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“How many people do you believe will watch this new movie of yours?”
“Well my mum wants to see it…”
“So there we go, just one person, George’s mum.”
The lot of reporters laugh easily at that one, but it’s nothing compared to the way Paul laughs at his side, his perfect eyes crinkling and his mouth in a wide grin. Interviews were always a drag, especially when they kept at it with the same questions, but John and the boys found a way to entertain themselves. It became almost a game amongst them to see just how much they could get away with without pissing them off too much. The game was tenfold better when he was sitting next to Paul. His best mate seemed to laugh at any joke he made.
Thankfully only a few questions follow that one, the four cut free from the interview and thrown into the dull but less-so throngs of the press party.
“Sneak outta here?”, John said in Paul’s ear as he bumped his shoulder, the other beaming at the suggestion. He’s just about to nod in agreement before their beloved manager comes out of the shadows behind them and stops any hope of escape with a firm hand on their shoulders.
“Not this time, boys. Just half an hour. Even you two can do that can’t you?”, Brian looks between them.
“Just don’t see the point of it.”, John says unbothered.
“Yes, haven’t we answered enough questions today?”, Paul agrees easily. “If we tell them anymore they’ll know the movie word by word!”
“Just show face and play nice…”, Eppy sighs, giving up the fight. Was no wonder why he was exasperated between the movie, the tour, and wrangling the four of them to these stuffy gatherings. “Actually, there was someone here who wished to meet you, Paul.”
“Some big-wig I’m guessing.”, Paul sighs.
“Why do they all like him so much?”, George says, a small plate of snacks already in hand.
“That’s cause our Macca has a pretty face.”, John swipes one of the snacks off the plate, wagging his eyebrows at Paul which makes the man scoff and elbow him lightly. John laughs at the pout on his face, enjoying the way his cheeks heat a bit.
“Let’s get on with it then…”, Paul resigns himself to his fate, fixing his suit jacket. Their manager brightened at the agreement. At least someone’s having a good night.
“Alright. Play nice, boys. And make sure this one doesn’t escape.”, Their manager nods at John before he puts a hand on Paul’s arm and leads him away through the sea of people.
“As if we wouldn’t help him.”, Ringo says when the man’s back is turned. “Do they even have a good cup of ale here?”
“Doubt it.”, John says, eyeing their surroundings, trying to see if he can catch sight of Paul. He can imagine him now, looking all sweet and playing nice with whoever’s good side Eppy was trying to get the band on. Paul could be a notorious people-pleaser when it came for the good of the band’s image. Somehow he managed to stick out posh people’s terrible behavior rather than walk away from it all. John could never do that, and seeing the people fawn over Paul made his insides twist in horrible knots.
“Oh come on. Aren’t we company enough?”, Ringo muses at the man’s obvious searching.
“Leave off him, Rings. He’s a right grouch when he’s going through Paul-withdrawls.”, George says through a mouthful of food.
“Was looking for drinks.”, John says indignantly, the slight shrugs of the other two telling him that they didn’t believe the lie at all. Thankfully, a waiter holding a plate of glasses of what he hopes is something alcoholic circles nearby, and John makes the mistake of stepping out of the shadows to grab one for himself.
“John Lennon, is it?”, A reporter says hopefully as he shoves himself in his view. John bites back the urge to groan in annoyance as he miserably watches the waiter with the alcohol weave deeper in the crowd.
“No. Just an impersonator.”, He says dryly.
“Oh.” Bloody hell, he can’t be serious.
“...Well we have a bright one here.”, He says after a moment of watching the reporter fumble. He puts him out of his misery. “Only a joke. Have a question?”
“Oh, yes!”, The reporter says relieved, damn near dropping his pen as he hurries to write down the man’s answers. He gives the poor guy a few answers, relieved when he’s satisfied and leaves. He looks around, seeing Ringo smiling and nodding along to some reporter, Eppy at his side.
When he’s sure the two are done he steps closer, risking the line of sight of another reporter to give Eppy a raised, questioning eyebrow.
“Yes, John? I hope you’re not asking to leave just yet…”
“Where’d you drop Macca at?”
“He was having a long chat with someone very interested in the band! No use sticking around.”, Eppy says, pleased with himself.
