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John swore he wouldn’t drink too much this year. George knew right from the start that he was lying.
Ringo tried to argue that John had felt so terrible after what he’d done to Bob Wooler at last years party, there was no way he’d get that trashed again so soon. George knew better, but he gave Ringo the benefit of the doubt for a little while - that was before John heard about the silly little essay contest being held for the party, before he heard about the abnormally large amount of press and Paul-girls that would be in attendance, and before Paul had decided that for the entire week leading up to his actual birthday, he was going to act like a pompous little princess who deserved nothing less than to be waited on by not just the Beatles entourage, but by everyone, including the other members of the band.
In the days leading up to the party, Ringo quickly stopped trying to be optimistic: In fact, it was Rich who turned to George the night beforehand and muttered, “How’s about we all jus’ get fuckin’ wasted?”
George grinned naughtily. "Yeh, an' we'll pick a coupla birds for after. Have our own party?"
With a handshake, George and Ringo vowed to get bladdered, but John still firmly maintained that he wouldn’t be going overboard. “I’ll have a couple,” He scowled, obviously unhappy with his own decision, “but I really ought to behave, jus’ this once..even if the whole thing is a fuckin' drag."
The party, as promised, was press-filled and pitiful: John headed straight for the rolling bar, disregarding all previous promises, and Paul was overreacting to everything in an attempt to poorly mask his complete and utter boredom with the event. Even the corny heart-shaped cake that had been ordered turned out small and sort of dry.
On top of it all, as terribly randy as George felt, he knew he likely didn’t have a shot with any of the girls in the room, all of them far too focused on pleasing the birthday boy - and even then, it seemed like even Paul McCharmly wouldn’t come out of the night with very much luck. Instead, George and Richie passed the time by making a drinking game out of how many pairs of knickers they could spot underneath the girls skirts: a drink when the girl in yellow twill bent over to pick up her napkin, a drink when the girl in beige cashmere crossed her legs a little too fast, a drink when the girl in blue chiffon started to spin while dancing. Soon enough, George could feel the dizziness, the weight of the liquor.
Ringo’s tipsy, glittering hand fell heavily on George’s shoulder as he pointed to a girl dressed in black georgette, smoking all alone in the far corner. George smiled to himself upon giving her a once over - she looked quite a bit like Maureen. Ringo leaned in close: “Think she’d let me get a peek under her skirt? Just a quick dip?”
George snorted and shoved at Ringo playfully. “Do one, then. If she does, bring her back ‘round to our room, give us a turn.” Ringo grinned naughtily at the suggestion. He patted George on the shoulder once, giving him a warm squeeze before he let go and drifted away.
George’s eyes followed Ringo while he haughtily danced over to the girl, whispering in her ear when he arrived by her side. Then his eyes drifted over to the other side of the room to discover John Lennon, smoking all alone with his scotch and coke, a mirror of the girl in black - George made an unabashed B-line for him.
John didn’t seem to see George until he was practically standing right over him, a side effect of both the crowded space and his terrible eyesight. When he did notice George, he huffed out a little laugh, raising his glass in George’s direction in acknowledgment. George grinned boyishly, happily drunk, and whatever look he had on his face made John scrunch up his nose.
“You look like yer havin’ fun,” John said, humored. George grinned even wider, feeling the warmth across his cheeks.
“Tryin’ to,” He replied. “Are you?”
John’s smile faltered a bit at that. “Oh, yeah, havin’ the time of me life!” He spoke a bit louder than he needed to, and he hiccuped at the end of his sentence - George could smell the scotch on his breath from where he stood.
George couldn’t help but poke the bear just a little, feeling tickled. “Thought ye swore ye weren’t gonna get smashed?”
John obnoxiously blew smoke into George’s face as he put out the butt of his ciggie. “Ye, well I thought I would at least get to have a little drink and a chat with the birthday boy, but he’s got other plans, don’t he?”
John tilted his head to the corner and George followed his gaze to see Paul leaning against the wall, surrounded by an array of ravenous girls fighting for his attention. One girl stood only inches from his face, but he didn’t seem to mind the close proximity, blinking all slow and examining her lips carefully while he spoke to her. Another hung off of his arm, tracing his skin with her fingertips and smiling into his shoulder. Yet another stood behind him, playing with his hair and occasionally laughing along with the other girls at whatever Paul was going on about. Besides those three, other girls kept stopping when they walked by just to wave or say a quick word, hoping to steal his attention just for a moment - and Johnny was no different from every one of them. He seethed, shaking as he clutched his drink, and George suddenly realized the danger in the situation.
