Fic: Sparkles
Title: Sparkles
Author: Corona
Fandom: Being Human
Rating: R
Pairing: Mitchell/George
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: George is behaving very strangely
AN: Written for
master_kogane who gave me a crazy prompt and made me write this.
George is behaving very strangely. Mitchell can see him out of the corner of his eye, fidgeting and occasionally peering up from the book he'd been reading when Mitchell came downstairs. The book he'd taken to shoving behind a cushion every time Mitchell looked sideways at him.
It's only half five, so Mitchell is carefully avoiding the last stray lines of sunlight spearing through the curtains, eyes half shut against the light while Jasper Carrot mumbles on about golden balls.
Every so often George will look across the sofa with an expression that's guilty but intent, and either he's trying to be stealthy or he wants to ask something and hasn't quite worked out exactly how much of a personal question it is, but it is getting very annoying.
***
George isn't stupid so when Mitchell twists his head sideways for the third time and raises an eyebrow at him he expects the question.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"
That doesn't mean he can't hedge around the issue.
"Like what?"
"Like you expect me to explode into pieces or do something strange and hideous and you're terrified to look away and miss it," Mitchell says carefully.
"I wasn't I was just wondering-"
"What?"
"I was just- I was reading a book and-" George sighs and drags the book out from under the cushion.
"Oh George you didn't!" Mitchell is eyeing the book like George has just produced a dead squirrel.
"Annie wanted me to pick it up for her," George protests.
"George!" There's disappointment in that word, mixed with more than a little mockery.
"What?" He says defensively, because yes, there is perhaps a reason to be defensive here.
"George!"
"It's not mine!" George says sharply.
"Twilight George?"
"Yes, alright yes, it's a little-"
"A little?"
George stares at the apple on the cover and really, it is, it really is.
"A lot, alright it's a lot, I just-"
"Oh my god George were you checking to see if I sparkled?" The end of the sentence tails off into something that might be a shocked laugh.
"NO!" George protests, too loudly and too quickly, and Mitchell raises an eyebrow.
"Oh my god," Mitchell says slowly.
"I don't think you sparkle," George quietly panics when Mitchell pulls his legs out from under him and stands up. "I don't think you sparkle Mitchell!"
Mitchell pointedly drags his t-shirt over his head. Which is, ok that's a little strange.
"What are you doing?"
He doesn't stop there, he hooks his thumbs in jeans and boxers and slides them down his legs.
"What?" George manages. Because usually he's the one that's naked and Mitchell...not so much. So he's not really prepared for sudden nudity.
Mitchell mutters something unhappy under his breath and shifts into the light.
George lifts a hand, it wavers in mid-air.
"Mitchell?"
The skin of Mitchell's side very slowly reddens under the weak rectangle of sunlight, and he winces.
"I don't sparkle," Mitchell says pointedly. "I just burn."
"Oh jesus!"
George lurches to his feet, catches the naked edges of Mitchell's bare hips and pulls him out of the light.
"Don't, don't do that," he says roughly because he's breathing too fast, fingers sliding over the reddened skin now covering Mitchell's side. "Don't do that," George says more insistently.
"You were curious."
"Not enough for you to risk bursting into flames," George stresses.
"I think the bursting into flames part takes a little longer than that," Mitchell says but he still winces again when he moves.
"Still, still you didn't have to provide a show and tell, you could have just said. You could have just said."
"You're the one that insists on empirical proof."
"You didn't have to burn yourself." George realises that his fingers are still sliding over Mitchell skin in a way that might be considered...personal touching.
He should probably stop.
His hands don't seem to be paying attention.
"You're very thin," George says rather stupidly, because he can't think of anything else to say.
"Liquid diet," Mitchell's mouth tilts up at the edge.
George rolls his eyes at the joke and now Mitchell is just smiling at him, in a way that's probably supposed to mean something. It occurs to George that he's still technically holding him and Mitchell doesn't actually seem to mind, at all. And George thinks that maybe, maybe Mitchell wouldn't mind after all, maybe he could catch at the fine dark hair at the back of Mitchell's neck and pull his head down.
Maybe?
"You're over thinking," Mitchell says quietly; and kisses him.
And maybe George wasn't expecting that but he knows that he wanted it. So this time he does dig his hands in Mitchell's hair and kisses back. But the lure of bare skin is too much, even for him, maybe especially for him. One of his hands slides over the red skin of Mitchell's waist, warmer than the skin around it and Mitchell's makes a quiet noise into his mouth that isn't entirely unhappy.
George thinks maybe he should apologise, he's not really sure. But then he has Mitchell's tongue in his mouth and that's far, far more important.
