dark_fest Fic: Release
Title: Release
Author lefaym
Fandom: Being Human
Characters/Pairing: Mitchell/Geroge, Annie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None.
Prompt: Being Human: George - tied down for control, release.
Summary: The Wolf wants to be released, and Mitchell wants to help George control it. Set after episode 2x04.
Word Count: Approx. 2,200 words.
Notes: Many thanks to lionessvalenti for the beta.
Cross-posted to AO3
Release
The second time George screams, Annie presses her hands over her ears. Mitchell isn’t even sure that’ll work for a ghost, because she doesn’t have actual eardrums, but he understands why she does it. The sound may not be particularly loud, not with all the padding George has had installed, but there’s unbridled rage in that scream, the kind of fury that threatens to tear you to pieces.
“How long do you think this is going to last?” Annie asks him, when it finally stops.
Mitchell sighs. “I don’t know.”
Annie nods, but her hands tighten into fists, and they both jump when behind them, a mug shatters into fragments.
“Sorry,” Annie says.
“It’s okay.” Mitchell places a hand on her cold, tingly shoulder. “You should get out. Go somewhere more peaceful for a bit.”
Mitchell doesn’t really want her to leave, but he knows that Annie’s memories of Owen are still strong enough that staying would be difficult for her right now. Annie looks as though she’s going to protest, but then George screams again.
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll check back in soon though, you hear?”
“Sure,” Mitchell says, and then in a flash, Annie is gone, leaving Mitchell with his hand extended above empty air.
Part of Mitchell wishes that he’d left the house too, because each muffled roar sends a shiver down his spine, and his heart twists a bit at the thought of his friend’s failed attempt to suppress the Wolf. But that’s exactly why he can’t go-whatever happens, he can’t leave George alone like this.
Mitchell tries to settle himself in front of the telly, and when that doesn’t work, he tries doing the washing up to loud music, making sure to clang as many pots and pans as he can. But when George still hasn’t stopped crying out, even after all that, Mitchell knows he has to do something; he has to see if he can help in some way.
Still, Mitchell can’t help but shudder as he makes his way upstairs, and when he reaches George’s door he’s overcome with the powerful urge to turn around now, to leave him be, because he doesn’t want to see George in this state, he doesn’t want to intrude on this-but Mitchell knows, too, that he’ll never forgive himself if George manages to sustain some sort of permanent harm in there, because for all that he’s got the Wolf inside him right now, his body is still human and can only take so much.
Mitchell takes a moment to steady himself as he slowly turns the doorknob. George may not be able to kill him in human form, but he could still do Mitchell an injury, an injury that would take blood to-
He closes his eyes and wills himself not to think about that.
Mitchell swings the door open, and a howl from George assaults his ears. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or horrified to see that George has confined himself, naked, in the cage, and-somehow-has managed to handcuff himself to the upper bars, so that his hands are raised above his head as he writhes and kicks against the walls of his tiny prison.
“George!” Mitchell calls out, but his voice is lost in the clamour. “George!”
As the scream continues, Mitchell realises that he’s left the door open, and he turns quickly to shut it before the neighbours hear and call the police. By the time Mitchell turns back again, however, George seems, finally, to be growing quiet. His long screech tapers off, and at last, George is hanging limply from the cuffs, breathing heavily, his body drenched with sweat.
After a long moment, George raises his head, a movement that seems to cost him a great deal of effort. He looks directly at Mitchell, and when their eyes meet Mitchell is relieved to see that his friend is in there.
“Oh, God,” says George weakly. “Mitchell...”
“Shit.” Mitchell feels himself wince as he sees the colour draining from George’s face, and he suddenly thinks that George might pass out right there. He looks around desperately, and sees a key lying just outside the bars of the cage.
Mitchell doesn’t need to think about it, but his movements are still slow and deliberate as he bends down to pick it up. He doesn’t want to startle George with his actions, after all.
“What are you doing?” George asks.
Mitchell looks at George as he stands. “Helping you,” he says, and slips the key into the lock.
“No!”
The volume of George’s roar makes Mitchell step back in surprise; seconds ago he wouldn’t have guessed that George still had the energy left in him for an outburst like that. The setback is only temporary however; as George’s cry comes to an end, Mitchell moves forward again and turns the key.
“God, fuck, Mitchell!”
This time, Mitchell is prepared for the outburst, and although he flinches, he doesn’t stop. He swings the cage door open and steps inside.
“Please,” George begs him. “I’ll hurt you.”
“No you won’t,” Mitchell tells him, trying to smile reassuringly. “How in the world could you possibly hurt me like this? You can barely stand.”
