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Karl knows the second he sees George’s face.
He just got to North Carolina a few hours ago; he arrived in the afternoon. He’s spending a few nights at Karl’s.
“I miss you,” George had said on the phone, when he called a few days earlier.
“…Master.”
He knows the second he hears his bedroom door creek open, long after they’d decided to go to bed. He can see it in George’s eyes.
“Hi,” the older man says, slipping into Karl’s room and shutting the door behind himself. He doesn’t come closer.
“Hi,” Karl echoes, sitting up against the headboard.
George shifts his weight between his legs, hovering anxiously by the door with his hands clasped together in front of his waist. He keeps looking between Karl’s face and the wall behind him, and Karl thinks it’s because George knows that he knows, and he won’t baby him into spitting the words out. He knows the rules.
After about a minute, the tension seems to get to George. He inhales sharply but breathes out slowly, muttering “Master…” at the tail-end of his exhale.
Karl tuts. “George.” It’s flat, and a warning.
The brunet’s shoulders slump just a fraction. He pads over to the side of Karl’s bed, eyes roaming over his face as he hovers above him, and then he takes a small step back and sinks to his knees.
He places his palms on his knees and bows his head, keeping his back straight. Karl can see him rhythmically flexing and tightening his fingers on his legs, like he wants to fidget but knows he’s supposed to stay still.
It helps Karl get a better grasp on where he’s at, mentally. It’s been quite a bit since they last saw each other, so George hasn’t gotten maintenance in perhaps the longest period of time since he moved to America.
Karl likes listening to words to conceptualize the way people are feeling, but George likes showing and submitting and giving himself over, physically. They’ve learned to compromise, in some ways, but Karl’s had lots of time to understand why George needs what he needs, why he likes what he likes, and why he and Karl work so well together.
He moves slowly, relaxed, as he sits up and turns so his legs dangle over the edge of the bed. There’s so much tension in George’s shoulders.
He examines his posture, the shallow, quick rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his neck all the way down to his fingers. His shoulders are just barely turned inward, something he’d normally be reprimanded for, but something that Karl knows right now isn’t laziness or disobedience.
He isn’t surprised by the tension and strain he finds in George’s body. Like he said, he knew from the second he saw George’s face.
“George,” he says, letting his tone slip into something lower, smoother.
George’s fingers tighten on his legs. “Yes, Master.”
Karl falls easily into a familiar headspace. “How are you feeling?”
The brunet takes a shuddery breath, not moving a fraction despite how obviously he wants to. Karl could make an educated guess at his answer, but he’s been helping George practice describing the sensations in his body, and he’d like for him to try.
“Um—” George starts, the tightness in his shoulders growing, like he’s restraining himself from shifting uncomfortably. “I— anxious, I think. Master.”
“You think?” he prompts.
The brunet inhales sharply. “I’m anxious. A-and like, wound up. There’s this, like… feeling in my chest. I don’t— I don’t know what to call it, but it’s… building up? Like, getting stronger.” He pauses, and then corrects, “Actually, it’s kind of all over my body, not just in my chest. Kind of like… energy, maybe? But it’s, um, uncomfortable. Bad energy.”
Karl nods even though George can’t see his face, still kneeling in front of him.
“Okay. Is there something you need?”
George deflates a little bit, but not like he’s sad. More like he’s giving in.
“Yes, Master,” he answers, his voice going a little softer.
“Tell me what it is.”
The brunet’s hands flex again, and he says, “I need maintenance, please.”
Karl’s head tilts, “Specifics, George.”
He knows the older man hates asking for these things; when he’s not fully submerged in his submission his initial reaction is embarrassment. He gets stuck, filled to the brim by his stressors and anxieties, so wound-up that his skin feels too tight for his body. They’ve found ways to release that pressure together, to get George to a place that he can let go. It allows him to give in, submit, obey, and then finally relax. Karl helps him.
“Um, I think I need, like, the max.”
“Where?”
“My face. Please.”
“You want to be on your knees?” Karl asks, genuinely. “Wanna see my face?”
George sighs, “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Master. To both.”
“Okay,” Karl says, quiet for a moment after. Then he directs, “Can you look at me?”
