atehimrightup | (no subject)

"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.

Lee lets out another whimper and practically keens when George’s wet fingers tease at his hole. He wants nothing more than to have George fill him up, to take him and have him until it’s the only thing in Lee’s mind.

He rocks up onto his toes and presses back against George’s hand, chasing more of that teasing pressure.

Lee is needy and squirming already, and George would be lying if he said he didn't love it. There's a level of control to Lee, most of the time -- something that George now understands why -- but there's such utter loveliness in being the one who gets to dismantle it and see him like this.

He making soft, soothing noises under his breath as he starts to work a finger into Lee's arse.

George shushes him like a spooked animal and it should be humiliating, but it’s just so good. He forces himself to take a breath, though it catches in his throat when George’s finger works into him.

He’s going slow, slower than he needs to, and Lee lets out a grunting sound but doesn’t plead for more just yet. His head hangs between his shoulders, spit dripping from his mouth, and he lets out a ragged moan.

George fucks Lee's arse with one finger for a moment, knowing that it's not enough, that it won't feel like nearly enough and then he draws it all of the way out of him. "Get your knees up on the bed," he says, keeping his voice low and level and calm.

“Yes, master,” he says as best he can around the gag, biting down on it instead of crying out in protest when George stops touching him. The instruction is a relief and Lee nods jerkily, climbing onto the bed in a way that’s agile and cat-like, shoulders and hips slinking as he arranges himself on all fours.

He wonders if that one finger is all he’ll get. The thought is sort of thrilling, and he swallows hard as he arches his spine down, ass tilting up in a way that makes him feel like a needy slut.

With George, most of the time, it feels like he is.

"I bet I could fuck you just like this," says George, pressing that one slick finger back into Lee's arse and fucking him a little rougher with it. "It would be tight and it might sting, but I don't think you'd mind that, would you?"

That lone finger presses into him again, quick and rough, and Lee lets out a muffled grunt. He feels like an animal again, but this time it’s not in a negative way. He just feels like a simpler creature, reduced to base desires.

Something seems to click for him then. He knows what it feels like to lose himself to primal instincts, but it’s always been hunger. Every time he’s given into that need and let himself be an animal, it came with guilt and shame and the knowledge that he’d just done something horrible.

But not here. Not with George, not now that he knows the truth. Lee can let himself give into it, sink into that animal desire, and know that nothing bad can happen. He’s safe— every single part of him. All of his broken parts and dark urges.

Lee lets out a needy whine at the question, suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel every single inch of George. He wants the burn of it, and he nods so hard that he gags around the bit in his mouth, drooling all over his chin as he shifts his tongue to let it resettle more comfortably.

He hadn't been expecting quite such an emphatic reaction from Lee, the grunts and the moans, the nodding and the rocking of his hips. It's more than clear what he wants, and the thought of giving it to him has him rock hard, the front of tight trousers straining uncomfortably.

"Good boy," he says, landing a warm slap on Lee's arse, squeezing. "That's what you want."