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Paul knocks and stands waiting in the faint glow of fairy lights from around Ivan’s front door, watching flakes of snow still coming down around him. What started as light flurries this morning set in a little heavier around lunchtime and is now a carpet of white as far as the eye can see – cars long ago had to be halted and abandoned so even the roadway is coated in a thick layer of snow.
Huddling against the chill, Paul is just rubbing his hands together when the door springs open, welcoming yellow light spilling out into the evening.
“Macca!” Ivan grins, pulling him in for a bear hug.
“Wow,” Paul laughs. “Started early did you, mate?”
Clearly pleasantly drunk, Ivan just ruffles his hair good-naturedly. “Gotta start the party atmosphere, you know – that's why I host the best New Years dos.”
Paul smiles as he shuts the door behind him, keeping out the chill. All around him the house is lively with noise, Elvis spilling out from the parlour to his right, the sound of laughter and jiving from what Paul knows is Mrs Vaughan’s prized front room to his left and the kitchen straight ahead clearly heaving with people getting drinks and swapping stories.
“You’re probably wondering where his lordship is,” Ivan calls over the noise of the music and Paul feels a brief fizz of excitement in his chest.
“Surprised he’s even here yet,” he replies. “Usually always late to everything.”
Ivan laughs. “Probably missing Cyn. He’s in the kitchen, hanging round the drinks - or at least he was the last time I saw him.” He pats Paul warmly on the shoulder. “I’m off to find Thelma, she owes me a kiss.”
Paul grins at him. “Alright mate, see you later.”
Left alone to wade through the busy hallway and into the kitchen, Paul excuses himself each time he brushes against someone, nods and smiles to a few familiar faces and tries to dampen down the flutter of expectation he feels about seeing John, acting as normal as he possibly can.
Eventually he hears John before he sees him, that familiar giggle that belies the coolness of the rough teddy boy look and the sharp, cutting tongue. A sound so uniquely John.
He’s laughing at something Pete has said and for a second Paul can just observe him before those piss-poor eyes focus in – John looks flushed with the warmth of the kitchen, his familiar tumble of curls swept upwards onto his forehead and a soft white t-shirt covering his shoulders. He looks so good Paul could hang decency and kiss him right here, unconcerned about the scene it would cause – he doesn’t much care what people say anyway, never has done when it comes to John.
Eventually as Paul reaches the edge of their group, John looks up and spots him, mouth immediately curling up into a smile – a knowing sort of look that they’ve only been sharing for the last few weeks or so but more powerful than anything Paul has ever been caught up in before.
“Nice of you to join us,” John says once a few more in the group have spotted Paul and he gets a pat on the back from Rod and from Colin as he moves to step into their circle. John’s smile has turned into a smirk, playing it easy in front of the others. He looks amazing.
“Thought I’d grace you with my presence, you know,” Paul laughs, winking at Irene as he takes a beer from her, her other hand wrapped in Colin’s.
“We’re just playing guess the gift,” Pete says, inclining his head towards John. “Cyn would have been opening all her Christmas stuff in London with her whole family watching this week – we're trying to guess what he gave her and whether it would have curled their hair or not.”
Paul glances at John and finds himself being watched, a look in John’s eyes that fires something low in his stomach. It’s only been... what? 24 hours since he touched him? And that’s already far too long.
“Ok,” Paul says, pretending he’s not ruffled by the mere presence of John looking at him like that - eyes only for him. “What have we had so far?”
“I guessed perfume,” Colin replies, “But that was a no – then we had stockings, garters and a lacy black teddy.”
Everyone laughs save for John, who raises his beer to his mouth and then winks at Paul. “They were all bollocks. Care to have a try?”
Paul makes a big show of thinking, a scratch to the head and a comedy rub of the chin which makes the girls laugh and then he takes a swig of beer. “That expensive eyeshadow she uses, the one she can never afford herself so always waits for her mum to buy her.”
