by lise.

 

George went to a gay bar with Harry the night of Fred's funeral.

Harry went because George needed to know how to navigate the Tube, and he needed a crash course in money, and he needed. He needed. Harry had a beer, and was nice but stand-offish to the two guys who asked to buy him a drink, pointed at George and said -- whatever Harry said. George didn't want to know.

He drank three shots, nodded to himself shortly, then stumbled up to a tall boy, blond hair, and mumbled into his neck, "you want a blowjob?"

He and the boy went into the bathroom, George got on his knees and sucked. The boy kept his hand on the top of George's skull because when he first started, he'd tried to stroke the nape of his neck and George had to move his fingers. He came quick.

George relaxed against the wall of the stall, while the boy gave him a handjob; he was hesitent, and unsure of himself. "Was that, are--" and George nodded his appreciation, mind focused on the stroking there and now and oh. hot and hot and hot and hot and again and again and--

Ten minutes later he and Harry left. George bought the drinks. Harry let him slump on his shoulder when they went home, and George nuzzled his neck a little in the Tube, lolling against the seat, his thighs draped every which way. Harry let him.