Welcome Home - Being Human - George/Mitchell
Title: Welcome Home
Pairing: George/Mitchell
Word Count: 784
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written for ozmissage for the Five Acts Meme.
Summary: George makes it home after a weekend abroad. Mitchell meets him at the station.
George smells like three day old sweat and stale beer when he makes it home. Meeting him in the station, Mitchell pretends he doesn't mind. The scent assaults his nose and blocks out the more familiar one, the scent of George's skin, and there's nothing that Mitchell wants to do more than shove him under a hot shower and wash away the entire weekend. It isn't like the damage done by a full moon. That is wild blood and dirt and the scent of nature itself: unstoppable. This is a lad's weekend, the stag night of an old school friend. Seeing George tired but content in front of him, Mitchell hates the stab of jealousy that attacks his chest. He's used to being George's only friend, the only one to coax him out of his shell. Sometimes he forgets that George had a whole life before this, before him. Sometimes he forgets that George is more human than wolf.
The warm smile on George's face wipes it all away. "Mitchell," he says, sighing out his name like it's the only thing he remembers how to say. "I'm glad to see you."
"Rough journey?" Mitchell suggests. He can't keep his amusement off of his face. Doesn't try.
"Don't get me started. Phil made us get on the wrong train. Twice." George groans and doesn't resist when Mitchell takes his backpack from his shoulder. "I'm never travelling with that lot again."
The sound of George's voice is like a tonic for Mitchell's ears; it had surprised him how much he'd missed him, while he was gone. He'd nearly called a thousand times, always putting his phone away just in time. "But you had a good time?" he checks, fighting back the part of him that wants George to say no.
"Yeah. It was nice, you know. Being normal, just for a bit." George tilts his head to the side and looks at Mitchell, eyebrows raised, as if he's waiting for something.
"What?" Mitchell says. Around them, the other passengers who got off of the train have spilled past, but the new lot are still around. There is no peace, here.
"You missed me," George says, and it sounds like an accusation. "It's alright to say it, y'know. It's not like the earth is going to open up and swallow us whole if you so much as dare to admit that you were miserable while I was gone."
Mitchell frowns and shifts George's bag where it is now slung over his shoulder. "Did you miss me?" he counters, rather than providing an answer of his own.
George rolls his eyes, and Mitchell wonders if he's still drunk or if it is the good influence of old friends that has made him relax. He isn't used to seeing George looking comfortable in his own skin; he likes it, he really does. It suits him perfectly, even if Mitchell loves the awkward, twitching George that he is more familiar with. He loves the way that his skin flushes under any attention, especially when Mitchell presses close and lets him know how much he wants him, how attractive he finds him. George seems to live in his own mental world where no one could want to touch him, especially not anyone who knows what he really is. It's a strange, broken place, and Mitchell is endlessly glad that he lives in reality instead of in George's insecure worldview.
"Of course I did," George says. "I nearly called you when we were in Amsterdam."
"Why didn't you?"
"Gav threw my phone into a canal." George's cheeks flush, then, a brilliant pink that makes Mitchell's smile widen. "He said I'd been mooning over someone all weekend and it was pissing everyone off."
The image makes Mitchell lunge forward, holding George as tightly as he dares to. George is warm, smelly and alive in his arms: George is here, and it scares Mitchell just how much that calms him. He can remember a time when he didn't need George around this much - he can remember when he was free from dependency.
Now there is George and a long weekend away feels like eternity. Mitchell leans in to kiss him while the commuters stream past them onto the train. His fingers curl beneath George's chin while the other hand traps the back of his head - but there is no need. With a relaxed sigh against Mitchell's lower lip, it's clear that George has no intention of going anywhere. Standing in the middle of the train station, tired and reunited, they kiss until their lips go numb and their legs ache from standing, all of it just to remember what it feels like to be together.
Pairing: George/Mitchell
Word Count: 784
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written for ozmissage for the Five Acts Meme.
Summary: George makes it home after a weekend abroad. Mitchell meets him at the station.
George smells like three day old sweat and stale beer when he makes it home. Meeting him in the station, Mitchell pretends he doesn't mind. The scent assaults his nose and blocks out the more familiar one, the scent of George's skin, and there's nothing that Mitchell wants to do more than shove him under a hot shower and wash away the entire weekend. It isn't like the damage done by a full moon. That is wild blood and dirt and the scent of nature itself: unstoppable. This is a lad's weekend, the stag night of an old school friend. Seeing George tired but content in front of him, Mitchell hates the stab of jealousy that attacks his chest. He's used to being George's only friend, the only one to coax him out of his shell. Sometimes he forgets that George had a whole life before this, before him. Sometimes he forgets that George is more human than wolf.
The warm smile on George's face wipes it all away. "Mitchell," he says, sighing out his name like it's the only thing he remembers how to say. "I'm glad to see you."
"Rough journey?" Mitchell suggests. He can't keep his amusement off of his face. Doesn't try.
"Don't get me started. Phil made us get on the wrong train. Twice." George groans and doesn't resist when Mitchell takes his backpack from his shoulder. "I'm never travelling with that lot again."
The sound of George's voice is like a tonic for Mitchell's ears; it had surprised him how much he'd missed him, while he was gone. He'd nearly called a thousand times, always putting his phone away just in time. "But you had a good time?" he checks, fighting back the part of him that wants George to say no.
"Yeah. It was nice, you know. Being normal, just for a bit." George tilts his head to the side and looks at Mitchell, eyebrows raised, as if he's waiting for something.
"What?" Mitchell says. Around them, the other passengers who got off of the train have spilled past, but the new lot are still around. There is no peace, here.
"You missed me," George says, and it sounds like an accusation. "It's alright to say it, y'know. It's not like the earth is going to open up and swallow us whole if you so much as dare to admit that you were miserable while I was gone."
Mitchell frowns and shifts George's bag where it is now slung over his shoulder. "Did you miss me?" he counters, rather than providing an answer of his own.
George rolls his eyes, and Mitchell wonders if he's still drunk or if it is the good influence of old friends that has made him relax. He isn't used to seeing George looking comfortable in his own skin; he likes it, he really does. It suits him perfectly, even if Mitchell loves the awkward, twitching George that he is more familiar with. He loves the way that his skin flushes under any attention, especially when Mitchell presses close and lets him know how much he wants him, how attractive he finds him. George seems to live in his own mental world where no one could want to touch him, especially not anyone who knows what he really is. It's a strange, broken place, and Mitchell is endlessly glad that he lives in reality instead of in George's insecure worldview.
"Of course I did," George says. "I nearly called you when we were in Amsterdam."
"Why didn't you?"
"Gav threw my phone into a canal." George's cheeks flush, then, a brilliant pink that makes Mitchell's smile widen. "He said I'd been mooning over someone all weekend and it was pissing everyone off."
The image makes Mitchell lunge forward, holding George as tightly as he dares to. George is warm, smelly and alive in his arms: George is here, and it scares Mitchell just how much that calms him. He can remember a time when he didn't need George around this much - he can remember when he was free from dependency.
Now there is George and a long weekend away feels like eternity. Mitchell leans in to kiss him while the commuters stream past them onto the train. His fingers curl beneath George's chin while the other hand traps the back of his head - but there is no need. With a relaxed sigh against Mitchell's lower lip, it's clear that George has no intention of going anywhere. Standing in the middle of the train station, tired and reunited, they kiss until their lips go numb and their legs ache from standing, all of it just to remember what it feels like to be together.