atehimrightup | (no subject)

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george

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Lee is well aware of George's love of horses, and knows that he goes to ride sometimes, but he's never seen it in action. He just has no experience with horses, and never had much of an interest in them.

But things are different now. After everything that's happened, Lee finds himself wanting to know more about the things that George cares about. Nothing would make him happier.

Lee agrees to meet George at the stables and shows up in his normal clothes, jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that might actually be George's, and his leather boots. He doesn't know if he'll actually be riding a horse or just watching. He kind of hopes it's the latter.

When he gets to the stables, someone points him in the right direction and he heads for a barn, pausing at the door when he hears all the horses moving around. They're large, powerful animals and Lee feels slightly uneasy around them, if only because it's so unfamiliar.

"George?" He calls out, peeking his head into the barn. "Are you in here?"

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"Of course you do," says George, softly, like its the most obvious thing in the world. He shifts his hips, pulling out of Lee's body and stepping back from the bed. "On your back, darling. Let me look at you."

George pulls out of him and Lee whines at the loss, feeling his body clench around the sudden emptiness. Come leaks out of him, trailing down his thigh, and Lee feels so pleasantly used.

As much as he wants to comply, it seems to take a moment for Lee to remember how his limbs work. Finally he heaves a breath and shifts his body, twisting until he can roll over onto his back next to the wet spot he’s made, come all over his fingers and wrist as he throws his arms up over his head.

There are tear tracks on his cheeks on his face and drool over his chin, lips red where they’re stretched around the gag at the corners. His chest heaves with another breath and he lifts his knees and spreads his legs wide, heels digging into the bed as he stares at George’s face.

He looks so satisfied, so pleased, and it’s enough that Lee’s cock gives another weak twitch against his thigh.

George stands there, trousers worked down around his hips and his cock still half hard even though he's just come. Lee looks fucking beautiful, debauched and freshly fucked, spit and tears and come. It's perfect.

"Do you feel as gorgeous as you like?" he asks, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lee laughs at that, low and breathless and happy. If he looks as gorgeous as he feels, it would explain the expression on George’s face. He feels bashful all of a sudden, which is stupid, and he turns his head to wipe his chin again the vivid blue of the healed tattoo on his shoulder.

Maybe it’s because he can’t really turn it into a joke, because he can’t say much more than a word or two. Eventually he just nods and turns his face back to stare at George in open awe.

"Can I take a picture?" he asks. He's fully prepared for Lee to say no; he's in a vulnerable position and, more usually, it's Lee taking pictures of George and not the other way around. He gives Lee a moment to think about it as he bends to remove his boots.

The question throws him a little, but he’s not put off by it. That would be pretty hypocritical of him.

He’s not sure that he’d want to look at the picture, but he trusts George to have it. He knows that he wouldn’t show it to anyone, or use it against him.

“Okay,” he says after a moment’s thought, shifting a little more into the middle of the bed and nodding, purple curls splayed out on the pillow around him. “But don’t show me right now. Please.”

He feels like it would take him out of his head too much to see what he looks like right now, but George can have whatever he wants.

"Okay," echoes George, moving to grab his phone and framing a picture of Lee sprawled on his back with legs spread and arms over his head, the black rubber if the gag lurid and dark between flushed lips. He looks gorgeous. George drops his phone on the bed and leans over him, pressing a kiss the soft muscle of Lee's belly. "Now what am I going to do with you?"

Lee is aware of him taking pictures and he isn’t concerned about it, but it’s still something of a relief when George climbs onto the bed. His pants are open, obscenely tight around his thighs with his wet cock hanging out, and Lee whines.

“Whatever you want,” Lee gets out, lifting his hand to reach down and wipe his hand on the cut of his own thigh, since George seemed to want to see come on his skin so badly. “Anything.”

"I do like this," says George, pausing to kick out of his trousers, leaving himself naked too. He reaches up to brush his fingers against the leather strap cutting across Lee's cheek. "It looks obscene."

George hasn’t given Lee any instructions, so he gives into instinct and curls his hands over George’s ribs, sliding them around to the small of his back.

Lee flushes as George touches the gag, staring up at him and lifting his head a little before letting it drop to the pillow, brows furrowing into a slight pout.

“Can’t kiss,” he says as he drags his nails lightly down George’s back.

"That's true," says George, shivering pleasantly at the scratch of Lee's nails against his skin. "But it won't hurt you to be a little patient on that score."

He bends his head, kissing and sucking at the side of Lee's neck. "You're too coherent. I haven't done enough by far."

That mollifies him enough that his expression melts into something softer. Lee doesn’t want this to end right when the sex is over, and he doesn’t think it will. This whole thing came about while watching George with his horse after the work was done. He wants to be taken care of, and that includes being kissed.

He groans around the bit and laughs dazedly, shaking his head and tipping it back to offer up more of his neck. He hopes that George knows how big that is for him now. It’s such a sign of trust.

“‘M not,” he drawls, hooking his knees over George’s hips.