“It’s going to come back,” says George, with a sob. “The Wolf, it keeps coming back. I can feel it...”
“George, let me-”
“Fuck!” George writhes, the chains of his handcuffs clattering against the bars, and then he slumps again. “I can’t control it,” he says. “I can’t.”
“I can help you,” says Mitchell. Trying not to shudder at the overwhelming smell of the Wolf, he steps forward again, and then, because he can’t place his hands on George’s shoulders like this, he reaches out and holds him gently by the torso instead, his palms against George’s ribs. “Believe me, George, I know all about control.”
“Not like this.” George scrunches his eyes closed, and the tears that run down his cheeks mingle with the droplets of sweat already there. “I can’t stop it.”
“Look at me, George.” Mitchell shakes George lightly. “We’ll get you through this.”
George’s eyes open. “It’s starting again.”
And then he screams.
The sound pierces through Mitchell’s eardrums, reverberating throughout his body. For a second, it feels as though all his bones might shatter, and Mitchell knows then that he’s feeling an echo from George, as his body tries and fails to transform. Throughout it all, Mitchell doesn’t let his hands fall away from George’s body, as though his presence can hold George back from the brink somehow.
When George grows quiet this time, he’s shaking violently, but he seems stronger somehow, less fragile than before. The expression on George’s face though-that’s pure anguish.
“Oh, God,” says George, looking down towards his crotch. “Oh, God.”
For a moment, Mitchell thinks that George must have peed on himself, but then he realises that he would have smelled it if he had. When he shifts his gaze downward though, Mitchell quickly sees the (rather engorged) source of George’s embarrassment.
“Ah.”
“Shit, Mitchell, don’t look,” George says.
“Right. Sorry, sorry.” Mitchell quickly drops his hands to his sides and turns his eyes back to George’s face. “Er-does that usually happen? When, I mean-”
George nods. “It-it means-it means it’s starting again.”
“George,” says Mitchell, quietly, desperately. “You can hold on, you can get through this.”
“F-fuck! I can’t-” A shudder passes through George’s body, and Mitchell can see that he’s holding the Wolf back. “I can’t-I can’t even-can’t even wank!”
“Do you think that would help?” Mitchell asks, though it strikes him that that’s a silly question, really, given George’s obviously aroused state.
“Maybe,” says George. “But-”
“I could undo the handcuffs,” Mitchell offers.
“No!” George is shaking non-stop now, with the effort of holding back. “Too dangerous.”
“I’ll lock the cage again.”
“I-I could hurt myself.” George’s voice is almost a whisper. “I want to hurt myself.”
Mitchell hesitates a moment then, because he knows what he can do, but he’s not sure if he should do it. When George’s face twists, however, Mitchell realises that there’s no question. “I can help you,” he says quietly.
George’s eyes open wide. “Y-you want to help me hurt myself!?”
“No!” Mitchell curses himself silently for his lack of clarity. “I mean with-with the other thing,” he says, gesturing towards George’s crotch.
“Oh!” A blush appears in George’s cheeks, and he swallows. He seems just about to say something more when another scream overtakes him. His entire body convulses, and his face contorts into a picture that is half rapture and half agony.
For a long thirty seconds, Mitchell thinks that it’s too late, that it’ll be ages before George is able to bring himself back out of this one, but just as he’s about to give up, it stops again, and George is trembling as half-choked sobs rip from his throat.
Mitchell steps in towards George again, and places a hand lightly against his chest. “Let me help, George,” he says. “Please.”
George meets his eyes, and at last, he nods. “Okay,” George says, and there’s a kind of desperate relief in his voice.
In spite of everything, Mitchell hesitates briefly-nervously-before he lets his hand slip from George’s chest and down to his groin. It’s not that Mitchell hasn’t been with men before-he’s done it a few times, over the decades-but this isn’t the same as that, because it’s not sex, exactly. This isn’t about copping off together or being lovers-this is just a favour for a mate, helping him find release because he can’t do it for himself.
With that thought, Mitchell’s hand closes around George’s cock, and George presses forward immediately, with a grunt that is half-growl. Something flashes in George’s eyes, hunger and lust and excitement, and he yells again, but this time it’s focused, his breathing working in time with his thrusts into Mitchell’s hand.
Mitchell runs his fingers and palm along the shaft, trying to mirror the movements he uses on himself as best he can. He tries to massage the tip, but George is moving too fast for that, and Mitchell can only try to keep up with him, providing friction, a counterpoint to George’s rhythm.
