Chapter Text
Late afternoon and Ian still hadn’t left the bed. He’d woken up and dozed off a half dozen times. He’d sometimes caught George awake, lying on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling, obviously lost in thought. Ian would roll back over. Around four in the afternoon, Ian woke to George sliding out of bed. George yanked on a pair of sweatpants, grabbed his phone from the dresser and walked out of the bedroom, his footsteps leading out into the kitchen.
Ian sighed, feeling a little guilty about how the day had flown by. He’d had a chance to get up at 10 am, when he’d woken up the first time, but he’d been comfortable... and George had stayed in bed, too. Ian realized selfishly that he wished George would just come back to bed, lay around some more, sleep. It felt like quality time together, even if they weren’t doing anything; it was relaxing, which was something Ian generally felt sorry for. He buried his face in George’s pillow, aimlessly frustrated.
George came back into the room, on the phone. Ian turned his head so his face was no longer squished into the pillow. George timidly met his eyes, sat down at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs Indian style. He nodded and hummed in agreement with whoever was on the phone.
“I should call my mom,” George said into the phone. Pause. The audio from the phone sounded like a buzzing mumble to Ian. “I mean, yeah. Uh, well. I don’t know, actually.”
Ian sat up, his legs straight out in front of him. He’d fallen asleep in his jeans, which were now rumpled and creased.
“No, I get that…” George pursed his lips. “Thanks. Really.”
George stretched his back, face brightening a little as he met eyes with Ian again. Ian raised his eyebrows.
“Fuck you,” George laughed, responding to something Ian couldn’t hear. “No, it’s not- what? No, Jesus fuck. You’re retarded.”
Ian checked the coffees on the nightstand. Obviously, they were cold. He entertained the idea of microwaving them, but then the idea of microwaved gas station coffee wasn’t too appetizing.
“Well, I’ve got to check the schedule,” George said, sounding a mite more reserved than before. “Hold on, hold on. Can we text out the details later? I’ve got to get off.”
George winked at Ian. The innuendo wasn’t lost on him.
“Sure, man. No problem. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” George hung up. Ian waited, hoping George would just tell him who was on the phone without him having to ask. Ian had a hunch, but he wasn’t about to assume. But, instead, George said: “I think you owe me something.”
“I owe you something?”
“Yeah,” George grabbed Ian’s ankles, pushing them back so Ian’s knees were bent; George’s hands slid up to Ian’s knees as he peered up at Ian.
“Oh. Right.” Ian cleared his throat. The thought was embarrassing, and he wasn’t quite sure how to make it not embarrassing.
“So,” George said.
“So,” Ian said back. It was startling to have something physical have this much tension in it again. Ian was nearly back to square one.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, I can’t read you.” George murmured, leaning down to kiss the knee of Ian’s jeans.
“Uhm... honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“It’s… just- it’s a little humiliating, a little-” Ian trailed off. George seemed to consider that, fingers idling.
“What part of it’s humiliating?”
Ian looked down at his thighs. He didn’t want to admit, maybe more to himself than to George, that he was on the fence about it. Maybe he did want to try it. But he also didn’t want to give the impression that he was totally enthusiastic about it either.
“Is it humiliating when I do it?” George asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Ian answered. “But you know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t. It- I’d be- I couldn’t control… I feel like I’d feel too- uhm-”
“Vulnerable?”
Ian cringed at the word.
“So you completely don’t want to do it?” George asked. Ian hesitated. “Look, I’m not into coercion. If you don’t want to do it, just say. If you do, though... you have a mental out for responsibility.”
“Well, I don’t want to waste a perfectly good mental out for responsibility…” Ian joked, but he could feel George still wanting a clear answer. “Can we just- go slow? And if it’s too much, we just stop?”
“That’s the only way to do it.”
-
Laying on the bed while George rifled through his mysterious top drawer Ian started feeling an uneasiness rising.
