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Title: The Trouble With January
Pairing(s): George/Mitchell
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they're Toby Whithouse's
Warnings: None
Summary: just a bit of slash really!
A/N: This was written to follow on from a fic called Mating Instinct by Dragonlet. You should read that first, firstly cos it's really good and secondly because this will make more sense if you do. And it's very short, so no excuses. Thankyou to Dragonlet for the inspiration, and sorry if you don't like the direction it goes in :-P


Mitchell leans across George to grab the packet of biscuits, practically lying in George’s lap for a split second with his warm musky scent rising straight to the werewolf’s oversensitive nose. The reaction is predictable and immediate, and George pushes Mitchell off him and jumps up, hands shoved in pockets in an attempt to hide the most obvious symptom of his condition. Thank god he doesn’t wear his jeans as tight as Mitchell, at least. Ignoring Mitchell’s startled yelp, he rushes for the stairs.

In his room he collapses to his knees and fumbles at his zip with shaking fingers. He despairs, he really does. It's only the 5th of January- how is he meant to survive til the end of the month? 

Fly undone now, breathing quickening. Just think of Mitchell, imagine it’s Mitchell’s hand... oh, god, Mitchell...


Oh, god- Mitchell! George feels embarrassment and excitement surge through him in equal measure as he freezes, then scrabbles hurriedly to pull his jeans back up.

“What do you want?” It comes out a bit squeaky, but at least Mitchell can’t see what he’s doing, at least he hasn’t opened the- oh. He has opened the door.

Mitchell looks... embarrassed, maybe, or even shocked, and part of George thinks he should enjoy such a rare event while it lasts, but then the vampire’s scent washes over him again and he can’t help the noise that escapes his lips.

“Did you just growl at me, George?”

“No! It wasn’t a growl, it was... a groan. It’s different.”

Mitchell casts his sceptical eyes over George, still kneeling in the middle of the floor- the flushed cheeks, the hastily pulled up jeans, the hand still clutching at his fly- and then steps further into the room and closes the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong! I just want you to get out of my bloody room!”

Mitchell looks a bit hurt. “Are you... did I do something, is that why you’re avoiding me?”

George closes his eyes and presses his hands to his forehead, biting back tears of frustration. “Jesus, Mitchell, I cannot have this conversation with you right now!”

Mitchell crosses the room to kneel beside his friend, placing a supposedly reassuring hand on his back. “Come on, George, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” He’s rubbing circles between George’s shoulder blades now, which really isn’t having the desired soothing effect, and George can’t but honestly he can’t not when Mitchell’s so tantalisingly close.

Without really knowing what he’s doing, he finds himself on top of Mitchell, pinning him to the floor with his hands on his hips, and his nose pressed into his hair, his armpits, his stomach, his groin. Grunting and panting like the animal he tries so hard not to be. Even as he’s breathing in this all-engulfing scent he’s thinking that this is it, he’s really ruined things now, he’ll have to move out, get a new job, take his chances on his own again. He’s just about decided he might as well curl up and die right now when he feels Mitchell’s hands on the back of his head, guiding him closer to the suddenly obvious bulge in his jeans.

George growls again, unashamedly this time, and rips all the buttons off Mitchell’s shirt.

∞ ∞ ∞

A little while later, Mitchell pushes his sweaty hair back from his face and then wraps his arms around George once again. “You still haven’t told me why you’ve been avoiding me,” he smiles.

George looks up at Mitchell from what he thinks is his new favourite position, twined possessively around the vampire with his head on his chest. He laughs incredulously. “Why do you think? In case this happened!”

“And in hindsight, do you think that was maybe a bit... silly?” Mitchell says mischievously, stroking his fingers gently over the bumps of George’s spine.

George sighs, tingling under Mitchell’s touch. “I don’t think you understand. It’s actually physically painful to be in the same room as you sometimes.”

“Oh great, thanks. Although I’m the one with carpet burns all up my back, so we’re probably about even on the pain front now.”

“Sorry,” George tells him, stretching up to plant a kiss on Mitchell’s lips. “I think I got a bit carried away.”

Mitchell grins and rolls them over so he’s kneeling astride George’s hips. “Not a problem. And you just let me know the next time you need some pain relief, ok?”

George reaches up and snags his hand into Mitchell’s hair. “Well, I think the last dose might be wearing off about now...”



Oct. 12th, 2009 07:23 pm (UTC)
Hey, thankyou! I like a bit (or a lot) of angst, but somehow George manages to subvert it...
Thankyou for reading :-)


stronger than mensa, richey

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