George howls when he comes, and it’s terrifying even to Mitchell, because no sound like that should ever come from a human mouth, but when it’s over, the tension seems to be gone from George’s body. He slumps again, but this time it feels more natural, and Mitchell steps away from him without fear that George will require extra support. When George opens his eyes, Mitchell feels sure that the danger has passed.
“I-um-well, I-” George stammers, clearly trying to find the words to acknowledge what has just happened without embarrassing himself. “Mitchell, I-”
Mitchell grins at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “What are mates for?”
“Well,” says George. “Not usually for-well-”
“Like I said, George,” he says reassuringly, “don’t worry about it. And tell me where you put the key to those handcuffs, so I can get you down from there.”
Finally, George nods. “On the shelf behind the bed,” he says.
Mitchell finds the key quickly, and some tissues too, so he can clean his hand. When he undoes the cuffs, George slips down into a sitting position, his back against the bars of the cage. Mitchell holds out an arm to him.
“Need a hand up?”
George shakes his head wearily, and looks up. “If it’s all right with you Mitchell, I’d like to be alone for a bit, please.”
“Sure.” Mitchell can understand that. “You need to rest up for a bit.”
“Thanks.”
Impulsively, Mitchell leans forward, and ruffles George’s hair. George looks up at him, confused.
“Tell you what,” says Mitchell. “How about, when you feel better, we go down the pub for a couple of pints?”
For a moment, George looks at him as though he’s crazy, but then his face breaks out into a smile. “Okay,” he says. “I’d like that.”
“Excellent.” Mitchell turns and walks over to the bedroom doorway. “I’ll catch you later, then.”
“Yeah,” George agrees. “Later.”
Mitchell shuts the door quietly behind him, and makes his way back down the stairs. When he finally reaches the ground floor, he admits to himself how relieved he is that he was able to do something. He lets himself fall onto the sofa, and considers turning the telly back on, but really, he can’t be bothered. He thinks he’s been in the same position for about ten minutes when Annie pops back into the room.
“Is it over?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling himself into a sitting position.
“Will George be okay?” says Annie, suddenly sitting beside him.
Mitchell nods. “I think he will be.”
“Good.” Annie sighs, and lets her head fall against Mitchell’s shoulder.
Mitchell echoes Annie’s sigh as he raises an arm and wraps it around her shoulders. He closes his eyes and hopes, for George’s sake, that the Wolf won’t try to escape again before the next full moon.
Author lefaym
Fandom: Being Human
Characters/Pairing: Mitchell/Geroge, Annie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None.
Prompt: Being Human: George - tied down for control, release.
Summary: The Wolf wants to be released, and Mitchell wants to help George control it. Set after episode 2x04.
Word Count: Approx. 2,200 words.
Notes: Many thanks to lionessvalenti for the beta.
Cross-posted to AO3
Release
The second time George screams, Annie presses her hands over her ears. Mitchell isn’t even sure that’ll work for a ghost, because she doesn’t have actual eardrums, but he understands why she does it. The sound may not be particularly loud, not with all the padding George has had installed, but there’s unbridled rage in that scream, the kind of fury that threatens to tear you to pieces.
“How long do you think this is going to last?” Annie asks him, when it finally stops.
Mitchell sighs. “I don’t know.”
Annie nods, but her hands tighten into fists, and they both jump when behind them, a mug shatters into fragments.
“Sorry,” Annie says.
“It’s okay.” Mitchell places a hand on her cold, tingly shoulder. “You should get out. Go somewhere more peaceful for a bit.”
Mitchell doesn’t really want her to leave, but he knows that Annie’s memories of Owen are still strong enough that staying would be difficult for her right now. Annie looks as though she’s going to protest, but then George screams again.
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll check back in soon though, you hear?”
“Sure,” Mitchell says, and then in a flash, Annie is gone, leaving Mitchell with his hand extended above empty air.
Part of Mitchell wishes that he’d left the house too, because each muffled roar sends a shiver down his spine, and his heart twists a bit at the thought of his friend’s failed attempt to suppress the Wolf. But that’s exactly why he can’t go-whatever happens, he can’t leave George alone like this.
Mitchell tries to settle himself in front of the telly, and when that doesn’t work, he tries doing the washing up to loud music, making sure to clang as many pots and pans as he can. But when George still hasn’t stopped crying out, even after all that, Mitchell knows he has to do something; he has to see if he can help in some way.
Still, Mitchell can’t help but shudder as he makes his way upstairs, and when he reaches George’s door he’s overcome with the powerful urge to turn around now, to leave him be, because he doesn’t want to see George in this state, he doesn’t want to intrude on this-but Mitchell knows, too, that he’ll never forgive himself if George manages to sustain some sort of permanent harm in there, because for all that he’s got the Wolf inside him right now, his body is still human and can only take so much.
