Work Text:
My joy
The blood in my veins
My joy
Flows in your name
My joy
You move me.*©
2019, Paris.
*Richard*
Patience has never been one of Richard's virtues, but with time and effort he has managed to get the gist of it, learning mainly from his own mistakes especially when on those occasions when his lack of patience backfired majestically. That is why now he is exercising his every single ounce of this elusive trait – working himself up because of something which most likely doesn't pose a threat to anything, perhaps except in his imagination, would be most unreasonable. It would also be unfair, to Paul, to himself, to the damn photographer and everyone else involved in this tour. So he waits as patiently as he can muster, observing how Mr Jens Koch runs circles around Richard's legitimate partner waging that camera of his, a smile of an eleven-year-old plastered to his face and with a look of a lovestruck idiot in his eyes. Richard has seen that look on other people's faces way too many times for his liking in the period he's been acquainted with Paul, both from women and men, to have come to firmly associate it with the state of being stupidly in love. Sometimes, he wonders if he managed to escape this fate himself. More often, though, he wonders if he still looks at Paul in the same way, too, actually being the main lovestruck idiot here.
Paul is being his radiant self with everyone, the photographer included, as he is posing for pictures and chats amiably with those around. He certainly isn't doing anything to provoke Jens on purpose, but when he is in the mood, his being his grinning self is normally more than enough to make others lose their hearts to him, at least those gullible ones who don't know him personally or well enough to get a taste of his way less pleasant side of personality. As Richard notices with another surge of displeasure, the photographer is apparently about to do just that, start worshipping the ground Paul walks on, as he is watching him depart with a wave of his hand off the main stage towards the small one in the middle of the arena.
Richard doesn't waste time – he's got some urgent business to sort out with Mr Photographer before anyone joins them. He doesn't need long, just a few minutes of privacy to exchange a few words with the man in question so that he wouldn't get all too carried away as he is seemingly planning to do. So Richard briskly walks all the way down to the stage and then makes himself slow down to a leisurely stroll as he comes to a halt beside Jens. Together, they spend a couple of moments just staring out at the panorama of the stadium but, Richard is certain of that, both of them keep Paul, who is chatting to one of the techs, as the focus of their attention.
"It's hard not to fall in love with him, isn't it?" Richard asks nonchalantly, lighting up a cigarette.
To his profound satisfaction, Jens abruptly turns his head away from the by all means attractive sight that Paul makes and pins his eyes to Richard, looking both startled, apprehensive and embarrassed. He opens his mouth to apparently say something to that innuendo but he is certainly rather lost for words, so Richard kindly spares him the necessity to explain himself.
"You're a nice guy, Jens, and I really like working with you," he goes on, finally giving the photographer a direct look in the eye, "and it would be such a shame for everyone if you lost your job in the middle of the tour."
"Richard…" Jens starts, now definitely flabbergasted, but Richard shakes his head silencing him.
"I know that look, Jens, I've seen it loads of times over the years, and all I can do is sympathise," he goes on, genuinely enough, "because a) it is misleading, he can be a sunshine when he wants to, but he's not always like that and will bite your head off without a single pang of conscience if it suits him, and b) whether he's a sunshine or an insufferable pain in the ass, he's mine. Do we have an understanding on that?"
The emotion in Jens's eyes before he replies confirms Richard's suspicions completely, that knowing but still pained and disappointed look one gets when they realise the opportunity has to be passed on, for everyone's benefit. Richard can't quite tell if he is more annoyed with or sorry for the guy, though.
"Sure," Jens says at last and nods.
"Good," Richard nods, too, with relief because it would really be a shame if this situation ended up in an utterly unnecessary mess.
When he turns to leave, the photographer stops him with a tentative hand on his shoulder, looking even more uncomfortable but at the same time apologetic.
"Richard, look, I don't want to cause trouble, honestly. For anyone. I am living the dream right now with you guys and it was never my intention to mess something up. I know you and Paul have a long history; not in detail but it's no secret to anyone here, so I am sorry if I have stirred something up. I'd also appreciate it if you didn't tell my partner about it, guess it's just some fleeting enchantment which will pass sooner rather than later."