Everyone glances at John for his response, to which he just grins. He inclines his beer bottle towards Paul and nods. “Ten points to the scruffy Elvis from Allerton.”
A little flurry of applause and hooting goes around the circle, to which Paul bows. “How did you know?” Irene asks.
Paul shrugs. “Cyn mentioned she’d run out a couple of weeks ago when we were all in the canteen at lunch. I guessed John had probably picked up on it.”
“Aye, you’re sharing a brain these days, more like,” Pete replies, clever eyes flitting between them until Paul glances away, down at his beer. “Lucky Cyn, having such an attentive boyfriend though, I suppose?”
“What can I do?” John asks. “I’m just the perfect man, not my fault.”
The girls in their group laugh whilst Shotton leans forward to cuff John around the back of the head and they all end up grinning, though possibly Paul harder than the rest of them at John’s reply.
“Right,” Irene says, tugging at Colin’s elbow. “Are you dancing with me tonight or am I going to have to find someone else to do it?”
Playing the long-suffering hero, Colin leads her away until Rod does the same with Jane and then it’s just the three of them – John, Paul and Pete standing in the corner.
“Right, well I’m not playing gooseberry to you two all night,” Pete says, downing the rest of his beer, then he smirks as he pats them both on the shoulder. “I’m going to find someone to kiss at midnight - wish me luck with Angela Parry, lads!”
As Paul watches Pete move away into the crowd he feels a tug at his back pocket - John pulling him closer, away from the prying eyes of those around them.
“Hello you,” John says as soon as they’re next to each other. Paul tries to hide the flush he feels from the sensation of John’s fingers pulling at his jeans.
“Hello to you too. Enjoying the party?”
“Not until you got here.”
Paul tries not to be affected by the stupid compliment but he finds he can’t help it, falling for it just like all those girls at the Casbah do. “Sorry I was late.”
“S’alright, not like I was watching the door for you or anything.”
Paul feels himself laughing, unsure why he’s so giddy after just one beer. “No point in watching the door if you’re blind as a bat anyway, I suppose.”
John grins at him, plucking Paul’s empty beer bottle from his hand and passing him a fresh one. “I’ll have you know I’ve got my glasses with me actually, especially for Paul-spotting.”
Taking a swig of the fresh beer, Paul realises he’s now flushing red like the swooning girls at the Casbah too – maybe John just has that effect on everyone. “Oh yeah? Let’s see ‘em then.”
John dips into the top pocket of his jacket which has been thrown carelessly onto the table beside him and slips on his black framed Buddy Hollys slightly self-consciously. For a moment he makes a big show of looking around the room for someone then suddenly looks back at Paul and pokes him on the nose. “See? Found him.”
Trying not to smile, Paul just rolls his eyes. “Wanker.”
“Yeah,” John nods, “That’s why I have to wear the glasses.”
For a moment they just grin at each other in silence.
“So,” John says. “How long do we have to hang around here before I can take you home to bed?”
Paul moves to stand in front of him as though to shield his words from the rest of the room but in reality it’s his own blush he’s trying to hide.
“Not that you’ve got a one-track mind, or anything?”
“I’ve got a Paul-track mind,” John replies, lowering his voice enough to be careful. “Not my fault, I haven’t had him since yesterday.”
Paul’s mind immediately shows him the memory of them in bed together yesterday afternoon, John’s clever fingers on his hips whilst his mouth was very much busy elsewhere. “Yeah well, he hasn’t been had since yesterday either, so he feels the same.”
John’s eyes drop to his mouth and then glance back up. “So, are we leaving now?” He goes to put his half-finished beer down on the table beside him until Paul puts his hand on top of it, guiding it back towards John’s body.
“It’s a New Year party,” Paul grins, “Aren’t we supposed to stay until midnight for the countdown? What if Ivan spots us buggering off early?”