George raises his head, makes eye contact with Karl. Everything he can’t find the words to explain is illustrated perfectly in his eyes for Karl to see, to understand and make sense of and shoulder as his own. Well, not shoulder as his own — for him to lift from George’s shoulders.
“Hi, George,” he says, loving the way the older man looks up at him like he has all the answers.
“Hi,” he says gently.
“What’s your safeword?” Karl asks, not touching him yet; not doing anything yet.
“Greyscale,” he replies easily.
Karl hums, “Good. And what if you can’t talk?”
George looks like the anticipation is eating away at him, high-strung with a lingering sense of unease and urgency. “Snap my fingers.”
“Good,” Karl repeats, letting a hand fall to George’s grown-out curls to pet over them gently. It doesn’t seem to ease any of the strain in George’s muscles, though his eyes go wide as his face softens out, almost like he could cry from relief.
“Ready?” he checks.
“Yes, Master.”
He lets his hand slide down from George’s hair to his cheek, caressing it softly and taking note of the older man’s raw, bitten lips.
“Take a breath with me,” he instructs, inhaling dramatically to prompt him. They breathe in together deeply, and as they simultaneously begin to exhale, he pulls his hand away from George’s cheek and then back towards it harshly.
The slap knocks the rest of George’s breath from his lungs, the force of it turning his head slightly away from his hand. Karl takes his chin between his thumb and fingers, straightening his head back out. George’s eyes are closed and his lips are parted, the barely-there crease between his eyebrows having melted away.
Karl waits for him to blink his eyes back open, and with a stern tone he says, “George, you know the rules.”
The brunet swallows, and Karl can only assume he’s focused on the warmth surely blooming under the redness on his left cheek. “Sorry, Master.”
He doesn’t respond, but he lets go of his chin in favor of soothing the probable sting to his skin for a moment. “Keep breathing,” he directs, and then he retracts his hand again to land another hard slap on George’s face.
This time, when his head turns with the force of the slap he redirects it himself, and doesn’t let his eyes stay shut for longer than his body’s instinctual reaction. He looks back up at Karl with a spark of something hopeful, thankful, and wanting in his expression, and Karl knows that it’s working. Eventually he’ll slip; the physical pain will result in full submission, and in turn it’ll relieve the internal pain.
He hits George a few more times, each one visibly loosening some of the pressure inside of him. It happens in small amounts, and soon Karl can tell that George was right; he needs more.
He decides to give the left side of his face a break which means he’ll be hitting George with his non-dominant hand. His left arm isn’t as strong or as coordinated, but that’s okay because the inaccuracy will help. This time when his hand collides with George’s face, the heel of his palm rams into the side of his nose. George’s features scrunch into his first wince, but the second he feels the trickle of crimson-red blood start dripping from his nostril down over his lips and chin, his features smooth back out and his pupils visibly expand.
“Okay?” Karl checks.
“Yes, Master. Thank you,” George answers, voice breathy, but unwavering.
Karl inspects him anyway, analyzing the flow of the blood and making sure it isn’t too fast. He doesn’t have that big a head — he knows he isn’t strong enough to seriously injure George by slapping him with his non-dominant hand, but he wouldn’t be properly doing his job if he didn’t check.
George is fine, and Karl’s satisfied. The blood trickles down underneath his chin towards his neck, and Karl can tell by the slightly distant look in his eye that George is focused on the sensation of it. He asks, “Again?” just to be completely sure, and when he receives confirmation, he hits him again.
Sometime during the next couple blows George’s mouth falls open so there’s a small part between his lips, his composure beginning to slacken. Karl gives a few seconds’ pause between each slap so George remembers not to hold his breath, eventually alternating between using his left and right hand.
When the heel of his right hand knocks George’s lip into his teeth and causes a small split in the skin, the older man releases his first whimper. He sucks the lip into his mouth to taste the coppery tang, and he subtly shifts his hips in a way that were Karl anyone else, he’d think was because his legs had fallen asleep.
He knows George, though, and they’ve done this before. He looks down at the older man’s lap and sees the prominent bulge in his sweatpants, straining against the material like he’s been hard for a while now. He ignores it and briefly checks in with him again, and then they continue.