"Sure," Richard nods and slaps him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. It was never his intention to actually drag Jens's own companion into this, but if the fear will keep him off Paul, fine, let him think whatever he prefers.
With this, he leaves the hapless photographer to mind his own business and heads in the direction of his own lover. They meet behind the small stage, not really sheltered from anyone's eyes, but it serves Richard just fine at this very moment because what he does next is come so close to Paul their fronts touch and smacks him on the lips with the air of someone who is a lucky owner of the most precious prize in the world. He hopes everyone sees it, too.
*Paul*
"The photographer is smitten with you," Richard murmurs right into his ear, his breath a hot moist touch on his skin, lips brushing against his earring as he speaks, something which never fails to send a pleasant shiver all the way down along Paul's spine, one which results in more shivers and fluttering in other regions of his body. "And I can't even say I really blame him for it."
His hands are a light touch on Paul's shoulders, stroking them and then travelling all the way to his back to pull him closer. Paul doesn't resist, and to hell with anyone who might be in the vicinity and notice something which isn't intended for their eyes. After all, he and Richard have done all they could to practically yell at everyone that they are in love with each other without absolutely having to make an official statement. Besides, most of the stage and truck crew are aware of that anyway, along with a lot of other people who are involved into the tour, so what if they manage to catch a glimpse of two ageing guitarists being a bit too affectionate with each other amidst the empty arena?
Even if the rest of the world were watching the two of them right now, screw it, Paul decides. Being held by Richard in this fashion, as if Paul was his most precious treasure, has always been one of his favourite things and he's not going to deprive himself of the pleasure, so let them all see. The thought brings Paul back down to earth, though, to the matter Richard has just raised.
"He what?" he asks, taken aback, wondering if Richard is speaking about the same photographer Paul is thinking of.
That said, on second thought, he shouldn't perhaps be all that surprised, not with Jens. You would have to be blind not to notice the glances he has been shooting Paul's way since the first day he started to work with them, and the sole reason Paul has done his best to overlook them is perhaps that he isn't particularly fascinated by the idea of having a third party unheedingly or on purpose compromising his and Richard's relationship in any way.
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed?" Richard moves back, to Paul's genuine regret, and raises his eyebrows, his face perfectly expressing that he doesn't buy it.
Paul cannot help but snort.
"Well, he looks like he might be," he admits with a slightly baffled smile and shrugs.
He's not certain what else he could add to this and if the entire thing may or may not spell any kind of trouble.
"Follows you with that camera of his like an overly infatuated puppy," Richard shakes his head, his smile compromised by the beginnings of a mild scowl.
He sounds, of all things, a bit resentful, and that makes the penny drop.
"Is that jealousy I sense?" Paul asks, unable to hide his grin because this is in equal measures flattering and ridiculous.
Having been the subject of Richard's possessive attitude for the past thirty years, even when Richard did his best not to show it, Paul shouldn't perhaps be surprised by such reaction, but then again, being jealous, of all times, now when the two of them seem to be in perfect understanding with one another and quite a bit more than just merely in love?
"Guilty as charged," Richard scoffs meanwhile, lowers his head and actually shakes it ruefully, a little flustered smile plastered to his face.
Then he looks in the direction Jens has disappeared, and the suspicious scowl reappears, which would look amusing if it wasn't also a bit unnerving. Some ludicrous love triangle drama at work is certainly very much uncalled for, they have enough on their plates as it is at the moment, what with all this disguised coming out thing they decided to pull off this summer. It seems to be working both ways, exciting some people and freaking out others, creating a lot of social outcry, too, which wouldn't concern Paul in the slightest – just as he thought it wouldn't – but for the fact of his personal relationship being in the very epicentre of it all. In this sense, he's not all that certain anymore whether bringing his and Richard's relationship into light was one of his brightest ideas, after all. There is no sense in kicking the dead horse, though, what's done is done, and the only thing they can hope for is that they won't have to face the music later.
"Is it why you've been trying to intimidate Jens?" Paul asks with a smile, trying his best to tread with caution in these perilous territories.