John shrugs, taking his glasses off and slipping them away. Paul can’t help but be disappointed. “Tell him we’ve got some buggering to do elsewhere?”
Paul smirks. “Yeah, and when he drops down dead from shock at that it’ll be a lovely start to 1960, won’t it?”
Their conversation is rudely interrupted by a group on the other side of the kitchen suddenly chanting as they egg on two of their number to race each other at downing pints. Annoyed by the noise, Paul grabs at John’s arm and pulls him through the near-by crowd, out into the hallway (squeezing past people saying, ‘excuse me’, ‘sorry!’) and eventually into the parlour. When he finds a spot for them in the corner and turns around, Paul sees that John is carrying his beer in one hand and his jacket in the other, high spots of colour on his cheeks from wending their way through the crowd and pushing through dancing couples. There’s a flush on his neck that Paul wouldn’t mind kissing away.
“Sorry, they were dead loud in there,” Paul explains. “So, did Cyn actually like her pressie?”
John nods, taking another swig of his beer. “Yeah, she rang this morning. They’re at some big knees-up tonight apparently.”
“That’s nice. Dad and Mike are just stopping in - but Mimi...?”
“Will probably be gone to her stupid bridge team’s New Years party by now.”
They exchange a knowing sort of look and Paul tries to resist the urge to just drag John out of there straight away. “And she won’t be back until...”
“After midnight, obviously,” John replies. “Probably about 1 in the morning once they’ve all finished jabbering.”
Paul nods. “So...”
John leans in close, near enough that Paul feels lips brush the shell of his ear, making him shiver. “So can I take you home and fuck you now, please?”
Abandoning all plans to stay long enough for it to be polite, Paul immediately puts down both his and John’s drinks on a near-by table (earning himself a laugh as he does so) and then they make their way through the push of bodies to the front door. Paul has just got his hand on the latch when he hears, “Where are you two going?”
It’s Ivan, closely followed by Pete.
“Oh, I wouldn’t even bother asking, mate,” Pete says, giving Ivan a little shove. “You know those two, always up to something.”
“But - “
“More booze for us,” Pete continues, patting Ivan on the back and pointing him towards the kitchen. He drops John a wink as he does so, then they’re suddenly out of the door and into the snowy night.
Outside it’s the kind of silent that only really comes with snow, a layer of quiet over everything and still-falling flakes drowning out even voices from parties in the houses around them, lights on in every window they pass. John knocks his shoulder into Paul’s purposefully as they walk, trying to push him off course so that by the time they’ve reached the end of Vale Road the tracks of footprints behind them weave and stagger like drunkards. Paul laughs into the quiet Woolton night but it’s swallowed up by the snow.
“I still haven’t bought you any belated Christmas pressies,” John says, his leather jacket now back on and collar turned up against the cold. “So I thought you could have something else instead.”
Paul rolls his eyes. “Oh aye, like what?”
“Anything you like,” John shrugs. “I’m at your command.”
It takes Paul a second to catch up with what John means, then he feels his eyes go wide. “Oh.”
“Yeah - oh,” John smirks, glancing at him. “Thought we could start like that then...”
“Then I could be at your command,” Paul finishes, the only noise the sound of their feet crunching on the snow.
“Well, if you’re going to insist...”
Paul hears himself laugh and then watches his breath mist in front of him. “Yeah, that seems like a very Lennon sort of present giving.”
“By which you mean it’s an excellent suggestion, clearly,” John replies, just as they reach the heavy front gates of Mendips. Paul feels a thrill of anticipation in his stomach as they make their way down the drive and through the side gate, fingers already itching to get to John as he fishes his keys out of his jacket and they jingle in the still night.
As soon as they’re in through the kitchen door John shouts, “Mimi?”