He reached out and took the glass from John’s hand, gently touching his fingers with his own. “Hey,” He cooed, but John didn’t look at him. He tightened his lips, suddenly feeling a notch more sober than before. “Let’s get us another drink, then we’ll go chat a while, yeh?”
John clenched up his jaw, but nodded softly in agreement. From there, John ripped his eyes away from Paul and followed George like a puppy back to the bar, letting George fill their glasses. George then led John over to the quietest corner of the room and they slid down the wall together, sides pressed to one another. They sat in silence for what felt like a very long time before John finally spoke up.
“Do ye think I’m doomed?”
George twisted up his face. “Wha’s that even mean, Len?”
“I just…” John pursed his lips. “I just wanted to make his birthday better this year. I wanted it to be me.”
George looked over at John, searching his face and only finding shadows. He chewed his lip. “Why's it matter s’much?”
John pulled in a shaking breath and sipped from his glass. “The worst part about what I did to Bob last year,” He started quietly, “Was how Paul reacted.” He sniffed and then wiped his nose on the back of his hand, his eyes looking wet and haunted, staring straight ahead. “I almost killed him, George. Ye saw it. I almost killed him in front of everybody, jus’ for laughin’ at me. An’ Paul acted like that was fine. Like it was normal of me to do.” He shook his head in astonishment, even a full year later. “Jus’ smiled and cleaned up after me.”
John laughed bitterly, still not meeting George’s eyes. He gulped the rest of his drink down without so much as a wince before he continued. “All I could think about for the past month was makin’ it up to him. Repeatin’ what I would do and say in me head, losin’ sleep.” He snorted a bit, drunk and pitiful. “Turns out, all he cares for is gettin’ his cock sucked an’ for the press te touch themselves watchin’ it.”
“He’s a cunt,” George said quickly, cutting. John raised his brows and gave George a sideways glance, his eyes gleaming curiously.
George smiled, all crooked and playful. “An’ he’s soft.” He leaned in close and shoved John with his shoulder just a bit. “You don’t have to make it up to him, he already forgave ye before it even happened. He’d let you get away with murder, y’know, seriously.”
“That’s the problem,” John insisted. He laughed lightly and shook his head a bit. “Ye all let me get away with bloody murder.”
“John. He loves you. We all do.” George didn’t know what else he could say.
After a long moment, John leaned his head on George’s shoulder and closed his eyes, sighing a bit in resignation. “Thanks, Georgie.” After another pause, his eyes fluttered back open and peaked up to meet George’s, all wide and pleading. “Can I sleep with you and Rich tonight? I’ll sleep on the floor, like a good pup.” He nuzzled his head roughly against George’s shoulder, making him chuckle. He nodded and brushed some of John’s hair off of his eyebrows, out of his eyes.
“Course,” He said gently, maybe too soft. “You’ll prob’ly even get to kip in Richie’s bed,” He chuckled, pointing over to where Ringo was still dancing across the room, choking back yet another half glass of Scotch before burying his nose in some blonde bird's hair, but not the same girl in black he had been with before. “Don’t think he’ll make it back to our room at this rate.”
John slid down George’s body, his head landing in his lap. He looked up at George with shining, boyish eyes. “Or I could kip with you. Could use a good cuddle.” He said it in a joking way, all soft, but George knew that he was being serious, knew the way his voice turned when he meant something. He smiled sweetly down at John, who grinned back in faux-innocence.
“Could do,” George’s voice came out quiet and rumbling, not how he’d expected it to sound. He cleared his throat and finished his drink, tearing his eyes away from John before the look in his eyes convinced him to do something silly.
Then, John shot back up off of George and stood swiftly. “Another?” He took George’s glass from his hand, quickly making his way towards the bar. George watched him go and absentmindedly leaned his head back against the wall, pulling his knees back up towards his chest - when he did so, he noticed he was half-hard. He squeezed his eyebrows together and cursed under his breath, shifting his hips to make room. He realized then that bringing John back to his room tonight would kill his already very slim chances of bringing a bird to bed, but the brief disappointment he felt at that realization was quickly quelled by the lingering look Johnny gave him from across the room, playful and burning.
