Normal Friendship - Being Human - George/Mitchell
Title: Normal Friendship
Pairing: George/Mitchell
Word Count: 1303
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Public sex
A/N: I was bored. Porn appeared. Written with a prompt from citrus_taste after rewatching some of 1x03.
Summary: Mitchell really hadn't planned on shoving his hand down George's trousers when they came out here tonight. Honest.
This hadn't been his plan when he came out here tonight.
The real plan had been simple: introduce Annie to Gilbert, and make sure that George got to unwind. Mitchell tried to take care of his friends whenever he could. He'd wanted George to meet a girl, and flirt and smile and relax as much as he was able to. It had made sense when Mitchell had thought about it this afternoon. It wasn't supposed to end this way, exactly.
80s tunes still blasted around them and the dance floor was incredibly busy. Most of the time, George couldn't dance. Mitchell had witnessed this first-hand all too often, and it never failed to bring a smile to his face when he could stand back and watch the way that George's limbs would flail awkwardly. Tonight, however, it was near to George's time of the month, which generally meant he was a little more in touch with the music and the beat. Mitchell would be faintly disappointed, if this was any other night.
Tonight was different. Tonight he had somehow ended up pressed against George's back, blending together in a way that fit perfectly. George's body was warm, so warm that Mitchell couldn't stop himself from nuzzling against the nape of his neck. He smelled good, musky and wild and human all at once. It was inappropriate for Mitchell to think about how he would taste, wasn't it? You weren't supposed to think that about your friends. Normal people didn't think that about their friends.
Normal people didn't have a needy, non-stop, co-dependent relationship with their friends either, of course.
Normal people didn't shove their hand impulsively into their best friend's trousers on the dance floor.
Mitchell didn't think they did, anyway. It wasn't as if he had a lot of experience with close friendships, as he didn't especially want to view Herrick as an 'old friend' in any capacity.
A quiet moan from George's lips was almost lost beneath the sound of the music playing around them. Mitchell's senses were sharp enough to catch it. He dared to push his hand further, slipping past the waistband of George's jeans and boxers. Heated skin waited for him.
"We're going to get caught," George hissed. "We're going to get caught and then barred and then we'll have our pictures up all over town, telling everyone that we're perverts. They'll see it at work. It's... We're in public, Mitchell."
Everything that George said was true - yet when Mitchell nodded and tried to back off, he soon found George's hand wrapped around his wrist.
"I didn't say you should stop," George said, with an awkward twinge of desperation in his voice. Hidden against the skin at the back of George's neck, Mitchell smiled. He could feel a warm buzz of happiness within his chest. More confident now, his hand wrapped around the hard flesh that he found within George's clothes. It had been a long time since he'd last done this, whether 'this' meant trying it on with a guy, with a friend, or with someone he genuinely cared about. It had seemed safer not to try.
Now he could hear it as a soft flutter of air leaves George's chest. He stroked his hand along his length, confined by the underwear holding him in. George was right. They were going to be caught. Knowing their luck, they were even going to be caught by Annie or Gilbert - or Annie and Gilbert. They'd never hear the end of it. The sane thing to do would be to call this off and take it somewhere more private, somewhere that wasn't in the middle of a dance floor and wasn't surrounded by potential witnesses. The heavy sound of George's breathing made it impossible to think about stopping.
They were barely dancing any more, merely rocking back and forth vaguely in time with the beat. Mitchell breathed in deeply, allowing himself to savor the rich, wild smell of George's skin. He usually wouldn't allow himself to do that: it was too much, too tempting. Werewolves smelled of power and strength and Mitchell knew that he would taste of it too. Sometimes he thought that George didn't realise how stupid it was for someone like him to agree to live with a vampire. Mitchell was on the wagon. That didn't mean he wouldn't fall back off.
George's breathing came in short, shallow pants for air as Mitchell's hand moved quickly around him, more focused on making this fast than good. There would be more time later, maybe. When they were alone, when they were at home, when they had privacy, he could do this properly. Right now, he wanted to make George squirm and come with as little attention-drawing fuss as he could get away with.
Someone should have noticed by now. Someone must have.