"Well, not as much intimidate as to give him a fair warning," Richard huffs. "I really don't have anything against him, he's a good photographer and a nice enough fellow, except when he's on the verge of drooling in your vicinity, and that I do not appreciate all that much. Don't need him to mess anything up here, due to his ignorance or otherwise, not after we fought so hard to get where we are today."
Richard's still looking away, in the direction of the backstage area, as if trying to find the man in question with his eyes. Or perhaps simply trying to avoid looking at Paul. They have studied each other thoroughly enough for Paul to know this talk is very much unlikely to lead to anything even remotely resembling an argument – Richard is way too relaxed and self-assured to actually stoop so low as to make a quarrel out of nothing on the grounds of their photographer's dubiously amorous intentions. Yet, this gives Paul a new understanding – and isn't it funny how there is something new they learn about each other even after three decades of being together – of what it all is about for Richard. He knows Richard treasures this relationship more than most things in his life, and even so, it is still astounding to get yet another confirmation of it.
"You aren't thinking I might have given him the cause to…?" Paul asks, mainly to placate Richard but also wondering if he has unheedingly given Jens some false hope. But that's ridiculous, isn't it? The man has got a family of his own, for god's sake!
This finally manages to draw Richard's eyes back to Paul, and this time, it is his turn to look startled. Good, Paul thinks, relieved.
"You," Richard smiles, and it suddenly lights up his eyes with that irresistible inner warmth, and then goes on, cupping Paul's cheeks in his hands, "the way you are, you don't even have to give anyone the cause. You just… are."
With that enigmatic statement, Richard leans in to place a firm kiss on Paul's mouth, the latter unable to contain a smile at the familiar touch of his lips on his own, tender and promising.
"I told you, much as I'd like to, I can't even blame Jens properly," Richard chuckles. "In his place, I would have been smitten at first sight, too." There's another peck to the tip of Paul's nose, and then he goes on, "And so I was, as a matter of fact."
Paul laughs out in response to this and pulls Richard into a proper hug, tight and intimate, all possible accidental witnesses be damned. At times this whole tour, stressful as it is turning out to be, still seems utterly surreal for the sole fact of this, of so much love and mutual understanding and happiness they have been basking in ever since the turn of the year. Half a year ago, when Paul came to Richard with the most insane proposal of his life, he did hope it would feel good to finally have Richard as his official partner, but, dear god in heaven, he could never have imagined it would bring them so much joy and contentment. Sometimes, he wonders what it will be like when they return back to Berlin once the tour is over, what it will feel like to live with Richard for real, to wake up in a bed which isn't placed in hotel rooms of various layouts and sizes but in an actual home, their home. It used to make him feel somewhat unsettled and apprehensive, but with the way things are turning out now, his concerns are slowly dissipating. If they manage to preserve this affection whilst touring, domestic routine won't be a problem.
So Paul kisses his lover back with twice as much eagerness, almost stupefied by the joy he has been feeling as of late.
"You don't think it's too cruel to let your secret admirer observe all these signs of affection, huh?" Richard teases, arms so tightly wrapped around Paul's shoulders that it is obvious he is not planning on letting him out of his embrace no matter what it might do to the poor secret admirer in question. "It might break his heart."
"Let him see," Paul murmurs against the side of Richard's neck, tightening his hold around his middle briefly. "So that he could understand where things truly belong."
It tears out a bark of genuine laughter out of Richard's mouth, delighted and untroubled, laughter of a man who is happily certain in everything that is taking place and knows it will go on to be just that. And heaven have mercy, Paul loves it when he laughs like this, so he is determined to make him do it on a regular basis, because, look, everything seems to be going perfectly smoothly for the two of them as long as Richard grins at him in this manner.
"How about reminding me where certain things belong, hmm?" he asks meanwhile, that tenderest of smiles he reserves solely for Paul still stretching the corners of his mouth.
"I didn't know you had such short memory," Paul teases. "Must be the age."
"I didn't know you had limits to the number of orgasms you could have per day," Richard deadpans, making Paul literally howl with laughter.
"Oh come on," he still chuckles pulling Richard by the hand towards the exit from the arena, their fingers comfortably intertwined. "Let's go see what could be done about the memory and the limits issue."
