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filthgoblinTitle: Animal Attraction
Fandom: Being Human
Characters: Mitchell/George
Word count: 1,645
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual activity of a man-on-man nature; PWP. Other than that, it's relatively tame
Summary: Mitchell finds it difficult to be around George at his "time of the month"
Writer's notes: Profuse thanks to my wonderful beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
terraswrathwho is nurturing me through my paranoid return to writing after my smut-muse packed her bags and left me a couple of weeks ago.
A tiny noise of surprise escapes George's throat as breath is forced out of his chest in a rush. Pinned to the wall on the landing, his mouth suddenly occupied wrestling with the unexpected set of lips pressed against his own. One minute he was thinking aloud, lamenting his life's woes: how he could not be trusted; how he could never be with anyone, you know, like that, again; how neither of them could ever allow themselves to put anyone else in danger knowing what they were capable of. Mitchell, seeming preoccupied, was facing George head-on, shifting lightly from foot to foot like a cat set to pounce. Before George had chance to ask what the matter was, Mitchell let out a barely perceptible growl, launching himself at George and trapping him between his taut body and the cold, hard wall; breathing hard into George's open mouth, covering his tongue with the taste of toast; bruising his biceps with a desperate grip. In Mitchell's grasp, George's body responds instinctively, reciprocating the kiss viciously crushing his lips, groaning as Mitchell's compact form moves against him slowly and deliberately, George feeling different parts of his body slackening and stiffening simultaneously of their own accord.
Gasping and breathless, they break for air. Dumbfounded, George gapes at Mitchell, unsure where to start. “Mitchell, what..? I mean, seriously...” He clears his throat nervously and re-settles his glasses on his nose, eyes shifting and unable to find anything in the bare, empty landing to settle on other than Mitchell standing in front of him, radiating barely controlled arousal.
Mitchell flashes an embarrassed smile, stepping back slightly and pushing his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans. “Sorry, George” he starts meekly. “It's nearly your time of the month, isn't it?”
"Yes, yes it is.” Confusion and shame compete in George's mind as his hands try to surreptitiously cover his crotch. “What of it?”
"I always know, you know" Mitchell starts "even if I've not been keeping track.” Even as his hand reaches towards George, he seems to notice and watch his errant limb acting of its own volition and retracts it, replacing it in his pocket. “You're different. The way you act is different. You smell different”.
"I smell different” intones George flatly. “Well that's just great! Though I'm not sure how that works as a way of telling me I need a shower!”
A cheeky, lopsided grin breaks across Mitchell's face. “Not bad different, you idiot!” he chides, laughing. “God, you have no idea how hard it is for me to control myself around you at this time of the month when you smell so, so edible.”
I smell... smell edible? Urgh, Mitchell!” Wrinkling his nose with disgust, George turns to move away, pausing as a new thought crosses his mind. “Hang on. Edible? But for you, that's... That means..?”
Yes, George.”
"You find me attractive?. You? Find me attractive?!” George scoffs at the idea, looking at the lithe, darkly brooding man standing before him. What was it Tully called him? A “poon-hound”? George didn't really understand exactly what that meant, but he knew it amounted to “irresistible girl magnet” and George had seen it in action enough times to know it was true. Whereas he, on the other hand, hardly got a look in from anyone...
George realises he must be frowning when Mitchell's cold fingertips smooth across his forehead and he registers a frisson of renewed proximity. Moving his hand down George's face, Mitchell cups his chin in the woolly palm of his fingerless-gloved hand, regarding him seriously. “George. You really have no idea. You're great all the time anyway. I mean, you're you. You know I think you're great. But you have no sense of your own power, do you? No concept of your pure... animal... attraction...” Breathing deeply, Mitchell's eyes close slowly. He takes George's hand in his own free one, pressing it palm-first against the unmistakable bulge in his close-fitting jeans and quietly sucks air in through his teeth in apparent response to the sensation. Leaning his face closer still, Mitchell's lids open to fix George with a loaded, meaningful gaze from human eyes with wide, dark pupils, murmuring softly “you have no idea what you do to me”.