Now, with each hit, George’s eyes grow hazier, a gloss shining over them that means he’s finally really starting to slip. His breathing goes heavy, reaction-time slowing down, features relaxed. After a little longer, one of Karl’s slaps splits George’s top lip on the opposite side from the other, and the brunet whimpers pitifully when the blood drips over the curve of his lip and into the cracks between his teeth. His eyebrows arch in pleasurable pain, and Karl stops to do another full check-in.
He runs his fingers through George’s hair, the older man pushing into the touch like a cat and letting his eyes flutter for a moment.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuine.
George blinks his eyes open, pausing like he’s analyzing the sensations in his body.
“Good,” he says after a moment, still breathing heavily. “Feel good, Master. Thank you.”
He shifts his hips again in a distracted kind of way, which during a regular scene would warrant punishment. But he’s followed all of his rules, and his hands haven’t moved from their position on his knees. Maintenance for George is more than keeping him in his place and reminding him who’s in charge. It’s for George; it’s something he needs, something that helps him. Karl is George’s Dom during maintenance, but these scenes work a little differently than their regular ones.
“Are you hard?” He asks the question even though he already knows the answer so that it doesn’t feel like an accusation.
“Yes, Master, I—”
“That’s okay, George,” he keeps petting his hair and scritching at his scalp. “Do you want to get off?”
He wipes at the blood on George’s chin, but it’s already dried into a darker shade.
He thinks about his answer, wiggling a bit again. “Yes, please,” he decides a few seconds later.
“Okay,” Karl says gently, assessing more of the situation. George is pretty far gone, but he could still slip further. He’s still a bit tense but Karl thinks it’s more because of his arousal than anything else.
He isn’t wearing socks because he was in bed when George sought him out, so the foot that he picks up to lightly rest on George’s lap is bare.
“Do you want to get off like this?” he asks, because he already knows that George can, but wants to give him the choice.
The brunet sighs shakily. “Yes, please. Thank you, Master.”
Karl smiles kindly, watching as the black of George’s pupils swallow up the rest of his irises.
“You did so good, Georgie. I think we’re done, hm?” He emphasizes the question with a thumb dragging over the tender skin of his cheek.
George agrees, “Yes, Master. I feel—” his breath hitches when Karl lets the full weight of his leg fall onto George’s lap. “I feel better. Thank you.”
“Good, Puppy, I’m glad.”
He makes a small noise in his throat at the pet name, and his eyebrows furrow with restraint.
“Go ahead, sweetheart, use my foot to get off.”
George sighs out, “Thank you,” as he starts rutting up into Karl’s foot.
His movements are small and tentative at first, just subtle thrusts upward with his hips. But then he lets his legs fall apart from each other, spreading out to create a ‘V’ between them and directing the weight of Karl’s leg fully onto his aching cock.
He moans, clutching Karl’s calf and speeding up the movement of his hips. He leans forward and pants into the material covering Karl’s leg, fingers digging into the muscle and fucking up into his foot with determination. Karl doesn’t stop running his fingers through his hair, feeling a light layer of sweat begin to form at his hairline.
He shows mercy and presses down a little harder, a moan getting caught in George’s throat with the pressure. The brunet opens his mouth and rests his teeth on Karl’s knee, not biting down, just like it’s something he can’t control.
His moans and whines grow louder as he keeps humping Karl’s foot, pace staggering as he gets closer to his climax. Karl moves the hand in his hair down to rest his fingers underneath his chin, his thumb slipping past his cracked lips to rub along his molars. George moans brokenly, his tongue moving over to seek out the part of him in his mouth, Karl following willingly and letting it rest on the center of George’s wet tongue.
George picks his head up, removing his teeth from Karl’s knee and wrapping his lips around his thumb. He laps at the salt on his skin, eyes completely dazed when he looks up through heavy eyelids at Karl. His tongue goes still and he just suckles lightly on his thumb as his hips move erratically, eyebrows pinching in pleasure as he moans around Karl’s finger. A few moments later his features slacken, mouth falling open around the younger man’s thumb as his eyes go fuzzy and distant, a thin string of drool slipping past his parted lips when Karl retracts his hand.
He wipes George’s saliva off his thumb onto the brunet’s flushed cheek, and then his eyes are squeezing shut and his cock is pulsing underneath Karl’s foot as his orgasm begins.
