Umbrellas - Being Human - George/Mitchell
Title: Umbrellas
Pairing: George/Mitchell
Word Count: 790
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for ozmissage for The Five Acts Meme.
Summary: When George comes home soaked, Mitchell makes him take a shower to heat up.
When George got in from the supermarket, he had looked a little bit like someone had upturned a bucket of water over a puppy. Drenched, unhappy, and mildly offended.
"Rain," he had panted while Mitchell tried not to laugh.
"Let's get you upstairs," Mitchell had said, pushing and shoving at his shoulders at they ascended towards the bathroom.
Now George's clothes make wet plops as they landed on the bathroom floor. Mitchell doesn't bother leaving him in privacy, shedding his own clothes too without waiting for an invitation - at this point in their relationship, after sharing a house, and then sharing a bed, for several months, he is past the 'invitation only' threshold.
"Umbrellas, George," he says with a wicked grin as he leads his shivering boyfriend under the heated spray of their shower. "They're these wonderful new inventions. They keep the rain off you. Have you heard of them?"
"You'll have an umbrella up your arse in a minute if you don't shut up," George warns, teeth chattering, with a storm brewing on his face. Mitchell smashes his lips against George's temple in apology.
The water is warm and perfect as it rolls down over them, almost enough to make Mitchell feel alive again. His hands reach for George's body and he rubs the goosebumps that have arisen over his arms, palms slick from the water as he tries to force heat back into his body. "Shouldn't be let out alone," he murmurs, just to see George bristle again. It's too easy to tease him. "Terror to yourself."
"If Annie didn't use all the teabags I wouldn't have to have gone out, would I?" George points out, so Mitchell falls back on his favourite defence mechanism: he shuts him up with a kiss, lips to lips, shower water flooding over them. George falls silent after a muffled grunt, and his arms slide around Mitchell's shoulders. Mitchell loves George when he's like this, compliant and soft and easy. He licks his way into George's mouth, tasting him through the water.
He's stirring in interest already as he pushes George against the cold tiles of their shower. George's breath thuds out of him in a rush and Mitchell breathes it in as deeply as he can, chasing George's mouth with his lips. His back blocks George's body, keeping all the water for himself, but George doesn't seem in a rush to complain as he moans, needily, and lets Mitchell in further. His fingers tangle in Mitchell's wet hair, clinging onto the strands with a strength that almost hurts.
He reaches between them and takes George's hardened cock in hand, relieved when George mimics the action. George's grip is always just right, absolutely perfect, as if they were always supposed to fit like this.
Mitchell is only sorry that it had taken them so long to eventually get their act together.
Friends first, that's the way that it will always be with them. The physical side, that's secondary.
Right now, however, it is the first thing on Mitchell's mind. He's not thinking about George's smile or his laughter or even the way he works himself into an adorable tizzy over the most ridiculous things - all he's thinking about is George's hand, his grasp. He works his hand on George's member at exactly the pace he wants on himself, exactly the same pressure too, and is rewarded by George copying him and giving him exactly what he wants - what he needs, desperately.
He mouths against George's neck, tasting clean skin as his hips thrust forward against George's receptive hand. Tasting a person's neck like this is dangerous when you're a vampire, but George is daft enough to trust him to control himself. Mitchell doesn't know why, can't pretend to understand it; right now it doesn't matter too much. The taste of George's skin alone is enough for him.
It isn't long before they come, one after another, and their spunk is washed down the drain, a stain that swirls at their feet before vanishing forever. George remains slumped against the wall so Mitchell slumps with him, kissing at his face and his mouth as he listens to the thundering of George's heart-beat.
"Feeling warmer?" he asks, with a mischievous grin on his face.
Breathlessly, George nods. "Shower," he says. "Very good idea."
"Should've been a doctor," Mitchell agrees.
"Not if this is how you treat your patients. You'd get sued in a second," George says, prodding his ribs as he supports himself again.
The rest of their shower goes by uneventfully - Mitchell helps George to clean up, and he lathers up the soap for him and does his back, drawing it out as long as he can. The shower is warm - but being with George is infinitely warmer.
