John's point of view
Rating: NC-17 for sexual situations and language
"You're a fucking liar!" George sputtered with accompanying laughter, nearly doubled over from it.
Really.
It almost bothered me that he was so amused by what I was telling him, but at least he hadn't ridiculed and taunted me about it. He's not the type to be too provoking, but he has his moments.
"I swear it on my life, you ponce." I couldn't hold a straight face myself, thinking about how my confession must've sounded.
It was rather gross when you said it out loud and thought about what it truly implied, but at the time it happened I just went with it, wanting to know how different it might've felt. And feel different it most certainly fucking did, but I'm not sure if I could ever let something like that occur again.
After last night's concert we all had brought a girl back to the hotel, and who would've guessed what sort of naughty things that busty brunette I chose was in to. Christ.
"I can't believe this, this is gold. I can't wait until the others -"
"You will not tell the others." I hissed, grabbing ahold of his shirt collar.
He looked at me with a sly grin, and I knew I couldn't count on him to keep this to himself.
"The only reason you know is because you an' your bird were in the same room, and I thought I could trust you to share this.. experience. But apparently instead I'll have to let them all know about your little mishap last month..."
"No! No, that's not necessary. Paul and Ritchie won't find out."
"Find out about what?" Called a sleepy voice from the next room over, and I felt a spike of fear when the bedroom door opened and Paul was standing on the other side of it, dressed in only his underwear and a white T-shirt.
His and Ringo's room was adjoined with ours, there was no doubt that he could have possibly overheard us all this time. He looked sort of funny to me standing there, holding his toothbrush in front of his mouth, eyebrows raised in a questioning expression.
"John has had quite the experience, y'know." George said nonchalantly, walking over to his suitcase and unzipping it.
We never really took the time to unpack everything we might need, it got extremely tedious after a while, so it wasn't unusual enough for Paul to realize that George was only doing that to be a good distance away from me. It was smart of him, too, because when he was on the other side of the room I was less likely to thump him right on the head, the bastard.
"Has he? And he's keepin' it a secret, too, hm?" Paul asked, as I stared at him with what I hoped to be a threatening, unemotional look.
Pretentious Ponce.
"It's not suited for your young ears, Paul."
"Then why does George get to know?"
He reminded me of a bratty toddler trying to get his way, with his slumped shoulders and sour expression. I truly didn't want him to know - if I told him he may get the wrong idea from it, might think that I'm hinting around at something that could never be.
It would sound awfully shady, especially after that not-so-heterosexual encounter I had brought upon him back when we were in Houston. But that's another story entirely.
The gears of my mind were turning relentlessly, while he continued brushing his teeth - until finally there was a click.
"Because, Geo here saw the whole thing. If you would've roomed with me instead you would've known." I decided on this excuse because it veered the conversation towards a different, less dangerous matter.
But then I saw his defenses come up without warning; his back straightening, eyes hardening. I wondered briefly what I had said or done wrong, we were only having a civil conversation is all.
"That's just it, isn't it? Whoever happens to be there at the time?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You're so thick headed. If I'd have to room with you to hear about your perverted little tales, I could care less about them. I think I like our current arrangement." And with that, accompanied of course by a pissy expression and a huff of annoyance, he shut the door practically in my face.
How had that gone so wrong?
"He's a bloody child. What the hell?" I turn to George, who looked as confused, if not more, as I felt. The younger man slammed his suitcase shut and shrugged his narrow shoulders, eyes wide and alert.
I couldn't be bothered by how this whole thing affected him though, not when Paul had just told me he didn't want to room with me anymore. Was it because I kissed him when we had been in that shitty hotel in Texas?
Yeah, right. Trying to force your tongue down your best mate's throat while you're drunk is slightly different than kissing.
I pushed those thoughts away as fast as they appeared. I did not need the image of Paul paler than I've ever seen him and hunched over a toilet bowel right now. Still can't believe the fucking wanker had to vomit after I did that, but at least he had the good grace to apologize for reacting that way.
I only tried to tell myself if was because he had consumed too much alcohol as well, and smiled weakly as I helped him to bed.
Those kind of thoughts made me more confused than I'd ever like to be about myself, because after seeing that and knowing how rancid the smell of his breath had been afterwards, I'd still let him do whatever he wanted with me. I was screwed.
"Have you two been having rows lately?" George questioned as I sat down on the edge of my mattress, a sinking feeling sort of tugging at my stomach. Maybe I should forget the whole thing.
