atehimrightup | (no subject)

"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?"

Lee has long since given up trying to deny the effect those words have on him. He doesn’t want to like it so much, but he does. Or maybe it’s not so much the words themselves, but the way George says them like he means them. Like he really believes that Lee is good.

As gentle as George is in placing the gag, it still feels odd at first and he furrows his brow as his jaw works. He said he didn’t want to be a horse, and having this thing strapped to his head makes him flush halfway down his chest, embarrassed and flustered.

But then George’s voice is back, warm and thick like honey, like he likes what he’s seeing. So Lee stops squirming his shoulders at how odd it feels and takes a breath so he can explore it, biting down on the silicone piece in his mouth and finding himself slightly surprised that he didn’t bite right through it. He’ll have this to bite on when things get intense and, well, that’s really nice, actually.

Finally, he nods and goes still again, already feeling drool rolling down from the corner of his mouth, dripping down to join the mess his cock is making on the bedspread.

He watches as Lee squirms and then settles, his jaw working as he bites down on the tag. George makes soft, soothing noise under his breath, stroking his hand along Lee's flank. He's surprised by how much he likes the drool on Lee's face.

He reaches between Lee's legs, brushing his fingers along Lee's cock, teasing the slick head for a moment. *Well, now you look ready to be ridden."

George is patient with him, soothing him with reassuring sounds and gentle touches, and Lee relaxes into it. He sounds pleased, and Lee wants to keep making that happen.

He jolts a little when George touches his cock, not quite expecting it. His hips twitch and he whines in apology, straightening himself again and biting on the gag.

Lee huffs at the words and resists the urge to stamp his foot, only belatedly realizing the irony in reacting in the same way a horse might.

"I think you probably deserve that, don't you?" says George, moving around the bed to get the lube before he moves out of Lee's line of sight again. "A good hard fuck."

Lee isn’t sure if he deserves it, but he most certainly wants it. Instead of answering out loud, he whines around the gag and moves only enough to tilt his hips and stick his ass in the air, presenting himself shamelessly.

His face is burning red and there’s spit all over his chin, leaking from the corner of his mouth. It’s not even just from the gag. He just wants so badly, and the gag makes it harder for him to swallow the evidence.

George disappears behind him again and Lee whines, fingers digging into the duvet as he trembles with the effort of holding himself still.

George watches Lee visibly struggle for a moment as he opens the lube. He pauses.

"You can move," he says. "Since you can't talk, you can show me how much you want it, sweetheart."

Lee makes a grateful sound and blows the air out his lungs, turning his head to look over his shoulder at George. The leather strap of the bit digs into his cheek and he lets out a needy whine as he rocks his hips back, trying to seek out contact.

“Please,” Lee tries to say, but it comes out muddled and garbled and Lee is red down to the middle of his back and chest, overwhelmed with need and feeling very far from calm, but George will get him there.

Oh, he likes that very much -- the garbled way the word comes out, the flush on Lee's skin, the needy squirm of his hips.

"Good boy," he says, spreading Lee's cheeks with the fingers of one hand and rubbing the slick fingers of the other against his hole.