“Must be someone very loaded then.”, John imitates, Ringo snorting beside him. The two catch an eye of someone with a notepad approaching, and before the two can catch tail, Brian stops them with a hand on their arms, the two stuck with another round of useless questions.
The time drags on, John’s eyes constantly tracing back to his watch. As soon as it hit the thirty minute mark he was making good use of Eppy’s word and heading out of there. A few weak drinks later, and dodging more questions, the time comes for him to make his escape.
After walking around, purposely dodging hopeful approaches, he catches sight of George’s onion-top.
“Oh good. See the others? Time to go-”, John begins hurriedly before he catches sight of the other’s pale demeanor, his thick eyebrows scrunched in a deep worry. John pauses, a calm anger already chilling his bones at whatever had spooked his friend. “What happened?”
“Where is Brian?”, George asks, swallowing. “I’m just- I saw-”
“Saw what?”, John urges, putting a hand on his shoulder before he sees George turn his head, looking past the crowd and into a shadowy little table where a familiar figure laughs nervously. Even from afar John can catch how Paul’s got his ring finger in his mouth, a nervous habit he’s had as long as John knew him. The man is taller than Paul, leaning into his space, his hand clasped on Paul’s shoulder.
“Paul.”, George finally says as John clenches his fists. “He seems plastered! Must have somehow found some good drink. The stuff passed around was like juice. But the man he’s with-”
“I’ll take care of it.”, He says before George can finish.
“Hold on a minute-”
“I said I’ll take care of it.”, John says again, making no room for argument as he begins to make his way through the room. George steps away behind him, probably already finding their manager for damage control, but John can’t find it in himself to care. Not when he draws near and sees the way Paul’s confident demeanor has wilted, his shoulders hunched into himself to try and rid himself of the unwelcome touch. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks, not so unlike the way he would look when John would tease him. It was all wrong.
Nobody should be touching Paul like this. This should be for him alone.
Just as he approaches the table, the man is motioning Paul to stand up, the man’s legs wobbly and depending on the awful hand still branding his shoulder for support. He’s motioning for Paul to walk, plucking the empty glass that Paul is still nimbly holding between his weak fingers. The same glass of shit John has been slinging back in hopes of a drop of a buzz. John’s mouth twists in fury as he approaches them, blocking them from whatever path the man meant to lead them on.
“Sorry, but I’m not interested in leaving…”, Paul is saying, still not realizing that John was standing right there. Dark eyes John loved to get lost in were unfocused, pupils dilated. He shrugs his shoulder, failing to push away the unwelcomed touch. “I don’t feel so good. I should go-”
“I’ll help you out.”
“No, really. I just need to step out.”, Paul protests again, pretty features scrunched when the man still doesn’t take the damn clue. “I don’t need help.”
“Nonsense, you can hardly stand on your own. A pretty thing like you-”
“Get your fuckin’ hands off of him.”, John finally interrupts whatever drivel the man was going to say, voice near shouting and making Paul stumble in surprise.
“John-”, Paul catches his eye, voice lilting in relief.
“Lennon!”, The man greets, smile straining. John could tell just from the gold lined suit he wore and the fancy watches what kind of man this was. One who thinks he could just come and take things that didn’t belong to him. And there his hand was, still on Paul’s damned shoulder as he tried to save his ass. “I was just inviting Mr. McCartney here back to my studios! I really think that your band and my corporation-”
“Let go of him.”, John repeats himself, unable to bring himself to pretend to care when Paul was swaying in place, face flushed red.
“Yes, of course. Only was helping him up-”, The man finally lets go, John quickly standing next to Paul and putting an arm around him, Paul gawking.
“John-”, Paul pipes up, any annoyance at being saved drowned out by the way he was leaning into John like he was the sun himself. Christ, the man felt like a furnace by his side, the warmth of his body seeping through even the suit jackets they wore.
“You gave him something.”, John says, the accusation leaving no room for questioning. “What the hell did you give Paul-!”
“Now, Mr. Lennon, such accusations-”
“Accusations my ass-!”, John shouts before he can finish, swinging as best as he could with Paul still wrapped around his one arm, but before he can hit the bloody bastard right in the face two hands stop his arm, his glare shooting daggers as he turns and sees Ringo and George.
