A/N: Hello everyone! Did you miss me? Here's a bumper chapter to make up for it! Also, this note is to make you aware, I have had to change the date of the LAST scene of the previous chapter (103) to 2nd November 1971. Nothing else has changed - I just found I needed a bit more story time.
Also, this chapter may need a trauma warning. It's a little bit on the graphic side - sex, language, etc and maybe quite a traumatic read. Uh-oh. (Sorry...!)
Thank you for reading!
* * * *
Not much tenderness flows
From the heart of someone feeling so tired
And he feels so alone
With no love of his own
So sad, so bad, so sad, so bad
6th November 1971
Four Days After
It's crisply cold outside, but warm and snug under the duvet. The bedsheets have just been changed. They're fresh and soft on his naked skin. November daylight invades through the cracks in the curtains. It must be getting late. It doesn't get light properly until mid-morning.
Behind George, Hannah snakes her hand around his waist and strokes his stomach in ticklish circular movements. He smiles lazily and closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation as she nuzzles his neck, kissing his earlobe at the same time. It's unusual that she'd lie in bed with him this late. Most mornings she gets up to make a pot of tea and start the breakfast before Bobbie wakes.
'That's nice, love...' he sighs as she moves closer to him, pressing herself against his back, reaching round to feel for his cock, already starting to react to her touch.
George isn't sure how long he's been asleep but it can't have been more than a four or five hours. They didn't get home until late. Last night they went to... Shit, where were they? He can't remember the name of the place. He remembers it was dark with blue and pink neon lights behind the bar, weird lighting that strobed and flashed all the time but the decor was Regency; striped red and gold upholstered seats, wood panel walls, walnut tables which were lit by small gas lamps. There was rock music played obnoxiously loud, rendering conversation impossible, and they were drinking something fizzy. Champagne, maybe? He remembers sharing a red velvet loveseat with her, supporting her with one hand as she leaned away from him, arching her back, so he could kiss the top fleshy part of her breasts, nearly falling out of her tight, low cut black dress, while his other hand was under her short skirt, rubbing her through the fabric of her lace panties.
Fuck, were they doing that in the bar?! It's a wonder they weren't arrested.
She raises herself up, leaning over him to massage his cock more vigorously and George rotates his hips a little to give her better access. He sucks air in through his nose, holds it, then exhales. 'I have to get up,' he murmurs, still with his eyes shut. 'Pete wants to look at ordering turf for the north paddock.'
'Aww. Haven't you got time for another quick go first, baby?' she purrs, in his ear.
George's eyes fly open and he freezes, tense.
Not Hannah. It's not Hannah!
He rolls onto his back and she takes it as an invitation to climb on top of him, pulling the duvet behind her shoulders. She says something but currently George is too busy dealing with the onslaught of broken shards of memories from the previous night to reply. He blinks at the stranger straddling him, trying to shuffle his thoughts into some kind of cognitive order.
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