Archive of Our Own ^beta

Matty’s making decisions for George today. It’s not so much for control as much as it is habit.

Someone asks if he wants a drink, and Matty cuts in with, “No, we’re fine, aren’t we?” and George just agrees.

It’s not an issue.

Until it is.

George is desperate for a smoke. He doesn’t care what of, it could be crack for all he cares, he just needs something in his mouth.

Ross is a godsend in times like these.

He comes crashing through the open door, almost falling on his face, and he’s drunker than anybody else in the whole house, George thinks, but it’s fine, because he’s shouting, "Matty! Matty. Look,” holding up his weed, and laughing loudly to himself.

Matty gestures for him to give it to him, smirking, entertained, and he watches with gleeful anticipation as Ross hops through and over all the people in his way. Somehow, miraculously, he doesn’t fall (or jump) on anybody.

He holds the bag of it proudly, and grins.

“Give’s some.”

Ross clutches it to his chest dramatically. “Who said anything about sharing?” He glares at Matty, then breaks into a fit of giggles, and says, “You have to roll it though. I don’t think I can see.”

Matty gives Ross a look, then looks to George as though to say Oh my God. “You’re so dramatic.”

So, George watches Matty struggle a bit, realising that he’s probably somewhat more than tipsy, too, and he’s about to offer some help, but then Matty’s done, and he’s holding it up like it’s a painting he’s just finished. He supposes, to him, it probably feels like that.

“Oh, my God. Give me it now,” George says, holding out his hand and going to snatch it.

Matty switches hands and holds it as far away from him as he can.

Ross might be a godsend, but Matty isn’t.

“Matty, I’m serious, give me it. I’m gonna die.”

He doesn’t give him it, and they sort of half fight for a second, before George reaches for the fags in his back pocket that he somehow forgot about, and Matty snatches them.

“What the fuck?”

“George was just telling me how he thinks he needs to smoke less.”

“I was fucking not.”

Ross laughs. “I think... I agree with Matty. You, like-” he chokes as he inhales, giggles to himself, “-smoke...so much. You smoke more than my nan and she gets through about...a billion packs a week. And,” Ross points at him, jabs at his chest, “that’s not including the weed.”

Okay, Ross isn’t a godsend.

George is in shock. “What the fuck are you on about?” Maybe he’s drunker than he thought. He chews his lip.

“Didn’t you literally just offer us it? And so, offer me it?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Ross says, petulant, exhaling.

“Why?!”

He shrugs. “Cos of him.”

Matty cackles.

George tries reaching for it, shoving Matty and kicking him to get to it, but Ross grabs him and holds him back.

“You two are such–” George splutters for a word, “Fucking cunts.”

They both laugh at him.

He turns around to the group nearest them, and says, “Have any of yous got a fag?”

One of them goes to find theirs, but Matty practically jumps at them. “Don’t fucking dare give him one.”

George slaps him away, says, “I’ll give you an actual fiver if you give me one, I’m serious.”

They stop, sort of hesitant.

“He’s trying to quit,” Matty says, clearly struggling to be clear through his hysterical laughter.

“I’m not!”

They smirk, and it’s like everybody is determined to make him suffer.

“A tenner.”

Matty pulls at him, finds his wallet before he can get to it and takes that, too, hands it to Ross so it’s out of reach.

George might die.

Ross pulls the tenner George promised from it and hands it to them, laughing as he keeps George held out of his way.

His mouth is empty, and he’s already been chewing his cuticles -- so much so that there’s nothing left to chew by now -- and his lips, and it’s so bad.

He just wants something in his mouth. Oh, God.

“Matty, I’m gonna cry. Give me a fag.”

“No.”

“Why have you all of a sudden decided I need to quit!?”

“I care about your health, Georgie.” He smiles sweetly and George kicks him as hard as he can.

George fights Matty to try to get his things, but he gives them to Ross, and he only half tries to fight him, because, well, there’s not really any point. Ross is a wall, and George is maybe just a little bit weak, light, easy to boot away.

“Matty, Matty, please. Ross, I’ll give you all the fags you want forever if you just give me one. I’ll go with, like, just a puff. Ross, please.”

It’s a little bit pathetic, but he just feels like his mouth is some kind of physical negative space that’s going to turn into a black hole if he doesn’t get something to do with it now.