They both listen silently for an answer, light pouring in from the moon outside but otherwise in darkness. As he tries again (“Mimi? You still here?”) John takes Paul’s hand and leads him through into the day room, still listening for a reply. For some reason the feeling of fingers laced in his – John's fingers, something as innocent as holding hands – makes Paul feel wonderfully drunk. So far they’ve been in one another’s beds several times and have been so desperate they’ve had fierce, demanding kisses in toilets and empty art rooms at the college but they haven’t done anything like hold hands – and it’s the simpleness of it, the quiet way he’s being led by John that causes Paul to feel giddy.
With the house clearly empty, Paul tugs back on John’s hand in the hallway, bringing him to a stop. “What?” John asks, the two of them pausing outside the living room door. But instead of replying, Paul pulls John against him and close in for a kiss, fingers slipping from his and up into his hair instead, holding him close.
Getting the idea, John pushes Paul up against the stairs, body crowding in against him until they’re flush and melting together. They kiss purposefully like that, getting faster and more desperate until eventually John pulls away, breathing heavy and hard against Paul’s mouth.
“Ok,” he says. “What d’you want? Anything.”
Presented with what until less than a month or so ago seemed like the impossible, Paul feels overwhelmed. What can he say? Where does he start on a list like that? He wants everything, faster and sooner than it should probably happen – not eking things out and savouring it like a good boy, instead devouring it all now.
“Fuck,” Paul replies, the feeling of John slowly grinding against him short-circuiting his rational thinking. “I don’t - everything. You. I want all of it.”
John huffs a laugh against his mouth, somehow turning Paul on further. “Not asking for much, then?”
“You,” Paul hears himself say again, inexplicably. “I just want you. Every way I can have you.”
John kisses him hard, with an edge of desperation. “Well, if you’re trying to get me to go off in my pants, you’re almost there.”
“No,” Paul replies, and is briefly ashamed to hear how petulant he sounds, how demanding. “No, not yet. Want you.”
“Ok,” John says, breathing staggered as he tries to get himself under control. “What then? How d’you want me?”
“On your knees,” Paul answers, before he’s even had time to think it through. Clearly it’s no longer his brain doing the talking for him, no idea this was what he was going to ask for.
With an obedience he shows absolutely nowhere else in his life, John immediately drops onto his knees on the thick, plush carpet of the hallway.
“Fuck,” Paul mutters, looking down at him in awe. “You did it.”
John nuzzles his face at the now obvious bulge in Paul’s jeans and then looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Happy new year,” he smirks.
Paul lets his head drop back against the hard wood of the stairs behind him, hardly able to believe they’re doing this, in the middle of the house when technically Mimi could come home at any moment, walk in and see them doing this. But it’s what he wants, apparently, his body taking over as his rational side lets go.
Hand in John’s hair and cradling the back of his head, Paul presses his hips forward whilst John kisses him through the denim of his jeans, the feeling of heat too much and yet not enough all at once. He glances down and watches as his hips canter upwards of their own volition against John’s mouth, seeking more friction, skin on skin until suddenly Paul is scrabbling at the button on his jeans and pushing down the zip of his fly. John looks up at him reverentially as he does so, like he’s just waiting to be told what to do next and that knocks something off course in Paul’s brain, too much – too nice – for him to think about.
There in the drafty Mendips hallway, Paul hurriedly pushes his jeans and boxers down until they’re low enough around his thighs and then he puts a hand on the back of John’s head, fingers sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. With his other hand Paul grips tightly onto his own cock, guiding it towards John’s mouth and then wiping the head along John’s lips, leaving a smear of pre-cum that John’s tongue darts out and captures whilst still somehow looking up at Paul, angelic kind of reverence on his face.
“Fuck,” Paul whispers. “John, I want...” But it’s too much to explain, all the ways he wants John, all the ways he bloody needs him now, since they’ve started doing this, unleashing a side of himself that Paul never even imagined. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have enough of John like this, ready and willing for him and gorgeous. As gorgeous as hell. “Please,” he eventually says, bumping the end of his cock against John’s lips again. “Now.”
