room for argument, but Lee doesn't have one. He wants nothing more than to obey.

"Okay," he says simply, twin pink spots high on his cheeks as he turns to head for the bedroom. George didn't tell him to undress so Lee stands at the end of the bed in his clothes and shoes, feeling nervous and giddy all at once.

He doesn't make him wait long, putting the flowers in water and setting them in the middle of the table and then shrugging out of his jacket and walking into the bedroom, bag in hand. He stands in the doorway for a moment, just looking at Lee standing there.

"Good boy," he says, walking up behind him, putting both hands on his shoulders and squeezing firmly. He takes his hands away to wrap them in the hem of Lee's sweater and start to tug it upwards. "Arms up."

As Lee waits, his mind rushes to fill the silence. They just had such a seismic thing happen between them and they’re still finding their footing again. What if this isn’t good time to introduce something new like this?

He fidgets and he worries, but then George is standing in the doorway and looking at him like he’s something special and it stills him. Then George calls him a good boy and all the racing thoughts seem to come to a halt, fading into static as George gets closer. His hands are heavy on Lee’s shoulders, his grip strong and reassuring in a way that makes tension bleed out of him.

Right now, he doesn’t need to worry about anything. He just has to be good, and George will take care of the rest.

He raises his arms up over his head, breathing in deep as the fabric covers his face. Once it’s off, he shakes a few curls out of his face and turns his head to try and look at George.

Lee wants to tell him how good he smells right now, but he’s not sure if he’s supposed to talk. He’s not even sure if he wants to talk, so he settles for leaning in slightly and inhaling deeply through his nose once George is close enough.

Lee starts to turn his head and George clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the way he might with a horse and he corrects the moment with two fingers against Lee's sharp jaw -- not forcing him, but reminding him.

"Arms up," he says again, starting to peel Lee's t-shirt up.."That's my good boy."

George tuts at him and it makes his face burn, but he allows himself to be redirected and stays facing forward when George’s hand falls away.

He lifts his arms and shivers at the praise. Any other time and he might be more embarrassed about the effect those words have on him, but not right now. Lee is determined to give himself over to it, knowing that he can trust George with it. He can trust George with everything.

This time once his shirt is off, Lee keeps his head still as his arms return to his side. He focuses on keeping his breathing even and staying still, letting his eyes fall closed.

George smooths one firm hand down Lee's bare spine and then, without a word, he kneels and starts to unlace Lee's boots. He lifts one foot and then the other, the way he bought to check hooves for stones after a ride, removing Lee's shoes and socks and then running both hands along his thighs as he stands up to start on his belt.

George doesn’t say much of anything, but Lee doesn’t worry about that just yet. He just keeps his gaze on George as much as he can without turning his head, swallowing hard as he sinks down to work on Lee’s boots.

Each touch is precise and methodical, inherently calming, and Lee’s nerves start to settle, bit by bit.

Even George’s gorgeous hands pulling his belt out of his jeans with a hiss of leather against denim don’t get him too worked up, because this isn’t a race. He’ll get what he gets whenever George decides to give it to him, and there is something so reassuring in that.

Edited 2025-10-30 15:35 (UTC)

When he's done that, he leans in, pressing himself against Lee's back for a moment. "That's it," he moments. "You're being such a good boy." He traces his palms up the length of Lee's arms and down over his chest, warm, circular motions like he'd make with a curry brush. Firm enough for Lee to really feel it before he reaches down to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

Lee has to bite back a whimper at the praise, letting his head briefly tip back against George’s shoulder before lifting it again. He wants to say thank you, but he’s not sure if he’s supposed to talk. He’s not sure if he wants to.

George’s hands are warm and firm on his body, not treating him like he’s something fragile. He’s not broken. He lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes, focusing on how George’s hands feel on his body. There’s a callus high on one of George’s palms, probably from riding, and Lee can feel every spot where it drags over his skin.

It’s all so good, and then George’s arms curve around his waist to open his pants and Lee’s breath hitches, but he makes himself stay still.

He opens Lee's jeans and working them down around his hips and pushing them all the way down, taking his underwear with then, stripping him naked.

"Step out of them," he instructs, squeezing Lee's bare arse with one hand.

Lee nods and carefully steps out of the pool of fabric around his ankles, one foot and then the other, until he’s standing naked at the end of the bed. The air in the room is cool enough to make his skin go pebbled, or maybe that’s just from George’s hands on him.

He’s still only half hard, mostly because this isn’t just physical for him. It’s just as much mental, and he feels a calmness starting to settle over him. He welcomes it. He craves it.

Once Lee is naked, George stands back and just looks at him for a moment, admires the long, lean lines of him. He's beautiful, probably the most beautiful thing that George has ever seen.

"Look at you," he says, quiet, admiring. "You're perfect. What a gorgeous boy."