nails like god | georgebur

fresh concrete in my mouth

George's body is constricted. He opens his eyes, head groggy. There's a bitter, sleepy taste in his mouth. He is still, and there's breathing on his back.

Wilbur's arm is curling over George's body, their legs stangled, the taller is like a child tensely grasping a teddy bear in his sleep. His body forms a 'C' around George, acting as a curtain that's shielding him from the world.

George bathes in Wilbur's body heat pressed against him. He gets nervous, pondering if Wil is awake or not. He stays unmoving, hoping they stay like this for longer. George finds safety in the fact that someone stronger and more independent is holding him like this, he thinks. Like a guard dog, perhaps.

He's never been loved like this. The last time George has been spooned, even, was when he was a child laying in his mother's bed. He had nightmares often, and sleeping with his mom was the cure for it. George doesn't think that counts exactly, though.

Wilbur's body wakes before he does. His arms stiffen, clutching George closer to his chest as he flutters his eyes open. Wil goes bug-eyed, eyebrows raising when he realizes what he'd done in his sleep. Wilbur doesn't move either. His voice is small when he says, "George?"

George's skin tingles at Wilbur's breath on his ear. He hesitates, not knowing whether he should speak or not. He's hoping with his silence, Wilbur will keep holding him.

Wilbur gently lowers his head to rest onto George's. He finds something serene and peaceful in digging his face into George's hair.

Guilt fills Wilbur's chest all at once. With great remorse, Wil shifts and sits up on the bed. He does so incredibly leisurely. Wilbur grieves losing the comfort of holding George.

George, feeling Wilbur leave him, looks over. The brunette opens the door, retreating to the bathroom. George misses him quite quickly. He gets up minutes later, sitting with his knees raised, leaning against the wall behind the bed.

It's not leaving George's skin, Wilbur's warmth. He itches for more, wanting desperately to just be hugged. George hasn't realized how starving he's been for touch. He's a disheveled, lonely man, isn't he? George shutters at the harsh, true realization that floods his mind.

George exhales with his lips pouty. He hears Wilbur turn on the shower. George only hopes that Wil isn't trying to wash him away.