“Hold on, John!”, George is saying.
“You can get in real trouble hitting someone like him-”, Ringo agrees.
“I don’t care who he is, he was trying to take off with Paul! He drugged him!”, John hisses back trying and almost successfully prying his arm out of the two’s grip before a voice almost as enraged as his fills the air.
“Just what is going on here!”, Brian says, standing in between the boys and the man, his usually calm face marred with anger. Poking the man in the chest with a stern finger he glares up at the man. “Just what did you intend to do with McCartney here? If you have given him something you better fess up now before I inform the presses of this.”
“Oh the presses will have a lot to go over once I’m done with him.”, John says, uncaring of the way George and Ringo reel him in. The loud talking of the accursed party dies down at the scene. Before Brian can say something more to try and calm his anger, a pitiful groan leaves Paul’s lips, his head thumping against John’s shoulder and his heavy breath warming the skin of John’s neck where his lips almost touch.
“It’s too hot in here.”, Paul practically whimpers, swallowing heavily as he leans more of his weight against John.
“Paulie-”, John says, pulling him closer against himself on instinct, Paul’s head tucked in the crook of his shoulder.
“He’s as red as a tomato!”, George exclaims, eyes wide in horror. “We should take him to a doctor!”
“I didn’t give him anything!”
“Lie like that again, and everyone at this event will know what you did. In fact, I will personally call every news station, and trust me, they always pick up for me.”, Brian threatens, the words making the bastard pale.
“Alright, alright. Paul here asked for a little pick-me-up. I know how young men are these days. I gave him a little something that would give some pep in his system, that’s all. He won’t die-”, The man fumbles for words.
“As if Paul would ask that from a creep like you-”, Ringo quickly defends his friend, hands letting go of John’s arm as if giving him permission to wail fists on the bastard.
“Just what do you mean by ‘a little pick-me-up’?”, Brian questions.
“Only something that would help his night.”
“And you were going to run off with him! You-!”, John sees red, nearly ready to try and go at him again before Paul picks up his head, cheeks rosy and eyes watery. Despite god-knows-what drug running through his blood and clouding his pretty head he narrows his eyes, using John as an oversized handle to keep himself up straight.
“I don’t care about this man.”, Paul says, his appearance doing little to dampen the coldness of the words. “Tell Epstein what drug you used. And we won’t go public with this.”
“You can’t be serious-!”, John hisses.
“But- We’ll be sure to keep an eye on you. If anything like this happens again, we won’t be afraid to let the press get wind of this.”
“That won’t be necessary-”, The man fumbles.
“Excellent.”, Paul says, pulling himself away from John, legs shaking as they move. “I’m going home. You guys just stay here.”
“Woah, woah!”, Brian says. “Paul this could be serious, we should really take you to get medical attention!”
“And risk a scandal? No thanks.”, Paul scoffs, letting his voice waver when he is sure only the band is listening to him. “This is already embarrassing enough. I just want to go back to the hotel.”
“But Paul-”
“I’ll go with him.”, John pipes up, watching the way Paul’s head lifts up hopefully at the words. “If it was up to me that man would be bleeding out on the floor. But since the princess has decided…I’ll take him home safe and sound.”
“I’ll go with too!”, George says determinedly, looking his friend up and down, as if Paul might fall over any second.
“No, no. John is quite right…If all of us leave at once this scene will extend. We’ll tell them that Paul is not feeling well. Then when everything has calmed, we’ll follow.”
“Then everything’s settled.”, The attacker says, which makes Brian scowl.
“As if-! Before you try and sneak off we will need to talk about this!”, Brian says, before turning to John, face apologetic. “Please get him back safe. Give him water, food. If anything changes, call for a driver to the hospital immediately.”
“I’m right here…”, Paul grumbles, but takes a weary step before leaning against John again.
“Right. Safe and sound.”, John repeats, holding Paul once again and throwing the assailant a sharp glare before he guides Paul to the nearest exit, some nobodys attempting to question their departure and the state of Paul as they leave. He shoves past them, practically pulling Paul to the car.
“Thanks, John.”, Paul mumbles, groaning as they sit in the car, his figure slumping against the door, forehead pressed against the cool surface of the glass immediately.