Like some sort of miracle, John does, with the skill he’s built up over the last couple of weeks of them doing this, going over one another’s bodies and unable to stop themselves even when they try. He’s become surprisingly proficient in such a short space of time, taking Paul deep into his throat with a greedy noise, like he can’t get enough of him. Unable to do anything else, Paul pushes a second hand into John’s hair and then holds him still whilst he (carefully) fucks into his mouth, torn between staring down at him, at the sight of his cock disappearing between John’s lips and wanting this to last a bit longer. It still surprises Paul that he does this – and clearly enjoys doing it – but then there’s plenty of things he’s learned about John recently that have made Paul see him in a new way.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Paul breathes, dropping his head back again and staring at the ceiling whilst he tries to stave off the orgasm he feels building between his thighs, waves and waves more as he desperately tells it no, not yet.
John’s hands are on his own thighs now, letting Paul use him totally as just a warm, wet mouth to fuck into, like his own pleasure doesn’t matter. But when Paul risks a look down he can see John is clearly rock hard in his jeans and the fingers digging into the denim are just about clinging on, desperate to move and to touch but he’s just waiting, giving himself until Paul is done.
It’s that in the end – the thought of John waiting, putting his own desire aside when his instinct is always so resolutely hedonistic – that pushes Paul over the edge. He feels his orgasm crash over him and tries to be polite, tries to be good but doesn’t manage in time to pull back so is aware he comes pulsing down John’s throat, pushing at his gag reflex until he pulls off, wiping away a smear of cum from his chin, swallowing loudly into the silence of the hallway.
“Oh fuck,” Paul says, hands flying up to cover his face, suddenly embarrassed that he did that - that he used John so unceremoniously. Paul is aware his face is colouring hot and red but then John is there, tugging his hands away from his eyes and kissing him, no longer any trace of subservience or obedience, pressing harshly against him.
“I’m sor - “ Paul goes to say but John kisses it away, the taste of Paul on his tongue.
“Don’t be - “ John tilts Paul’s chin up, kisses messily at his throat. “ - I liked it.”
“Fuck,” Paul mutters again, grabbing at John’s jacket, the collar and the shoulders just to get a hold on him. His whole body is shaking slightly from the aftershocks of his orgasm and the way John is moving against him doesn’t help, over-stimulating him until Paul has to force him back. “Upstairs,” he says, breathing heavy and more aware now that he’s sated that they’re in the fucking hallway and the door could open at any second.
Nodding, John lets Paul tug his jeans back up before they both head up the stairs in the darkness of the house, silence highlighting the sound of their feet on the carpet, the uneven sound of John’s breathing as they make their way to his room and shut themselves away.
Without even stopping to flick the light on, John pulls Paul to him as soon as the door is closed, capturing his mouth, needy and wanting. Paul loves him like this; has become strangely addicted to it over the past few weeks - this side of John he’s never seen before, so aroused that it’s like he can’t think about anything else, utterly lost to anything other than what his body needs.
And of course that other thing - Paul’s always known about John’s ability to go and go (legendary with the girls he’s been with and also from stupid stories told by Pete about games in their youth) but being able to be the cause of that – to be able to get him there again and again – hits Paul somewhere in particular. It’s become his favourite new toy, touching and licking and kissing John until he’s insensible, then making him come before doing it all again in quick succession. It amazes him that John can keep getting there over and over like girls can and bloody hell, it’s arousing to watch. John gets hazy and glassy eyed and blushes red as fuck as it takes over him, his body doing something most lads can’t. It’s intoxicating.
Paul feels himself being pushed back up against the wardrobe in the dark, John’s breath hot and rapid against his mouth. He pulls John against the curve of his thigh by denim belt loops and listens to John groan, head dropping onto Paul’s shoulder as he gives into it, the urge to just push against him and ride out the feeling.
