𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦. ⁽⁽⁽ᵗʰᵉ ¹⁹⁷⁵ ᵒⁿᵉˢʰᵒᵗˢ⁾⁾⁾

feel good.

a george one-shot, explicit. 2326 words.

I wake with a pounding headache, and it's not fully light yet, but the birds have decided that if they're up then everyone else apparently needs to be too. The air in the hotel room is heavy and stifling; a breeze rushes in as the balcony door slides open, and I lift my head, squinting at the fuzzy edges of George's silhouette.

'You're still here.'

He turns, and his face solidifies in my line of vision, serene and handsome. 'Of course.'

I sit up, my cheeks flushing as I remember the anticlimactic evening. I'm wearing a large t-shirt - one of his? I do recognise it, a faded Apple logo, old tech merch. 'Sorry. I didn't really, um... regulate myself last night.'

'Don't apologise,' George turns back to the bed, sitting on the side of the mattress. He reaches out for my leg where it heaps the covers, and pushes them up, stroking my calf. I have to focus on his face so that I don't tip my head back and smile woozily in pleasure at the feeling. 'I think we had about the same amount to drink, I definitely made a fool of myself.'

'I don't remember that,' I shake my head vigorously. 'But I do remember everything you said.'

George claps a hand over his eyes. 'Oh, god... I'm sorry-'

'No, don't apologise. Don't you remember what I said back?'

'I wasn't sure if you, you know... reciprocated. Not in the cold, sober light of day, anyway.' He laughs softly at himself, and I feel like I'm melting inside, in the best possible way.

'G, I kissed you, didn't I?'

'I just thought you'd be glad we didn't sleep together.'

'Well,' I smoothed the duvet with my hands, tugging at the soft cotton sheets. 'I'm glad we didn't then. Just wanted to be sure I'd remember the first time.' He meets my gaze again, and his hand runs up to my knee, his fingers tracing the tender skin behind it, almost caressing the back of my thigh. I let him see how nice this feels this time, half-closing my eyes and smiling lazily. He takes that as his cue finally, leaning towards my face and meeting my lips with his.

The kisses last night were good, but this one is a birth of a new kind of desire, a more honest one, born out of attraction that needs no intoxicating influence to be revealed. Getting to make out with George in a drunken haze was an experience that could have passed for a hallucination, dismissed as unreality and thus never really savoured. I've wanted to kiss him for so long that when our inhibitions were lowered and flirtation gave way to action, I think I still felt some disbelief; he'd surely tell me it meant nothing, or that it was just a bit of fun. This kiss now seems like proof I can no longer refute.

George cups my face and kneels over me, his warm mouth enveloping mine. My lips part willingly, hungry for the taste of him. There's a sharp intensity to the kiss that speaks of rapidly building arousal, and I instinctively push myself up to meet him, my hands sliding up his back. I cling to him as he takes hold of my hips and yanks me into his lap, where I can feel his erection building. I wonder how hard he is, if he's going to be any bigger than what I can already feel, and whimper involuntarily as his tongue slips over mine.

'Fuck, you turn me on so much.' He pulls back, breathing raggedly from the sudden change of tone. 'Can you feel?'

'Yeah,' I sit a little deeper in his lap. 'Are you going to fuck me?'

'If you want me to, I'll fuck you for the rest of the day.' He starts kissing my neck, sucking at the point just below my ear.

'George... god,' I sway on top of him, and his arms circle my waist tightly. Every place on my body that he touches becomes a new pleasure point, ones I didn't even know I had.