“Take the jeans off,” George instructed from the dresser. Ian kicked off his pants without getting up, all together on edge, impatient. Because he’d gone commando, he was now naked. George came back to the bed, tossed his small arm full of things next to Ian. Dildos and lube bounced before settling.
“What are, uh-”
“Just trust me,” George sat on the far edge of the bed, position same as before. George’s hands snaked up Ian’s legs similarly, stopping at his knees, except this time he gently persuaded them apart. Ian let his thighs separate, defenseless. He could feel his face growing warm, reddening.
George crawled between Ian’s legs, put his knees underneath Ian’s thighs so Ian’s legs were on either side of him. George leaned forward, hovering his body over Ian’s. He propped himself up, his hand pressed into the mattress, before craning his neck and kissing Ian, at first gingerly, then aggressively, sucking on Ian’s tongue as his hand wrapped around Ian’s cock. Ian focussed on George’s lips, the taste of his mouth.
George pulled away, looked down at Ian with a rousing expression.
“Don’t freak out,” he said, his fingers mindlessly stroking. He placed another quick kiss on Ian’s lips (Ian leaned into it, chasing the familiarity) before moving down, making a line from Ian’s jaw, to his neck, his collarbone, chest, ribs, stomach.
Ian shifted uneasily. George had obviously gone down on him before, but this felt different. The attention was different; George was different. His assertiveness, which was usually assertively bottom, was now assertively domineering. Ian was trying to get used to his legs being spread. He was awkwardly hyper aware of his feet, unsure of where to put them.
Once George made it to Ian’s hips, he irreverently licked, mouthed, and sucked Ian everywhere around but except his dick. George held it’s base, only halfheartedly rubbing it with his thumb. Ian, in spite of himself, groaned, frustrated.
“Okay, okay, chill out.” George chuckled, situating himself. He curved forward, keeping his hair out of his face with one hand and holding Ian’s cock up with the other. He took the tip in his mouth and sucked gently, his lips loose, letting his spit roll down Ian’s flush skin. Ian closed his eyes, humming his uneasy approval. When his hips involuntarily hitched, his erection at full-mast, George sat up, wiping the spit off his lip. Ian opened his eyes and looked down at George, knew he probably looked pissed.
“Which finger?” George asked, holding up his hand, fingers splayed. Ian looked at them dumbly for a second.
“Uh. I don’t know. Index?” George seemed surprised at that.
“Skipping the pinkie then.”
“Oh.” George had opened the lube, squeezed some onto his finger before rubbing it between his fingers to warm it up. Ian held his breath and glared at the ceiling.
He felt George’s finger run across his asshole, flinched as an unsure sigh escaped his lips, releasing the held breath. George stroked across the opening, his other hand caressing Ian’s inner thigh, until Ian stopped jolting.
“Don’t overthink it. Okay?” George murmured. His finger had stopped over Ian’s hole.
“Oka-ah,” George hadn’t waited for the answer, instead pressing his finger into Ian. Ian huffed a sigh, his fingers mindlessly moving on the bed sheets. “Okay- okay, okay-”
“How’s that feel?” George asked.
“I- don’t know.”
“Hmph.” Ian could feel George pushing his finger in farther, a consistent slide until his entire finger was in. George twisted it, hooking his finger upward. He rubbed inside him, a slow and insistent movement. “Is it uncomfortable?”
“Define ‘uncomfortable.’”
“How about this?” At first, there wasn’t a change; Ian opened his mouth to say so. But instead of some non-committal sarcastic comment, a Godawful gasp escaped him as George focussed his finger on a specific spot.
“What the fuck,” Ian breathed. He reached for his dick, which had lost some of its steam, a sudden deep ache in his hips. George continued his massage, a slow methodical treatment with periodic relubing. Every time George pulled his finger out to reapply and subsequently pushed it back in, it was easier for Ian to ignore his alarm.
“Two?” George asked, his finger sliding out again. He held up his slippery hand, showing Ian what his two fingers looked like together, what they measured. Ian nodded, scatter-brained.