Pairing: George/Mitchell
Word Count: 790
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for ozmissage for The Five Acts Meme.
Summary: When George comes home soaked, Mitchell makes him take a shower to heat up.
When George got in from the supermarket, he had looked a little bit like someone had upturned a bucket of water over a puppy. Drenched, unhappy, and mildly offended.
"Rain," he had panted while Mitchell tried not to laugh.
"Let's get you upstairs," Mitchell had said, pushing and shoving at his shoulders at they ascended towards the bathroom.
Now George's clothes make wet plops as they landed on the bathroom floor. Mitchell doesn't bother leaving him in privacy, shedding his own clothes too without waiting for an invitation - at this point in their relationship, after sharing a house, and then sharing a bed, for several months, he is past the 'invitation only' threshold.
"Umbrellas, George," he says with a wicked grin as he leads his shivering boyfriend under the heated spray of their shower. "They're these wonderful new inventions. They keep the rain off you. Have you heard of them?"
"You'll have an umbrella up your arse in a minute if you don't shut up," George warns, teeth chattering, with a storm brewing on his face. Mitchell smashes his lips against George's temple in apology.
The water is warm and perfect as it rolls down over them, almost enough to make Mitchell feel alive again. His hands reach for George's body and he rubs the goosebumps that have arisen over his arms, palms slick from the water as he tries to force heat back into his body. "Shouldn't be let out alone," he murmurs, just to see George bristle again. It's too easy to tease him. "Terror to yourself."
"If Annie didn't use all the teabags I wouldn't have to have gone out, would I?" George points out, so Mitchell falls back on his favourite defence mechanism: he shuts him up with a kiss, lips to lips, shower water flooding over them. George falls silent after a muffled grunt, and his arms slide around Mitchell's shoulders. Mitchell loves George when he's like this, compliant and soft and easy. He licks his way into George's mouth, tasting him through the water.
He's stirring in interest already as he pushes George against the cold tiles of their shower. George's breath thuds out of him in a rush and Mitchell breathes it in as deeply as he can, chasing George's mouth with his lips. His back blocks George's body, keeping all the water for himself, but George doesn't seem in a rush to complain as he moans, needily, and lets Mitchell in further. His fingers tangle in Mitchell's wet hair, clinging onto the strands with a strength that almost hurts.
He reaches between them and takes George's hardened cock in hand, relieved when George mimics the action. George's grip is always just right, absolutely perfect, as if they were always supposed to fit like this.
Mitchell is only sorry that it had taken them so long to eventually get their act together.
Friends first, that's the way that it will always be with them. The physical side, that's secondary.
Right now, however, it is the first thing on Mitchell's mind. He's not thinking about George's smile or his laughter or even the way he works himself into an adorable tizzy over the most ridiculous things - all he's thinking about is George's hand, his grasp. He works his hand on George's member at exactly the pace he wants on himself, exactly the same pressure too, and is rewarded by George copying him and giving him exactly what he wants - what he needs, desperately.
He mouths against George's neck, tasting clean skin as his hips thrust forward against George's receptive hand. Tasting a person's neck like this is dangerous when you're a vampire, but George is daft enough to trust him to control himself. Mitchell doesn't know why, can't pretend to understand it; right now it doesn't matter too much. The taste of George's skin alone is enough for him.
It isn't long before they come, one after another, and their spunk is washed down the drain, a stain that swirls at their feet before vanishing forever. George remains slumped against the wall so Mitchell slumps with him, kissing at his face and his mouth as he listens to the thundering of George's heart-beat.
"Feeling warmer?" he asks, with a mischievous grin on his face.
Breathlessly, George nods. "Shower," he says. "Very good idea."
"Should've been a doctor," Mitchell agrees.
"Not if this is how you treat your patients. You'd get sued in a second," George says, prodding his ribs as he supports himself again.
The rest of their shower goes by uneventfully - Mitchell helps George to clean up, and he lathers up the soap for him and does his back, drawing it out as long as he can. The shower is warm - but being with George is infinitely warmer.