At around 3 in the morning, George had begun to doze off, his head falling repeatedly to John’s shoulder and then jolting back upright again, and John, unbothered by George’s occasional intrusion, was beginning to close his eyes and hum to himself as if singing himself to sleep. Ringo was leaning against the wall humming merrily when his eyes suddenly clouded and his smile slowly dropped. Like molasses, he slid down the wall and fell on his arse, eyes falling closed. He had passed out on his feet.
With that, the party finally dissipated. Paul stood by the door as the girls filed out one by one, shaking hands and giving kisses, saying thank yous. George stood up and instantly stumbled over himself, the world taking a sharp spin - luckily, John was already standing beside him and was narrowly able to help keep him upright. “Ta,” George said, earning little more than a grunt from John. Together, they silently went and lifted Ringo from the ground and laid him out on the bed: George even took the time to slip off his boots while Johnny picked his pockets, coming up with only a loose ciggie, his lighter, and ten bob.
Once they had finished and everyone else had filed out of the room, John and George put their arms around one another for stability and made their way towards the exit. As they stumbled by Paul, he gave them each a slightly disapproving look, and George could feel John bristle. George did feel a bit bad that they had all managed to get shit faced, but he also had to admit that he didn’t quite see why it mattered so much in the first place. They were always getting stupid and shit faced together - why would a birthday be any different?
“Erm, John?” Paul called out as they passed, bringing them to a stop. He sounded a bit timid. “Where are ye off to, then?”
John looked over his shoulder a bit, but didn’t quite meet Paul’s eyes. “Gonna room w’Georgie instead. Easier tha’ way.” His tone was apologetic, but his mouth was in a stern, stubborn line. Paul’s brow furrowed and he folded his arms up over his chest as if he were trying to hold himself, his lips in a pout. John turned quickly and straightened himself up, crossing his arms back in mockery, and George stumbled without John’s extra support. The silence was thick.
“Oh?” Paul said quietly. He took a glance around the room, empty now except for Rich’s snores. George hadn’t noticed until then that Paul hadn’t picked even one girl to stay after with him, but he was too inebriated and honestly disinterested to think further on the detail. When Paul’s eyes came back around to John, he brought a finger to his mouth, chewing on the skin by his nail. He looked overwhelmingly unsure of himself. “Well, y’know, I jus’ thought…”
John laughed horribly, a laugh that could make a person feel ill. “Wha’, ye couldn’t convince any of those poor lovestruck birds to suck on yer cock? Was hopin’ maybe I’d be a mate, do it for ye?” He snarled. Paul paled almost instantly, his eyes growing wide and dark, going cold. He stood up straighter and put his hands in his pockets.
“Wha’s tha’?” Paul said lowly, and John stepped closer to get up in Paul’s face, his shoulders back. Paul pressed forward as well, their chests almost touching as they sized each other up - if something wasn’t done quickly, someone was bound to get hurt, one way or the other.
“John,” George said firmly. Whatever the fuck they were fighting about, it could wait. John huffed and stepped back from Paul. Paul breathed out a slow, even breath from his nose, deflating a bit. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, his face had shifted into something eerily empty.
“No problem, then,” He said with finality, in the tone of a businessman. “I’ll get me and Richie a bath.” He paused and nodded to himself before giving George and John a quick wave and a hard, tight smile. “We’ll see you lads in the morning.”
When the door shut, both John and George just stared at it for a moment. George simply didn’t have it in him to comprehend anything other than his own exhaustion and the slight need to have a piss, but still - seeing Paul like that made his stomach turn.
“Don’t like when he takes that tone,” John mumbled, reading George's mind. He looked to George, his eyes wide - he suddenly looked like a nervous little boy. “D’ye think I did somethin’ bad?”
George was too drunk to stop himself from laughing, and quite loudly. In fact, he laughed so hard he almost fell right over himself. John’s face slowly spread into a matching smile and he began laughing along with George, starting out quiet and ending up in an obnoxious wheeze. Paul could certainly hear them from inside, would likely torture himself about it for the next week or so, but the both of them had already forgotten all about Paul and his pitiful little party as they caught their breath.
They walked together across the hall to the other room, arms wrapped around each other. When they got inside and successfully locked the door, they both fell together onto the closest bed, sighing in unison. They sat still like that for a long while, the threat of sleep looming heavily, but just as John began to softly snore, George grumbled and sat up, a hand pressed over his abdomen.
