Act III

[lolitics_meme]

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You're Wrong When It's Right 3/4

[anonymous]

Peter cocked his head and watched the sweat roll down George's brow and the creases that appeared to the sides of his mouth ad eyes. It was the facial movement that indicated that George was about to cry. There had been other times when George's eyes had filled with tears and Peter had begun to recognise the signs. Surprisingly enough the first argument of the Coalition hadn't been between the happy bedfellows of Cameron and Clegg but between David and George. George still hadn't told Peter the details of what it was that had caused that catastrophic breakdown between the two friends, but the minute that George had slammed the door behind him, he'd slid down against it. George had curled his arms around his raised knees and wept. Peter, who had been planning on ordering George straight out the door to have a meal at a restaurant, had stopped, debated with himself and then crouched down to George's level and offering his arms.

He repeated that action now, arms outspread, with one shirtsleeve cufflinked and the wrist and the other still damp with water several degrees too hot and starting to redden from it. Even his fingers had started to crinkle.

George accepted the embrace regardless and buried his face into Peter's shoulder.

Peter had always been slightly awkward with George's levels of physical contact. George was someone who loved to touch, not always in a sexual way. He just loved the physical comfort of being able to feel someone, something tangible. That infamous Prime Minister's Questions when he'd patted Nick Clegg on the rump after a successful, well marginally successful, delivery. George had been so embarrassed by that. And when George and Peter were hovering at the infamous stage between boyfriend and partner George had taken up the habit of choosing to sit next to Peter of an evening. And when George, who had both the attitude and the metabolism of a child would begin to yawn and then would snuggle up to him. Peter would en and evening being treated like a giant cuddly toy. Although Peter never told George, and instead rolled his eyes at this treatment, did find it rather adorable.

Peter on the other hand preferred verbal intimacy, being able to establish every form and fact about a person from their conversation. He didn't like people who he didn't trust, or even people he did, making themselves close to him. He'd abided hugs from figures such as Tony, in the glory days and hand's comforting or otherwise from Gordon. But it was only with lovers and family that he'd accepted touch, or indeed welcomed it. And even so, he preferred to be so in tune with someone that physicality was no longer important.

But George was sobbing into his shoulder, so he tightened his arms around George's shaking frame and rocked him.

“Will you tell me what's wrong George?”

George shook his head against the crook of Peter's shoulder, and held on tighter. Peter gently, as if trying not to start a wounded horse, removed his arms from George and placed a finger under George's chin.

George's eyes, wide and innocent, like the eyes of a cartoon character stared up at him, filled with tears and a kind of impermeable fear.

“You need to tell me, my dear, I can't help you if you don't tell me why you're punishing yourself.”

He'd only had an inkling that that was what George was intending to do, taking a bath hot enough to scold. But the way that George flinched and looked away from his eyes told him everything. Well, not everything. He used the finger artfully placed under George's chin to tip his face upwards, he didn't force it but the angle that George was holding himself meant that he had no choice but to step away or look up into Peter's disapproving eyes.

“I'm... It's the only way that... I don't do it to hurt myself. I don't. I swear, I don't.”