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But Christmas Sweaters Don't Really Go With My General Aesthetic of Grumpy and Moody George

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Bob stares in apprehension at the hideous sweater in front of him. It’s bright red, stitched with a pattern of green trees that wraps around the waist, with white sparkly snowflakes sprinkled across the red part. His sight travels upwards to the man holding it. Said man is George, who’s wearing an expression that could only be described as puppy eyes. Bob hugs his perfectly normal, thank you very much, coat around himself a little more tightly, telling himself he won’t cave. George smiles even wider and the expression shifts to something slightly more sinister. Bob takes a step backwards, his eyes widening slightly before George tackles him to the rug. He lands with an oomph, George on top of him.

“George.”

“Yes Bobby?” he says with an innocent expression as if he’s not straddling Bob trying to pull off his coat. Ah well, two could play the game.

“If you wanted to see me naked all you had to do was ask, instead of trying to rip off my clothes.“ George stills for a moment, then swats playfully at his chest, his cheeks aflame, blushing furiously. Their moment is broken when Tom, Jeff, and Roy walk in.

"What did you do to George, Bob?” asks Tom hesitantly.

“Me? I’m the one George is sitting on, shouldn’t you be asking what he did to me?” he says, faking outraged incredulity, “I’m very offended Tommy, I thought we raised you better than this.”

George lets out a slightly breathless laugh, the flush still faintly visible, “Enough chitchat now boys, I’ve got a job to do.” Then he proceeds to pin Bob’s wrists above his head with one hand and use the other to work off the coat buttons.

“Don’t you dare put that thing on me George,” he warns half-heartedly. He bucks upwards, trying to dislodge George, but he just shifts his seat so that Bob can’t move.

“One of you traitors help me,” he whines, but they all just grin at him from their seats on the sofa.

“I dunno Bob,” says Jeff, “I’m rather enjoying the show.” Bob wriggles around a bit more, mainly for show, grumbling under his breath about disloyal friends, and then realizes something that has him suck in a terrified gulp of air. The position suddenly seems a lot less innocent, and he feels heat course through him. Silently willing his body to listen to him, sweat breaks across his forehead and he hopes nobody has noticed. He looks around for an excuse, and finds one in the fireplace nearby.

“George, if I smell any singed hair, I swear, I will kill you.”

“Almost done, love. You know if you had just cooperated this would have been over much faster,” he smiles cheekily.

“Alright fine,” he rolls his eyes, “just let me up.”

As soon as George crawls off him, he’s gone, rising from the floor and escaping as quickly as possible. Or so he wished, because George just grabs at his knees and pulls him back down into his lap.

“I thought I could trust you Bobby,” he fakes an overdramatic sigh, “I guess I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” he can’t help but quip. George just giggles, and finishes wrestling off the coat. Bob shivers in the cool air and George hugs him closer, his chin on his shoulder. His breath catches and for a moment, he’s overwhelmed by the pure love and joy that radiates off George like a beacon. What would he be without him? His distraction causes him though, and George takes the opportunity to yank the sweater down over his head.

“Geroff George!” he struggles, squirming in his lap, where George has just wrestled one arm into one sleeve and is trying to grab the other. His height and position give him an advantage and he succeeds in capturing said arm and forcing it through the sleeve.

“Bob, please stop wriggling,” he says, sounding short of breath. It takes him a second to realize why, and he freezes when he feels it. But then he grins. Payback time.

“You mean like this?” he asks, and grinds down. George lets out an almost whimper but then seems to decide that two can play the game, because he buries his face in the side of Bob’s neck and sucks, his actions hidden by the mop of curls.

“Mm, your hair smells nice.”

It’s Tom who finally realizes what they’re doing.

“You two!” he splutters, “NOT IN THIS CHRISTIAN HOUSE! GO GET A ROOM OR SOMETHING!”

George smiles slyly at him, “Not in this christian house? Or go get a room?”

Tom’s face seems to be trying to the resemble the shade of a tomato, and at this rate, Bob thinks gleefully that he’ll probably succeed. “JUST GET OUT!”

Bob pulls George up by the hand and laughs ecstatically, leading him towards the stairs.

“AND FEEL FREE TO NOT USE MY BEDROOM! I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO BURN MY MATTRESS!” yells Tom after them, with Jeff and Roy laughing hysterically in the background.

The sweater, which had taken so long to put on, is pulled off in less than a second and discarded by George.