Paul isn't queer. He isn't even...whatever I must be. Because I'm certainly not queer either.
"No. I don't know what his bloody problem is."
"Want me to talk to him?"
"Don't fuss over it, Harrison. If he wants to act so childish, let him." I mutter, a permanent scowl now etched on my face.
-
Thirty minutes had passed and I was now laid up in bed with the beginnings of a headache thumping my skull, pulsating terribly behind my temples. Every now and then George would scuttle in quietly, getting a shirt or a comb or whatever else he required before heading back into the single bathroom, obviously getting ready to go somewhere.
I was too bothered to ask where, or if the others were going, or if he bloody ever planned on asking me to come along.
Perhaps he thought I was in too much of a pissy mood, too much of a downer.
It was maybe ten more minutes when Ringo stopped by the door, peering into the room with an ever-present grin plastered on him.
"Hey, fancy a day out on the town?" He asked, and I snickered inwardly at his black sunglasses perched on that honker of a nose. But on the outside, I merely pressed my lips together thinly and assessed the situation; knowing I needed to keep up the act of being horribly upset for Paul's benefit.
The painful hammering was getting worse, more insistent. Headaches are an absolute bitch.
"Just us an' George?" I respond hopefully.
"No, well, Paul too, of course."
"Oh. No thanks." I deadpanned, rolling onto my side and burrowing under the covers deeper into the warm, dark abyss of soft fabric and fluttered eyelids.
Maybe when they get back Paul will be acting like less of a whiny brat and actually tell me why he's being such a dramatic ponce over this.
With that thought in mind, I allow myself to have a small nap while they are gone, my arms wrapping around the comfy pillow next to me and hugging it close to my body. Before I drifted off, I heard the slamming of the front door and ringing laughter echoing through the halls.
-
I slept lightly during the time they were away, waking up multiple times and barely sleeping when I managed to stop tossing and turning on the white, linen sheets.
The light from the window was too distracting, and it sadly only had thin curtains, no blinds to block it from my view. So I only laid there, staring into nothing and hearing my stomach growl like a wild animal, not sure if it was too late for breakfast or too early for lunch, but I knew I was absolutely famished.
After I had continued to lay in silence, focusing my attention on something else, anything else, I heard the doorknob being unlocked with a metallic clink, and suddenly my hunger subsided. They were back.
Having to brace myself, I decided to pull myself up into a sitting position and fumbled around at the nightstand before finding my glasses and slipping them on. If we have a row, Paul would at least have the courtesy not to punch me in the face with them on, I thought dryly.
I heard footsteps, light and careful, and they stopped at the door I was staring at bleakly. I heard someone clear their throat on the other side of it. Hairs rose on the back of my neck at the soft, lovely voice.
"John, lemme come in?" He asked, and I bit gently on my lip.
"No one's stoppin' you." I replied, and surprisingly, there was no more edge to my tone, only calmness.
The door creaked open and he slid in through the small space he'd created, shutting it immediately behind him. It didn't get past me, how he slyly reached behind him to lock it. I wanted to ask why, but feared looking eager or getting the wrong idea.
He looked like a small dog, sulking and scolded, tail between his legs as he walked over to the bed, perching lightly on the edge of it.
"I'm not upset anymore..if you'd like to.. y'know, talk or something.." I offered quietly, resisting the urge to pull him into my arms, hold him for the second time in my life and kiss his hair and make him smile.
Not queer.
He shrugged his shoulders and even though I could only see the back of his head, I knew what those puppy dog eyes are looking like, all sad and honest. I hate fighting with him.
"Why didn't you tell me what happened this morning?" He asked, and I frowned slightly.
"That girl I brought back, she uh.. She wasn't the most innocent thing around. And, um, she did some things that I never would have thought felt good, but they did, and.. It would sound awfully suggestive if I told you.." I turned my head, not able to look at him as I spoke.
It was so easy to tell George, but that's only because I didn't accidentally sometimes have feelings about George, I knew he would just see it how it was. But Paul - he's different. That's just how it is.
"How would it be suggestive?" He turned to face me on the bed, perched over me as I had sunk back down to the mattress and he was staring, hazel eyes shimmering and blinking rapidly and his tongue grazing absentmindedly over his lower lip and fuck, if I didn't want to kiss him right then and there.
He knew he was teasing, he fucking knew it. All wide eyed, innocent.
"I don't want you getting the wrong ideas." I whisper, lying straight through my teeth.