“What do you want?” Paul whispers, aware they’re utterly alone but unwilling to break John’s reverie by talking any louder. He slips a gentle hand into John’s hair and turns his head slightly to kiss the shell of John’s ear, the skin there cool against his lips. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Into the soft curve of Paul’s shoulder, John groans helplessly. He has some sort of weakness for this, Paul is discovering – being spoken to in a way that perhaps a girl wouldn’t think to, dirty and honest. It makes him come apart in Paul’s hands and Paul shamefully realised the first time it happened that it gives him a kick, the ability to do it to John in particular.
“Do you want my fingers inside you?”
His hand gripping tellingly onto the material of Paul’s shirt sleeve, John just nods into the curve of Paul’s neck, a moan escaping his lips. He’s still rutting against the thigh between his, hips stuttering as the pleasure builds - Paul almost able to feel the waves he’s cresting.
“You know I want to come inside you,” Paul whispers, “Just so I can watch myself dripping out of you, knowing I’ve been in you, as deep in as I can be.”
The noise John makes when he comes for the first time makes Paul very glad they’re alone. He feels John’s dick pulsing against his thigh through their jeans and can’t help but slide his hand down to the side of John’s face, pulling their mouths together roughly and kissing him messy and uncoordinated. Paul opens his eyes, rests John’s forehead against his and watches him as he comes back to earth, the way his eyes flicker open and are raw, unguarded, just for him. Paul would never be daft enough to use the word beautiful to John but it’s what he thinks, feels like maybe getting to see this is precious, these half lidded eyes, this bruised and swollen mouth.
“Come on,” Paul says, thumb trying not to brush against John’s cheekbone where it rests, instead tapping him lightly. “Come to bed.”
Messy and still hazy with lust, John complies, pulling his t-shirt over his head and following Paul to the bed. He stands loose-limbed whilst Paul undoes the top button of his jeans and then his fly for him, pushing his ruined pants down over his hips and thighs until they’re at his knees. John reaches for Paul’s mouth to kiss him slowly as the rest of his clothes are kicked away and deft fingers then go to Paul’s own jeans - he’s stirring now and coming back to life, Paul can feel it as John undresses him, removing his clothes piece by piece.
They’ve barely made it down onto the bed and underneath the sheets when Paul feels a hand grasp at his, moving it down to wrap around John’s cock which is hard and leaking again. It fires something in Paul’s blood, far more turned on by this than he should be.
“Again?”
John nods against him, reluctant to break their kiss. “Said you’d be at my command.”
Paul laughs against his mouth, hand moving carefully over John’s dick, wary of hurting him. “And I am. What d’you want?”
“Harder.”
Paul nips at John’s bottom lip, eliciting a groan. “Aren’t you too sensitive for hard?”
John shakes his head against him. “Not yet. Need to get off again - now.”
Ignoring his own wave of arousal at those words, Paul moves his mouth down to John’s chest, first running a tongue and then sharp teeth against his nipple. Paul can’t help a smug sort of smile when John swears loudly and glances down at him, meeting his eyes.
“Like this?” He squeezes his hand around John’s cock, drawing up and then down agonisingly slowly, swiping pre-cum from the tip to make it as slick as possible.
“Fuck,” John mutters, eyes never leaving Paul’s. He looks ruined and hazy. “Yes.”
Unable to do anything else, Paul reaches back up and kisses him, lips wet. He keeps his wrist moving faster, twisting slightly as he reaches the head just like he does to himself. When he breaks the kiss John looks too much, too good and Paul can barely look away from him, a flush creeping up over his chest. He thinks maybe this will be the death of him, being too far gone over John Lennon, a hopeless case.
“Want my mouth?”
John shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Paul smirks before kissing him again, John chasing his mouth when Paul eventually pulls away. “Oh, this is just round two, is it?”
John’s reply is cut off by a groan as Paul twists his wrist again, just so. “Yeah,” John manages to say, voice rough and gravelled in the silence. His hand goes up to the headboard of the bed and holds on when Paul dips his mouth down and takes the opportunity to suck a small, rough bruise onto his collarbone.