He bites his nails for a bit, having given up on the idea of getting anything from any of them, and he’s about to get up to find Adam, but he remembers that he didn’t come, so he’ll just have to suffer.

Soon enough, he’s moved onto a pen that he found in the drawer behind his head. It doesn’t even taste of anything, just his own mouth after a point, but it’s so bad. He feels like he’s drooling.

The pen gets pulled away from him then, and he almost punches Matty.

“Matty, what the fuck is your issue?” His eyes have gone big. He’d kill someone for a fag.

“I just think you should take better care of yourself,” he tells him, serious and professional, but clearly hiding a disgusting smirk, and Ross nods along.

“Lung cancer,” he takes a quick drag, “is very serious, George.”

“I’d give myself stage 4 right now if it got me a fucking fag.”

It’s not even about the cigarette anymore, and he doesn’t think it’s the nicotine, he just wants something in his mouth, but that’s not something he can say to either of them, because he knows they’ll bring it up constantly for the next decade if he does. But, God, it might just be the only thing that’ll get him anything.

He waits a bit, then says, “I’m gonna find someone who’ll get me one.”

Ross grabs his ankle, and he gets very close to falling onto the group in front of him, but he catches himself.

“Ross, I’m about to die. I haven’t had a smoke all day.” That’s sort of a lie, he had one when he got up, and he had half of one with Matty before they came out, and he got that drag off the boy at the bottom of the stairs, but that’s basically nothing. “I need a cigarette.”

Matty makes a face, “George, I literally gave you one. We shared it. I have proof.”

“You have no proof! It’s- word of mouth! Not proof!”

Ross shrugs, smirking. “I don’t know, George. I think I believe Matty over you. He just seems more trustworthy in this situation.” He’s sage and putting on a wise tone, stroking his stubble, and George yanks his foot from his grip and kicks his shoulder with it.

Ross grips him again.

He doesn’t know what to do. He feels like he might explode. Or implode. Or just turn into dust.

Ross is undoubtedly stronger than him -- as in, strong enough to keep him there for as long as he likes, and not have any struggle -- and Matty’s helping, and he’s just stuck.

He’s starting to tear up.

“Okay, okay.”

Oh my God!

“Okay, Matty. I think we should take pity on him. One puff can’t hurt.”

George feels like crying.

They sort of mutter between themselves for a minute or so, and then say, “Alright, come on then.”

Something George had somehow forgotten, is the fact that it’s Ross’ house (God knows why), but it becomes glaringly obvious when Ross stumbles away, and then back with a key. It’s the off-limits room they end up in -- the one that George doesn’t think he’s ever seen the inside of, and Ross unlocks it, then locks it behind him.

It’s bigger than George expected. In fact, it’s actually a decently sized room. It’s not even a cupboard.

“There wasn’t anything bad in here, it was just messy,” is what Ross tells them, and it’s so stupid that both Matty and George cackle.

The laughing almost takes his mind off the way his mouth is starting to feel overly wet.

“Does it need to be locked?” George asks.

“Well, I don’t want anybody else coming in. It’s a nice tidy room, I’m not tainting it. What if someone pukes?”

“Ross, I think you’re the most likely to puke here.”

He gives George a look. “I won’t give you it,” he warns.

George twitches. “No. Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You won’t puke. Please, oh my God, just give me a cigarette. I’m gonna cry.”

“Wait.”

Ross and Matty get sat down in basically the same position as before, and they--somehow--haven’t finished their spliff, so they share that, and keep talking whatever mindless conversation they were interrupted from. George sits the same way he was, too, but he’s tense now.

He starts chewing his lips first, sort of biting the body of his tongue in between the bites, then the flesh of his cheeks, then the skin of his cheeks.

Then it develops to his fingers.

It starts off as just biting the extra, sharp bits off the corners, then biting off all the white, then the harder bits around his nails, callused skin from where he’s bitten it in the past, and then it’s just whatever his teeth can find.

It doesn’t take long before his tongue is helping, and he’s basically licking his fingertips and pressing his teeth into the nails.

Then Ross notices.

“George, oh my God. Tone it down a bit.”

George turns pink. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t help it.

“Give me a smoke, Ross. Ross, please. Please. I need it.”

