The bracelet clipped together firmly on George's wrist with a quiet snap and he moved his arm away from the countertop.
"It's fairly simple, the bracelet will remain inactive when you aren't near your soulmate, then when the magnet picks up the attraction you'll be pulled towards them, it only turns off when when you are within 4 feet of them."
George nodded and pulled his hoodie sleeve down, covering the silent metal magnet he'd been given.
He was 21 now and his mother was adamant that he needed to join this program, every time he'd tried to date someone, it would end horribly with George breaking it off for different reasons each time. It wasn't his fault that his last boyfriend chewed with his mouth wide open, it drove him fucking insane.
So here he was, walking away from the desk with a stupid fucking bracelet that will supposedly help him find his soulmate. It was all a bunch of bullshit but he did it to stop his mother nagging him about it.
When he got home, he chucked himself into bed, the bracelet clinking slightly as an annoying reminder of its presence.
He'd deal with it tomorrow, tonight he was sleeping and hopefully never waking up.
-Time skip to the next morning-
Groaning, he shoved the covers off his face, wincing at the change in his positioning. There was probably something bad about the way his bones cracked and re fucking shaped in the mornings.
He disregarded it as a lack of movement in his sleep and stood, stumbling half awake to his bathroom.
And that was his routine, every morning, for three fucking months.
At the start, though sceptical, George was intrigued at the prospect of having a soulmate, someone he was scientifically guarantied to love.
But as the days flashed by, his beginning enthusiasm began to border on irritability.
No auditory prompts, no magnetic pull, nothing.
The bracelet remained dead on his wrist, inactive and going to work everyday with this thing attached to him was starting to gnaw on his confidence.
Everyone could see it, everyone knew how long he'd had it.
It was oddly unsurprising to George that he didn't have a soulmate, he was picky and snappy, sure his online persona as GeorgeNotFound was far happier, but real life George was sick of everything.
His mother never stopped calling, always asking if he'd found them yet, always trying to cheer him up when he said 'No, not yet'.
Soon, it was the summer holidays, he had two weeks off work and he intended to have fun, regardless of the metal ring around his wrist that had deemed him unlovable.
To the fucking shopping centre.
Not the best way to begin a week of 'fun' but he needed to run a few errands anyways.
Lifting a what he could only assume was blue hoodie over his head, making sure the sleeves covered his bracelet, he grabbed his phone and wallet and left his apartment.
2 hours into his shopping trip, he'd managed to look depressingly lonely at a milkshake stall, ordering in front of 6 or 7 couples that looked very happy sharing their drinks. He'd gone into Primark and asked several strangers what colour a certain shirt or pair of jeans were. He'd scared the shit out of some pigeons minding their own business on the grass outside the centre and he was currently wading through a crowd of people trying to get to a empty bench in the midst of it all.
Each family or happy couple he passed made him want to hurl, every snot faced child holding a dripping ice cream that looked at him funny was reluctantly ignored and every attractive guy he saw was always holding some short blonde twat's hand.
How he wished he was fully blind instead of colour blind at this point.
Having his thoughts render him to a walking shell of a man, it took him a while to realise he had passed the bench and was walking further away from it.
Weirdly, his brain took longer to process it because he didn't stop moving, and in doing so he collided rather roughly into another person.
"What the fuck-" George mumbled, slightly dazed.
Neither man had been hurt or had really moved, but as the hit was unexpected, they both took a moment to register their surroundings.
When they both looked up at each other, the first thing they noticed was their wrists.
Like a magnet, every time they tried pulling away, their wrists were brought back together unwillingly.
Wait, hold the fuck up.
When their eyes met, George was dazed again.
Dirty blonde hair ruffled upwards framed a heavenly face, one that made his knees weak. Bright green eyes combined with lips he wanted to touch and a jawline that looked like it could cut him rendered the words he tried to say useless.
Both men stood silently startled in the middle of the crowd, ignoring each brush past of a stranger on their shoulders as they both recognised each other as soulmates.
Holy mother of fuck he was hot.
The bracelets emitted a low tone and the magnetism was turned off, allowing George to pull back and panic about what to do now.
"Are you the guy from the milkshake stall?"
George flushed slightly.
"You saw that?"
"If you mean when you flipped off a couple that shared their milkshake in front of you when they turned away then yeah, I saw that." He huffed
"If you'd have had to listen to their story about meeting each other under a gazebo under the stars then you'd have flipped them off too."
"You want to grab dinner?" He mumbled, a barely visible blush spreading across his cheeks.
"Depends who's paying."
"My treat, soulmate."
"My name's George."
"Clay." He held out his hand and George took it, his mind immediately going to other places as he shakes the other mans rough hand.
Maybe it was the weeks of being pent up talking or the fact that Clay was his soulmate, but George wanted those hands all over him.
They both let go and Clay turned, motioning for George to follow.
After a few minutes, they had both cleared the crowd of people and were standing outside a small café.
Clay brought George to a secluded booth and the two of them sat down, awkwardly shuffling to sit next to each other.
A few lingering touches and looks throughout the evening was riling George up, they had eaten from the limited menu at the café and both men found themselves looking to the bathroom every now and then.
"So what do we do now?" Clay's eyes shifted back to George.
"You could pay for the food."
Clay laughed slightly: "Fuck you"
"Kind of wish you would."
They stared at one another for a long moment before scrambling to their feet to stumble to the nearest bathroom.
Running into a stall, Clay pinned George to the door to finally fucking kiss him.
George's hands were on Clay immediately, dragging over his ribs and down his sides to his jeans. He hesitated only a moment before sliding his fingers under the band.
Clay kissed him hard, groaning into the feel of George's soft hands.
George broke the kiss and looked up at Clay, he was stupidly, unfairly attractive, packed with muscle and broad shouldered.
Noticing his distraction, Clay moved to George's neck, leaving marks along flushed collarbones.
George seized below him, stuttering a gasping moan, body arching from the sudden pleasured shock.
"Hand's above your head." Clay ordered, pulling down both his and Georges boxers.
Slowly, George lifted his arms and grabbed his wrists, tucking them behind his head against the door.
"Good."
Clay wasted no time pushing his now aching dick against Georges, he bit his lip and forced himself to look up so he could watch the stuttered rise and fall of George's chest as he sucked in wordless, gasping lungful's of air, the way his stomach tensed with each shift of Clay's experienced hips.
Clay wrapped a hand around them both and hissed, rutting his hips faster and harder, letting George moan directly into his ear from the feeling.
"So fucking perfect." Clay muttered.
George whined, a high, breathy, open-mouthed thing that left Clay shaking.
George's legs began twitching, blood roared in his ears, deafening him as he desperately tried to catch his breath and keep up with Clay's erratic thrusts.
His climax hit him like a punch to the chest, driving the air from his lungs and sweeping his feet out from under him, he nearly collapsed, body jerking with the force of it as he spilled across Clay's abdomen.
Clay let out a cut off moan as the sight of George, his vision leaving him as he came, holding George impossibly closer through it.
When feeling finally returned his limbs, Clay eased himself back, and smoothed his hands up George's thighs, petting at the twitching, overstimulated muscles.
"You okay Georgie?"
He was given a low groan as an answer and he hummed to himself, admiring his work on George's now bruised and hickey covered neck.
"We should clean up." Clay sighed.
"Counter argument, we take a nap." The smaller male rested his head in the crook of Clay's neck, clearly fucked out.
"Maybe when we get back to my apartment."
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