"Just tell me. Please." His hand comes to rest on my upper arm, insistent and curious.
Well, I thought, here goes your masculinity. Throwing it away over some ridiculous crush.
"She fucked me. With her fingers." I stared right as him as I said that, feeling now daring and untouchable, his parted lips voicing his surprise and slight discontent.
I grinned, wondering what responses I could provoke with a little detail, nudging his side his my foot almost playfully.
"She was in the middle of suckin' me off, her hands roaming over my thighs and stomach." My voice comes out quiet, a little purposefully ragged. Intentionally sexual in the hopes that I could get Paul all worked up so that he understands it was a good feeling and that I certainly wasn't queer for thinking so.
"And she started groping at me arse, and I didn't complain so as long she kept that mouth of hers nice and tight on my prick. It was so good Paul, the way she sucked. I couldn't bloody keep quiet, much to George's appreciation I'm sure." I let my hands reach out and suddenly I'm running my fingers over his shirt collar, curling them around the fabric and letting them brush against the warm, flushed skin of his neck.
I felt a nearly giddy grin on my lips, having succeeded in getting him at least a little randy. His pupils were widened, breathing slightly faster. He did push my hand away though, and I used it instead to adjust my glasses.
"Just get to the point, John." He mumbled, tense and strained.
I nodded, lowering my eyes and speaking slower, more deliberately.
"It felt like someone had set my insides on fire, but in the best bloody way possible. There's this place inside you, this little pleasure spot, and every time her fingers rubbed against it I was shaking and moaning and buckin' my hips like fucking crazy. I needed more, always more, always harder.."
I emphasize the word 'harder', letting it roll off of my tongue with the consistency of thick honey, once again attempting to touch him. I ran my fingers over his knee, getting close to his thigh and squeezing lightly.
He spoke up, voice shaken as he determinedly kept his eyes away from my general direction.
"It - it didn't hurt?" He questioned, and I almost groaned when I saw his chubby lip wobble uncertainly.
"She made me suck on 'em first, so it'd be nice and smooth, wet." I whispered, running my hand up and down his leg once again, wondering how it had all led to this.
I was talking filthily with my best mate, trying to fucking seduce him, for fuck's sake. I wanted him.
"Oh." He breathed out heavily, watching my hand as I tried to slowly make my way farther up, wanting to touch him through his trousers and know that he was aroused because of me, and only me.
When I actually got to that point though, I wasn't expecting him to whimper and tense up like he did, squeezing his eyes shut.
I must have surprised him.
It wasn't every day that your best friend decided to feel you up in a hotel bedroom.
"It felt good, you said?" He asked after he recovered from that slight outburst, an embarrassed blush reddening his cheeks and ears.
I nodded, pressing the palm of my hand against his pants, earning a quiet hiss of appreciation.
"Fuck, yeah it did. Best orgasm of my life, Paul."
He was still hovered over me, making my actions clumsy and a little awkward from this angle. I became impatient with the disadvantage I was having and pulled his arm out from under him, hearing him land on the bed with a padded thud. He gasped and rolled over onto his back, allowing me to see his chest moving rapidly beneath his shirt with a struggle to breath correctly.
I needed him bad, wanted to hear him moan and cry out and lose all of his tight-arsed bossy prick control that he held so well.
"What are we doing?" He mumbled, closing his eyes as his body fought off tremors, and when I cupped his cheek it felt hot to the touch.
"Oh Paulie.." He opened his eyes at the sound of his name and I saw his pupils dilated, hazel irises igniting flames in my chest.
"We're just getting off, that's all. Just pretend it's one of those wanking circles we used to have and shimmy out of those trousers, now, c'mon." I quietly urged him, unbuttoning his pants quickly.
He fell silent but didn't become distant, like I feared. Soon his clothes were shed and I had a naked, willing Paul McCartney at my fingertips. I bet all those teenage fans with their shrieking and yelling would sell off their own family to be in my current position.
That boy had hair in places I'd never imagined hair being, blemishes and imperfections I had never noticed.
"Can I show you?" I asked, my voice surprisingly even and focused.
My cock was throbbing with a desperate need, restrained by my clothing that it pressed against firmly. My saliva pooled in my mouth at the sight of him laying there, bare and unsure, lips twitching as he tried to speak.
"Show me what?"
"How it felt when she did that. How insane that fucking pleasure is."
"John..I can't just.."