Matty and Ross glance to each other, discuss silently, then nod. Matty finds his pack, and George almost cries.

“Thank you. Oh, my god, thank you.”

They both snicker, and Ross says, “George, you’re actually pathetic.”

“I don’t care. Just give me it.”

Matty lights it for him, and he grabs it in such a way that almost makes Matty burn himself, and Matty swears at him.

The first drag is borderline orgasmic, and he practically moans at it. Both of them laugh again. George didn’t expect anything different, but, honestly, it’s the last thing on his mind.

The second is good, but then it gets snatched away from him by Ross, who cackles when he whines at the loss.

“I said one puff, George!”

George feels like he’s going to collapse. It wasn’t enough, and it’s making his chest hurt, but, again, Ross is unquestionably bigger and stronger than him, and with the fact he’s feeling pathetic with the need for it, it’s just not even a question.

So, he stays quiet, and watches how Matty’s cheeks hollow around his cigarette, and drools. He actually drools. He doesn’t realise until his hand--that he also didn’t realise was near his mouth--gets a draught against it and it feels cold.

He feels insane.

Wiping it before either of them can see, George sits up straighter, crosses his legs, and then sinks a little bit against the wall. He watches Ross reach into his own pocket and light another one, and he chokes out loud.

“George. It is not that bad.”

“It fucking is! I need a cigarette, Ross. I might die. It might actually kill me. Please.”

“You’re drooling! You don’t even want the fag, you just want something in your mouth.”

Matty mumbles a joke about fags and things in mouths, and Ross laughs at it, and, usually, George would bite back with something witty, but he just stays quiet and hopes his eyes start watering so that they’ll take pity. They don’t, but his lips start feeling wet again soon enough.

Eventually, he just puts a whole finger in his mouth. It’s his first finger, and it’s a little bit too thin to be exactly what he needs, but it’s enough, and he just stays there like that, staring, drooling onto his knuckles, staring half mindlessly at the smoke.

Then Matty turns to ask him something, seemingly not having noticed George’s descent into madness, and laughs so hard George is surprised he doesn’t piss himself.

“Ross, Ross. Look at the state of him!” He cries, clutching at his stomach.

Ross laughs just like Matty when he notices, and George goes even more red, but he just can’t bring himself to take his fingers away.

“That is pitiful.”

George doesn’t bother speaking. It’s helping enough to calm him down, and that’s fine.

But, Matty being Matty, decides to be evil, and he leans forward and pulls George’s hand towards himself, away from his mouth.

“That’s bad for your teeth.”

George tries to jump at Matty, calling him a cunt and many other colourful names, but Ross gets hold of him before he can, sitting him in front of him, almost between his legs, and keeps him there with a hand on his right elbow, and his left shoulder.

“Ross, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

Matty and Ross are both in hysterics, and George’s threat only serves to make it worse.

But George doesn’t have a choice, so he just sits there, a little disgruntled, and lets them joke.

They stop after a long while, and George’s cheeks are hot. Matty’s got both cigarettes now, having taken Ross’ off him just about when he restrained George, and George lunges for them.

Tries to.

Ross rips his hand from his shoulder and grabs his arm with it. He’s got both of George’s arms held now.

It’s a weird feeling.

He’s still drooling, like his mouth expects there to be something to absorb it, and he has to keep licking his lips and swallowing it.

“It just isn’t that bad.”

He collapses forwards, pressing his face to the floor, and groans like he’s crying. Or dying. He might start.

And he’s also just a little bit hard, just to add to it all. But, really, when Ross is just so easily able to keep him the way he wants, can he be blamed? He just hopes it’s not obvious. Or visible at all.

Ross gets his grip on George’s arm a little lower, and ends up wrapping his hand right around his wrist, then he puts the other wrist with it, too. That’s enough to get George’s stomach to flip.

He exhales what little air there is in his lungs, and shuts his eyes, makes a sad sort of face, bites the inside of his cheeks, lips.

And then Ross pulls at his shoulder with his free hand, gets him to sit up, and George looks down as subtly as he can to check whether his t-shirt is big enough to cover him properly. It isn’t.

He shuffles a little bit, trying to get comfortable, but Ross is holding him too tight.

Matty looks at him and he feels distinctly judged.

“George.”

He looks at him, brow creased.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is.”

