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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"None of us really are, are we?" he says, stepping closer, leaning one shoulder against the brick, rough enough that he feels it through the fine stuff of his shirt. "But, no. I've been here a few months. It definitely isn't England."

"Well, that depends on who ya ask," Lee replies, watching curiously as the man moves closer and leans against the wall. "Plenty of people say they're been here all their lives. Those of us brought here seem pretty rare."

Lee huffs out an amused breath. "England, huh? Never been. I'm American, myself. Does that make us rivals?"

"England," he echoes. "Though, most recently, I was in Scotland, if you want to talk about born enemies." He considers the question about America. "Your country still barely is, when I'm from," he says. "Colonies, only. Though I am led to believe that that doesn't stay the case forever."

"Is that right?" Lee asks, both curious and amused by the response. He turns in a little toward the man, gazing a bit distractedly at his face. He looks almost too attractive to be real, instead standing there like something that someone horny might have dreamed to life. "I'm only from about forty years behind this place, and it feels like another world entirely."

He smiles a little impishly. "Must be quite the culture shock. Electricity must be nice, right?"

George knows people, knows bodies, and he doesn't miss the way the other man turns into his space, the fact that he finds himself scrutinized.

"Terrifying, at first," he admits. "But I always have enjoyed new... Experiences."

“Is that right?” Lee’s voice is a low rumble, rough from nicotine, and he can’t help but to notice the way that they’re curved toward each other like parenthesis.

“Scotland’s really cold, I hear.” He smirks and brings his hand up to rub at his chin. “You must have had to come up with creative ways to stay warm.”

"Most places are cold when I'm from," says George. Of all of the modern marvels, he thinks he might like heat and cool at the touch of a button best. "But it is amazing, truly, how warm one can get when...diverted."

Leaning against the wall reminds him of all the times he's fucked against walls: pretty women, prettier man. The king himself, from time to time.

Well, that seems like a promising signal. The man's voice seems to be dripping with innuendo and Lee smirks to himself, swaying in just a bit closer. Tilting his head, he reaches up and reaches out to slowly trace the shell of the man's ear with his fingertips, sliding them along the edge of his jaw before letting them fall away.

"It's not cold tonight," he points out, smiling coyly and leaning back against the wall again. "Do all your vigorous activities depend on the weather?"

A touch like that is more than a touch -- it's a provocation. A shiver goes down George's spine and he bites his lip over her smile. When his own hand comes up, it's to slide over the other man's hip, tugging him in slightly.

"Suitable for all climates, I assure you."

It was a calculated risk, but it pays off. The man's hand goes for his hip, more sure now that they're both on the same page, and Lee's smile goes a little predatory as he leans into the touch, bringing their faces closer together, lips hovering inches apart.

He smells good and Lee is hungry. He's always hungry for one thing or another, and he has the opportunity to satisfy one of those cravings tonight. He quickly dismisses the idea of killing this guy. He's pretty and he's easy, and so far has been very pleasant to talk to. He's safe from the darkest parts of Lee, but there are plenty of other ways to spend an evening.

"And what if I said I was cold?" He murmurs, dropping his gaze to the man's plush mouth.

There's something of the wolf about this man, though George is damned if he can put his finger on exactly what. Still, he's pretty and George is hungry for something that food and drink will not sate.

"Then I'd say we'd better try to warm you up," he says, and leans in, grazing his lips against the other's mouth. A taste, only. A tease.

Their lips brush and Lee's eyes drift closed at the spark of arousal that runs down his spine like a shiver. It's not always this easy and sometimes he likes the chase, but he's grateful for the lack of it tonight. It's nice to find someone else who wants the exact same thing that he does. This man has him crowded up against a dingy brick wall without even knowing his name, so Lee isn't concerned that there will be any sort of uncomfortable awkwardness letter.

His tongue peeks out to drag lightly over the man's plush lips, and he hums as he leans back against the wall, grabbing at the man's hips to pull him in close, lips against his jaw. "And how would you do that?"

Their hips fit snuggly together; George is already half hard, and he can feel a similar stirring pressed against him. He hums a thoughtful sound, bracing himself with one hand against the rough brick next to the tousled head.

"Well," he says, pretending to think it over, his hips rising forward lazily. "I could fuck you right here. Strikes me that it would be the first time up against a wall for either of us." He tilts his head. "Or we could go elsewhere, and take our time."

He probably ought to be more cautious, after what happened in that fucking castle in Perth. But he's always been good at letting go and letting his cock think for him when it matters.

Lee's breath hitches as the guy rolls their hips together, hip tipping back against the brick, and then he lets out a low chuckle and raises an eyebrow.

"You seem pretty confident that I'm just gonna roll over for ya," Lee muses, sliding one hand down the back of the guy's waistband to grab at his ample ass and tug him in closer. "What makes you so sure?"

He has not yet made his peace with modern undergarments so the other man's hand makes contact with bare skin and George makes a soft sound that's part moan, part growl.

"I can be very persuasive," he says, with a smirk. "Or, I can make you. If that's more to your taste."

Honestly, George would be open to being the one fucked, but where's the fun in that?