“Love seeing you like this,” Paul whispers against John’s skin, unsure if he can hear him or not – actually hoping he can’t, in case too much truth spills out of his mouth. “I could come just from watching you.”
Beneath him, John makes a noise almost like a sob that Paul has now heard many times before – the sound of him desperate and needing. It turns into a strangled sort of groan. “Paul,” he grits out. “Come on. Please.”
Not aware he was being even a little bit gentle, Paul closes his fist tighter around the cock leaking in his hand, further sensation dragging a moan of relief from John. “Like that?”
John just nods, fingers still gripping desperately onto the headboard of his bed, hips riding up and fucking into Paul’s hand. “Please...” he mutters, eyes closed tight from the sensation and eventually when he can’t wait any longer for Paul to catch on by himself John guides Paul’s mouth down to his chest again. He stutters when teeth drag across his skin, a tongue flicks up and over the hard bud of his nipple.
When Paul glances up, he finds John is watching him, eyes dark and glassy. He looks addled, like he’s so far gone he can’t do anything but feel and Paul thinks if he could keep him like this all the time, he would.
“More?” Paul asks, and when John just nods Paul moves his free hand up to John’s mouth, slipping first one finger past his lips and then a second.
He’s never done this with a girl, but for some reason when he does it with John, it drives him wild. Paul watches as John sucks hungrily at his fingers, like it’s the most arousing thing in the world (when really it’s watching it that is) and as his tongue pokes out, running between the two digits Paul feels his own dick twitch in response, coming back to life. “Fucking hell, John,” he mutters, lost in the act of just watching him, sucking on Paul’s fingers like they were his cock.
Paul is so busy watching that talented mouth and imagining himself in there that he almost misses the moment that John comes hard all over Paul’s fist and his stomach, strings coming up and coating from his navel right up to his chest.
But when John moans his name loudly as he climaxes, Paul can’t fail to miss that.
Fingers slipping easily out of his mouth, Paul moves up to kiss John, hard and fast as he carries him through his orgasm, riding the end of it together. Eventually John reaches down and knocks Paul’s hand off his dick, shuddering against him as he curls into Paul’s chest and buries his head in the dip of a warm neck.
“You ok?” Paul asks after a moment, fingers ghosting slowly over John’s hip, his pale skin and the curve of his arse covered in a light sheen of sweat. John shivers where their skin meets and he groans, breath shuddering against Paul’s neck.
“Yeah, just... sensitive.”
Paul quietly marvels at him, leaning down to drop a kiss on his hair. “Want me to move?”
But fingers reach and grip onto Paul’s arm, keeping him where he is. “No. Just give me a second.”
Paul laughs. “You need more than a second, you need to sleep.”
Hair that is now well out of place and fallen against his forehead brushes against Paul’s skin as John shakes his head. “No... need you.”
Another kick of arousal floods through Paul at the possibility – how is this becoming the one thing that can take him down in seconds? He never imagined it, being so turned on by John’s relentlessness. “Fucking hell, John.” Paul feels himself shift before he realises he’s doing it, hips trying to find something to move against, his now hard cock brushing against John’s naked thigh. He tries not to groan from the pleasure.
When John moves out of his curled position against Paul’s body he looks wrecked, eyes half lidded and skin flushed. He’s so beautiful Paul wants to paint him like this, just to keep hold of him.
“You ok?” John asks, knowingly. He pushes a hand through his hair and then through Paul’s, mussing him up.
“You’re...” But he’s speechless.
John laughs. “What?”
“You’re...” Paul searches for the word – beautiful? Sexy? Turning me on more than any girl ever has? “Impossible.”
The grin John gives him before it turns into a yawn is blinding and oh, so very John. “You get off on it.”
“What?” Paul asks, but he knows he’s blushing, has been caught.
