|Common People - Being Human - George/Mitchell
||[May. 22nd, 2009|05:30 pm]
where the daydreams reign
Title: Common People
Word Count: 882
A/N: Written for phantomreviewer for the ABC meme, 'temptation'. Pre-series.
Summary: After meeting George for the first time, Mitchell visits him again.
Mitchell watches George over the rim of his cooling mug of tea. There's something fascinating about it: about everything, about the way he chooses to move and the way he smells and the way he frowns when he's concentrating. He's hard at work in another coffee shop, a different one from the one he'd been at when Mitchell had first met him several months ago. His eyes are hidden behind a thin-rimmed set of glasses and that's all the proof that Mitchell would need to be convinced that it's a long few weeks left to go until the next full moon will make George's senses erupt.
George is pretending that he hasn't seen him, and with Mitchell being served by another waiter he can almost get away with the deception: if he had been anyone other than George then he might have. Yet, while Mitchell knows only very little about George, he knows one thing for certain. Subtly is not his strong point, and nor is lying for that matter. His skittish gaze travels towards Mitchell at least once a minute and he has dropped three cups since Mitchell first came in here one hour ago. That's a rather impressive record, Mitchell has to admit.
He manages to go through his entire shift without acknowledging Mitchell even once, and when he leaves - rushing out of the back door loud enough that Mitchell would have been able to hear him even without enhanced hearing - Mitchell doesn't try to follow him. He smiles against his mug and takes his time finishing his tea. He knows that George will be back tomorrow.
He is there for three of George's shifts in a row before George storms towards his two-seater table and crashes down into the chair opposite him.
"This is stalking, you know," George blurts, pleasantly startled. "I could call the police. I could have you arrested."
Mitchell smiles at him and leans his arms against the table. "That's true. Are you going to?"
And George blinks at him, frowns, twitches. Deflates. "No. What do you want?"
"Tea," Mitchell answers, leaning back in his chair and picking up his cup. "Just tea."
George is talkative. Very talkative. Being around him is incredibly exhausting and it makes Mitchell feel old, feel ancient, feel alive. He visits the coffee shop every day for an entire week, looking for him, finding him. Most days now George has the tea ready for him when he comes in, steaming and milky. "I don't understand why you keep coming here," he says. "I'm a -" He pauses, looks around to make sure nobody is listening. They're not. Too busy. Mitchell could have told him as much. "- werewolf. I thought werewolves and vampires didn't get on."
"I think we can make an exception," Mitchell tells him. He waves a hand between them. "Just me and you. I like you."
"Don't your mates get at you for it?"
"They're not 'my mates'," Mitchell says. He doesn't know what they are, but they aren't his friends. Not Seth. Not the others. More and more these days, he can't even stand to be around them: it's getting to the point that he can't even stand being around Herrick, and that isn't right. Nothing about that is right. "And they don't know, actually."
"I'm a secret then, am I?" George asks. He sounds far more pissy about it than Mitchell thinks that he really has any right to. "You don't want to let your friends find out that you're hanging out with a 'dog'."
"You're not a dog, George," Mitchell corrects sternly. Seth shouldn't have called him that. Racist. Unacceptable. "You'd be a terrible pet. I'll bet you're not even house-trained."
Beneath the table, George kicks his shin and although it hurts enough to make Mitchell yelp it isn't too bad: he's too busy laughing to really register any pain, and as he watches as George starts to laugh with him - out of control for once, breaking out of that tightly bound shell - he thinks that maybe he could stay like this forever, with him, just with him.
His face is a dirty blur of cuts and bruises the next time he visits. He stares down at the table and tries to avoid looking George in the eyes when he approaches. There will be panic and there will be questions and he doesn't think he wants to talk about it. Vampire politics, that's all it is. Like George had predicted, the other vampires hadn't been too pleased with the situation when they'd realised how much time he was spending here with no ulterior motive.
He shouldn't be here now. He can't stop himself.
George sighs deeply when he catches sight of Mitchell's blurred face. He reaches out for him, fingers skimming so lightly over the bruise on his cheek that Mitchell can't even feel it. He doesn't ask difficult questions; only one that is so easy to answer.
"D'you want to stay at mine tonight?" George offers. "It'll be safer."
And this time Mitchell has no difficulty with giving into temptation and saying, "Please."