“‘Hav’ta piss,” George slurred, and John hummed, nodding in agreement. They rolled out of the bed and stumbled together into the hotel bathroom, playfully shoving at one another as they approached the loo and unzipped their trousers.
While they stood there, George shamelessly gazed down at John’s prick, hanging heavy and so close to his own. George didn’t really know why, but he couldn’t help how much it intrigued him to have a peek whenever he could chance it, especially whenever he was inebriated enough to not really think about the consequences. He watched John grip at the root of it as he finished, swore he saw it twitch in his hand when he tapped himself off. When George happened to drag his eyes back up, John was staring him dead in the face, eyebrows pinched together.
John then reached over and grabbed George’s prick, just barely holding it. George’s head swam at the sudden touch and he laughed dizzily, reasoning to himself that it must be one of John’s little games. To retaliate, he reached out and took hold of John’s prick as well. John felt swollen and thick in his hand, and the way his breath hitched, the way his chest stuttered…the air between them shifted so suddenly, George found he couldn’t breathe. The pretense of it being some sort of game dropped instantly. John’s cock twitched against George’s palm, George’s cock twitched in reply, and then the both of them were squeezing and pulling at one another, all slow.
George couldn’t help the way his hips began to rock, couldn’t help the stilted breathy moans coming from him right away. He’d been dying to be touched all night, and the relief of John’s fingers on him was simply undeniable. However, just as suddenly as it had begun, John pulled his hand away and stepped back, forcing George to drop him. A little drunk whine came from George, but John didn’t make a sound. He turned sharply and left the bathroom without a word, leaving George standing there with his half-hard prick bobbing in the open.
George’s first instinct was to finish himself off right there - he wrapped his fingers around himself with a shaky sigh, giving himself a couple of hard tugs and tilting his head back a bit. His vision swam and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling almost a bit sick with need.
Then, John’s voice cut through the air from the other room: “Haaazzza? C’mere!” George groaned, frustrated, but still stuffed his stiff prick back in his jeans, not bothering to button them back up before stumbling out of the bathroom to find John.
John was in the center of the room, his shoes kicked off and his over shirt unbuttoned and untucked. He didn’t look at George as he re-entered the room, keeping his back mostly turned. George took a moment to take his own shoes off, feeling that he must move slowly, carefully, as if not to frighten a feral animal. He even took his socks off, giving John ample time to rabbit back to Paul’s room if he so pleased - his mind couldn’t process any reason for it, but the thick worry that John would run from him now still churned through him as he carefully laid his socks next to his shoes.
After John took a moment to shuck his over shirt off, he took a half empty bottle of champagne Ringo and George had shared the night prior off of the nightstand and took a gulp or two, clinking into various other bottles of scotch, beer, and Coca-Cola. He then handed the bottle to George, who knew he shouldn’t have another drop of alcohol, but who also took a couple of good hard gulps of the stuff anyway.
As he pulled the bottle away from himself, he managed to spill a bit of it down his chin, throat, chest. Champagne soaked the collar of his turtleneck, making him grimace and giggle at once - at the same time, John’s hands were on him, slipping under his shirt. George laughed, sweet and squeaking: he wasn’t really processing what was happening, even though it had happened with them before - all he knew was that John’s hands were tickling him as they felt all over his collarbones, down his sternum, brushing over his nipples. “John,” He giggled out, meaning to ask him what was happening but quickly forgetting the question. His laughter caught in his throat when John’s hands slid from his chest down to his waist, and then wrapped around to grope at his arse over his jeans.
“Want’chye,” John slurred. His breath was hot and wet against George’s neck. He squeezed at George’s arse, pulling him slightly closer. George swallowed thickly, tongue gone heavy, still smiling. If there was anything George really wanted that night, it was a good fuck - and he knew Lennon could provide.
“Yeh?” George huffed, pressing forward so their crotches touched and rubbed against each other. John nodded and caressed the side of George’s face, running his thumb along George’s mouth and pulling in a soft, wet gasp when George instantly started kissing and sucking on the tip of it. George fumbled with John’s trousers as he continued to kiss on John’s thumb, smoothly pulling his belt out of the loops in one motion and tossing it off to the side. John had left his trouser buttons undone as well, which made it far easier and quicker for George to take his belt loops in his fingers and yank the trousers down a bit, followed quickly by John’s y-fronts. Finally, John’s prick hung out once again, more swollen than before and still thickening.