He presses a finger to George’s lips, hard, and George has to put all his being into not making a noise about it.

“It’s not.”

George blinks like it’s a huge effort—it is—then whines, “I just want something in my mouth.”

Matty laughs so loud that George doesn’t at all doubt that the people on the other side of the wall heard it clearly.

“I’d say put your fingers there, but…” he gestures to Ross, who pulls George to the side so he can lean to the other and look at his face, only to smile wide and make George feel positively tortured.

Then Matty puts his own finger back, presses even harder this time, and George has to fight to keep his mouth closed. He wants to make some kind of noise about it, but, even despite the fact he’s drooling down his chin and half hard, that’s too much.

“Matty, don’t be mean,” Ross says, and George wants to get on his knees and thank him until he can’t speak, because Matty pushes just a tiny bit more, and George’s jaw falls open, and Matty’s finger finds its way inside.

He half wants to bite down, even if only gently, just to get on Matty’s nerves, but he also knows that if his mouth is left empty for any amount of time more than it already has been, he’ll start using it, and that’s the last thing he wants. He’s embarrassed himself enough today.

Ross’ hands feel so warm on his skin, he just wants to melt into him and keep Matty’s finger in his mouth until he falls asleep.

“I’ll be as mean as I want. And it’s not mean – I’m saving his lungs.”

Ross snorts. “I think, if you were a cigarette, George could smoke all of you and not cough once. And he could do it in about half an hour.”

Any other time, George would be pleased that he’s seen that way, but at the moment, he can’t even laugh. He’s so desperate.

Matty mindlessly pulls his finger away a little bit, sitting straighter and frowning at Ross. “He could not. He almost died when he had that cigar.”

“He had a cigar?” Again, Ross moves him to the side, completely pulling him away from Matty’s finger, and looks at him. He would’ve looked at him just a little confusedly, but the loss of Matty made George whine loud, so now he looks a judgemental strain of confused.

Instead of commenting on the noise, Ross just asks, “Where did you get a cigar?”

George, with a drooly voice, says, “Bought it.”

Ross rolls his eyes. “Yeah, knobhead, where from?”

George shrugs, and then blushes, because Ross’ grip is so tight on his arms now that he has to really try to move. Oh, God.

He feels another draught, and this time it draws his attention to his lips, which he licks in a futile attempt to get rid of some of the wet.

Ross’ eyes aren’t meeting his own, and he knows what they are meeting, but he doesn’t care.

“Give me a fag.”

Matty laughs a bit, says, “Looks like you’re getting yourself one already,” and then stands up, wiping his fingers on his jeans, giving them both a look.

George isn’t listening.

Then Adam knocks on the door. It’s not a very Adam knock, but he announces that it’s him, and that he wants his lighter back, because apparently Ross has it, and apparently nobody else in the entire house has one. Ross seems a little bit shocked, and he lets go of George, searches in his pocket for a few seconds, shouting at Adam to tell him to shut the fuck up, and then awkwardly making George move, then getting up.

He struggles with the lock, then struggles with the handle, and then almost gets knocked out by Adam, who, rather impatiently, throws the door open.

“You fucking bellend.”

“What!?”

There’s a group behind Adam that all look…interested.

“That’s my weed. That you robbed.”

Matty comes to sit next to George, and George smells said weed. He licks his lips, swallows. “Is that…the…what he’s on about?” he says, pointing to the spliff.

“Yeah.”

“When did you even do that?” He squints.

Matty frowns. “In the ten minutes it took him to open the fucking door.”

Then Adam and Ross are fighting, and, luckily, not noticing the smoke coming from Matty. George wonders if that’s just Adam wanting an excuse to hit Ross, or if he’s actually drank so much that he’s gone completely blind.

“Wasn’t that long.”

Matty just shrugs.

There’s a pause where the two of them watch as Ross and Adam try to kill each other, and where George drools a little bit more, and then Matty holds the spliff out to him, and says, “Do you want any?”

George makes a distinctly pathetic noise. He’s expecting Matty to laugh at him and take it back, but he pushes it further towards him. It’s close enough to George’s mouth as is, so he just leans across and does it like that.

Then they watch Adam and Ross fight until Matty gets bored and tells George that they’re leaving, and, just the same as the last six hours, George does what Matty tells him.