“Sod off.”, John says back with a slight smile, directing the driver to their hotel’s location. The driver flips on the radio, some ugly soft pop tune flowing through the car and failing to hold a candle to Paul at getting John’s attention. Whatever was in his system was nothing good judging from the way the poor man was sweating and letting out quieted groans, but damn did Paul look good.
The little shivers of his frame and the way his face was stained in red reminded John of all those times he would coax Paul to a room where they were both alone, where John could swallow all of his needy moans and take his warm flesh into his hands.
Just what the hell did Paul have in him to make him like this?
“How does it feel?”, John asks quietly, surprising both Paul and himself with the question. Paul lifts his head from the window like it's a weight, pretty lips parted to take some heavy breaths.
“It feels like…everything’s on fire. My skin tingles and-”
“And?”
“Never mind…”, Paul says miserably, hands shakily folded over his lap. “I just need to sleep this away. Last time I drink anything at these sort of things.”
“That bastard.”, John grumbles, reminded of the cause of all of this. “You shouldn’t have let him go off so scot-free. I hope Brian is giving him a piece of his mind. And fists-”
“It’s not worth it.”
“Not worth it-? He was gonna take off with you!”
“I wouldn’t have let that happen.”, Paul scoffs, about to argue more before he puts his head down, a long groan making John freeze.
“Paul! Are you ok?”, He urges, hand on his shoulder.
“I…I just need to lay down.”, Paul breathes out, head practically down on his knees, obscuring his face from John’s sight. John huffs, not believing the words, but nodding along anyways, unable to face the deep seated fear of Paul actually being sick head on. Paul would be bright and cheery in the morning. He had to be.
The sound of the tires screeching to a stop is like music to John’s ears, his door thrown open quickly so he could run around and open Paul’s. He hauls Paul to his feet, wrapping a hand around his waist to help him up-right. Paul shivers in his hold, burying himself closer against John as if on instinct.
“You’re gonna have to help me out a little here, Paul. Unless you want me carrying you inside.”, The threat is hardly that. He was no stranger to picking up the lad in private. Sure there were a few people milling about, but he didn’t care who saw now with the way Paul was swaying. Even the guards had stopped paying attention to them once they looked them over and saw it was them.
“Do that and you will be the one who needs a doctor, Lennon.” John bites back a smile at the threat, watching as Paul took a few deep breaths before willing his legs to balance and move.
Luckily the lobby is nearly empty as they make it to the elevator, nobody to bother them as they make it to the floor they had paid out. It was empty, a rare opportunity these days. The thought of pinning Paul against the wall right there in the bare hallway pops up in his mind, only interrupted by the man’s pained groan.
“Come on.”, John says gently, leading him to the door of the room the two were sharing. As soon as they’re inside Paul peels himself away, using a shaky arm to hold onto the wall for leverage. John opens his mouth, about to ask if he was ok, if he should actually call the driver back like Brian suggested and race him to the hospital, but nothing can come out with the way his mouth dries at the sight of his friend.
Shivering, Paul groans pitifully, doe eyes shiny and black, long legs shaking and framing the obvious tent in his tight trousers.
“You’re randy.” He says in awe, circling around to get a clear view of Paul.
“It’s whatever he gave me.”, Paul defends tearfully, cherry nose sniffling. Eyes narrowing at the growing smile on John’s face. “It’s not funny.”
“Didn’t say it was.”, John says, stepping closer. He cups Paul’s reddened face in his palms, the skin warm to the touch but still leaning into John’s cooler hands. “You’re desperate for it-”
“It hurts.”, Paul confesses, eyes unfocused, letting John’s thumb smooth over his skin and graze over his wet lips. “Johnny it hurts-”
“Well of course it hurts in those tight trousers.”, John soothes, hands easily moving down to unbutton the shaking man’s suit jacket, arms like putty as John pulls it off of him. He doesn’t even move to stop John as he loosens his tie, pulling it off and undoing the top button of his dress shirt sticking to his skin from sweat. “Let’s get you out of these clothes. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Alright.”, Paul nods quickly, standing there pliantly as John continues the addicting chase of exposing more of the man’s flushed skin. He always loved the look of Paul. From the subtle fat of his chest to the way his waist narrowed to perfect hips and that felt like heaven to hold. John does so in the guise of holding the man up straight before he tugs at Paul’s belt, the slight movement making Paul gasp in need.