George peeled off his turtleneck quickly and tossed it to the side. He dropped to his knees as steadily as he could manage, only wobbling once on the way down and feeling very thankful that he didn’t keel over in the process. Once he was settled on his heels, George wrapped his fist around John and slowly worked him until he was fully hard, hot, twitching. He gently pulled back John’s foreskin, taking in the sight with heavy eyes before leaning forward and eagerly suckling at the exposed head.
John let out a soft “Ah,” which quickly became a deeper moan as George ducked his head down lower, swallowing up half of John’s cock. He pressed his tongue up against the underside, gently sucking and feeling his own prick throb every time he pulled a little noise out of John. He slowly pulled off to breathe, stroking John’s prick wetly a few times before he leaned back in, greedily stuffing as much of him as he could back down his throat, his hand sliding to grip at John’s hip. The alcohol in his system helped him, and soon enough, George’s nose was being tickled by John’s dark auburn hair, John’s cock stuffed nearly down to his Adam's apple. He simply sat there for a moment, listening to John groan above him, feeling the way his muscles were twitching and tensing. When he did decide to come up for air, he pulled off dreadfully slow, suckling and swallowing and stroking Johnny’s prick with his free hand. When his lips popped off of his cock, John let out a whine that almost made George’s eyes cross.
Continuing eagerly, George licked all around John’s cock and down to his balls, leaving hungry open-mouthed kisses like a trail to follow back later. He continued downward, kissing and sucking on the insides of John’s thighs as John impatiently rocked his hips, dragging his wet cock along George’s cheek, his temple. George was overwhelmingly pleased by the fact that it was easy for him to leave bruises behind on John’s milky skin, and he started to obsessively lick and nibble in the softest areas. He wondered if Paul or the next bird John fucked would see the marks left behind and picture the girl who must’ve left them there, some faceless and nameless bird who had probably done mediocre job - it sent a dangerous fire through him to think how wrong they’d be to assume that.
John’s fingers threaded through his hair, twisting and pulling without even thinking about it, sending little waves of arousal down George’s spine and building in his abdomen. In his excitement, George bit down hard on John’s inner thigh, not really meaning to bite as hard as he did but not feeling the slightest bit sorry about it, either. John let out a half-moan, half-yelp, and it took him a moment before he ripped George off of him by his hair and shoved him back a little, making him rock on his heels and nearly lose his balance. The rocking motion made his world tilt sideways, and he had to blink a couple of times to get the room to turn upright again.
“Tha’ hurt!” The words came out of John sounding like a little boy getting bullied on the schoolyard, and George couldn’t help the drunken giggle that bubbled out of him. John crossed his arms and pouted. “Wha’so funny?”
The grin that spread across George’s face was utterly wicked. “Was jus’ wonderin’ if Paulie’s ever marked ye up, sucked ye like this,” He said plainly, rewarding the way John’s cock kicked up at his words with a messy open-mouthed kiss under the head.
At George’s words, John’s eyes went dark, unfocused. His prick was right pleased, all twitching and red, but dull protective anger lived behind his uncomfortably placid face. Most people were afraid of John when his mood turned; even Paul was sometimes unable to handle him when he got really out of hand. George, however, had always seen straight through John’s facade: John was like a wounded wild animal - dangerous, but just waiting to be tamed. George reached up and squeezed at the base of John’s prick, making John’s eyes roll and pulling a choked moan out of him, and the control that George felt over John in that moment made his own prick weep.
When John recovered, he was panting a bit, hands balled into fists. “Could throttle ye fer sayin’ tha,” He growled thinly.
“G’wed,” George challenged playfully, a wild smile on wet lips.
Without another thought, John’s open palm landed against George’s cheek, hard. George’s head knocked to the side and a small gasp escaped his lips, shaking and stinging him - he had felt the impact in his teeth. He felt his cheek throb with heat and he gasped out a little laugh of disbelief.
When he looked back to John, he saw a sobering fear swimming through his dark eyes. George shook his head reassuringly and smiled, crooked, feeling just a little bit dizzier than before. “Felt good,” He groaned, felt his cock jump. John’s throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed.
“Yeh?” John said it like the breath had been punched out of him. George nodded, prick aching, and he pulled in a slightly shuddering breath.
“Do it again.”
