Small shrug and he hadn't thought about anything after pulling Charles into his arms. "I don't wanna… sorry… you should sleep…" but George isn't making any move to let go. "…can I just… stay? Need to know you're…" Trails off, before the last word comes out quietly, "...safe."
It's not quite true. What he really wants is for Charles to make sure he's safe, to make sure he isn't going to go spinning off and get stuck somewhere. He can't bring himself to say that, though, just hopes that if Charles holds on to him long enough and tight enough it'll make everything okay again.
"I'll be fine in the morning …" George tries to sound relaxed but Charles knows him well enough to know he isn't, yet. "… 's just sorry-I-woke-you-o'clock in the morning and I…" Charles feels him shrug. "You know what it's like when the adrenaline wears off."
* * *
George shudders on the inhale, and if he could get Charles any closer against him he would. He blinks away the tears that are threatening, squeezes his eyes shut.
"I got tagged and couldn't do anything… and then…" George extracts his free hand and makes a tumbling motion in the air before tucking it back under the covers.
"…don't let go of me," he repeats, and he doesn't really mean it literally anymore. Means, don't go where I can't follow, means I never want to say goodbye. Fingers press into Charles' ribs through his tee for a moment, but not with the same crushing need as before.
* * *
He turns his head to the side and the pillow smells like Charles, like his ridiculously expensive but tastefully subtle cologne. It's familiar and comfortable, and it'd be nice to stay tangled together like this – warm, Charles drowsy on his chest, George's arm slung around him – for a month, or a week, or even just a weekend.
He sighs, content, and the images of the crash that played in his head every time he's closed his eyes start to fade.
Kinktober – Days 17/18
Bondage (Shibari): George / Charles
They've done this enough now that the movements are becoming familiar, comfortable enough that George doesn't often have to stop to look at the diagrams he's discreetly positioned to the side. It's good. It lets him focus on Charles.
George has one hand on Charles's back, keeping the centre of the rope – red, because it’s Charles and he didn't think twice about the colour before ordering it – in place as he finds where the lengths meet back up over Charles’s shoulders at the base of his breastbone. The first knots are the hardest, he thinks as he lets go of the bight, there’s nothing to balance them against, but it’s getting easier and Charles is patient. A second knot follows a few inches below that, then another, and one more below his navel. He’s careful to keep the movements slow and smooth, taking as much rope through with each pull as he can, arm outstretched before coming back for the next. He splits the cord to run either side of Charles’s still semi-soft cock, holds it against him with the flat of his hand and turns him slightly, shoulder to George’s chest as he tugs the rope upwards behind him – Charles smiles, enough to bring out his dimples – and George finally slips the rope back through the loop.
He runs a hand from the first knot down to the fourth and kisses Charles's cheek. “Okay?”
“Mmmmmm.”
"Not too tight?"
A shake of Charles's head and George kisses his cheek again, stays with his nose pressed to him for a moment longer before he continues.
The next part, the part where it all comes together, is the part George enjoys the most. He splits the lengths, one to each side, and takes them back to the front, under Charles's arms, turning him, as he works the cord under and over and back under itself at the top of Charles’s chest, anchoring it and starting the diamond pattern. "You're beautiful," he whispers, as he crosses it behind Charles again, steals a glance at the diagrams, and repeats the under, over, under into the space between the first and second knots. Charles gasps and sighs softly at each tightening tug. He looks relaxed, almost sleepy, but more like he’s … distant? Letting go? George is never quite sure how to describe it. He doesn’t entirely understand, yet, what it is about this that works for Charles, but it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that it does.
Under, over, under, tug, cross behind.
Under, over, under, tug, cross behind.
George sinks to his knees, face inches from Charles’s groin. Under, over, under, tug. He rests his hands on Charles’s hips, looks up. “One more?” It’s not really a question, even if he still phrases it as one. Charles always says yes.
He passes the ends from hand to hand behind Charles without waiting for an answer, then brings them back to the front. A pause, lets the anticipation heighten, then opens the final diamond around Charles’s cock. Under … looped over … tucked under … slowly pulled through one last time, watching Charles’s face as the rope rubs against itself, the vibrations travelling. A tug, a soft groan from above him, and George manages a square knot without looking, lips to Charles’s hip.
One day, perhaps, they’ll take it further, but for now it works for both of them that Charles can still cling to him, arms tight around his neck, as he carries him to bed.
George's phone chirped and he smiled when he flipped it screen-side up and saw Charles's name. So far this break he'd received messages containing nothing but: a truck ('Wanna game together?'), a sunset ('Wish you were here'), piano keys ('I wrote you a song'), and a late-night bunch of grapes and an eggplant ('I've had two glasses of wine and I really miss you') that had led to an even later-night video call.
This time it was three white circles followed by a bear face, then three more white circles - the pearl and teddy bear necklace. George hadn't let him take it off last time, and he liked the idea that Charles had it on right now. His phone chirped again with a picture message and oh… oh... that was all Charles had on…
"...did I leave a hoodie there?" asks George. It's a slight rewriting of the truth, because Charles has a tendency to ... borrow ... hoodies. George never comes home with as many as he left with, but he's learned to take extras and likes the idea of Charles being wrapped in something of his when they're apart. Plus it's not like he hasn't stolen one or two of Charles's tee shirts himself. "You could ... put it on? Not as good as a real hug, but..."
