atehimrightup | for george

for george

After spending some time in the club, Lee ducks outside for some air. It isn't exactly fresh, smelling like old beer and stale piss, but there's a light breeze and outside he can at least smoke a cigarette.

He leans against the chipped red brick, the sole of one tattered Converse shoe pressed against it as he tips his head back. The ends of his hair are currently dark violet, and the longer curls stick to his pale, sweaty neck as his cheeks hollow around the filter of the cigarette.

From this vantage point, he can still feel the bass from inside thumping in his chest, sending a pleasant tingle throughout his entire body, and he takes a deep breath as his eyes fall shut, cigarette dangling from his hand as he lingers in the peaceful moment.

It's easier to feel less alone out here, away from all the people that he has no idea how to relate to.

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Lee could get George off right here. It wouldn’t be hard. He looks so wound up that a few quick strokes in a spit-slick palm would get him there. Yeah, Lee could get him off and they could still go for another round after.

But what’s the fun in that?

“Good,” Lee says with a lazy grin, pushing George back with a hand on his chest so he can tuck himself back into his jeans. He smooths his hands down the front of his shirt and then takes George’s face in his hands, thumbing at his ridiculous cheekbones. His eyes are wet and glassy, cheeks pink and lips swollen, and it makes some predatory, hungry part of his brain feel sated and calm. It won’t last, but it’s nice.

“C’mon, handsome,” Lee says with a smirk, curling his fingers around George’s wrist as he leads them deeper into the alley and into the small parking lot behind the club. “My truck’s over here.”

The curl of Lee's fingers around his wrist is possessive, proprietary, and George feels some small part of that -- the part of him that had worked so hard for the power and influence that he had begun to accrue back home -- bristle. Still, Darrow is not England, for better or worse, so perhaps there's no harm in being something else here, too?

He hesitates just as they come to Lee's truck.

"I have not...ridden in one of these before," he admits.

“Wait, really?” Lee asks, still a little come dumb and dazed. Soon he remembers that he just got the best head of his life from someone who up until recently had never seen a lightbulb. He laughs. What a weird fucking place.

“Your carriage awaits,” Lee says as he opens the passenger door with a flourish, gesturing for George to get inside. He looks sort of hesitant and it’s at odds with the come still shining on his chin. “Come on. It’s just like a carriage, except all the horse power is under the hood.”

Lee climbs up into the cab from the open passenger door and settles in the driver’s seat, leaning over to pat the bench next to him, smirking wolfishly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

George is many things, but a coward he is not, and he hauls himself up into the cab, slamming the heavy door behind him. He's hardly ridden in carriages at home since he was a child, always preferring reins in his fist and horse flesh beneath him, but...

Well. A day for newness, then.

“Atta boy,” Lee says happily, clapping his hand down onto George’s thigh before starting the engine. The old truck roars to life and Lee smirks over at George when the bench seat starts to rumble beneath their thighs. He twists to look behind him as he reverses out of the spot, waving amiably at a guy crossing the street before pulling out onto it.

“Are you still hard?” Lee asks as they pull up to a red light, pressing down on the brake as he turns to glance over at George. Instead of waiting for an answer, Lee reaches over to palm George’s crotch. There’s a small damp spot at the front and Lee swallows hard, rubbing his thumb against that spot as they pull away from the light.

The combination of the vibration between him and Lee's roving hands is distracting and it takes him a moment to answer. He arches his back slightly against the bench seat, pressing into Lee's hand.

"As a rock," he says.

“So it seems,” Lee says casually, keeping his eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel while the other feels George up— palming his cock and squeezing at his inner thigh. He only lets go when he has to turn into the parking lot and park the truck.

“I’m just on the second floor,” Lee says once they’re out of the truck, but George looks so debauched that Lee can’t help but to push him roughly up against the side of the truck and kiss him thoroughly, grinding their hips together so George can feel that Lee is already hard again, too.

He could, he knows, stop this -- remove Lee's hands, return to some semblance of moral behaviour -- but the fact remains that he just doesn't want to. He wants to be handled like this. To be debased.

When Lee kisses him, he matches the other man's fervour, one arm curling around his neck to keep him close.

Lee likes it when it’s easy. He doesn’t know a thing about his man other than he has an old’s man name and gives spectacular head. They aren’t here for each other’s minds, anyway. Their bodies can do all the talking, and Lee can have a break from his goddamn head for a bit.

Lee breaks the kiss to mouth along George’s jaw and to the side of his neck, biting down just hard enough to sting. George smells amazing, sweet and earthy, and Lee knows his skin would give like a peach’s if he bit down hard enough. But he won’t. The hunger is there but it’s always there, and he’s easily distracted by his arousal.

All he wants to do is eat and fuck. He really is an animal.

“Okay, okay,” he breathes out, pressing his hands against the truck door on either side of George so he can push himself away. “Jesus, you’re like catnip. Come on.”

Lee enters the lobby and bypasses the elevator to take the stairs instead, gesturing for George to follow him. “It’s just one flight up and that thing is slow as fuck.”

George has ridden in the elevator at his own building exactly once. He'd found the experience, frankly, terrifying and avoided it every since. He willingly follows Lee up the stairs, his fingers teasing against the sore spot on the side of his neck where Lee's mouth has surely left a mark.

Once they’re out of the stairwell, Lee takes off down the hall at an eager jog, tossing a promising grin over his shoulder at George as he does. His gaze dips to the prominent bulge at the front of George’s pants and he lets out a delighted laugh, tossing his head back in amusement as he approaches his door.

He gets his keys out of his pocket and hurriedly unlocks the door, stumbling inside and tossing his keys toward the end table next to the sofa, dragging his hands through his hair. “Fucking finally.”