John hesitated, searching George’s eyes for a moment. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He took a deep breath in and reeled his arm back.
His hand landed again, just as hard, and this time George couldn’t help the quiet little whimper that escaped from deep in his throat. He clenched his teeth and flexed his jaw - the aftershocks of the impact sent a pulsing heat straight to his prick that was so strong he couldn’t fully contain himself, and a long and low animalistic growl came from him. “Fuck,” John whispered to himself.
When George finally composed himself enough to at least swallow, he realized he could taste blood. He used his tongue to feel around, finding a split on his upper lip, and the discovery made his balls ache. He spit to the side, full of blood, feeling some of it spray onto his lips and chin.
“Alright?” John breathed. Worry had crept back into his voice, but not as much as before - now, it was covered by a thick layer of curiosity, want. George grinned wickedly, peering up at John through his dark, wet eyelashes. He nodded eagerly, letting his tongue swipe over the split in his lip again.
John smiled. “Good,” He grinned naughtily and gripped his prick, smacking George on the cheek with it and rubbing it along his cheekbone. George took the cue and opened his mouth, letting John press himself back onto his tongue. “Good.”
He rocked his hips slowly, watching his prick slide wetly in and out of George’s mouth. The split on George’s lip was still bleeding steadily, and it left a streak of blood down John’s cock that should’ve repulsed him, but it only did the opposite. While George let his senses be smothered with the scent and taste of blood, sweat, sex, John kept twitching his hips and letting out little gasps above him, “Ah, ah, ah!” Eventually it seemed he just couldn’t be patient anymore, and he began to pump his hips faster, harder, making a noise that sounded somewhere between a pained groan and a laugh.
The sound and feeling of John’s cock slamming into the back of George’s throat was entrancing, like a click track made of wet noise and cut off moans. The click track seemed to hypnotize George and take away any remaining connection to reality, and John’s prick sometimes slipped further down then it was meant to, making George gag and jolt back to life for just a moment. George’s body began to shiver beyond his control, but he kept his hands limp in his lap as if he had forgotten they existed, letting John do all of the work.
Very suddenly, John slipped himself back out of George’s mouth and slapped him one last time with his open hand, much softer than the two before it, but the feeling still sent warm vibrations through George’s whole head, neck, shoulders, down his spine. He swallowed thickly and then swallowed again, pre-come sticking in his throat - the next morning, his throat would be raw.
He looked up at John, their dark eyes boring into one another, daring each other to make the next move. Then, George was quickly being pulled to his feet and spun around, hips slamming into the little table in front of him and making him yelp as the various glass bottles clinked together and threatened to fall. As George’s hands searched for grip, John slid his trousers down and dropped them, pressing up against him from behind and letting his wet prick rub against George’s tailbone, slotted just above his arsehole. The feeling made George instinctually push back, letting out a sigh as his prick finally sprung free, and that feeling made him start to shiver again.
John’s left hand slid up to gently caress George’s throat, holding him steady, while his right hand slid down, squeezing George’s prick. “Lemme fuck ye?” He hissed, “Please, Georgie?”
George pushed himself against John more, arching his back, letting his hole drag against him. “Don’t hav’ta be sweet wif me,” He growled, throat scratching. “Have me h’wever ye’d like.”
John moaned happily and rocked his hips, sliding his prick across George’s arsehole. John’s hand moved up past his throat, slipping over his jaw and grabbing roughly over his mouth for a moment. Then, John’s pointer finger slipped into George’s open lips, quickly followed by the middle finger. George could feel his split lip sliding across John’s fingertips, the dull sting drawing a low groan from him. He lapped at John’s fingers, tracing each guitar callus carefully with his tongue, counting them, losing count, and counting them again. He sucked them just like he had sucked John’s cock: ravenously hungry, yet incredibly patient.
“Taste good?” John asked in a daze. George hummed happily, sweetly, earnestly. John grunted softly in response, apparently unable to muster much else. With his free hand, he dug in the drawer in front of George for what he knew would be there, pleased when he found the little jar of vaseline with relative ease. When he found it, he slipped his fingers back out of George’s mouth, leaving little wet trails back down to his throat. George felt John begin to try and line himself up, and he involuntarily held his breath, tensing slightly. Then John squeezed his slick fingers around George’s hip, a soothing touch that prompted a soft noise of encouragement. John huffed through his nose before he tossed the jar back onto the table and gripped George’s hips with both hands, pressing himself in, the head slipping in slow and smooth.