At this time of day, they don't have that much time left for various recreational pastimes, but it has never really been a problem for them to be quick and efficient when necessary, so they make do. Late in the afternoon as it is, they still have a chance to go back to the hotel for a while and steal a little more than an hour solely for the two of them, during which Paul proves to Richard where certain things belong – rather successfully, too, if the sounds which leave Richard's mouth and the subsequent beaming smile of contentment which refuses to leave his face is any indication.
He keeps proving it to him afterwards, too, during the concert, as they find each other across the stage, engaging in their discreet unspoken communication; he proves it to him before the boat ride, something Richard doesn't particularly appreciate but stubbornly goes along with because he believes it is a good idea which works well, by holding him and kissing him for everyone to see, especially for the photographer; he proves it to everyone when they sail together, something which they agreed to never do because you don't put all your eggs in one basket; he proves it to the fans and the journalists and the crew during the Ausländer solo and the only reason he doesn't kiss Richard this time is that he is more than certain that he won't be able to stop once he starts, ending up making out with him right on stage, which is not in their plans, and anyway, a hard-on he has been sporting for quite a while is uncomfortable enough to make it even worse – he suspects Richard's state reflects his own in this delicate matter, too; and then Paul proves it by doing something he's so very not into – by posting that video of him and Richard, courtesy of Mr Jens Koch, on Instagram so that those who didn't take the two of them seriously enough could finally reconsider their views.
At the end of the day, when Paul is lying next to Richard in bed, on the verge of drifting into the land of sleep and with Richard's arm thrown over his middle possessively, he very much hopes that everyone finally gets the idea where things truly belong. If they don't even after the tonight's performance – and, hey, it is, of all places, Paris, and the two of them have barely been able to keep away from each other in all possible senses of the word – well, they might never get it anyway.
As it happens, Paul has never been among those trivially romantic people who consider Paris to be the city of love and lovers, rather sticking to the view that it doesn't really matter where you are as long as someone you dearly love is around. Paris is beautiful in some places and stinks in others, and, overall, is just your regular big European city. These past couple of days, however, the ambience of the place indeed must have somehow got under his skin, and under Richard's, too, judging by the lovestruck glances they kept exchanging throughout the entire show and given the extent of their desire for each other. The romanticism seems to still be lingering in the very air this morning as well because Paul wakes up long before his partner, and instead of going back to sleep, he finds himself engaging in yet another ridiculously cliched thing, something which perhaps a man in his fifties isn't quite supposed to be doing.
He is dragged into the world by a nagging ray of sunshine infiltrating through the cracks between the window blinds, warm on his nose and his shoulder, which is pleasant enough, and glaring in his eye, which is not quite so. Wrinkling his nose, Paul rolls over and ends up with his face all but bumping into Richard's bare chest. He blinks at it a few times, as if not quite certain whether he wants to go back to sleep, and thus giving himself a chance to stick his eyelids shut and catch a few more winks, or if he is, after all, rested enough to wake up. The latter proves to be the case as those rebellious eyelids of his refuse to remain closed, so Paul finds himself staring at Richard's regularly rising and falling chest for longer and longer periods of time.
The sight makes him grin to himself – it's not like he has been deprived of regularly witnessing Richard's hairy front as of late to actually become all that overjoyed with seeing it, but for some reason on this particular morning he feels like doing just that, smiling quietly to himself whilst watching Richard breathe peacefully in his sleep.
All worries aside, this tour has been a blast, the acceptance and the welcome and the audience's reaction have surpassed all their expectations, the atmosphere is electrified at every venue they are playing at, the relationships within the band and in the immediate circle around it are miraculously friendly, and that given the fact that they only recently finished recording the album itself. Granted, it has been a while since that, but hey, in the past, it used to take them twice as long to at least be able to see each other's annoying mugs again let alone have as much fun as they are this time around. So Paul smiles to his own heart's content, shifting his position and wriggling higher to recline against the pillow. His still sleepy eyes are drawn to Richard immediately, the only thing worthy of attention in this room, glorious in his early morning debauchedly naked state.
