A perfect 10

[lolitics_meme]

We might have travelled in time and are back to post number 2 or this is going to be the most porny post yet. No one knows. Or no one knew. Anyway:

Here are your guidelines, as usual.

1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt

Comments

Sort-of Fill: FTM!George Mandelborne A (Part 3/4)

[anonymous]

The first date feeling was hardly dissipated by George's arrival, wearing a very smart suit and carrying a bouquet of a dozen Labour symbols and a bottle of an exquisite Château Rothschild, both of which he presented to Peter with a flourish.

The gender dynamic between the two seemed more fluid, mutable, than ever - but equally strewn with potential mines. Peter settled for placing a chaste-ish kiss on George's lips, whilst inhaling the mesmerising scent of his aftershave. A flood of longing, an outpouring of all he had missed through the long solitary months of George's self-imposed absence, swept through him and it was all he could do to muster sufficient self-control to stop him sweeping the younger man straight into the bedroom and ravishing him there and then.

But George put him in mind of a skittish half-broken-in colt, who would clearly need careful wooing. Dinner first, bed later, he admonished himself.

He'd decided to keep it simple, and not too obvious. So it was smoked scallops with a lemon and fennel compôte, garnished with almonds, for a starter, rather than the less subtle choices of smoked salmon, caviar, or libidinous oysters; a simple rare steack-frites with vine tomatoes and lightly-blanched young spinach rather than some something sumptuous and creamy for a main course; and delicate rose-water flavoured pannacotta with tenderly braised rhubarb batons for dessert. George hungrily devoured every morsel, whilst Peter looked on contentedly at the pleasure the fruits of his culinary labours were evidently bringing George.

George had uncoiled, come out of his shell, and was chatting animatedly by the time the meal was finished. It had been a natural move for Peter to take George's hand in his, to rub his fingers gently over the slightly colder fingers of his lover's, and George had not demurred.

But as Peter rose to get the coffee, he felt a certain cold tension re-enter the atmosphere. George was sitting awkwardly, conservatively, and Peter wondered somewhat impatiently what on earth could be the matter now.

~~~

As it happened, there wasn't anything the matter; just George trying to work up the courage to ask a question that he'd never expected to be in a position to ask. He dropped to one knee before a bemused Peter.

"Will you," he said falteringly, "no, would you, do me the honour of agreeing to be my husband?"

"Careful," hedged Peter, "the legislation hasn't gone through yet."

"Ah, but who is it who's made sure it gets considered properly?" challenged George, something of his usual spark returning.

"Dear boy," he began. At George's imminent scowl he amended that to, "My dear. I love you to bits. Of course I'll marry you. And now, perhaps, we could - ah, how do those heterosexuals put it? - anticipate the wedding?"

He took George's hand, helping him to his feet, and led him slowly back to their bedroom that had been so sadly empty for the previous few months.

~~~

George tried to play coy, but Peter wasn't having any of it. He wanted to know what had been so important to require all those months of seclusion. Tantalisingly slowly, nipping at bits of skin newly revealed as he went, he undressed his now-fiancé. He hesitated at the top of George's boxer shorts, not wanting to touch until given permission, but George mutely nodded his encouragement. Decisively, he pulled them down, and gasped at the change from the previous time they had been together. Gingerly he cupped the new scrotum, rolling the silicone implants in his hand, as George keened into his shoulder.

Had he ever entertained any doubts about what George wanted, they fled forever at that. George was a man, a gay man, with a gay man's needs.

Peter knelt. What was nestled there amongst the hair now was a penis - a small one, admittedly - but unmistakeably a penis, hard and erect, and no doubt longing for a warm mouth to wrap itself round it. He kissed the tip, feeling a shudder run through George, before slowly, tantalisingly, flicking his tongue, viper-like, at it.