A guttural noise came from George. “Yeah,” He groaned, trying to force himself down, back, deeper. He leaned his torso forward just a bit to allow more room, pushing himself back on John, who lowed and tried his best to hold George steady.
“M’hurt yerself,” John warned, but it only made George push back with more intent. John briefly lost his grip and slipped in deeper, too quick, causing George to pull in a sharp breath. Still, he didn’t tense up again: he was hot, loose, and it didn’t take much longer for John to slide all the way in, hips to arse.
“Good?” John huffed, his palms hot against George’s hips, his stomach. George nodded and gave his hips a playful wiggle.
“G’wed,” He grinned. John let out one last shaky little breath before he began to rock his hips, having the good grace to start out slow despite their inebriation and George’s teasing. Soon enough, though, the rhythm had picked up to double-time, filling the room with a symphony of drunken moans, whines, and wet skin-on-skin.
John’s fingers slipped back up, across George’s chest, throat, and into George’s mouth. George didn’t have it in him to be as neat and calculated as he had been before - saliva dripped from his bottom lip as he lapped desperately at John’s fingers, a whine in the back of his throat. Greedily enough, George wished dimly that Rich had been able to come back with them so that his mouth could be wrapped around something more substantial, but the thought passed quickly enough when John shoved a third finger into George’s mouth, pulling at his cheek.
His sensitive cock slapped against his stomach repeatedly as John fucked deeper into him, slap, slap, slap. Then, with the proper angling of his hips, John brushed right against the perfect spot, punching the breath out of George. He groaned around John’s fingers, jaw falling completely slack as he quickly came onto his own stomach. John pulled his hand away from George’s mouth, wet fingers dragging down to his cock instead, pulling at it lazily to milk everything he could out of it as George began to stutter and tremble.
When George began to hiss from the overstimulation, John slipped out of him and turned him around. George’s chest and throat were flushed a beautiful red color, and his prick was still pulsing and drooling. His eyes were entirely unfocused, and he was panting for air, looking deliciously dizzy.
John gritted his teeth. “Yer mouth. Now.”
George obeyed quickly, falling to his knees with a hard thud - the bruises he would find there later would only serve to make his prick ache, but wouldn’t remind him of how he got them. He reached up and gave John’s cock a couple of lazy pulls before he leaned in and took the head back onto his tongue, tracing the slit over and over again like a dog getting drops from an empty water dish.
The moment George closed his swollen lips around him, John gripped onto his dark waves of hair tighter and pushed himself all the way in at once, right down George’s throat. George gagged just once, his torso lurching a bit, but he kept his composure and calmed quickly, his whole body going slack. John started fucking steadily into his mouth, down his warm, velvet throat. George swallowed and swallowed, incoherently moaning and gasping around John’s cock, eyes watering up and wetting his lashes.
In just a handful of thrusts, John was coming hard into the back of George’s throat, twitching and squeezing his eyes shut in the moment. He continued to push himself down George’s throat, forcing George to swallow involuntarily a couple of times before he finally sputtered, choking, and John released him, stumbling back a step. Only after George’s mouth was off of him did he start to make noise, little gasps and soft, low whines as he continued to come over George’s chin and chest. George coughed wetly and started to catch his breath, drunkenly palming his own package.
After a beat, John dropped his hand, and George became needle focused on the last bit of come dripping from John’s cock. His focus only broke when John wiped it away with his thumb, a gentle rub right over the slit - then he felt the come dripping from his own jaw, his lips.
George spit out what was left of John’s come and absentmindedly wiped it on the skirt of the bed. He was already almost fully hard again, twitching against his thigh, just from sucking John off. He looked up to see John glaring down at him, dark and brooding and restless, like they had just committed a crime together - which, they had, but still. John looked down at George’s swelling prick and scoffed, a sneer pulling his lip up, but his lust-heavy eyelids betrayed him.
“Whore,” John remarked, a bit of real anger seeping through in his voice. George knew it wasn’t actually him who Johnny was angry with - he was lucky John hadn’t drunkenly called him the wrong name yet - the lust, however, heavy and pulling and needy…George was more than proud to know that that had quite a bit to do with him.
