Chapter Fourteen
George
“Fucking entitled bastard,” George muttered under his breath as his fare stumbled out of the cab, leaving his pristine new car full of the fumes of the very liquid lunch the man had clearly enjoyed. Door slammers deserved their own version of hell, in George’s opinion—one where they got subjected to automatic slamming doors, landing on their heads every five minutes.
Inhaling sharply and letting the breath out slowly, George checked the time on his dashboard clock. It was only three in the afternoon. Another hour to go until I pick up Scott. George knew a lot of his foul mood was because of his mating. Whoever made up the spiel about mating being a perfect meld of two completely different people hadn’t factored an OCD demon into the mix.
Putting his car into gear, George moved into traffic, just mindlessly following the car ahead of him. He hadn’t flicked his sign to indicate he was available for a fare. Knowing his luck, he’d end up being snagged by some idiot with a dozen bags who wanted to go to the airport, or even the next town over, which had happened the day before. George wasn’t sure what upset him more—the fact he only got a five-dollar tip, or that Scott hadn’t even noticed he was almost an hour late turning up at his work to collect him.
It's not all bad. George wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. His bear was firmly on Team Scott and couldn’t work out why they didn’t just camp in the demon’s office. George knew he couldn’t handle doing that all day, and besides, Scott never mentioned the possibility, anyway.
Scott was up bright and early every morning, his hair perfect, his suit sharp, and ready to leave for the office by eight.
George was more of a “wake up when I feel like it” and preferred to have three coffees before he made his way out of the house in the morning. That wasn’t possible anymore because… of Scott.
To help his bear feel better about their separation, George offered to take Scott to work every morning and pick him up in the evening instead of Scott using Dakata’s driver. It was a compromise.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for Scott’s need to control every aspect of normal dust everyday living incurred. George found himself heading in the direction of his house and decided it would be a good idea to check on his things. There was no way he could have more than three changes of clothing at Scott’s place… and no, George would never consider Scott’s penthouse his home, even though his mate lived there.
He shook his head, remembering a random comment he’d made three nights before about how it would be nice if he could have a few of his things at Scott’s place. His feet were chilly on Scott’s wooden floor, although it was more of a comfort thing than anything else. It’s not that he needed the slippers—it was the principle the slippers represented.
George wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Scott started hyperventilating, immediately running to his closet, trying to work out how he could create more storage to account for George’s items. At the end of an exhausting hour watching Scott basically fall to pieces, organizing and reorganizing more suits than any man needed to have, George physically pulled him away from the closet, got him on the bed and kissed him senseless. After all that, George ended up with three empty clothes hangers for his clothes.
“It’s not like you need any more clothes,” Scott had said brightly, his eyes still anxious. “I can zap you anything else you need.”
It wasn’t that George wasn’t welcome at Scott’s apartment—he was. Anytime he mentioned perhaps they could stay at his place for a day or two, Scott just shook his head. In his head, George was safer in the penthouse, although George noted—privately, of course—that Scott never seemed to care where he went every day. To the point of not noticing if I’m late.
Parking outside of his house, George felt a pang as he took in the tidy exterior and gardens. He paid one of the local teenagers to take care of his lawns and pull out the odd weed, so from the outside it always looked maintained, even if he was away a week or more.
Making his way up the path, George opened the front door, inhaling deeply as he walked inside, closing the door behind him.
Home. The feeling hit him like a punch to the chest. George made his way over to his huge, plush couch, slumping on the cushions, deliberately throwing a couple of the pillows onto the floor. They looked like a bright invitation to go rolling on his rug, although he knew Scott wouldn’t see things that way.
There was still a hint of Scott’s scent in the air, and George groaned as he rolled around so he was lying on the couch, staring at his ceiling.
Scott can’t help the way he is. You saw the home he grew up in.
Actually, George hadn’t seen much of Scott’s parents’ home at all—he’d been too busy chasing demons down the stairs. Except somehow, in Scott’s mind, he equated his pristine surroundings as his way of having control over his space, of being seen as successful in a chaotic world. George wished his sweet mate could see how he looked in George’s eyes—amazing, successful and so damn sexy when he let go of his anxiety for five minutes. When the demon melted in his arms…
No good thinking about that right now. George glanced at the clock. He still had half an hour to go before he was due to pick Scott up.
I could have a shower.
George closed his eyes and groaned again. The shower was becoming another main point of contention between them. Scott’s shower had glass walls, bright chrome fixtures, and glorious water pressure. In the time George had been staying with his mate, he couldn’t recall one time when he’d had a shower without Scott lurking outside of it, waiting with a spray cleaning bottle and cloth in hand.
“You can come in with me if you like.” George remembered the first time he’d mentioned it. He was always up for sexy times, and the idea of Scott’s wet body pressed up against his was enough to get his cock to perk up. But Scott’s look of absolute horror was the fastest track to droops-ville he’d ever experienced, at least for George’s poor cock.
“The cleaning products will upset your bear’s nose,” Scott had explained, totally getting the wrong idea, as if George’s cock hadn’t been waving at him thirty seconds before. “I can wait until you’re finished.”
And so yeah, any chance George had of just relaxing the stiffness from his muscles, stemming from being in the taxi all day, got lost due to Scott’s horror at water leaving marks on his bright clean surfaces.
Heaving himself off his couch, George went through into his bedroom, smiling ruefully at the half a dozen pillows and cushions still sprinkled across his bed, and into the bathroom.
“Hello, watermarks, my old friend,” he murmured, reaching into his shower and turning on the water. His showerhead wasn’t as powerful as the one at Scott’s place, but it did the job. Shucking off his clothes, smirking at his second mini rebellion for the afternoon, he dropped them on the floor.
George stepped into the spray, turning so that the water pelted on his back. “Ah, yes, this is what I needed.” George sighed as he felt his back muscles relax. He hadn’t realized just how tense he’d become living with Scott.
It wasn’t just the shower or Scott’s uncomfortable couch. It was all the little things, like having to wash and dry his coffee cup every time he used one or making sure his clothes were put in his bag, or the washing hamper the absolute second he took them off. If George didn’t do it, then Scott was there, zipping around behind him and cleaning up after him as if he was an errant toddler. George didn’t like the way that made him feel, but he really wasn’t sure what he could do about it.
I should go and spend some time in the forest tomorrow, let my bear have a run, George decided as he wet his hair and reached for his shampoo. Get some mud between my claws, a few twigs in my fur, and maybe roll around a bit in the grass just because I can.
Shifting was another thing George didn’t like to suggest to his mate he needed to do. Scott wouldn’t say no. He never did. No, the damn man would probably follow me with one of those mini vacs and a brush, trying to keep my fur clean. Chuckling, because George didn’t think Scott was that bad, or at least he hoped not, he washed his hair out and shut off the water.
“My goodness,” he said in a false high tone as he stepped out onto the tiles. “There’s water drips on the floor!” He laughed again at his own nonsense, swiping at his discarded shirt with his foot and smushing the shirt over the drips. “And now it’s clean again.”
Dry and primped as much as George would ever be, he wandered back into his bedroom and pulled out a fresh shirt and pants. I wonder if Scott will even notice I changed my shirt? He checked his reflection in the mirror. His reflection was shaking his head. Unfortunately, for all Scott’s attention to detail when it came to his work and his fastidiousness about keeping the house clean, when it came to his mate, it was as if Scott barely noticed him at all.
“It’s still early days yet.” George saluted his reflection and went through the house again, picking up his keys and heading out the door. Locking up behind himself, George had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t matter how long he and Scott were together, Scott was always going to prefer his pristine living space and his work duties to spending time with his scruffy mate.