“Shh.”, John says amused. “Out of these and you will be fine, ok?”
“Ok.”, Paul agrees, the tips of his ears going red when the metal sound of his belt being undone fills the quiet air, his belt easily slipping out of his loop before John is unbuttoning his pants like a man starved.
“Fucking hell.”, John breathes out when he slips the trousers down, staring at the way Paul’s hard on strains against the thin fabric of his underwear, the fat tip of his cock making a wet stain. Paul’s thighs shake, legs tightening together and framing his confined length perfectly.
“Don’t look at me like that.”, Paul says weakly, a few stray tears falling from his pretty eyes. It only makes Paul look more fragile, more beautiful. “I feel woozy.”
“Let’s lay you down then.”, John finally tears his eyes away from the sight, putting an arm around him and helping him over to the bed. The bed he and John had shared the night before. They didn’t do anything then. They rarely took to fooling around when they were tired from the tour and the movie shoots. An early night to themselves like this was a treat.
Paul lays flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes as his chest heaves. With how feverish he was, John should be picking up the phone and demanding a car be waiting outside to take Paul to get help. He should be. But his feet stayed firmly in place, jaw tightening from how much he was gnashing his teeth.
“I just need sleep.”, Paul is trying to convince himself again, a hand tangling itself in the sheets in a death grip.
“No.”, John says before he can stop himself. Closing the distance between them, he sits next to Paul’s splayed out body, looming over him. Licking his lips, he lets the gears turn in his head. How much longer more would they have to wait for this opportunity again? “You’re on fucking fire, Macca.”
“I know.”, Paul whimpers. “What great help you are.”
“I can help you.”, John says, leaning over him. “Maybe…Maybe finishing this up will get that stuff out of you. It will cool you down.”
“John-”, Paul protests weakly, eyes averting self consciously. John smiles a bit at the display. Paul laid out for him, shy, and wanting. It was too perfect. And to think the bastard was trying to get this view all to himself. He leans down, pressing a kiss against those soft lips, swallowing the little noises from his Paul.
“Shh.”, He says against his lips, enjoying the way the hot little tufts of breath feel on his mouth. “This will help. Trust me.”
“I don’t think-”, Paul tries again but moans when John puts a hand over his length, grabbing him over his underwear and rubbing circles against his wet tip. “John!”
“Look at you.”, John marvels at the man, feeling the stickiness on his hand even with the fabric between them. “You’re so wet-”
“Don’t say that-!”, Paul says indignantly, whining helplessly and rutting his hips to chase the touch when John takes his hand away. “It- It hurts.”
“I know.”, John says, control unraveling as he snakes his hand beneath the briefs, taking a hold of the base of Paul’s hot flesh, pumping it easily in his hand, the slick noises loud in the air as Paul gasps and writhes in his hold. It was a familiar feeling, touching his best mate, watching the man who was always taut from trying to look so pulled together break at the seams. Despite how many times he’s had Paul in his hand, in his mouth, the man was frightened to take it all the way, as if taking it up the ass would be the final nail in the coffin of making him a queer. It never stopped John from trying to convince him, from grabbing him and admiring the view in those tight trousers he always showed himself off in.
The pieces fall into place. It was so obvious. In his desperation, how could Paul say no? All those worries would wash away under the tide of want. Just this one time, and John could convince him just what they were missing. Paul would be begging for it after he had a taste.
“Christ!”, Paul moans at the firm touch, muscles tightening and voice raw. John lets go, biting his lip at the anguished cry that follows from Paul, tears running down his face. “Please, Johnny, I need it-”
“I’m going to take care of it.”, John says, hands pulling the damp fabric down those perfect legs, freeing Paul’s reddened cock completely. He looks at the man as he quickly wrestles off his own clothes, enjoying the way those cloudy eyes widen when he undoes his belt, shucking his pants off.
“I-I’m too out of it to do anything like that.”, Paul says miserably, voice pitching in need as a gasp tears through him. “I can’t-”
“Not gonna ask you to do anything Paulie. Just lay there pretty for me.”, The gentle reassurance of the words makes Paul sink into the sheets, allowing John to move over him, the bed dipping under the weight of the two.