Until that someone told him to stop, however, Mitchell was going to stay right where he was. The song changed, and in the brief moment of silence he could hear desperate wheezing of George's moaning so much better. George's hips rocked backwards and forward as if he was trying to fuck Mitchell's hand, and Mitchell allowed it with a smile. His other arm had moved around George's torso, feeling his body through his shirt in a way he never usually could. They touched all the time; they slouched together on the couch at home and they fell asleep on each other's shoulders on the bus. After this, Mitchell didn't think there would ever be such a thing as an 'innocent' touch between them again. He could be ruining everything. He probably was.
"Mitchell," George breathed, and all possibility of turning back and pretending this never happened faded away. He had never got to hear George's voice like that before. It was terrifying, but he wanted this. They both did.
With words of encouragement whispered against George's neck, the sound hidden beneath the music, Mitchell grew more determined. Faster, firmer, he listened closely to work out exactly what it was that George liked, what he needed. All the time that they'd known each other, wasn't that what their friendship had been about? Looking out for each other, taking care of each other... They clicked together.
"Mitchell, I- I really think-" Whatever it was that George thought right now, it was lost into a wordless grunt as he came under the onslaught of Mitchell's hand. A damp patch would soon spread across the front of George's jeans: Mitchell's fault. He couldn't stop grinning, bright and full of teeth.
He glanced around the dance floor, and didn't think that they had been noticed. While George tried to pull himself together again, Mitchell withdrew his hand from the front of George's jeans. "Want to head back? I'm feeling a little sleepy," he suggested, needing to get out of here. The air felt too warm and the room was too busy and he desperately, completely and honestly needed to get George somewhere private.
George turned around to look at him. The expression on his face was only a few inches short of terrified, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. When he said, "yeah," it was hardly anything more than a whisper. "Are you okay? Is this okay?" he asked.
It was enough to make Mitchell grin again. "I thought I was supposed to ask that," he said. He was the one that had shoved his hand down George's pants, he was the one that had crossed all kinds of lines, and he was the one that had probably taken advantage when he shouldn't have. George's face told another story. "It's okay with me if it's okay with you."
Tiptoeing across eggshells, they were both fighting hard to make sure that nobody got hurt. "Let's go home," George said after a beat.
It was easy to nod and easier still to follow. Annie would tell them off tomorrow for leaving her all alone with Gilbert - but, for tonight, Mitchell had decided that he was not going to think about tomorrow.
Pairing: George/Mitchell
Word Count: 1303
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Public sex
A/N: I was bored. Porn appeared. Written with a prompt from citrus_taste after rewatching some of 1x03.
Summary: Mitchell really hadn't planned on shoving his hand down George's trousers when they came out here tonight. Honest.
This hadn't been his plan when he came out here tonight.
The real plan had been simple: introduce Annie to Gilbert, and make sure that George got to unwind. Mitchell tried to take care of his friends whenever he could. He'd wanted George to meet a girl, and flirt and smile and relax as much as he was able to. It had made sense when Mitchell had thought about it this afternoon. It wasn't supposed to end this way, exactly.
80s tunes still blasted around them and the dance floor was incredibly busy. Most of the time, George couldn't dance. Mitchell had witnessed this first-hand all too often, and it never failed to bring a smile to his face when he could stand back and watch the way that George's limbs would flail awkwardly. Tonight, however, it was near to George's time of the month, which generally meant he was a little more in touch with the music and the beat. Mitchell would be faintly disappointed, if this was any other night.
Tonight was different. Tonight he had somehow ended up pressed against George's back, blending together in a way that fit perfectly. George's body was warm, so warm that Mitchell couldn't stop himself from nuzzling against the nape of his neck. He smelled good, musky and wild and human all at once. It was inappropriate for Mitchell to think about how he would taste, wasn't it? You weren't supposed to think that about your friends. Normal people didn't think that about their friends.
Normal people didn't have a needy, non-stop, co-dependent relationship with their friends either, of course.
Normal people didn't shove their hand impulsively into their best friend's trousers on the dance floor.
Mitchell didn't think they did, anyway. It wasn't as if he had a lot of experience with close friendships, as he didn't especially want to view Herrick as an 'old friend' in any capacity.
A quiet moan from George's lips was almost lost beneath the sound of the music playing around them. Mitchell's senses were sharp enough to catch it. He dared to push his hand further, slipping past the waistband of George's jeans and boxers. Heated skin waited for him.
"We're going to get caught," George hissed. "We're going to get caught and then barred and then we'll have our pictures up all over town, telling everyone that we're perverts. They'll see it at work. It's... We're in public, Mitchell."