The new girth took a bit more adjusting. George started at one knuckle, making the small movements from tip to knuckle until Ian had gotten used to it. Ian’s eyes had fallen closed again, his hand now preoccupied with his erection. George’s spit on Ian’s dick made for decent slickness, had Ian’s full attention on getting himself off.
George’s other hand interfered with Ian’s, pulling his hand away from his dick. He entwined their fingers. He ducked forward, tongue flicking across Ian’s tip. He took it into his mouth as he pushed his fingers in to the second knuckle. Ian moaned, squeezing George’s hand, spreading his legs farther, and bucking his hips upward. George thwarted his attempt to drive any more of his erection into his mouth, and punished him with the full length of his two fingers.
“George- George, fuck-” Ian raked his other hand through his own hair. George slowly ran his tongue along the side of Ian’s dick, moving his fingers inside him with the same tedious sluggishness. George’s open mouth brushed where he’d licked, the inner part of his lips satin smooth, the contact annoyingly, purposely gossamer. George was content with torturing him. “Hah, please, please-”
“Please what?” George asked sincerely, the edge of his mouth pressed to the underside of Ian’s cock.
“I- hah- I don’t know- shit-” Ian struggled to speak, let alone to articulate a clear want. He felt over and under stimulated, and he didn’t know which was worse.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“ No.” Ian immediately regretted sounding so adamant. George raised his eyebrows, twisting and spreading his fingers while watching Ian’s face. Ian caved, allowing his expression to reflect his arousal, trying to keep his eyes focussed on George’s. George moved forward, eye contact kept, until he was less than an inch away from Ian’s face, his fingers still buried inside him. Ian was trying to keep some kind of dignity, even as George intensified his efforts. He plainly appraised Ian, tilting his head and taking in Ian’s pinched brows and hiccupping breaths, before kissing him with a low-burning desperation.
Ian groaned against George’s mouth, breathing heavily through his nose. He held George close, forcing him to balance on his knees and free hand. Ian tugged at George’s sweatpants, yanking the elastic down and freeing his prick. George seemed surprised by this, his fingers slowing down considerably. Ian wrapped his hand around George’s shaft. As he slowly stroked it, a part of him was estimating its length and girth. Another part of him was enjoying George’s physical reaction, the shifting perspective of what he was doing to George in return. George had stopped kissing him and was now staring, with his forehead pressed to Ian’s, at his own cock being stroked, poised between Ian’s spread legs. George removed his fingers from Ian’s asshole. A moment of panic feverishly buzzed in Ian’s chest, the predicted loss of control seeming to actualize in step like deja vu.
“Stop, stop, stop,” George gasped, yanked Ian’s hand away from his cock, his body tensing briefly. Ian blinked, stunned, his wrist firmly gripped.
George sighed, rolling his forehead against Ian’s, his hand shifting from holding Ian’s wrist to grasping his hand. An uncertainty, a hidden thought, flickered across George’s face, making his eyes on one hand hazy but on the other distressingly fixated.
“What?” Ian asked under his breath. George shook his head, coming out of it.
“Nothing. Just- not so fast. Three fingers?” George asked, changing the subject. “Or we could try one of the toys.”
“Let me see the toy options,” Ian said. George released Ian’s hand. He hesitated, looking down at the sweatpants hanging just below his hips, his erection pressed to his stomach. George maneuvered his way out of his pants before turning to look through the assortment of silicone toys he’d brought.
“Well,” George held up a blue thing, bulbous at the top then a normal shaft with a flared base. “This might be fun.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” George said, lubing the dildo. He passed the head across Ian’s taint before lining it up.
“Don’t be a pussy, that’s rich,” Ian joked, trying to adjust his legs. George pressed down; Ian’s body gave resistance. Ian clenched his jaw, curled his toes. George let up, passively smoothing the slick skin with the toy and letting Ian regain his composure, before pushing in again. He gave consistent pressure, mildly twisting it, his other hand gripping the bottom of Ian’s thigh. Ian forced himself to exhale, the air escaping his mouth as a low moan; he took a gasping breath, back arching, as the tip of the toy slid in.