"You can, really. It's not like I'll tell anyone, I swear on my bloody life, Paul."
He kept his legs pressed together, a soft sigh leaving his lips. My heart leapt up to my throat when I saw the wetness in the corner of his eyes, but said nothing of it, instead chanting an aroused, needy plea in my mind.
Let me touch you, let me feel you, please Paul, fucking hell..
"Why is it so important to you, huh? Why does it matter if I enjoy that kind of feeling? Why me?"
"Just shut the hell up and enjoy something for once in your goddamn life!"
I say frustratedly, annoyed that he couldn't see that there was no reason for it to be any other person. He's the one I bloody cared about, the one I'd sacrifice my comfort for to bring him contentedness.
The realization struck me just before I could verbalize this though, a tiny voice at the back of my head telling me that no, Paul did not know this.
I wasn't about to tell him either, didn't want to bring my feelings for him out in a time like this. He was staring at me expectantly, but his lips looked as though they were trying to form words, eyebrows drawn together in contempt.
I wouldn't blame him if he was pissed, of course, of course he didn't know.
Shit.
"I'm sorry.. Fuck. I ruined it, didn't I?"
I ran a hand nervously through my auburn locks, feeling slightly hollow as Paul blinked up at me and slowly shook his head, causing hair to fall to his eyes, casting shadows that made him seem older than he was. He became mute, swallowing thick emotion down his throat as he parted his thighs slowly, his gaze downcast.
"I just don't understand why you kissed me the other day, 's all. It's messin' with me. I'm sorry." He mumbled.
"Paul? You're my best mate, yeah?"
"Of course, Johnny.."
"Then just let me, just this once, and I'll explain it all soon, luv." I whispered, resting my hand on his chest.
He relaxed under my palm and that meant more to me at that moment than anything else could, the fact that he could trust me to do this.
-
His skin was fire.
Somewhere along the line of lustful touching and caressing and tasting, our lips had met. I hadn't expected him to grace my mouth with the taste of his own, but it sent shockwaves through me in addition to the hot friction of our bodies sliding against each other, my length rutting against his thigh as his lips vibrated upon mine with the moans leaving them quietly.
I felt like we were making love instead of just having some casual fuck, from the tender sounds of our pleasure and the way we were taking our time. I wanted to make to sure he was fully aroused before getting to the main objective, so that he would be more relaxed receive a better sensation.
I was panting softly and leaving kisses along his temple and ear, licking the shell of it slowly before taking his earlobe between my lips and sucking gently. I felt him shudder and suddenly he was grasping at my arm, making a small noise.
"Do it, John. If we keep this up there won't be much longer before I.."
"Mm, close, are ye? Don't worry, I've got you, love.."
I smile softly as I lower myself and kneel between his spread legs, gathering some saliva in my mouth before ascending two shaky fingers to my lips, sucking on them slowly. I made sure to get them as wet as possible, meanwhile caressing his thigh gently as we locked eyes. His were pleading, wanton.
"Tease." He prodded my knee lightly with his calf, grinning provocatively.
I chuckled and pretended not to be half as nervous as I felt, watching his face carefully as I slid the first finger past his tight ring of flesh. It was slightly difficult but he didn't seem to be in much pain, only discomfort. He fidgeted a little and cleared his throat, and I swore multiple times in my mind, feeling like a fool.
"John - 'm not, y'know.. feeling much."
"Sh. Lemme fix tha'.."
I move the digit slowly as to not hurt him, rubbing softly at different places until a small area felt a little different, and suddenly his lips formed an 'o', thighs tensing.
"That's.. That's it. Holy hell. You were fuckin' right, that's it."
-
It was only around five minutes later when he had finished, now laying peacefully stretched out across the mattress, a nearly dreamy expression taking over his features.
Going on pure instinct, I allowed myself to lay next to him, not touching his body really but just wanting to be in his presence. He looked over at me and smiled, and for a moment I questioned if he had smoked anything earlier, because it was a smile vacant of worry or care. He was so peaceful.
And then the incredible thing happened when he pulled me closer, kissing my hair as a lover would. I felt myself grinning the same grin he had, sighing happily.
"What does this say about us, Johnny?" He asked, sounding so soft-voiced and curious that I seriously wondered if he had snuck any pot earlier.
"It means that we should start roomin' together more."
"I second that."
"Good." ... "You poof."
"Queer."
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Sorry I haven't updated my story Memories of Melancholy lately, I barely had time to do this because of school.