Gripped by unexpected sensations, George freezes, unsure of what to do. Having never touched another man there before, he doesn't really know how to react. What frightens him more than upsetting Mitchell by taking his hand away, or even getting it wrong if he doesn't, is the feeling creeping up his back - prickling goosebumps travelling up his spine, raising the hair at the nape of his neck. Without his bidding and seemingly beyond his control, a deep sonorous growl builds in George's chest, curling and burgeoning like smoke from one of Mitchell's cigarettes trapped in a glass of whiskey. He clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant, but the heat burning in Mitchell's eyes signals that he's not fooled by the ruse. It seems to George as if Mitchell can sense what's happening and stokes the fire; shifting his groin in George's palm and moving his hand from George's chin to the back of his neck; pushing his fingers into George's hair and seizing him by the scruff. “There's no need to hold back, George. It's okay. Honestly. You can let go. I won't hurt you, I promise”.
Panic suffuses George's voice as reality seeps into his perception of the situation. “But Mitchell, no... we can't...” His mind races. What on earth is going on? He's never thought about Mitchell in that way, not really about any bloke come to think of it, but he is very hot and the prickling on the back of his neck is intensifying under Mitchell's fingers. Clearing his throat again he tries to push Mitchell away. “You don't know what happens to me at this time of the month, what it does to... to this” George gestures generally in the direction of the narrow space between their groins. “I really don't know what might happen. I don't know if I can control myself. What if... what if I hurt you? I might scratch you, Mitchell. I don't know what might happen.”
The fingers on the back of George's neck loosen slightly for a fraction of a second before twining back and tugging gently as Mitchell starts to speak. “George. Of all the people in the world that you could hurt, I'm the least likely to break. If you need to let go, let go on me”. Another kiss lands on George's mouth; more urgent than the first, more firm and sure; followed by Mitchell's other hand reaching behind him, digging his fingers firmly into George's arse and pulling their bodies together. The wolf sense, always sharper in the few days before he changes, detects scents George doesn't recognise in the heated atmosphere between Mitchell and himself and although he can't place them they suffuse his nostrils and re-start the rumbling in his throat. The deep sound seems to hit a chord deep in Mitchell, who responds with a low purr that breaks in his throat as George surrenders and gives in to the will of his hands, allowing them to steal around Mitchell's waist and up his back, clawing between his shoulder-blades over the top of the checked shirt.
Disentangling his fingers from George's hair, Mitchell's palms connect with George's shoulders, pushing him back against the wall hard, lips parted and reddened and breathing hard. Freed hands find their way to the waistband of George's jeans, deftly dealing with the fly and easing them and the boxer shorts beneath over his hips before he has chance to protest. Had the thought crossed George's mind to protest further, Mitchell's swift action left little time for argument. Dropping to his knees, George feels the wetness of Mitchell's mouth engulf him all at once, groaning as his tongue explores every ridge, probing and laving, sucking hungrily. Hands reach around George's body, desperately grasping at his arse, Mitchell seeming to want to consume him. George's mind is blank, physical sensations and pure instinct take over as he takes Mitchell's earlier lead and seizes him by the hair, the pressure in his chest to unleash a loud cry building as he abandons control and thrusts blindly into the skilful mouth before him, past plush lips and across a smooth, undulating tongue. Reservations dissipate into the air as he loses control and comes hard, howling with release as he pulses in Mitchell's mouth.
A second passes that seems to last an age, only the sound of heavy breathing breaks the silence. George slumps against the wall, only just managing to summon the energy to remain on his feet. A furious blush inflames his cheeks and sets a burning path down his neck to his chest. As he looks down, Mitchell pushes himself to his feet, knuckles of one hand pressing into the floor to boost his assent, the other catching a silvery trail of saliva collected at the corner of his mouth and following it in past his lips with his thumb, sucking on it briefly before letting it fall from his mouth as he meets George's gaze. Gathering his bunched clothes from where they've stopped mid-way down his thighs, George looks around again wildly, finding nothing more to look at now than he could in his earlier search and settling finally on Mitchell's warm hazel eyes. “Well, Mitchell. What do you think of my animal attraction now?” he quips, voice rising to a high-pitched giggle as he tries to diffuse the sexual tension that still hangs in the air like thick fog. Mitchell smiles again, shruging and cocking his head to the side slightly. “Having tasted it, George, I'd say it's stronger than I'd even imagined.”