The blanket is entangled somewhere around his legs and hips, leaving his upper body free to feast eyes upon yet creating a bit of an intrigue in the region below his waist. Not that there is much intrigue left for Paul as far as any part of Richard's body is concerned, but the sheet partially draped over him somehow manages to create a delicious illusion of mystery, and it is pleasing for the eye. Paul spends a while doing nothing but watching Richard in his sleep, the entangled dyed mess of dark hair – and oh, boy, someone's gonna have a bad hair day today – the relaxed lines of his face, which aren't as hard anymore as they once used to be, reminding Paul of even older days, more untroubled times when the hard lines hadn't appeared yet and the events which put them there hadn't yet happened. It is good to see them gone, not all of the time but at least at moments like this, so Paul rejoices at the opportunity and watches Richard's serene face half-buried into the pillow with almost hungry attention, also recalling the way his eyes shone at the gig yesterday, radiating so much love and affection it was a challenging task for Paul to stay where he was and try not to screw up the concert. He had to, though, because being as awfully in love as he is, with Richard looking at him in that manner, with his lips so awfully temptingly close, if he had tried to either kiss him or touch him, he wouldn't have been able to stop in time for the life of him. He would just have gone on and kissed his fellow guitarist stupid, snogging him in front of forty thousand people, playing his part and the concert itself and the possible implications be damned.
With a wider smile, Paul skims his fingertips over Richard's temple, brushing a few stray strands of hair off and then tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbone and jaw, in a feather-light caress so as not to wake him up. It doesn't, so he goes on at his leisure, letting his fingers flutter further down along the side of his neck, to his collar bone and over his chest, on its way grazing a nipple ever so lightly. Funnily enough, Richard's body reacts seemingly without his being aware of it, the nipple hardening immediately, which suddenly gives Paul a wickedly good idea. With a sly smile and his teeth sunken into his bottom lip, he goes on with his ministrations, allowing his fingertips brush over Richard's gently heaving stomach and down still, over his hip and to his groin, which is still covered by the light blanket. Paul leaves it where it is for the time being, fondling Richard through the material, the outlines of his cock and balls visible underneath the blanket and by this made even more tempting.
When Richard's pattern of breath changes a little, Paul's mischievous grin brightens up with the sense of accomplishment. Still smiling, he slips down over the mattress, placing fluttery feather-light pecks from Richard's cheek to his shoulder, to his chest, loving the tickling feeling of the coarse hair against his lips and nose and the warmth radiating off his skin, the familiar scent of it evoking myriads of memories, and this time all of them are good ones, the feelings of being home and being wanted and being cared for. A little more excited by the intimacy, Paul doesn't neglect the hardened nipple, giving it a few brushes of his tongue but not lingering there for long – he has got other destinations to reach.
As Richard still seems to be asleep, Paul gently pushes him so that he would roll over onto his back, which he does, his body heavy with sleep but languid and pliant enough for Paul to accomplish it without unnecessary fuss. The blanket still clings to this hips and groin, hiding the most sought part of him from Paul's view, so he carefully frees Richard from it, doing it with such relish as if he were unwrapping a present. Which is not far from the truth, all things considered – their relationship of the past several years, and especially over the past half a year or so, has been nothing short of a gift.
When the cautious unwrapping is done with, with Richard lying prostrated on his back in front of him, glorious in his lack of any clothing whatsoever, Paul comfortably stretches himself on his stomach across the bed and proceeds to the most pleasant part of his morning leisure activity – he takes Richard's soft warm cock into his mouth, the silky skin ever so delicate on his tongue. It is still long before the alarm clock is due to go off, so he is in no hurry, taking his time with this, thoroughly enjoying what he is doing, savouring every passing second of feeling Richard on his lips and his tongue, the sensation of the soft flesh gradually growing less soft and acquiring that stone-hard quality to it, still wonderfully warm and now throbbing lightly as blood is pumped into it. It is only when he brings Richard to his full engorged length that the man himself finally gives a sign of life, emitting a quiet half-formed sigh bordering on a yawn. His hand clumsily comes to rest on the back of Paul's head, stroking it in slow, drowsy motions.