Everything that George said was true - yet when Mitchell nodded and tried to back off, he soon found George's hand wrapped around his wrist.
"I didn't say you should stop," George said, with an awkward twinge of desperation in his voice. Hidden against the skin at the back of George's neck, Mitchell smiled. He could feel a warm buzz of happiness within his chest. More confident now, his hand wrapped around the hard flesh that he found within George's clothes. It had been a long time since he'd last done this, whether 'this' meant trying it on with a guy, with a friend, or with someone he genuinely cared about. It had seemed safer not to try.
Now he could hear it as a soft flutter of air leaves George's chest. He stroked his hand along his length, confined by the underwear holding him in. George was right. They were going to be caught. Knowing their luck, they were even going to be caught by Annie or Gilbert - or Annie and Gilbert. They'd never hear the end of it. The sane thing to do would be to call this off and take it somewhere more private, somewhere that wasn't in the middle of a dance floor and wasn't surrounded by potential witnesses. The heavy sound of George's breathing made it impossible to think about stopping.
They were barely dancing any more, merely rocking back and forth vaguely in time with the beat. Mitchell breathed in deeply, allowing himself to savor the rich, wild smell of George's skin. He usually wouldn't allow himself to do that: it was too much, too tempting. Werewolves smelled of power and strength and Mitchell knew that he would taste of it too. Sometimes he thought that George didn't realise how stupid it was for someone like him to agree to live with a vampire. Mitchell was on the wagon. That didn't mean he wouldn't fall back off.
George's breathing came in short, shallow pants for air as Mitchell's hand moved quickly around him, more focused on making this fast than good. There would be more time later, maybe. When they were alone, when they were at home, when they had privacy, he could do this properly. Right now, he wanted to make George squirm and come with as little attention-drawing fuss as he could get away with.
Someone should have noticed by now. Someone must have.
Until that someone told him to stop, however, Mitchell was going to stay right where he was. The song changed, and in the brief moment of silence he could hear desperate wheezing of George's moaning so much better. George's hips rocked backwards and forward as if he was trying to fuck Mitchell's hand, and Mitchell allowed it with a smile. His other arm had moved around George's torso, feeling his body through his shirt in a way he never usually could. They touched all the time; they slouched together on the couch at home and they fell asleep on each other's shoulders on the bus. After this, Mitchell didn't think there would ever be such a thing as an 'innocent' touch between them again. He could be ruining everything. He probably was.
"Mitchell," George breathed, and all possibility of turning back and pretending this never happened faded away. He had never got to hear George's voice like that before. It was terrifying, but he wanted this. They both did.
With words of encouragement whispered against George's neck, the sound hidden beneath the music, Mitchell grew more determined. Faster, firmer, he listened closely to work out exactly what it was that George liked, what he needed. All the time that they'd known each other, wasn't that what their friendship had been about? Looking out for each other, taking care of each other... They clicked together.
"Mitchell, I- I really think-" Whatever it was that George thought right now, it was lost into a wordless grunt as he came under the onslaught of Mitchell's hand. A damp patch would soon spread across the front of George's jeans: Mitchell's fault. He couldn't stop grinning, bright and full of teeth.
He glanced around the dance floor, and didn't think that they had been noticed. While George tried to pull himself together again, Mitchell withdrew his hand from the front of George's jeans. "Want to head back? I'm feeling a little sleepy," he suggested, needing to get out of here. The air felt too warm and the room was too busy and he desperately, completely and honestly needed to get George somewhere private.
George turned around to look at him. The expression on his face was only a few inches short of terrified, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. When he said, "yeah," it was hardly anything more than a whisper. "Are you okay? Is this okay?" he asked.
It was enough to make Mitchell grin again. "I thought I was supposed to ask that," he said. He was the one that had shoved his hand down George's pants, he was the one that had crossed all kinds of lines, and he was the one that had probably taken advantage when he shouldn't have. George's face told another story. "It's okay with me if it's okay with you."
Tiptoeing across eggshells, they were both fighting hard to make sure that nobody got hurt. "Let's go home," George said after a beat.
It was easy to nod and easier still to follow. Annie would tell them off tomorrow for leaving her all alone with Gilbert - but, for tonight, Mitchell had decided that he was not going to think about tomorrow.