Fandom: Being Human
Characters: Mitchell/George
Word count: 1,645
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual activity of a man-on-man nature; PWP. Other than that, it's relatively tame
Summary: Mitchell finds it difficult to be around George at his "time of the month"
Writer's notes: Profuse thanks to my wonderful beta,
terraswrathwho is nurturing me through my paranoid return to writing after my smut-muse packed her bags and left me a couple of weeks ago.A tiny noise of surprise escapes George's throat as breath is forced out of his chest in a rush. Pinned to the wall on the landing, his mouth suddenly occupied wrestling with the unexpected set of lips pressed against his own. One minute he was thinking aloud, lamenting his life's woes: how he could not be trusted; how he could never be with anyone, you know, like that, again; how neither of them could ever allow themselves to put anyone else in danger knowing what they were capable of. Mitchell, seeming preoccupied, was facing George head-on, shifting lightly from foot to foot like a cat set to pounce. Before George had chance to ask what the matter was, Mitchell let out a barely perceptible growl, launching himself at George and trapping him between his taut body and the cold, hard wall; breathing hard into George's open mouth, covering his tongue with the taste of toast; bruising his biceps with a desperate grip. In Mitchell's grasp, George's body responds instinctively, reciprocating the kiss viciously crushing his lips, groaning as Mitchell's compact form moves against him slowly and deliberately, George feeling different parts of his body slackening and stiffening simultaneously of their own accord.
Gasping and breathless, they break for air. Dumbfounded, George gapes at Mitchell, unsure where to start. “Mitchell, what..? I mean, seriously...” He clears his throat nervously and re-settles his glasses on his nose, eyes shifting and unable to find anything in the bare, empty landing to settle on other than Mitchell standing in front of him, radiating barely controlled arousal.
Mitchell flashes an embarrassed smile, stepping back slightly and pushing his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans. “Sorry, George” he starts meekly. “It's nearly your time of the month, isn't it?”
"Yes, yes it is.” Confusion and shame compete in George's mind as his hands try to surreptitiously cover his crotch. “What of it?”
"I always know, you know" Mitchell starts "even if I've not been keeping track.” Even as his hand reaches towards George, he seems to notice and watch his errant limb acting of its own volition and retracts it, replacing it in his pocket. “You're different. The way you act is different. You smell different”.
"I smell different” intones George flatly. “Well that's just great! Though I'm not sure how that works as a way of telling me I need a shower!”
A cheeky, lopsided grin breaks across Mitchell's face. “Not bad different, you idiot!” he chides, laughing. “God, you have no idea how hard it is for me to control myself around you at this time of the month when you smell so, so edible.”
I smell... smell edible? Urgh, Mitchell!” Wrinkling his nose with disgust, George turns to move away, pausing as a new thought crosses his mind. “Hang on. Edible? But for you, that's... That means..?”
Yes, George.”
"You find me attractive?. You? Find me attractive?!” George scoffs at the idea, looking at the lithe, darkly brooding man standing before him. What was it Tully called him? A “poon-hound”? George didn't really understand exactly what that meant, but he knew it amounted to “irresistible girl magnet” and George had seen it in action enough times to know it was true. Whereas he, on the other hand, hardly got a look in from anyone...
George realises he must be frowning when Mitchell's cold fingertips smooth across his forehead and he registers a frisson of renewed proximity. Moving his hand down George's face, Mitchell cups his chin in the woolly palm of his fingerless-gloved hand, regarding him seriously. “George. You really have no idea. You're great all the time anyway. I mean, you're you. You know I think you're great. But you have no sense of your own power, do you? No concept of your pure... animal... attraction...” Breathing deeply, Mitchell's eyes close slowly. He takes George's hand in his own free one, pressing it palm-first against the unmistakable bulge in his close-fitting jeans and quietly sucks air in through his teeth in apparent response to the sensation. Leaning his face closer still, Mitchell's lids open to fix George with a loaded, meaningful gaze from human eyes with wide, dark pupils, murmuring softly “you have no idea what you do to me”.
