#...or is he

George is dying.

Well, he is dying if dying feels like having your childhood idol's warmth resting against your back with his beautifully tattooed, thick fingers stroking your wet cock and having his mouth press kisses along your neck. All the while making sure your gaze never strays from the mirror facing the debauched and lewd image you both make.

So yes, George Russell is officially dying.

"Sweetheart, stop thinking," Lewis whispers as he brings his lips closer to George's ear. "Keep your eyes and mind to me. Just like your cock is focused on me, hm?"

George gasps —throwing his neck to the side— and writhes in Lewis' grip as a thumb presses against his slit. "Shit, Lewis...please," George begs as the thumb swipes once more at the top of his head. George clenches his hands hard where they are resting on Lewis' thighs that are bracketing him.

Lewis lifts his hand that was across George's waist to his chin, redirecting George's face to the mirror. "I said keep your eyes on me, George. I'll stop this if you don't. Do you understand?"

George quickly nods and flits his eyes back to the mirror, the reflection of Lewis looking back at him and his body desperate for the older man makes his cock twitch. Lewis places his arm back around George's waist and resumes in exploring George's cock.

"Your pretty cock is so wet, Georgie. It's just for me though, right?" Lewis tightens his hold and strokes tightly and slowly. Twisting his right hand on the upstroke and squeezing on the downstroke. "Spilling all over my hand...slicking up like a cunt, all for me," George bites his lip to cover his whines as Lewis continues his torture.

"Let it out, sweetheart. I want to hear you," Lewis says as he sees George holding himself back. George tries to control himself for a few more seconds until Lewis suddenly speeds his hand up and down.

George cries out, pushing against the arm holding him back down. "I told you George, I want every bit of you. That includes your noises." Then, Lewis stops and tightens his grip to hold George off from coming.

"Please, Lewis —fuck— please," George pants as he keeps his pleading, Bambi eyes on Lewis' lustful, dark eyes on the mirror. "I need to come please."

Lewis lets his tight hold go and keeps his hand lightly stroking along George's length. "You keep begging me to come when you can't even follow simple rules," Lewis tsks.

George whimpers as he feels Lewis' nails bite on his waist for a brief second. "Fine. I'll let you come." George's eyes filled with delight. "By yourself," Lewis interjects.

George's heart dropped.

Well, you see. The reason why George is even in a sexual situation with his childhood idol is because he cannot come.

By himself.

In some type of accidental-but-intentional situation in his drivers room, George moaned out Lewis' name and Lewis clearly overheard. Then he learned about George's predicament. Which then somehow ended up to this, George resting against his childhood idol's warm chest, his poor weeping cock out, and both of them facing the direction of the large ass mirror in Lewis' expensive hotel room.