Paul has to suppress yet another smile because it is rather tricky to accomplish both smiling and giving head at the same time, but after a short while he finally has to let Richard's flesh slip out of his mouth, doing it with a smack as obscene as he can make it. He licks his lips and then lets his tongue brush all the way up along the underside of his lover's cock, from his sack to the tip of it, the caress making Richard shudder in response. Now grinning with his sliest grin, Paul crawls on top of Richard, his own morning glory nestling comfortably alongside his partner's, and brings his mouth, all wet and slick and full of Richard's taste, to that of his lover. They kiss lazily for a long while and Paul cannot for the life of him wipe that complacent smirks off his face, even whilst he is very busy responding to Richard's increasingly deep kiss. That is quite a trick to pull off, but he manages that quite successfully, smiling at those minute breaks when they not quite part but when Richard's tongue doesn't persist in trying to find Paul's tonsils.
"How's this for a good morning, huh?" he murmurs at last, both him and Richard a little more than slightly out of breath.
"I love you more than anything, you little wanton creature," Richard whispers in kind, with a sleepy grin of his own, and then laughs as Paul playfully nips at his lip in mock revenge.
Then he wraps his arms around Paul's middle, carefully rolling them both over the expanse of the bed until they end up on their sides, still pressed flush against each other.
"How about keeping on doing what you were doing, but with your dick in my mouth?" Richard asks in a low voice, still sounding drowsy, but his hands are anything but drowsy, sliding along Paul's back, squeezing and kneading in all the right places and as predatory as they have ever been.
He doesn't need to be asked twice – it's been enough of a sweet torment to be waking Richard up in this fashion whilst sporting a boner of his own, so Paul scrambles out of Richard's embrace with a hum of agreement only to end up stretched alongside him once again but with his head buried into Richard's groin this time. And, truth be told, that is a good place to be. He might never get as extraordinarily skilful in terms of giving head as Richard is – and he suspects, it is not even the matter of skill but perhaps of some innate talent, this weird kind of gut feeling, if you will, which Richard has always had, some mysterious inner knowledge when and how to squeeze or lick or tease combined with his passionate and affectionate nature, which altogether make him a perfect lover, for Paul anyway – but he, in his turn, is eager to pleasure Richard to the best of his abilities, and that, thankfully, has always worked well enough if Richard's reaction can be any indication. That said, though, Paul also knows that with them doing it simultaneously, he would be the one to let go of all sense of control first, totally undone by Richard's mouth and hands on him.
This time, there is no unexpected turn of events either – after a while, that divine mouth doing those divine things to him down there becomes way too good, leaving Paul digging his fingers into Richard's thighs and gasping for breath with Richard's cock still in his mouth. All he can do now is allow his lover to lead him on towards the sweet release, minutely thrusting through Richard's accommodating wet lips. The heat and the softness and the pressure of them and the slick touches of his tongue draw a constant string of moans out of Paul's throat, which he muffles around Richard's own cock, now simply letting it rest in his mouth. If nothing else, it must feel pleasant enough for Richard as every time he moans around it, Richard's lips suck him in harder, thus making Paul let out even louder and more desperate noises. And so it goes on, this blessedly vicious circle of mutually induced growing pleasure until there is so much of it and it is so good that Paul simply cannot stand it any longer. He shoots his load into Richard's mouth, the latter holding his hips firmly to prevent him from thrusting his cock all the way down his throat because further would perhaps be humanly impossible, Richard's hands warm and strong on his body, hands which he knows will catch him whenever he fucks something up and falls, the most tender and reliable hands he has ever known.
It is a weird train of thought to be entertaining whilst being in the throes of an orgasm as good as this one, or any orgasm for that matter, but Paul can't help it, the mere feeling of Richard's hands on himself making him come even harder. Jerking against his lover, he hugs him around his hips, his fingers digging into the toned flesh of his buttocks and clinging to them for dear life, as if it were his lifeline and the only thread connecting him with the reality.