Gripped by unexpected sensations, George freezes, unsure of what to do. Having never touched another man there before, he doesn't really know how to react. What frightens him more than upsetting Mitchell by taking his hand away, or even getting it wrong if he doesn't, is the feeling creeping up his back - prickling goosebumps travelling up his spine, raising the hair at the nape of his neck. Without his bidding and seemingly beyond his control, a deep sonorous growl builds in George's chest, curling and burgeoning like smoke from one of Mitchell's cigarettes trapped in a glass of whiskey. He clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant, but the heat burning in Mitchell's eyes signals that he's not fooled by the ruse. It seems to George as if Mitchell can sense what's happening and stokes the fire; shifting his groin in George's palm and moving his hand from George's chin to the back of his neck; pushing his fingers into George's hair and seizing him by the scruff. “There's no need to hold back, George. It's okay. Honestly. You can let go. I won't hurt you, I promise”.
Panic suffuses George's voice as reality seeps into his perception of the situation. “But Mitchell, no... we can't...” His mind races. What on earth is going on? He's never thought about Mitchell in that way, not really about any bloke come to think of it, but he is very hot and the prickling on the back of his neck is intensifying under Mitchell's fingers. Clearing his throat again he tries to push Mitchell away. “You don't know what happens to me at this time of the month, what it does to... to this” George gestures generally in the direction of the narrow space between their groins. “I really don't know what might happen. I don't know if I can control myself. What if... what if I hurt you? I might scratch you, Mitchell. I don't know what might happen.”
The fingers on the back of George's neck loosen slightly for a fraction of a second before twining back and tugging gently as Mitchell starts to speak. “George. Of all the people in the world that you could hurt, I'm the least likely to break. If you need to let go, let go on me”. Another kiss lands on George's mouth; more urgent than the first, more firm and sure; followed by Mitchell's other hand reaching behind him, digging his fingers firmly into George's arse and pulling their bodies together. The wolf sense, always sharper in the few days before he changes, detects scents George doesn't recognise in the heated atmosphere between Mitchell and himself and although he can't place them they suffuse his nostrils and re-start the rumbling in his throat. The deep sound seems to hit a chord deep in Mitchell, who responds with a low purr that breaks in his throat as George surrenders and gives in to the will of his hands, allowing them to steal around Mitchell's waist and up his back, clawing between his shoulder-blades over the top of the checked shirt.
Disentangling his fingers from George's hair, Mitchell's palms connect with George's shoulders, pushing him back against the wall hard, lips parted and reddened and breathing hard. Freed hands find their way to the waistband of George's jeans, deftly dealing with the fly and easing them and the boxer shorts beneath over his hips before he has chance to protest. Had the thought crossed George's mind to protest further, Mitchell's swift action left little time for argument. Dropping to his knees, George feels the wetness of Mitchell's mouth engulf him all at once, groaning as his tongue explores every ridge, probing and laving, sucking hungrily. Hands reach around George's body, desperately grasping at his arse, Mitchell seeming to want to consume him. George's mind is blank, physical sensations and pure instinct take over as he takes Mitchell's earlier lead and seizes him by the hair, the pressure in his chest to unleash a loud cry building as he abandons control and thrusts blindly into the skilful mouth before him, past plush lips and across a smooth, undulating tongue. Reservations dissipate into the air as he loses control and comes hard, howling with release as he pulses in Mitchell's mouth.
A second passes that seems to last an age, only the sound of heavy breathing breaks the silence. George slumps against the wall, only just managing to summon the energy to remain on his feet. A furious blush inflames his cheeks and sets a burning path down his neck to his chest. As he looks down, Mitchell pushes himself to his feet, knuckles of one hand pressing into the floor to boost his assent, the other catching a silvery trail of saliva collected at the corner of his mouth and following it in past his lips with his thumb, sucking on it briefly before letting it fall from his mouth as he meets George's gaze. Gathering his bunched clothes from where they've stopped mid-way down his thighs, George looks around again wildly, finding nothing more to look at now than he could in his earlier search and settling finally on Mitchell's warm hazel eyes. “Well, Mitchell. What do you think of my animal attraction now?” he quips, voice rising to a high-pitched giggle as he tries to diffuse the sexual tension that still hangs in the air like thick fog. Mitchell smiles again, shruging and cocking his head to the side slightly. “Having tasted it, George, I'd say it's stronger than I'd even imagined.”
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Date: 2009-03-08 12:41 am (UTC)