His hands are no longer paying attention to his commands, sliding across every line and curve they're presented with until Mitchell is making rough impatient noises. He finally sways back long enough to tangle his fingers in the bottom of George t-shirt and pull it all the way up and off, and George is kissing him again before it hits the floor. Kissing him while Mitchell's makes soft amused, encouraging noises under his mouth.
His fingers tighten on George's waist and Mitchell's urging him to take a step back. George's hands slide down and...oh, that's very new. Mitchell laughs against the rough side of his jaw and takes another step and clearly he has some sort of fiendish plan. But George is too busy trying to work out the logistics of naked vampire and- Ow, that part of the couch probably wasn't meant to cushion a head.
But ok, the couch is fine.
It really isn't a very long couch, but Mitchell is determined...and apparently bendy. A dig of nails against the skin of George's stomach and one tug of denim and George's jeans come open. Then one long, cool hand pushes all the way in and wraps round his cock.
George's head falls back on the arm with a 'thud.' One of his feet skids against the other sofa arm trying to get purchase and when it does he pushes up into Mitchell's hand, while his own utterly fail to get any sort of grip on the smooth skin of Mitchell's back.
Mitchell, for one brief moment, is irritatingly tall, but then slides upwards, both hands briefly free to shove George's jeans to halfway down his thighs. And then Mitchell is a press of weight and intent, just as hard, just as desperate to push and press, sharp fingers digging into the skin of George's arms, mouth all teeth and tongue. George pulls him down and in, until he doesn't have the strength to get him any closer, fingers aching while Mitchell makes soft, close noises, hips pushing down to meet the ragged movements of his own.
But then Mitchell moves away, forehead pressed hard against his own, eyes completely black and George doesn't even try to pretend that isn't what shoves him over the edge.
...
Mitchell isn't really heavy at all, he's just bony in a variety of unsurprising places. George is too limp to care. Though he suspects he'll start worrying about the mess in a minute. His brain is irritating like that. Also it's a leather sofa.
But then he stops worrying about the sofa, and realises exactly what this means, and for a terrible handful of seconds George is terrified it will be awkward.
"I can't believe you actually thought I sparkled," Mitchell grumbles into his ear.
And suddenly it isn't awkward at all.
"I didn't," George protests, though it doesn't sound half as convincing as he means it to.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Being Human
Rating: R
Pairing: Mitchell/George
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: George is behaving very strangely
AN: Written for
master_kogane who gave me a crazy prompt and made me write this.
George is behaving very strangely. Mitchell can see him out of the corner of his eye, fidgeting and occasionally peering up from the book he'd been reading when Mitchell came downstairs. The book he'd taken to shoving behind a cushion every time Mitchell looked sideways at him.
It's only half five, so Mitchell is carefully avoiding the last stray lines of sunlight spearing through the curtains, eyes half shut against the light while Jasper Carrot mumbles on about golden balls.
Every so often George will look across the sofa with an expression that's guilty but intent, and either he's trying to be stealthy or he wants to ask something and hasn't quite worked out exactly how much of a personal question it is, but it is getting very annoying.
***
George isn't stupid so when Mitchell twists his head sideways for the third time and raises an eyebrow at him he expects the question.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"
That doesn't mean he can't hedge around the issue.
"Like what?"
"Like you expect me to explode into pieces or do something strange and hideous and you're terrified to look away and miss it," Mitchell says carefully.
"I wasn't I was just wondering-"
"What?"
"I was just- I was reading a book and-" George sighs and drags the book out from under the cushion.
"Oh George you didn't!" Mitchell is eyeing the book like George has just produced a dead squirrel.
"Annie wanted me to pick it up for her," George protests.
"George!" There's disappointment in that word, mixed with more than a little mockery.
"What?" He says defensively, because yes, there is perhaps a reason to be defensive here.
"George!"
"It's not mine!" George says sharply.
"Twilight George?"
"Yes, alright yes, it's a little-"
"A little?"
George stares at the apple on the cover and really, it is, it really is.
"A lot, alright it's a lot, I just-"
"Oh my god George were you checking to see if I sparkled?" The end of the sentence tails off into something that might be a shocked laugh.
"NO!" George protests, too loudly and too quickly, and Mitchell raises an eyebrow.
"Oh my god," Mitchell says slowly.
"I don't think you sparkle," George quietly panics when Mitchell pulls his legs out from under him and stands up. "I don't think you sparkle Mitchell!"
Mitchell pointedly drags his t-shirt over his head. Which is, ok that's a little strange.
"What are you doing?"