Mitchell takes a moment to steady himself as he slowly turns the doorknob. George may not be able to kill him in human form, but he could still do Mitchell an injury, an injury that would take blood to-
He closes his eyes and wills himself not to think about that.
Mitchell swings the door open, and a howl from George assaults his ears. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or horrified to see that George has confined himself, naked, in the cage, and-somehow-has managed to handcuff himself to the upper bars, so that his hands are raised above his head as he writhes and kicks against the walls of his tiny prison.
“George!” Mitchell calls out, but his voice is lost in the clamour. “George!”
As the scream continues, Mitchell realises that he’s left the door open, and he turns quickly to shut it before the neighbours hear and call the police. By the time Mitchell turns back again, however, George seems, finally, to be growing quiet. His long screech tapers off, and at last, George is hanging limply from the cuffs, breathing heavily, his body drenched with sweat.
After a long moment, George raises his head, a movement that seems to cost him a great deal of effort. He looks directly at Mitchell, and when their eyes meet Mitchell is relieved to see that his friend is in there.
“Oh, God,” says George weakly. “Mitchell...”
“Shit.” Mitchell feels himself wince as he sees the colour draining from George’s face, and he suddenly thinks that George might pass out right there. He looks around desperately, and sees a key lying just outside the bars of the cage.
Mitchell doesn’t need to think about it, but his movements are still slow and deliberate as he bends down to pick it up. He doesn’t want to startle George with his actions, after all.
“What are you doing?” George asks.
Mitchell looks at George as he stands. “Helping you,” he says, and slips the key into the lock.
“No!”
The volume of George’s roar makes Mitchell step back in surprise; seconds ago he wouldn’t have guessed that George still had the energy left in him for an outburst like that. The setback is only temporary however; as George’s cry comes to an end, Mitchell moves forward again and turns the key.
“God, fuck, Mitchell!”
This time, Mitchell is prepared for the outburst, and although he flinches, he doesn’t stop. He swings the cage door open and steps inside.
“Please,” George begs him. “I’ll hurt you.”
“No you won’t,” Mitchell tells him, trying to smile reassuringly. “How in the world could you possibly hurt me like this? You can barely stand.”
“It’s going to come back,” says George, with a sob. “The Wolf, it keeps coming back. I can feel it...”
“George, let me-”
“Fuck!” George writhes, the chains of his handcuffs clattering against the bars, and then he slumps again. “I can’t control it,” he says. “I can’t.”
“I can help you,” says Mitchell. Trying not to shudder at the overwhelming smell of the Wolf, he steps forward again, and then, because he can’t place his hands on George’s shoulders like this, he reaches out and holds him gently by the torso instead, his palms against George’s ribs. “Believe me, George, I know all about control.”
“Not like this.” George scrunches his eyes closed, and the tears that run down his cheeks mingle with the droplets of sweat already there. “I can’t stop it.”
“Look at me, George.” Mitchell shakes George lightly. “We’ll get you through this.”
George’s eyes open. “It’s starting again.”
And then he screams.
The sound pierces through Mitchell’s eardrums, reverberating throughout his body. For a second, it feels as though all his bones might shatter, and Mitchell knows then that he’s feeling an echo from George, as his body tries and fails to transform. Throughout it all, Mitchell doesn’t let his hands fall away from George’s body, as though his presence can hold George back from the brink somehow.
When George grows quiet this time, he’s shaking violently, but he seems stronger somehow, less fragile than before. The expression on George’s face though-that’s pure anguish.
“Oh, God,” says George, looking down towards his crotch. “Oh, God.”
For a moment, Mitchell thinks that George must have peed on himself, but then he realises that he would have smelled it if he had. When he shifts his gaze downward though, Mitchell quickly sees the (rather engorged) source of George’s embarrassment.
“Ah.”
“Shit, Mitchell, don’t look,” George says.
“Right. Sorry, sorry.” Mitchell quickly drops his hands to his sides and turns his eyes back to George’s face. “Er-does that usually happen? When, I mean-”
George nods. “It-it means-it means it’s starting again.”
“George,” says Mitchell, quietly, desperately. “You can hold on, you can get through this.”
“F-fuck! I can’t-” A shudder passes through George’s body, and Mitchell can see that he’s holding the Wolf back. “I can’t-I can’t even-can’t even wank!”
“Do you think that would help?” Mitchell asks, though it strikes him that that’s a silly question, really, given George’s obviously aroused state.