His moans sound punched-out, his whole body going rigid as he desperately clutches Karl’s leg. His head drops forward while his hips twitch up into him, and Karl can feel the warmth of his release underneath the ball of his foot.
He cums hard and for such a long time; when the high wears off into little shocks of overstimulation he’s breathing heavily and completely slumped over. The front of his sweatpants are wet where his cum seeps through his briefs. When the hands on Karl’s calf go limp, he puts his foot back on the floor and resumes petting over George’s head and neck and shoulders.
He keeps his voice quiet and gentle as he guides the older man up onto shaky knees, as he strips him of his soiled clothes, and as he lays him down on the bed. He whispers hushed reassurances before slipping away to quickly gather what he needs, cooing softly when he returns and begins cleaning the superficial wounds on the brunet’s face.
His hands move with care as he wipes away the dried blood from his face and the sweat from his forehead, his touch soft as he applies Neosporin to the little cuts on his lips. He moves slowly and gently, working his way down with warm washcloths until he’s wiping the cum from his softening dick and the rest of his groin.
When he’s clean and disinfected, Karl guides the sleepy man to roll onto his stomach, and positions a gel ice pack between his cheek and the pillow he’s laying on. He makes sure it reaches his nose, too, and then he presses a chaste kiss between his shoulder blades before tossing the dirty washcloths into his bathroom hamper. He grabs oil from the cabinet and returns to his bedroom, quiet so he doesn’t disturb the peaceful atmosphere.
He sits beside George on the bed and pours some oil into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up before smoothing it along George’s back. He just rubs softly at first, making sure his skin is covered in a thin coat of oil before applying any pressure.
He starts at the bottom of George’s spine near the dimples in his back, working his thumbs over the muscles on either side of his vertebrae. His thumbs move in soothing circles as they make their way up his back, stopping to work over any knots he finds. He tries not to make it hurt, but a particularly tight knot at the base of his neck makes him flinch and squirm, whining. Karl shushes him, comforting as he loosens the knot and moves on to the muscles between his neck and shoulders.
He massages the muscles between his thumbs and fingers, not too harshly, but enough to soften them after holding so much tension. He pushes his thumbs into the muscles at the back of his neck, just enough pressure that it feels good. He rubs up to his skull and back down to the base of his neck, does it a few more times if only for the sighs of relief George lets out.
He moves to gently squeeze and massage his shoulders, and then around his shoulder blades, only stopping once George has gone completely limp, as if he’s melting into the mattress.
He goes to wash his hands and get another clean washcloth, wetting it with warm water and wringing it out. He returns to George and wipes the oil from his skin as best as he can, settling for just chucking the cloth in the direction of the bathroom once he’s finished.
As he stands to dig through his dresser and find cozy clothes for George, he hears the older man heave a deep, relaxed sigh, and it makes him smile. He roots through his drawer until he finds an old, worn-out t-shirt that he knows feels more like a fluffy blanket than a piece of clothing, and chooses a pair of loose boxers to go along with it.
George is barely awake when he nudges him to sit up, moving like his limbs weigh fifty pounds each, languid and tired. Karl pretty much dresses him without any help from the older man himself, and then pulls the comforter back for him to slip underneath. He makes him turn his head so the other side of his face gets some time on the ice pack.
When he’s settled, Karl gathers George’s discarded clothes and throws them into the washing machine along with the contents of the bathroom hamper, picking up the rag he’d tossed onto the ground before. He starts the machine; it’s late enough that when the cycle finishes it won’t sit for too long before he wakes up and can switch the load to the dryer.
He already got ready for bed earlier so he goes straight into bed beside George, moving carefully so he doesn’t jostle him awake. He lays on his back, pulling the blankets up over his chest. Just as he’s settling, he hears a small little whisper from the man beside him, “Thank you.”
He smiles, turning his head to look at George. There’s the tiniest hint of a smile on the brunet’s face, too, his eyes closed and body relaxed, looking peaceful and content and adorable. Karl leans over and kisses his eyebrow.
“You’re welcome, George. Sleep now, okay?”
George hums sleepily in acknowledgement, and Karl can’t help but admire his soft, satisfied features. Drifting asleep is easy with the comforting warmth sitting deep in his stomach, spreading throughout his torso to make sure he never gets cold.
This is for Karl, too. He loves taking care of George more than anything in the world.