George doesn't run but he does follow like a thing leashed, a hound, perhaps, or a horse. He doesn't feel like an entirely thinking thing right then, not with so much heat so close to his skin.

"Finally," he echoes, leaning back against the closed door. "And I am at your mercy."

Lee turns to grin at that, wide and a little wicked, eyes dark as he strides forward and pushes his palms against George’s shoulders, shoving him hard against the door.

“You won’t regret it,” Lee promises. The same can’t be said for other men who follow Lee into dark, quiet places, but George is safe from the worst parts of him. He hasn’t done anything to invoke Lee’s ire, and how could he deprive the world of something so beautiful?

Lee kisses him again, biting at his bottom lip and licking into his mouth as he gathers the hem of George’s shirt in his hands. He drags the garment up and only pulls away from the heated kiss long enough to pull it up over his head and toss it aside.

George lets it happen - he kisses back hungrily as Lee strips his shirt off him, his own fingers curling in Lee's hem and starting to tug upwards.

His hips rock forward, grinding against Lee. He's still just as hard as he was in the alley.

Lee pulls his shirt off and then grabs George's face to kiss him again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to tug him away from the door. His other hand dips between them to tug open the front of George's pants, pushing them impatiently down his hips. He drops both hands to grab at his ass, squeezing as he pulls back with a grin.

"That face and this ass?" Lee asks with a chuckle, pushing George against the back of the sofa in the middle of the living room. "God really gave with both hands when he made you, huh?"

It isn't flattery, not really. It's just the truth, and it's obvious that George is well aware of what he looks like.

So my mother has always told me, he thinks, but he shoves the thought of her away from him even as he pulls Lee in closer, his trousers riding dangerously low, his cock still aching hard and and ready to spring free.

He makes a muffled sound, leaning in to kiss Lee deeper.

It's hot how much George wants him. Well, Lee knows that it's not him specifically. It's what he can offer in this moment, but that's good too. It's nice to be needed, if only temporarily.

"I've got you," Lee assures him in a low, almost commanding voice, kissing George again as he pushes his pants down, urging George to step out of them. Lee looks down at George's cock, angry red and leaking, and bites lightly at George's chin before sinking to his knees.

He reaches up to grab George by the hips, meeting his eyes as he leans forward enough to drag his tongue over the head of George's cock with one slow, long lick. The thing is, Lee knows what he looks like, too.

George has every reason to be proud of his cock, and he doesn't feel even the slightest touch of embarrassment as Lee strips him and sinks down to his knees. The heat of Lee's tongue verges on painful and George hears himself make a small, strangled sound.

He's not sure how much longer he can wait to come.

"I was going to make you wait longer," Lee says idly, smirking up at George as he reaches out to lightly curl his fingers around George's cock, tugging back the foreskin with his thumb. "But I think you might actually explode."

Even though he's on his knees, Lee feels powerful. He's reduced this man to near tears with just the promise of his touch. He loves it.

"You've gone nonverbal on me," he says, reaching up with his other hand to lightly smack the fleshy part of George's hip. "Ask me nicely and maybe I'll change my mind."

George thinks he might actually explode too, all truth told. He swallows, his back watching slightly as Lee handles his cock. He's used to this part though -- to speaking sweetly, to telling another man what he wants to hear.

"Please," he says, his voice pitched soft. "Let me come. I'll do anything you want afterwards." A smirk twitches the corner of his mouth. "Any filthy, depraved thing."

“How could I say no to that?” Lee replies with a smirk of his own, winking up at George before opening his mouth wide. George’s cock is hot and thick against his tongue, swollen with blood, and Lee lets out a shuddering breath as his eyes fall closed. He can feel George’s pulse in his mouth, taste the salty bitterness of him, and Lee lets out a quiet growl.

He breathes through his nose and opens his eyes again, grabbing George by the hips as he starts to bob up and down. He’s good at this, he knows, but he’s pretty sure a stiff breeze could get George off right now.

He's not going to last, and he knows it the moment that Lee's mouth slides, hot and wet, around his cock. He rocks his hips, Lee takes him by the hips and George receives that as permission to move, rocking his hips forward, fucking into Lee's welcoming mouth.

He drags in a shivering breath, his head tipping back.

"Oh, fuck."

It’s been awhile since Lee has done this. He likes being the one on top, or the one with a head in his hands. He likes clinging to that little bit of control while it feels like his world is constantly burning down around him.

But he has to admit, this is kind of nice. George fucks his mouth and Lee feels like he can turn his brain off for a second, letting himself get lost in the haze of what it feels like to be needed. Even if it’s just for a night. Even if it’s just for this.

George curses and Lee greedily takes more of his cock, choking mildly around the head and reaching down to cup George’s balls, rolling them in his palm and pressing his fingertips to the soft spot just behind them.

He's going to come -- he feels it coming for him like a landslide. He remembers the choice that Lee had given him, back in the alleyway and he thinks about somethign similar, but that also doesn't feel like the game they're playing here, the bargain that they've made.

He twists his fingers in Lee's hair, a warning, the shift of his hips slowing over so slightly.

George’s thrusts stutter and he pulls at Lee’s hair, warning him, but Lee grabs at George’s hips before he can pull away. He lets out a needy, demanding sort of grunt and shifts enough to be able to look up at George’s face, cheeks hallowing as he sucks at George’s cock.

Lee isn’t one to shy away from bodily fluids, and he finds that he wants to taste some part of this man, wants to keep a bit of him in his belly, and this is the only way he can.

He drops one hand to George’s balls, tight and as he teeters on the precipice of orgasm, and Lee gives him a challenging look as he presses his fingertips in firmly just behind him, spurring him on.

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