He doesn't stop there, he hooks his thumbs in jeans and boxers and slides them down his legs.
"What?" George manages. Because usually he's the one that's naked and Mitchell...not so much. So he's not really prepared for sudden nudity.
Mitchell mutters something unhappy under his breath and shifts into the light.
George lifts a hand, it wavers in mid-air.
"Mitchell?"
The skin of Mitchell's side very slowly reddens under the weak rectangle of sunlight, and he winces.
"I don't sparkle," Mitchell says pointedly. "I just burn."
"Oh jesus!"
George lurches to his feet, catches the naked edges of Mitchell's bare hips and pulls him out of the light.
"Don't, don't do that," he says roughly because he's breathing too fast, fingers sliding over the reddened skin now covering Mitchell's side. "Don't do that," George says more insistently.
"You were curious."
"Not enough for you to risk bursting into flames," George stresses.
"I think the bursting into flames part takes a little longer than that," Mitchell says but he still winces again when he moves.
"Still, still you didn't have to provide a show and tell, you could have just said. You could have just said."
"You're the one that insists on empirical proof."
"You didn't have to burn yourself." George realises that his fingers are still sliding over Mitchell skin in a way that might be considered...personal touching.
He should probably stop.
His hands don't seem to be paying attention.
"You're very thin," George says rather stupidly, because he can't think of anything else to say.
"Liquid diet," Mitchell's mouth tilts up at the edge.
George rolls his eyes at the joke and now Mitchell is just smiling at him, in a way that's probably supposed to mean something. It occurs to George that he's still technically holding him and Mitchell doesn't actually seem to mind, at all. And George thinks that maybe, maybe Mitchell wouldn't mind after all, maybe he could catch at the fine dark hair at the back of Mitchell's neck and pull his head down.
Maybe?
"You're over thinking," Mitchell says quietly; and kisses him.
And maybe George wasn't expecting that but he knows that he wanted it. So this time he does dig his hands in Mitchell's hair and kisses back. But the lure of bare skin is too much, even for him, maybe especially for him. One of his hands slides over the red skin of Mitchell's waist, warmer than the skin around it and Mitchell's makes a quiet noise into his mouth that isn't entirely unhappy.
George thinks maybe he should apologise, he's not really sure. But then he has Mitchell's tongue in his mouth and that's far, far more important.
His hands are no longer paying attention to his commands, sliding across every line and curve they're presented with until Mitchell is making rough impatient noises. He finally sways back long enough to tangle his fingers in the bottom of George t-shirt and pull it all the way up and off, and George is kissing him again before it hits the floor. Kissing him while Mitchell's makes soft amused, encouraging noises under his mouth.
His fingers tighten on George's waist and Mitchell's urging him to take a step back. George's hands slide down and...oh, that's very new. Mitchell laughs against the rough side of his jaw and takes another step and clearly he has some sort of fiendish plan. But George is too busy trying to work out the logistics of naked vampire and- Ow, that part of the couch probably wasn't meant to cushion a head.
But ok, the couch is fine.
It really isn't a very long couch, but Mitchell is determined...and apparently bendy. A dig of nails against the skin of George's stomach and one tug of denim and George's jeans come open. Then one long, cool hand pushes all the way in and wraps round his cock.
George's head falls back on the arm with a 'thud.' One of his feet skids against the other sofa arm trying to get purchase and when it does he pushes up into Mitchell's hand, while his own utterly fail to get any sort of grip on the smooth skin of Mitchell's back.
Mitchell, for one brief moment, is irritatingly tall, but then slides upwards, both hands briefly free to shove George's jeans to halfway down his thighs. And then Mitchell is a press of weight and intent, just as hard, just as desperate to push and press, sharp fingers digging into the skin of George's arms, mouth all teeth and tongue. George pulls him down and in, until he doesn't have the strength to get him any closer, fingers aching while Mitchell makes soft, close noises, hips pushing down to meet the ragged movements of his own.
But then Mitchell moves away, forehead pressed hard against his own, eyes completely black and George doesn't even try to pretend that isn't what shoves him over the edge.
...
Mitchell isn't really heavy at all, he's just bony in a variety of unsurprising places. George is too limp to care. Though he suspects he'll start worrying about the mess in a minute. His brain is irritating like that. Also it's a leather sofa.
But then he stops worrying about the sofa, and realises exactly what this means, and for a terrible handful of seconds George is terrified it will be awkward.
"I can't believe you actually thought I sparkled," Mitchell grumbles into his ear.
And suddenly it isn't awkward at all.
"I didn't," George protests, though it doesn't sound half as convincing as he means it to.