“Maybe,” says George. “But-”
“I could undo the handcuffs,” Mitchell offers.
“No!” George is shaking non-stop now, with the effort of holding back. “Too dangerous.”
“I’ll lock the cage again.”
“I-I could hurt myself.” George’s voice is almost a whisper. “I want to hurt myself.”
Mitchell hesitates a moment then, because he knows what he can do, but he’s not sure if he should do it. When George’s face twists, however, Mitchell realises that there’s no question. “I can help you,” he says quietly.
George’s eyes open wide. “Y-you want to help me hurt myself!?”
“No!” Mitchell curses himself silently for his lack of clarity. “I mean with-with the other thing,” he says, gesturing towards George’s crotch.
“Oh!” A blush appears in George’s cheeks, and he swallows. He seems just about to say something more when another scream overtakes him. His entire body convulses, and his face contorts into a picture that is half rapture and half agony.
For a long thirty seconds, Mitchell thinks that it’s too late, that it’ll be ages before George is able to bring himself back out of this one, but just as he’s about to give up, it stops again, and George is trembling as half-choked sobs rip from his throat.
Mitchell steps in towards George again, and places a hand lightly against his chest. “Let me help, George,” he says. “Please.”
George meets his eyes, and at last, he nods. “Okay,” George says, and there’s a kind of desperate relief in his voice.
In spite of everything, Mitchell hesitates briefly-nervously-before he lets his hand slip from George’s chest and down to his groin. It’s not that Mitchell hasn’t been with men before-he’s done it a few times, over the decades-but this isn’t the same as that, because it’s not sex, exactly. This isn’t about copping off together or being lovers-this is just a favour for a mate, helping him find release because he can’t do it for himself.
With that thought, Mitchell’s hand closes around George’s cock, and George presses forward immediately, with a grunt that is half-growl. Something flashes in George’s eyes, hunger and lust and excitement, and he yells again, but this time it’s focused, his breathing working in time with his thrusts into Mitchell’s hand.
Mitchell runs his fingers and palm along the shaft, trying to mirror the movements he uses on himself as best he can. He tries to massage the tip, but George is moving too fast for that, and Mitchell can only try to keep up with him, providing friction, a counterpoint to George’s rhythm.
George howls when he comes, and it’s terrifying even to Mitchell, because no sound like that should ever come from a human mouth, but when it’s over, the tension seems to be gone from George’s body. He slumps again, but this time it feels more natural, and Mitchell steps away from him without fear that George will require extra support. When George opens his eyes, Mitchell feels sure that the danger has passed.
“I-um-well, I-” George stammers, clearly trying to find the words to acknowledge what has just happened without embarrassing himself. “Mitchell, I-”
Mitchell grins at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “What are mates for?”
“Well,” says George. “Not usually for-well-”
“Like I said, George,” he says reassuringly, “don’t worry about it. And tell me where you put the key to those handcuffs, so I can get you down from there.”
Finally, George nods. “On the shelf behind the bed,” he says.
Mitchell finds the key quickly, and some tissues too, so he can clean his hand. When he undoes the cuffs, George slips down into a sitting position, his back against the bars of the cage. Mitchell holds out an arm to him.
“Need a hand up?”
George shakes his head wearily, and looks up. “If it’s all right with you Mitchell, I’d like to be alone for a bit, please.”
“Sure.” Mitchell can understand that. “You need to rest up for a bit.”
“Thanks.”
Impulsively, Mitchell leans forward, and ruffles George’s hair. George looks up at him, confused.
“Tell you what,” says Mitchell. “How about, when you feel better, we go down the pub for a couple of pints?”
For a moment, George looks at him as though he’s crazy, but then his face breaks out into a smile. “Okay,” he says. “I’d like that.”
“Excellent.” Mitchell turns and walks over to the bedroom doorway. “I’ll catch you later, then.”
“Yeah,” George agrees. “Later.”
Mitchell shuts the door quietly behind him, and makes his way back down the stairs. When he finally reaches the ground floor, he admits to himself how relieved he is that he was able to do something. He lets himself fall onto the sofa, and considers turning the telly back on, but really, he can’t be bothered. He thinks he’s been in the same position for about ten minutes when Annie pops back into the room.
“Is it over?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling himself into a sitting position.
“Will George be okay?” says Annie, suddenly sitting beside him.
Mitchell nods. “I think he will be.”
“Good.” Annie sighs, and lets her head fall against Mitchell’s shoulder.
Mitchell echoes Annie’s sigh as he raises an arm and wraps it around her shoulders. He closes his eyes and hopes, for George’s sake, that the Wolf won’t try to escape again before the next full moon.