atehimrightup | (no subject)

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."

George takes a step back and looks at him appraisingly. There was a time where that would have made Lee fidget nervously, but now he just takes a breath and lets it happen, eyes trained on George’s face.

There is no disappointment there, no regret. He looks like he’s pleased by what he sees and that feels so good, all before he even opens his mouth.

Lee flushes and bites back a whine, shivering from head to toe from the praise. It feels like a physical caress down the long line of his spine, nearly as heavy and warm as George’s hand.

“Thank you,” Lee says in a quiet tremble of a voice, licking his lips and keeping his hands at his sides, eyes trained on George’s face.

The way Lee flushes and the sound of his voice, the way it trembles, is delicious. He lets it linger, for a moment.

"Good boy," he says. "Now. The question is...what else do I want to do for you."

“You can have anything,” Lee breathes out, because at this point it’s true. He doesn’t think that there is literally anything that Lee would deny him if George wanted it, game or no game. If George asked for the moon, Lee would do his fucking best to figure out a way to yank it out of the sky.

“I’d do anything for you,” he says, achingly honest.

"Oh, I know that, sweet boy," says George, his smile utterly sweet. "I know you dont want to be a horse -- just want me to behave like I do when I'm with them -- but this is about the time I'd put a horse through his paces." He steps in again, cupping the side of Lee's face and drawing him in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

A tiny part of Lee feels vaguely pathetic for how badly he needs this, but that part is quiet now. Right now he basks in the attention, all the affection, smiling warm and pleased.

“I’m sure you can figure out a way to make it translate,” Lee says quietly, blushing as if they haven’t had sex in a myriad of obscene ways.

George leans in and Lee forces himself to stay still, letting his eyes fall shut and returning the kiss with soft hum, almost like a whimper. It feels a little like he might vibrate out of his skin, but there’s a calmness at the edges of it that he wants to chase.

"I'm sure I can," says George, his hadn still cradling the side of Lee's face, his thumb stroking against his skin. He thinks about it for a moment before he steps back. "Bend over. Put your hands on the bed."

Lee stares at him, completely besotted, and feels momentarily bereft when his hand falls away. But then he’s speaking in that low, commanding voice and Lee is grateful to be given something to do.

He nods and turns around, placing his feet shoulder width apart and bending at the waist to plant his palms against the mattress. It’s so easy to listen to him, to give him whatever he wants.

Behind him, George takes a moment to take off his shirt, though he leaves on the boots and trousers, as requested. He picks up the bag with the crop and the gag and takes them out, putting them on the bed where Lee will be able to see them in his peripheral vision. For the moment, George puts his hands back on him, starting at his hips and running them up Lee's ribs, skimming to his shoulders and then down his back. He applies firm, equal pressure, the way he'd touch a horse -- confident, and purposeful.

Lee can hear the rustling of fabric and plastic but doesn’t turn his head, staring down at the pattern on their duvet. Marveling over the fact that he lives somewhere with a duvet.

George sets down the crop and gag and Lee glances over at them, but then George’s hands are on him. It’s not sexual, not really, but Lee feels his cock filling where it hangs between his legs. Each sweep of his hands is firm and confident, like he knows exactly how to touch Lee. Because he does.

His hand drags down his spine to the small of his back and Lee can’t help but to press up into a little, whimpering and biting his lip.

Lee makes a soft noise, and lits his arse a little, pushing into George's hands. Biting his lip over a smile, George takes his hands away, clicking his tongue against his teeth again, that noise that he'd learned from a stablemaster when he was a boy.

"Did I tell you you could do that, sweetheart?"

George takes his hands away and Lee makes a sound like he’s been gutted, cheeks flushing as he shakes his head. That tutting sound is worse than the crop would be, he thinks. Worse than a slap. It sounds disappointed and Lee has to bite his lip to keep from whining.

“No, I’m sorry,” he breathes out raggedly, straightening his spine and pressing his hands into the bed. “I’ll be still.”

"Good boy," says George, leaning to pick up the crop. He shifts his grip on it, tapping the leather pad against his boot, enjoying the sound of it. He steps back a little, to give himself enough room to trace the pad along the length of Lee's inner thigh, from his knee and up, before he gives him a stinging little slap. "Spread these a little wider."