"I would like to see you try," Lee says with a growl of his own, nails digging into the man's pale flesh, because no one can make him do anything. Plenty of men have tried and they've ended up a bloody pulp or a satisfying meal. Sometimes both. He doesn't think this was an actual threat, however, so he simply slides his hand down further to press questing fingers between the man's cheeks, quirking a brow as he presses his fingertips to his dry hole, rubbing tight little circles as he bites at the man's jaw.

"I don't give it up for just anyone," Lee murmurs as he shifts his other hand down to press against the guy's crotch, feeling the hard outline of his cock. "You think you're special, hm?"

While George has more often been the one doing the fucking, he is not at all adverse to being fucked. Especially if there's an edge of roughness to it. He bites his lip over a smirk as the other man's finger teases against him.

"Oh, no," he says, sharing his head. "I know I am."

Lee doesn’t miss the way the man’s eyes dilate when Lee tugs him in roughly. His breath hitches and he bites his lip like he’s trying not to moan, and a slow grin spreads across Lee’s face because this is going to be fun.

“Yeah, I bet you don’t get told no a lot. Not with this face,” Lee murmurs, letting go of the guy’s crotch to grab at his chin instead, rubbing his thumb across those obscene pink lips.

“How ‘bout this,” Lee starts, keeping his voice almost casual even as he presses the tip of his middle finger just inside his hole, enough for him to feel the dry pressure without it hurting.

“You get on your knees and blow me here,” he says, dragging his tongue over the guy’s lips. “And then I’ll take you somewhere and eat you out until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

"Not often, no," says George, parting his lips just slightly so they he can touch his tongue to the rough pad of the other man's finger. He feels the delicious press against his arse and, unbidden, thinks of that first time he had James -- bent him over in that tent and licked his own fingers into his mouth.

"Here?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder. One dark eyebrow quirks. This isn't even the most public place he's done similar.

His smirk widens into a grin.

"Make me."

“Maybe if you got told no more often you wouldn’t be such a brat,” Lee says conversationally, watching the guy’s mouth intently as he presses two fingers past his lips to touch his tongue. He pulls them out and then puts the digits in his own mouth, cheeks hallowing as he glances around.

They’re in the mouth of an alley, swallowed up by shadows and relatively unseen by passersby. It’s low risk and even if they were caught here, it wouldn’t be like getting caught back home.

“Make you?” Lee replies with a chuckle, quirking a brow as he takes the guy’s chin in his hand again. “You really are a brat, aren’t you?”

What he does not say is that he's been told no plenty -- though, admittedly, not recently. Not by anyone except the King anyway and, usually, he can get his own way eventually.

Instead, he sucks fingers into his mouth obediently, holds them there until they are removed.

"I've been called that," he says. "Among other things."

“Hmm.” Lee looks over the man’s face, almost too pretty to be real, and for a moment he feels a certain sort of kinship. He’s always been told that he was too pretty, too girly, with big doe eyes and curly hair and a fuckable mouth. He tried to rally against it, cut his hair and doodled tattoos onto his knuckles. He hates it, even while being aware of the opportunities that his looks can provide him.

This guy seems to have gone the other way— wielding his beauty like a weapon, a sharpened blade he can use to get his way.

“If you really want me to make you,” Lee murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the man’s mouth and fisting a hand in his hair. He lifts his foot and suddenly heel kicks hard at the back of the guy’s legs, using their sudden weakness and the grip on his hair to urge him down onto his knees. Lee looks down at him with a dark smile and touches his mouth again, lightly tugging his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “I can do that.”

Lee’s done a lot of awful things. Terrible things. He’s used sex as a weapon more often than he can count, used himself as bait to lure in prey, but he’s never forced himself on someone who doesn’t want it. That’s a line even he doesn’t want to cross, but he doesn’t think that’s what is happening here.

If this guy wants it rough, Lee is more than capable of providing.

In another life, his hand might have gone for a blade as he went down onto his knees. In another life, he might have gone down ready to come back up and fight for his life.

In another life. One where he wanted this less. There's something -- a flicker, only -- searching in the other man's eyes and George gives the slightest of nods, the roots of his hair protesting.

He raises an eyebrow.

There’s a brief moment where Lee can tell that the guy wants to fight it, if only a little. If only be instinct. Lee pauses, searching, and gives a slight nod in return.

Lee knows better than anyone what it feels like to fight against your base desires and natural urges. He also knows how good it feels to give into that craving, to simply let go and satisfy yourself. This man is lucky that he came across Lee tonight, monster that he is, because he won’t take it too far.

“Tell me what to call you,” Lee says in a rough voice, still holding onto the man’s hair while reaching down with his other hand to pop the button of his jeans, jerking the zipper down. He doesn’t care if the guy gives him a real name or not, but he wants something for the placeholder in his mind. “Before your mouth is full.”

George's eyes flicker, between the man's hand and his face. His own cock is aching hard in the snug confines of his trousers.

"You can call me whatever you like," he says, thinking of all the times he's been called 'slut' or 'cunt' or worse. "But my name is George."

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