"If you've still got a though in your head, you are," says George, still kissing down Lee's neck. When he tips his head back, he takes the opportunity to bite him, relatively gently but right over his pulse. At the same time, he rolls his hips down.

If Lee did have any thoughts in his head, they’re all chased away by George’s teeth. The bite, even though it’s not that hard, makes Lee whimper.

But then George brings their hips together, grinding against his sensitive cock, and he cries out sharply. His hands slide down to George’s ass, gripping hard as he holds his knees high and arches his spine.

He keeps that up for a few long minutes, licking and sucking, biting at Lee's neck, rolling his hips, rutting against him almost lazily. It feels incredibly good -- Lee's body beneath him, cradling him, Lee's hands on his arse, keeping him close.

He lifts his head, pressing a kiss to the point of Lee's chin.

George seems to be in no rush, and Lee relishes in it. Every touch of George’s mouth to his neck makes him sink deeper into a calm, warm haze, and he whimpers as George rocks against him. Soon enough they’re hard all over again, cocks trapped between their wet bellies, and Lee curls his toes.

His eyes are closed until George kisses his chin and then he blinks them open again, lashes clumped with moisture as they flutter. His gaze lands on George’s face and he lets out a soft whine around the gag, lifting his head to smudge his parted lips uselessly against George’s jaw.

It's lovely, how desperate it is, the way Lee smudges his lips against him. George makes a soft sound and shifts his hips again, propping his weight up on his hands so that he can look down at Lee.

"Didn't I tell you to be patient, sweetheart?"

George pulls back a little and Lee stills at the gentle reprimand, suddenly understanding that he’s not meant to try and use his mouth at all. Lee blinks and then nods, letting his head fall back to the bed as he stares up at George. His hair spills across his forehead, lips red and swollen and eyes bright. He’s so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at him.

He works his tongue under the bit to lick spit from the corner of his mouth, swallowing hard and then letting out a shaky breath. His thighs spill open, knees falling to the sides as he finally rests his heels against the bed, hands still firm on George’s lower back. There’s a strong urge to pull him down and rock up against him, but that isn’t very patient, is it?

Instead he stays still and lets George look down at the mess of him, all teary eyed and flushed with his lips stretched around the gag. There’s a flicker of embarrassment, but it disappears just as quick as it comes.

If anyone can see him like this, it’s George.

"That's it," says George, that soft, soothing note from the stables back in his voice. "That's it, my love." He leans down, pressing kisses to Lee's chin, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. He kisses down his sternum and over his ribs, his biceps, the insides of his wrists, his fingers. He shifts so that he can trail kisses down over Lee's belly and the inside of his thighs.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he says, softly, reverently. "I want to ruin you."

George wants to ruin him, he says, like speaking to Lee in that tone isn’t already doing just that. He speaks to Lee like he’s worthy, like he’s important, and Lee can’t help the way that his eyes tear up again.

Each kiss feels like a brand, and all Lee can do is lie back and accept them. He can’t reciprocate, not really, and it’s a lot to take. He can feel how much George loves him, each kiss and brush of his fingers something worshipful. Lee’s fingers tremble as much as his thighs and tears leak freely from his eyes, rolling down his temples as he blinks up at the ceiling. His cock is hard, and leaking almost as much as his eyes.

If George is ruining him, it’s only to take him apart piece by piece and rebuild him into something better.

“Fixing me,” Lee says as best he can, lifting one hand to card it through George’s hair. His limbs feel too heavy, and his heart too light. It’s all too much, and somehow just right. “You’re fixing me.”

"I'm doing my best," says George and means it from the bottom of his heart. He's never said a truer thing in his life. "I want to make a mess of you," he says, in that same reverent tone. "Your come. Mine. And then clean it all off. Take care of you."

He remembers the look on Lee's face when he'd watches him rub Bramble down earlier. He suspects he knows exactly what Lee needs.

Lee nods before George is even done talking, whining around the bit and blinking stars out of his eyes.

“Yours,” Lee agrees easily. It’s all he can really manage to say, not only because of the bit. He’s just so worked up, trembling all over but calm at the same time, like he’s standing on the edge of something. “Please.”

"Not yours?" teases George gently, reaching down for graze his fingers along the length of Lee's hard cock, making it bob against the flat of his belly. "You'd rather it was my come on your skin?"

Lee makes a sound like a growl at that, biting down on the bit hard enough that the silicone squeaks between his molars. His jaw is starting to ache a little, and he can’t seem to stop drooling. But George doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m yours,” he gets out as best he can, hissing and jerking his hips at that brief, teasing touch to his cock.

But the question is an intriguing one and Lee settles a little, eyes dark and wet as he looks at George, nodding almost sheepishly. “Both.”

George is delighted by the way Lee reacts, all of it. He swipes his thumb through the spit on Lee's chin before he reaches for the buckle on the gag.

"I think you've had enough of this," he says. "Beautiful as it looks on you."