Richard's cock is still in his mouth and all Paul can do is let the tip of it slide minutely through the ring of his lips, unable to take him fully inside for the fear of getting too unhinged and allowing his teeth free rein. When his body ceases to ride through the pleasurable spasms of his release, though, Paul takes control of the situation again and urges Richard to roll onto his back. Once he obediently does just that, his hand still lazily milking the last drops of semen out of him, Paul straddles his chest and gets back to business. With his knees on both sides of Richard's body and his mouth working on his cock with renewed vigour, the position he is in offers Richard a nice view of his most private parts, Paul's softening flesh and his testicles mere inches away from Richard's face, and he knows his partner does enjoy the view. When he hears a quivering groan of appreciation, which is accompanied by Richard's hands coming to rest on his buttocks, fingers squeezing the muscle, thumbs drawing caresses against the inner sides of his thighs and occasionally brushing over his swaying balls, Paul would come for the second time if only there was something left in him to shoot with. Instead, his body produces a hollow shudder, but even that feels good, so Paul is determined to give it his best shot to pay Richard back for every single second of bliss he gave him today, last night and on every single night they spent together before.
When Richard comes, he comes with Paul's name on his lips mingled with words of love, something which feels exceptionally rewarding, so Paul haphazardly crawls back on all fours until he collapses into Richard's arms, face nuzzling the side of his throat, lips pressed to his ear with his own love confessions slipping past them in a feverish string of words and kisses. At moments like this, Paul can hardly imagine that there was a time when he shied both from hearing and, god forbid, saying those words as if from a plague, hurting Richard and hurting himself but unable to help it. He has never tried to banish those memories, however, keeping them as a reminder of how much they have managed to overcome together to end up where they are now, in this very bed, on this sunny morning in Paris, not just occasional on-and-off lovers but full-time partners at last, finally loving each other the way they deserve.
"You think Jens got the idea?" Richard asks after a long time of silence which is only broken by the sound of their recovering breathing.
Paul can't quite contain an incredulous huff. "You still can't get him out of your head?"
"Well, I bet he can't get you out of his head. But still?"
"Well, after you told him in so many words to stay away, I reckon one should get the clue," Paul smiles. "Supported it with quite a lot of… let's say, visual evidence yesterday, as well."
Richard turns his head to give Paul a glance, a long and somewhat searching one, then shakes his head and smiles, too, but this time it is suddenly – and, as far as Paul is concerned, rather groundlessly – compromised not precisely by sadness, but by a generous amount of apprehension.
"I just…" he falters and sighs. "We've been through so much to end up where we are now, I just don't feel like having to put up with anyone who's either stupid or insolent enough to try his luck with you in my presence."
"Richard…" Paul mutters. "He's got a partner, you saw them together with your own eyes. Even if he is a little infatuated, well, who wouldn't be in his situation, he's basically working with his childhood heroes. I'm sure he knows his place and isn't going to risk his job and family life for…" he trails off, not even knowing how to put it. 'Affair' sounds utterly ludicrous because it would imply that, somehow, Paul might be even the slightest bit interested in him, which he isn't, so there can be no affair whatsoever, even theoretically.
"I know…" Richard sighs with a smile which now looks just a little embarrassed. "Still can't help myself. He's young and pretty--"
"Jesus, Richard, please?" Paul interrupts him mid-sentence because this is beginning to sound totally off the wall. "He's not that young and not that pretty, and besides, I'd say he is more your type than mine. You know my preferences, and they haven't changed in the past thirty years, so let's leave the photographer out of our bed; he's been involved in way too much as it is to intrude into our bedroom talk as well, huh?"
"That's the best thing I've heard all day," Richard laughs.
"The day has just begun, you jealous fool," Paul chuckles as he snuggles closer to Richard's accommodatingly warm body. "This is the best we've had both in terms of the band and our relationship, compromising either is not in my plans, so I guess if it bothers you that much, or if the guy himself attempts something stupid, he's out of his job. That said, I don't believe he will, he's not an idiot."
"Nah, he seems alright," Richard agrees. "Most of the time anyway."
Then he rolls over to give Paul a brief glance, this time looking appeased, and places a sound smooch on Paul's brow, making the latter laugh out with relief and screw his eyes up with pleasure.
"We're so fucking good together," he murmurs into the top of Paul's head, sounding content, and, hell yes, Paul couldn't agree more.
When they know how to avoid possible confrontations and are on the same wavelength, which they have managed to pull off with flourish as of late, they truly are incredible, the perfect match they were supposed to be right from the very beginning of it all.