Morning, love Y/N x George Mackay
You work with George in a theatre company, but he doesn’t let you walk home alone in the middle of the night and you have to stay over at his place
I’ll take you home. Was his final decision. You lived too far from the theatre company, but still, he wouldn’t let you go alone all the way. It was all so unintentional, so convenient, so when he said those words your heart skipped a beat and an immediate yes came out of your mouth. Don’t be so stupid, you told yourself a moment later. You had been working with him for months-- laughing with him daylily, him seeing you at your best and your worst. All for the sake of a good production, that to the point where you stayed behind with a couple of your co-workers to rehearse some extra hours, make the final arrangements. You didn’t notice it was three AM, what you also didn’t notice is that you sipped a bit too much on wine on the process. He did. He politely interrupted you, so consumed by work, and without asking, told you he was taking you home. You agreed. He knows that you live on the other side of London, and that you walk over to your flat; its how you feel the safest. Still, its three AM.
He helps you put your coat on, and you begin to walk. He doesn’t talk much, you notice that he is looking for what to say. You don’t say anything, feeling a bit tipsy and not wanting to spoil it.
“Are you sure you want to go all the way there?” you ask him as you feel tiny raindrops on your scalp.
“Of course,” he answers with a smile. That smile. No matter what he does, when he smiles, however slightly, his eyes lighten up and there are small wrinkles that are formed around them. He is older than you, but those wrinkles are only found in people who smile all the time. You give him a goofy smile in return. Oh please, don’t let me be this tipsy.
Distracted by him, you almost slip, but he gets a hold of you, pulling you towards him. You both laugh, but you can feel the heat rising up your cheeks as you notice the lack of space between you.
“You alright?” he asks as you stare into the endless blue of his eyes
“Shit, I think its going to pour,” you comment, separating yourself from him. Y/N why are you like this? Don’t ruin it! your inner voice says, but you know you have to be professional with him.
“Ummm, I don’t have an umbrella with me and I don’t think you have one with you. I don’t think sending you off in a cabbie would be the best. Don’t you think its more convenient if you spent the night in my flat?”
“Your house?” you blurt out, “DO I LOOK THAT DRUNK?!”. He laughs, perhaps too much.
“No, not at all.” He pauses to smile, “Well maybe a little, but to be honest I feel a bit tipsy myself, plus its a block away. If you wouldn’t mind.”
You agree to it. Wait, YOU DO WHAT?!
You stay silent the rest of the way, unsure of what to say. Your heart is pounding in your chest, there are too many things at play. As you arrive, he opens the door for you, and helps you up the staircase. Going out to the cold being tipsy was definitely not a good idea.
“What do you think?” he asks. Surprisingly, his flat is very normal. Pretty, organised, aesthetic, but normal. You would have thought that a person like him, would reflect his personality in his decoration, but at the same time it was humble, just like him.
“I like it very much,” you tell him, all honesty.
From then on, he doesn’t leave you alone. Offering you a meal, an oversized t-shirt for you to sleep in, finding a Clinique makeup remover for you. Claiming that he did not get it from a woman, but that it is his own personal makeup remover he uses when he is curious. You believing him and laughing at his justification, given that he did not need one. Him pouring both of you a glass of wine, you telling him that it had been a while since you had a sleepover.
“Well its been a while since I have had to sleep in a couch in my own home,” he laughs. You tell him how he doesn’t have to, how you can take the couch. He insists that you sleep on the bed, you insist he shouldn’t sleep in the couch. He asks where then he should sleep.
“The bed of course,” you reply without thinking it twice.
He raises an eyebrow. Shit shit shit shit. Y/N, you have outdone yourself.
“You little flirt,” he smiles daringly.
“Who, me?” you ask, getting closer.
“Yes, you,” he answers as he puts his hand on your back, and takes a step forward.
“Is that so?” you challenge further, feeling his shortness of breath being that close he is.
“I do believe it is,” he says in almost a whisper.
He leans in, and you don’t think twice. You put your lips on his.
You look at him as you pull away, a millisecond, just to measure the damage done. He smiles at you and shakes his head, “why do you do this to me, Y/N, consume me like this?”
He kisses you again, gently, but gentle is not enough. Theres a fire inside you both that you have not ignited. You search for him with your hands, your tongue, and he meets you with his. He kisses your neck, and you let him. You take the t-shirt he has given you and tug it upwards so lightly so he understands. He looks into your eyes, looking for a wordless ‘yes’ he needs to hear. He carries you, he lays you down. He kisses every inch of you as you call out his name. He answers with kisses and touch. George, why do you consume me like this, you want to ask, until he does. Air leaves you, you forget your own name, until he says it over and over as if it were some sacred chant. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N”, he says in a song, in prayer, in awe.
You wake up to your head in his chest, your hand close to his. Both of you perfectly still, both of you afraid to break the spell, charm, and curse you have cast upon yourselves. You close your eyes again, focusing on his heartbeat, only to have them open when he whispers, “morning, love”
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