Ian shifted his hips. It did in fact hurt. Not enough to be unbearable, but enough, and definitely more than before. He was biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to open his mouth.
“Stop moving your ass,” George said, holding the dildo in place.
“Ah, fuck,” Ian gasped, hands gripping the bed. George twisted it very gently without pushing it, which actually helped. Ian hummed, his hands twitching. George was holding under his knee now, which gave Ian a bit of a reprieve from having to hold his leg up himself.
“You’re fine, dude,” George reassured casually. “Calm down.”
“This- is tedious,” Ian said, grasping for conversation, stability.
“I know, right?” George grinned hawkishly. “That’s a major flaw.”
“I- ah- is it- does it feel like, uhm,” Ian closed his eyes, brow furrowed. “Getting fucked, is it-”
“It’s different,” George interrupted. “It’ll feel different.”
Ian tried to find something else to say, but his brain was somewhat fried.
“This-” George deliberately nudged the dildo forward. Ian tensed. “Is just rubber. Unattached. There’s no- human connection. Part of the pleasure is the mental aspect of it.” He was mumbling; Ian was trying to listen but was barely hearing him, thoughts occupied with the discomfort. “Someone using your body for their pleasure is intimate . I guess it shouldn’t be; it’s base... utilitarian, is the word, I think. But they feel closer to you than you are to them. Then they fall apart, and you’re responsible. You get to see it.” Ian had reached the end of the dildo, the base touching his thighs. He shivered, sweaty. “This is a shitty facsimile of a dick. It’s shit in comparison to the real thing. Using it just makes you want the real thing more. Desperate for it.” George was pulling it back out, stopped at the swell of the tip, then pushed it back in. Ian couldn’t hold back a groan. “It’s worse than jacking off. Even if you cum with this thing straight buried in your ass, it’s not satisfying. You just lay there, breathing heavy because of all the damn work you had to put into it, fantasizing about dick; real dick. Real hands holding your tired legs, real stomach pressing against yours, real hips rubbing against your ass-”
“George- George, man, I really- ah- appreciate- the- ugh- philosophy- it’s gr-ah- great dirty talk- and everything- but I really can’t- uh- understand- I can’t-” George had been thrusting the thing in and out of him, getting increasingly more intense with it. George stopped, hand leaving the dildo where is was, not-quite base deep. He took Ian’s hand and guided it down between Ian’s legs. Ian felt the base of the dildo, slick with lube. His fingers fumbled as George’s hand pulled it out, only slowing at the tip, until the knot had left his body, leaving a slippery softness. Ian ran his fingers over his asshole, could easily fit his middle and ring fingers into himself. George leaned forward, licking inner thigh up to Ian’s hand, tip of his tongue swiping the intersection between Ian’s entrance and Ian’s fingers. Ian pulled his fingers out, unnerved. Tongue continued, sweeping where Ian’s fingers had left, upper lip pressing against Ian’s taint.
This was definitely over-stimulating, the area having already been rubbed ultra-sensitive by the toy. Ian pressed a hand over his mouth, the one that hadn’t been in his asshole, muffling the noises he was no longer able to check. Ian carded his other greasy hand through George’s hair, holding him between his legs. George put a hand on Ian’s stomach, somewhat holding him down, as he tilted his head, pressing in with tongue and lips as far as he could go. Precum dripped onto George’s fingers.
George pulled away, gasping, the lower half of his face glistening. Ian was shaking.
“You want a kiss?” George joked before wiping the lube off his chin with his hand. Ian felt open, throbbing. His legs were sore, cramping.
“Do it, before I change my mind,” Ian said decisively, looking straight up at George, his knees leaning against George’s sides, the most closed his legs had been since he’d opened them. He was answering a question he’d just realized the answer to. George faltered, sat back on his heels. Maybe he saw how wrecked Ian looked, but he put a hand on Ian’s knee, stroking it with his thumb.
