|In Search of Paradise Lost
Author: Renee-chan PM
George was quiet, now - quiet and hard and cruel. There was nothing gentle left in him, anymore - not for Mitchell, anyway. He saved his tenderness, now - hoarded it jealously - saving it all for Nina… and for the memory of Annie. For Mitchell, it was only ever this - hard, fast, cruel… unforgiving.Rated: Fiction M - English - Angst/Supernatural - J. Mitchell & George S. - Words: 1,261 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 2 - Published: 02-08-13 - Status: Complete - id: 8992018
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: In Search of Paradise Lost
Fandom: Being Human (UK)
Pairing: George/Mitchell, George/Mitchell/Annie
Word Count: 1,019
Warnings: Slash. Rough sex. Angst. Spoilers through the Season 2 finale.
Disclaimer: Being Human does not belong to me. It belongs to Toby Whitehouse and all the other writers, producers, etc., who work with him. No harm was meant. I'm just playing with these guys, I'll put them back where I found them when I'm done... more or less intact. ^_~
January 9, 2013: THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. YES, YOU. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Good GRIEF. -.-;;; Kind of obsessed with Being Human, right now. I'd stopped watching for a while because I suddenly couldn't handle what I knew was coming for Mitchell. Then a friend ended up getting equally hooked on this series and her squee reawoke my squee and, well… here we are. I just marathoned the last few eps of series 1 and all of series 2 in one day. Thank you, Nemo. -.-;;; Anyway, this is set within the series 2 finale, after the battle at the lab, and after Annie, well… you know. ^_~ Because there needed to be grieving/angry/hint-of-healing/codependency sex in that episode. So. Yeah. Enjoy? ^_^
In Search of Paradise Lost
George was quiet, now - quiet and hard and cruel. There was nothing gentle left in him, anymore - not for Mitchell, anyway. He saved his tenderness, now - hoarded it jealously - saving it all for Nina... and for the memory of Annie. For Mitchell, it was only ever this - hard, fast, cruel... unforgiving.
Mitchell gasped as George bit down on his neck, worried at his collarbone with teeth too dull to do any true damage but still sharp enough to hurt. He thrust again, harder, deeper. Mitchell cried out, clutched him closer. In answer, George thrust again, slammed into him with a snarl on his breath, an angry growl that restrained itself from becoming a howl of grief only by the virtue of his teeth clamped in the flesh of Mitchell's shoulder.
Mitchell just held him closer, his own cries a benediction, a mantra of forgiveness... of understanding. Because he did understand. He understood that the only reason he was here, the only reason that George allowed him to stay, was because he had no one else. He couldn't force this howling, raging grief on Nina, and he'd learned months ago that subsuming the beast only made it desperate to rage even more.
So, he raged against Mitchell, took out his anger, his pain, his grief, on Mitchell, carved it into the skin of Mitchell's body with his nails, his teeth, his cock.
And Mitchell took it.
Mitchell deserved it.
Mitchell deserved worse than this and he wouldn't have had it any other way. He needed this - to be needed. He needed his friend any way he could have him, even in so dark and twisted a way as this.
Gone were their days of tender lovemaking. Gone were the days of languorous kisses and gentle petting. Gone were the days of Annie's dark eyes, aroused and knowing and full of love, watching from the edge of the bed - living her love vicariously through them both. Gone were the days of curling around each other in the afterglow, all three nestled together like mismatched pieces of different jigsaw puzzles that had somehow, inexplicably, fit. Gone were the days when Mitchell could pretend that what they had might not have been human, but maybe... just maybe... it had been better.
Now, it was only this - pain and grief and rage and hard, fast, brutal sex. Now, there were no more gentle kisses, just bitten, swollen lips and bruised teeth. There was no more gentle petting, just hands that gripped hard enough wherever they landed to leave bruises. There was no loving afterglow, just awkward uncomfortable silences and an inability to meet each other's eyes in the morning. But it was what George needed and it was all Mitchell could give him... it was all he had left.
George couldn't move past the knowledge of everything Mitchell had done this time, couldn't live with knowing the details... the body count. He wanted to live in a world where that brutality that lived under Mitchell's skin had stayed locked away from the world, caged and contained and never seen in the light of day. He wanted to live in a world where they still had their home... still had Annie. And the only way he could do that was to lock Mitchell away from him, not look too closely at the raw edges of Mitchell's grief for fear they would mirror his own.
George ripped his teeth from Mitchell's shoulder, cursed and reached down to grab at Mitchell's cock, his hand too rough, his grip too tight - like always. Still, Mitchell moaned, arched up into that touch, as George's rhythm sped up, started to fracture, become disjointed. Mitchell winced as his shoulders finally slid from the rug onto the roughness of the concrete but said nothing. Like the bruises, the claw marks, the bites... the abrasions would heal, leaving him pristine and untouched by morning, ready for another go whenever George needed it.
It was all he could do until George needed something else. It was all he could do until George stopped needing him to pretend that nothing had changed. It was all he could do until George was ready to let Mitchell need something, again. And that day couldn't come soon enough for Mitchell... because he did need George. Nina could never be Annie, and Mitchell needed Annie's George back. He needed those soft kisses and gentle hands. He needed that caring smile, the nervously fluttering hands, the awkward blushes. He needed George or he feared he might never find George's Mitchell, again. And he wanted to be George's Mitchell, the one George had come back for, the one George had reached when he'd convinced him not to kill Kamp... the one Annie had fought so hard to protect. For George's sake... for Annie's sake... for his own sake... Mitchell needed to be that person, again.
The climaxed together, sweaty and chilling quickly in the cold night air, George collapsed on top of Mitchell, face buried in his chest, unwilling to look up. Only this time... this time it was different. Seeing Annie, again, however briefly, had broken something open, prodded at a sore place that they had both been terrified to go anywhere near before now. For the first time in weeks... George had something to say.
He said, "We will get her back... won't we, Mitchell?"
Blood rushing in his ears, Mitchell dared to raise his arms, to wrap them around George's shaking frame. Softly, hardly daring to hope for what this might mean, he answered, "We will, George. I don't know how, yet... but we will."
And for the first time in weeks, Mitchell felt that unbearable tension finally run from George's body. And as the other man curled closer, let their limbs twine together for the first time in far too long... Mitchell didn't think he imagined it when he felt another pair of soft, dexterous hands start carding through his hair. Nor did he think he imagined it when he heard Annie's voice murmur in response, "I love you both, too."