George grabs the crop and Lee swallows hard, wondering if he’s in trouble, but the worry soon fades. The way he drags the buttery leather up the inside of his leg doesn’t feel like a punishment, really. The sharp sting of being hit with it doesn’t either. Lee’s breath catches but the pain diffuses and some of Lee’s racing thoughts seem to go with it.

“Yes, sir,” Lee says almost dreamily, spreading his feet wider without moving the rest of his body too much, keeping his spine and arms straight while his hair hangs in his face.

"God, I wish you could see yourself," says George, using the pad of the crop to trace the line of Lee's thighs, his back, his arse. "How lovely you look. How perfect. Just like this."

“It’s enough that you see me,” Lee breathes out, because George does. He sees all of Lee, the good and the very, very bad, and he made the deliberate choice to stay when he was given one hell of an out.

He takes another steady breath and closes his eyes, focusing on each place the leather touches his skin. He has no idea if George will hit him with it again, or what will happen next. He has no way of knowing, and that’s okay. It’s good. It’s exactly what he wants.

He doesn’t need to know. George will guide him through it.

"I do," says George, brushing the crop between Lee's spread legs, tracing his balls and cock behind he replaces it with his hand. He fondles Lee's balls in one hand, squeezing lightly, tugging just a little, carefully avoiding touching his shaft with anything other than the leather of the crop for now.

Lee’s breath hitches again when the crop moves up between the apex of his thighs, over his hard cock and the swell of balls. George takes them in his hand and Lee lets out a strangled sound and curls his toes, every muscle flexing as he does his best to stay still and not rock into that touch.

George rolls them in his hand, tugs on them while dragging the soft leather over his cock, and Lee lets out a breath as a drop of pearly fluid leaks from his cock and lands on the edge of the bed. He never got so wet like this before George.

There’s so much he never got before George.

He's gorgeous like this, turned on and utterly compliant. George tucks the crop into his boot and picks up the gag, examining it, stretching out between his hand. "Before I see if this suits you, remind me: who do you belong to and what may that master do to you?"

Lee’s eyes track the leather straps of the gag as George drags it off of the bed. He’s not nervous, perhaps more anticipatory. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel about the gag, but he is sure of one thing.

If he doesn’t like it, he’ll be able to tell George and he won’t see it as a failure on Lee’s part. As long as he tries, it’ll be okay.

The question makes him whimper, cock twitching between his legs, and he breathes in deeply and once again resists the urge to rock his hips.

“I belong to you, George Villiers,” Lee says in a calm, steady voice. It feels like the truest thing he’s ever said. “You are my master, and you can do with me whatever would please you. Anything. I’m yours entirely.”

A shiver goes down George's spine when he gets Lee say it because he knows that every word of it is true. He knows that Lee wouldn't let anyone else in the world do this to him, and he feels the weight of that.

"Good boy," he says, leaning down to press a reverent kiss between Lee's shoulder blades. "Now. Open your mouth."

It feels easy for him to say, and Lee realizes what a gift that is. He’s so goddamn lucky to have someone he can trust like this.

Lee has had to take care of himself for as long as he could remember. He’s always had to be strong, to keep his head on a swivel. For years, he ran and ran in what had begun to feel like a pointlessly long march to the gallows.

But now he’s here, and he doesn’t have to be so strong. With George at his side, safe in their home, Lee can let his guard down entirely. It feels like stepping out of his armor and letting it crash to the floor. He doesn’t always have to take care of himself so much anymore.

Lee’s spine relaxes under the touch of George’s lips, more tension draining out of him. Sometimes when they play like this, it feels like he goes boneless and his brain shuts off entirely. It already feels a little like he’s heading there and they’ve just started.

Lee lets out a breathy sigh and opens his mouth wide, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he lifts his chin.

"That's good. What a good boy," murmurs George as he shifts, sliding the gag into Lee's mouth, settling the silicon bit between his teeth. He brushes Lee's hair out if the way, carefully fastening leather straps behind his head. The aesthetic of the dark leather against Lee's pale skin is very pleasing.

"How does that feel, sweet boy?"