“Wha’s tha’?” George teased, placid and straight faced. He rubbed his palm across his lips, attempting to wipe the come from them, and was a bit surprised to find that he was still bleeding a bit. While he was hyperfocused on the blood he’d wiped from his face, John kneeled down to George’s level and grabbed his chin, pulling his face in close, hot breath on hot breath. He pressed his knee into George’s balls, his sensitive prick, making George falter and pull in a shaking breath.
“Yer a whore,” Johnny spat, just an inch from George’s face, and George felt his cock throb and press needily up against John's knee. He helplessly grinded his hips against John’s leg, feeling his face go all hot with embarrassment, but he couldn’t will himself to stop. He started to pant, nearly started to whine, and then John was on him all over again, his lips on George’s, swallowing any noise he was making. John’s tongue felt for the split in George’s lip, tracing the wound and tasting the blood, the heat.
John’s hand sought out George’s prick, tugging and palming at it blindly. George rolled his hips up into John’s palm, not far from outwardly begging him to keep touching, and John’s fingers finally closed tightly around him. He pulled George’s foreskin back as George thrust his hips into his hand, desperate.
“Love yer cock, Geo, fuck,” John whimpered. He rubbed his thumb over the tip and dragged the thick bead of pre-come there all the way down to the root, where he brushed his thumb up against George’s balls, pressing curiously and making George make a little noise in his throat. Then, he used the slight slickness he had created to help him pump George steadily, his rhythm only slightly drunk, his grip absolute perfection.
George’s head rolled back and hit against the table behind him, his throat exposed, Adam's apple bobbing. “S’good w’yer hands, Johnny, God…”
John perked up at the praise instantly, his eyes shining in a heady way. “Yeah?” He began to move his hand a bit faster, tightening his grip just a bit more to match. The slick sounds coming from George’s cock were only getting louder and louder, and John began to make little breathy whining sounds. “Feels good? Feels so good, luv?”
George groaned - John sounded so desperate. “S’good, incredible,” He cooed, rolling his hips up into John's hand and finding his eyes, doing his best to hold the eye contact. The look in John’s eyes was enough to make him dizzy, forgetful. After only a moment, he was forced to close his eyes tight and turn his head away. “Jesus, John…”
John leaned in then and started to gently kiss at George’s throat, kitten licking his own come off of parts of George’s heated skin. John was moaning against George’s skin as if he were the one being touched, pulling his breath in with sharp little needy gasps.
“So good, so pretty, fuck,” John whispered without even seeming to be aware of himself. When the word “pretty” rolled off of John’s tongue, catching on his slurred scouse accent, George gasped shakily and started to come into John’s palm without warning, hips stuttering upward.
His hand dropped in a desperate search to touch John, finding his trembling stomach and running his hand down to his cock, hot to the touch and pulsing. It only took a couple of slick tugs before John was joining him, come weeping from his swollen prick and down over George’s fist, over his knuckles. He came for a long time, twitching and twitching, and a choked sound came from him when he was finally done, as if the breath had been knocked out of him.
After a stunned couple of moments they let go of each other, webs of come sticking to both of their fingers. John leaned back on his heels, head back as he caught his breath, sweat drenched and looking biblical. George’s eyelids suddenly seemed impossibly heavy, so he let them slip closed, ready to let himself pass out right there, naked on the floor.
Then, John stood with some effort, stumbling a bit. He sat down hard on the bed and fell backwards, going completely still before the bed even stopped squeaking. George sat still for another minute, unwilling to move, but eventually he let out a low groan and dragged himself to his feet as well - he imagined he’d thank himself in the morning if he could actually make it to a bed.
John had already begun to snore gently by the time George got to his feet, come leaking down between those milky thighs and over the marks George had left. George looked down at him and smiled softly - he looked so very innocent when he was sleeping, even dripping with come, wet cock still out and half hard against his thigh.
George assessed his surroundings as best as he could, taking in the sudden stillness, the quiet. He touched the split in his lip gently, noting in the back of his mind that the bleeding had finally stopped. He took the edge of the bedsheets and wiped his face with them, then his chest, then his stomach and sensitive cock, far too out of it to go have a real rinse.
He wasn’t sure what made him decide to do so, but instead of laying in his own bed, he curled up right next to John, once again wishing Rich had made it back to their room for a cuddle. He was comforted by John's body heat, his steady breathing, the familiar smell of him. John didn’t seem to mind: when George woke up the next morning, John’s arms were wrapped tightly around him, his face nuzzled sweetly into the crook of George’s neck.