“We- we have to… uhm… if you’re-” George said.
“George, for the love of God,” Ian groaned, grasping his own dick. His hand was slippery, making it much easier to glide against his skin. “Just do it.”
George was sifting through the things he’d brought over from the drawer.
“Shit, I forgot the condom. Hold on.” George started getting up from the bed.
“Skip it.”
“Are you sure-”
“Yeah, fuck it.” Ian spread his legs again, hips lurching.
“Because my pull-out game’s kinda, uhm- and I don’t want to cum inside you-”
“It seriously can’t be any worse than what’s already been shoved up my ass.”
With that, George groped for the lube, flicking open the lid and drizzling it onto his member. Ian slid his hand back between his legs, so one hand was on his dick, the other with middle finger and ring finger on either side of his anus. George scooted forward. Ian felt the head of George’s dick touch his thigh.
“Relax, relax,” George inhaled. He rolled his hips forward, pushing in just the tip; Ian’s fingers brushing against the sides of his cock, feeling the moment of entry. “Oh- shit.”
Ian groaned, a full-throated sound, tipping his head to the side, arching his back, ribs quivering. His other hand was tugging tautly on his dick, not doing much honestly. He tried to keep his squirming to a minimum, biting his lips closed.
“More?” George asked, desperate. Ian nodded curtly. George pushed in to the base; Ian choked at the apex of the thrust.
“Ian, breathe,” George instructed breathlessly. Ian exhaled loudly, ending in a clear moan. George lifted Ian’s hips, leaning over Ian’s body to use the wall as support, his hair falling over his eyes as he hunched. “You good?”
“I’m good-” Ian sighed.
“I’m gonna start moving,” George said, rocking back. Ian grabbed George’s hips, tense.
“Slowly- slowly-” Ian chanted. George obliged, tugging his cock out of Ian carefully, pressing it in gingerly. Ian watched George’s concentration; George was looking down between Ian’s legs, mesmerized and guilty.
“Look- look at me,” Ian stammered. George looked up, catching Ian’s eyes. Ian searched him, gripped his sides. George thrust in hard; Ian jolted, but didn’t break eye contact. George carressed Ian’s cheek, focussing on their mutual movement, trying to sync up their efforts. They followed where the other’s expression took them, gasps and grimaces, until George was comfortably bucking his hips, Ian increasingly urging him on. George’s brows was pinched upward, almost sorrowfully, lips parted, the edge of his teeth visible. Ian had been reduced to inarticulate moaning, gasping for breath, indistinct complaining from discomfort, gratification, involuntarily slipping from his lips.
George knew what the fuck he was doing. He was deliberately angling his thrusts, searching for Ian’s pleasure in a careful process of elimination; slowed when he saw Ian’s absolutely devastated look - mouth soundlessly falling open, and eyes struggling to stay focussed-, careful not to lose his position.
Ian was edging without touching himself, knew he’d cum the moment he did. His hands idly moved from George’s sides to his ass. He, for brief endurance, didn’t give a shit if he came or not, enjoyed swaying at the brink, being able to concentrate on George’s body, his single-minded charging towards his end. George’s skin was satin, lustrous, pulling and pinching as his muscles tightened. While they’d been looking at each other before, it was quickly turning into Ian watching George as George fought escalation. He felt powerful, drunk with it; being able to do practically anything, gasp, moan, roll his hips, and make it harder for George to control himself.
“Close?” Ian asked.
