International Relation(ship)s

Chapter 13

Before George even had a moment to process the amalgamation of broken sentences that had just spewed, Clay's lips were on his. It was slower than both of the previous times, languid and soft, and Clay basked in the feeling. He trailed a hand up George's sides, the pair pulling apart for just a second as George broke into giggles.

"You're ticklish?" Clay scoffed playfully, experimentally brushing his hands up and down the sides of his shirt, only able to imagine what it would look like without the fabric so rudely obscuring his view.

"I hate you-" George managed between stifled laughs, "stop it!"

"Stohp it!" Clay mocked his accent quite awfully, the o's far too round, the inflections not quite right, and this prompted yet another eye roll.

George grabbed the offending hand, holding it with a vice-like grip between them as the other snaked up to interlock in blond strands used as leverage to pull their faces mere centimetres apart. "Shut up and kiss me again."

Clay would never be one to deny George such a request. He closed the gap between them once more, pressing their lips firmly together. The kiss was bruising this time, firm, passionate, lips grappling with lips and teeth clashing but neither cared enough to cringe at it. Clay yanked his hand free from George's grip, running his hands up the little knobs of his spine before firmly playing a splayed hand on his upper back and using it to move George even closer to him, so that he was now fully straddling Clay, sat firmly in his lap.

He groaned as George tightened the grip in his hair tugging slightly, but only enough to cause a warm glow of pleasurable pain. George pulled back for a second, almost long enough for Clay to protest but before he had the chance to, the hand tightened again, tilting his head back enough to expose the tanned expanse of soft skin that was his neck and hastily pressing feather-light kisses along his jawline.

"George," He sighed between laboured breaths, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as the kisses got stronger. "Don't leave- fuck- don't leave marks,"

They moved from his jawline to the side of his neck, travelling higher until soft lips hovered over his ear, and he could hear George's rushed breaths, feel them caress his cheek. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" George whispered, the intimacy of their proximity sending shivers down Clay's neck. He decided in that moment that he loved George's voice most when it was like that; whispered, raw with lust, just for him.

George brought his lips back to Clay's and soon they had become bolder. Shirts were tugged from their confinement tucked into trousers and peripatetic hands roamed what was hiding underneath. They were restless, travelling and travelling as though every inch of his chest just had to be touched, and it was only when those same hands stopped, hesitantly poised over the collar of Clay's shirt, that Clay pulled away and finally took a second to think.

"Fuck, George." Clay sighed, taking in the paradisiacal sight before him; diaphanous skin glowing red, velvety lips swollen, beguiling brown eyes blown wide. It truly was ethereal. He truly was ethereal.

"Is this okay?" George asked gently, eyes flitting between Clay's gaze and where his hands remained, hardly an inch away from the top pearlescent button and Clay could have just melted at the tenderness of his words.

"I've never done this before- like with a guy," Clay admitted bashfully, his gaze dropping only for a second before George's hand was up by his chin, forcing it back up again. For a second he let himself get lost in the feeling of the pad of George's thumb rubbing soft circles on his chin.

"We don't have to do anything, okay?" George reassured him, "We can just do this- or- or we can stop, or-"

"No, I want to." Clay quickly cut him off, offering a nervous smile.