“Alright…”, Paul says distantly, the word all John needed before he leans down, mouthing kisses on Paul’s jaw before he bites at his neck, smiling when the man throws his head back, giving him more room. Usually Paul would tell him off when he’d leave marks, complaining about having to hide them, but now he was wonderfully pliant, letting John bruise his sensitive skin. Maybe now people would leave him alone, see that Paul was already claimed. The thought makes arousal pool in John’s stomach.
It’s almost too easy to gather Paul in his hand and thumb at the mess at his tip until his fingers are slick. He teases the fingers lower, Paul’s body going taut as he circles the wet digit there before pushing it inside and ignoring the sharp exhale Paul makes in surprise.
“John!”, Paul gasps out feverishly, thighs quivering as John fucks the finger in and out of the tight warmth, hissing at the feeling. He adds a second finger, addicted to the heat and the way the muscles ripple, as if begging for more. Whatever protest Paul could have made is fucked out of him, feverish whines of his name all that he can make out. Smiling proudly, John spreads his fingers, scissoring them to the knuckle before he hits something that makes Paul’s leg kick out weakly in surprise, his flushed face dripping with sweat.
Reaching out blindly, Paul takes his cock into his hand, desperately pumping it before John catches his wrist and pulls it away, holding onto it so tightly that John wouldn’t be surprised if there were finger shaped bruises there come morning.
“Hold on.”, He says, stretching a third finger inside of him and focusing his attention on that spot repeatedly, watching the way Paul’s cock throbs red and angry against his stomach. Being in control of the unstoppable force of Paul McCartney, to play him so perfectly until he was a mess, was intoxicating to John. He could never have enough of this. Smiling, he shushes Paul’s crying. “I told you to just lay for me, didn’t I?”
“It hurts-”, Paul whines, leg kicking out and almost hitting John in the shin. John laughs at the pathetic offensive, predatory as he takes in the sight of his gorgeous Paul spread on his fingers, panting for more. It was perfect. Paul was perfect.
“Of course this isn’t enough.”, John says in awe. “You really want it don’t you?”
Paul nods furiously, eyes glassy and red lips parting in a gorgeous moan. “I need you, please John, please.”
“Fuck.”, John groans at the begging, cock hard without even touching it yet. He couldn’t last any longer. Ripping his fingers free, he quickly takes himself into his hand, only giving himself a few short strokes before he lines himself up to Paul’s quivering hole, his tip circling the rim before it catches onto it, John slowly burying himself in the tight heat without warning.
Grasping onto Paul’s hips, he slides deeper and deeper into him, the tightness near painful and heavenly in tandem. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open in the blinding pleasure, but needs to see the bassist’s reaction. And god does he not disappoint, his rose petal mouth opens to let out his moans, his cheeks fever-flushed as he tilts his head back, sweaty hair matted to his forehead as John continues to move, rubbing comforting circles on his hips where his thumbs lay.
It felt better than any bird he fucked, but John can’t find himself to be surprised at the fact. Paul was better at everything. It was like he was made for him. They were made for each other.
“Gonna move.”, John grunts as a warning, hips stuttering at the attempt to stay still in the heat of it. The man barely has any time to get used to the feeling before John sets a ruthless pace, fucking into him hard and chasing that burning feeling in his gut, his taint slapping against he man’s ass at the force of it.
Paul practically wails at the sudden pleasure, hands grabbing up at John’s shoulders, his nails digging crescent shapes into his skin. It does little to deter John’s pace. Panting, he leans down, kissing and sucking more bruises onto the man’s neck, marking the pale skin with his teeth until it’s red and raw.
“I’m gonna-”, Paul pitches out desperately, and John groans, feels the way Paul tightens around him.
“Gonna finish from just my cock alone? Christ, Paul- You were made for this. Don’t even have to touch your little cock, just gotta fill your hole and your moaning for it.”, John babbles, Paul’s eyes widening at the words before he goes impossibly tight around John, wailing as his cock twitched and spilled his seed onto his stomach in waves, John fucking him right through it, not bothering to slow down for even a second.