“Ian, that’s- that’s a retarded thing to- to ask,” George breathed. Ian exhaustedly laughed. George, trying to keep pace, his forehead brushing against Ian’s shoulder, coughed a laugh. He lifted himself again, looking at Ian with nothing short of worship. Ian’s expression fell semi-serious, taking in the sight of George, red-faced, sweaty, bright-eyed and loopy, before he reached down, wrapping a hand around his own dick. He pumped it a couple times, sedated, before he was pushed over the edge, cumming onto his stomach with George’s cock pressed deep inside him, a stumbling moan leaving him. George had watched his face, inhaled sharply as Ian’s body tremored, hips jerking forward. Ian let go of his twitching dick, wrapped his arms and legs (as best he could) around George, pulling him close and embracing him. George thrusted through Ian’s orgasm, held Ian as he lost himself, whined against Ian’s shoulder with every thrust. Ian was completely mindless, nearly numb, lost in time, only vaguely aware when George finally climaxed, whispering unintelligible praises against Ian’s skin. It could’ve actually been Japanese for all Ian knew.
George was panting, their bodies still randomly trembling. Ian loosened his grip, arms and legs unwrapping themselves from around George. His head was swimming; he was blinking and visibly shocked. George seemed hesitant all of a sudden, wavering cock sliding out of Ian, trying to move out of the way.
“I’m, uh-” George mumbled. “I didn’t-”
Ian didn’t want to hear it. He met George where he was, shoulders leaving the bed, uncaringly kissing George deep, groaning against George’s mouth because, wow, he was very sore. George thankfully pressed him back into the bed, lips soft, conservative. George pulled away.
“My mouth was- on your ass.”
“Oh. Right.” Ian was still coming back to reality.
George pushed the lube bottle and other assorted shit, most of which they hadn’t even used, to the foot of the bed, and carefully laid down next to Ian.
“I’m gonna have to change the sheets,” George murmured, eyes closed. Ian was aware of the mess, notably the cum, George’s cum, dripping out of him. He made a wry face at the ceiling. George opened his eyes, looked at Ian apologetically.
Ian was drifting back, and he didn’t know what to do with this; this whole, uh, scenario had been completely outside his imagination, something he’d never made a contingency plan for. Even when presented with the idea (last night, and he’d promptly left), he hadn’t really thought about it past a certain point, that point being literally the very beginning of the encounter. “Taking it in the ass” was a wisdom he hadn’t thought he’d ever acquire; and now that he intimately knew it, he wasn’t sure what kind of Pandora’s box of problems he’d previously not had to deal with that he’d just opened. Because he’d asked for it, he’d done it, and he hadn’t stopped. And George was… George was worriedly, fearfully watching him.
Ian turned his head, returning George’s look. Ian sighed, returned his gaze to the ceiling.
“I’m just going to be blunt with you,” Ian said in a low voice. George visibly prepared for the worst. “That was probably… the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Okay.” Ian looked back to George. George looked like he was about to die.
“I don’t even think I’m exaggerating.”
“Cool.”
“I’m really hungry,” Ian said. “I also really need to take a shower.”
“You can go take a shower. I can make food,” George offered.
“Yeah.” Ian laid still a while longer, trying to gather strength. He was exhausted and smarting, but the call of the shower was a powerful one. He maneuvered himself out of bed, got himself to stand up, tried to take a step and his knees buckled. He caught himself, standing unsteady a step away from the bed. His inner thighs were wet, dripping. “Jesus Christ.”
“Maybe-” George started, getting up from the bed.
“I’m good,” Ian reassured. He took a stabilizing breath, then attempted a normal gait. He succeeded at a semi-normal staggering, just balanced enough to get to the bathroom, outside of George’s gaze, where he could lean heavily against the walls without boosting George’s ego any more than he already had. He’d closed the bathroom door behind him, sealing himself into the echoing quiet.
Ian didn’t know what he was thinking. Of course he hadn’t thought about the consequences; of course he’d just blindly walked into all of this. No, he supposed it wasn’t “blindly.” Not truly blind. He knew what he was doing, knew he probably shouldn’t be doing it. Had he resisted it enough, genuinely resisted it? He couldn’t recall, couldn’t point to a single action that had given any definite resistance. He was on the stand in front of court and jury, microphone catching the sound of his breath, judge asking him to repeat his statement on the urging of the prosecution. Best sex he’d ever had. Jesus Christ, it was flagrantly gay. Just absolutely homosexual. Ian scrubbed his face with his hand.