With the way Paul was milking his cock, he couldn’t help his harsh thrusts, drinking in the way Paul’s moans turn into a mess of begging, his hips twitching as if to move away, but unable to with the hold that keeps him flushed against the sheets. Crimson attacks John’s taste buds as he bites the inside of his cheek, desperately staving off his release to make the pleasure last.
“Never gonna stop doing this. You were made for my cock, princess.”, John hisses, groaning. “Should have been fucking you sooner. You were always holding out on me, but look at you. You always wanted this.”
“John”, Paul barely forms his name through his crying, still clinging to John’s shoulders, tears and snot making a mess of his pretty face as he trembles from the stimulation, his cock twitching to life again with the help of the drug still burning inside of him.
He presses kisses over his trembling lips, biting them raw and catching onto those pretty cries as he fucks deep into him, his release so close that his body burns. Reaching between them, he takes Paul’s weeping member into his hand, pumping it back to full hardness, ignoring the way Paul cries and shakes against him. Pushing inside to the hilt and rutting there, John moans deeply as he releases, cock twitching deep inside, claiming Paul so wholly. It only takes a twist of his hand for Paul to follow, pretty eyes rolling back as his cock spills into John’s hand, tightening once more around John which makes the man groan and give a few more rolls of the hips, milking out the last of his release.
Slowly, he pulls himself out, eyes drawn to the way his release drips from the hole. Swallowing, he wills himself to calm down. With the way Paul was boneless on the bed, he thinks one more round might kill him. He smiles at the man, feeling on cloud-nine as he reaches out and pushes the man’s sweaty bangs away from his face.
Paul grimaces at the touch, damp eyelashes barely parted as he looks up at John, chest heaving to catch his breath. He looked perfect. John’s heart ached at the fact he owned Paul in a way no one ever had. The room dimly lit by the bedside lamp seemed to glow.
“Told you it would help.”, John grins, running a hand up and down the smooth skin of the man’s thigh, pinching it lightly out of habit which makes Paul squirm tiredly. John laughs at the display, not surprised when those sleepy eyes blink so slowly that they hardly stay open. “And here I thought you had the stamina of a bull.”
“Oh shut up.”, Paul grumbles, voice wrecked and nose sniffling as he catches his bearings, thighs squeezing together lazily. John laughs softly at the attitude, the Paul as he knows him shining through. Leaning down he presses a kiss over his lips.
“Knew you would like it.”, He teases.
“Didn’t have much choice now did I.”, Paul says tiredly, pausing before he kisses back weakly, eyes still closed. Humming, John pulls away, standing up and finding a cloth, wetting it with warm water before going back dutifully to the bedside.
He smiles at the site of Paul fast asleep, the redness still staining his cheeks but looking less severe than when they first arrived. Softly, he cleans him, admiring the perfect curves of his partner as he wipes the stickiness off of him, admittedly going slow as he put two of his fingers inside the sleeping body, drawing his release out of the man which made him whimper and twitch in his sleep.
It would be so easy to draw his legs apart, to let Paul rest his pretty head as he went between them and had his way again. He rolls the idea in his mind, almost ready to throw the towel aside before he hears the shrill ring of the telephone pierce the quiet air.
Cursing, he stands, running over to the phone and picking it up before it had any chance to rouse the sleeping man.
“Hello?”, He tries to hide his annoyance.
“Oh good, John. How is Paul?”, Brian questions on the other side. “Sorry for taking so long. We will be on our way back now. Is everything ok? Does he still have a temperature?”
“Yes, yes, he’s fine.”, John quickly quiets the man’s worry. “Tuckered out as soon as we got here.”
“Oh thank god.”, Brian breathes out. “The side effects that horrible man described…I was terribly worried.”
“No, nothing to worry about.”, John smiles to himself knowingly. “Took care of him.”
“Excellent. I don’t know what Paul would do without you.”, Brian says softly. “You boys always take care of each other.”
“Of course.”, John says naturally. He thinks about the tears in Paul’s eyes when they first arrived, the way his body was aching from need. He could have just left him there, tucked him into bed and denied him. Of course John had to have been the one to help, to give him what he needed. It’s how they’ve always been. It was only natural.
“Brian.”, John says, an idea blooming into his mind. “Just what was the name of the drug he gave Paul?”