“On this,” John replies, stretching lazily like a cat, and Paul’s can’t help notice he’s still hard, cock jutting up and away from his body, flushed and red. “The fact I keep going.”
“Fuck off,” Paul says, a flush rising up from his neck as he tries to move away but John just laughs and grabs at him, pulls him in.
“I can read you like a book, it’s funny.”
Paul shakes his head from embarrassment. “It’s not funny.”
“Well, I think it is,” John says, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of Paul’s head and pull him down for a kiss. It’s so fucking nice Paul can’t help but kiss back, slowly at first as John’s tongue brushes tantalisingly against his and then heating up as John’s hand wraps Paul’s fingers around his dick again.
“Fuck... seriously?”
John just nods, body arching up into Paul’s touch and Paul feels his own cock throb in response. “Careful though, sensitive.”
“I’m not surprised,” Paul replies, watching John’s body move as he runs the pads of his fingers featherlight over the shaft of John’s dick. “What does it... feel like?” He asks, aware he blushes after saying it.
When John replies his mouth holds the edge of a knowing smirk. “Just like normal, same as when you come first time.”
“It’s not...” Paul shrugs, the tip of his index finger grazing the head of John’s dick and savouring the shiver he gets in response. “Less powerful, or anything?”
John shakes his head. “Would it be less powerful if I got you off now?”
“Don’t think I could get off yet, not been long enough.”
In response John touches him, lightly at first then fisting Paul in his hand. “You’re hard.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I could come. Not yet.”
John leans up on one elbow to kiss him and for a while they do that, just touching each other’s bodies until Paul feels himself smile and pushes John away. “No, still can’t.”
“Spoilsport,” John replies and he lies back down, still touching Paul lazily. For a long moment they just hold each other’s gaze, Paul taking in every twitch and movement of John’s face as he continues to touch him gently. “Okay.”
Paul frowns. “Okay what?”
John reaches up and kisses him once, lazy and agonisingly good. “Okay, I’m ready for your mouth now.”
Although he tries not to smirk, Paul can’t quite manage it. “Oh, are you now?”
John nods, hips rising off the bed as though to show his body’s commitment to the plan. Paul can’t help but notice how flushed he is all over; the plains of his stomach still covered in thin steaks of cum from earlier, turning Paul on more than he thought was possible. “Come on,” Jonn eventually says, and if he sounds a little petulant and nagging, Paul lets him get away with it.
Without any further argument Paul moves down to John’s chest, flicks his tongue expertly over an achingly hard nipple (hearing the hiss in reply) and then dips down to lap at the place where John’s earlier release still sits on his skin.
When he realises what Paul is doing, John swears loudly. “Fucking hell, Paul - are you...?”
Paul just glances up at him, glad he can shock the unshockable whilst his tongue licks John’s mess clean. Fingers bury themselves in Paul’s hair as he gets back to the job and moves down John’s body, carefully taking John’s sensitive cock into his mouth.
John swears again, but in relief and pleasure this time as Paul carefully keeps his teeth well out of the way, tongue doing all the work as he licks a stripe up the underside of the dick in his mouth before sinking back down to do it again. At first when he did this he felt totally unprepared but much like John he learned quickly, something inexplicable in him desperate to make John feel as good as possible, engaged in a way he’s never been with anyone else he’s had sex with. He somehow feels echoes of how good John feels anyway, like what he does comes back to him in some way.
The moan John lets out when Paul tongues at the head of his dick makes Paul seriously hope Mimi hasn’t come home early – it seems to be near impossible to get John to be quiet which is why they can almost never do this in a full house. But even though he’d never admit it that turns Paul on unbearably too, how John gets utterly lost when he’s like this, unable to stop for anything.
Eyes flickering open, Paul glances up to find John watching him, hands still tightly fisted in his hair but not using them to set the pace, trusting Paul knows what he needs.
“Fuck, Paul – you look...”
He trails off but his tone is so reverential that it causes Paul to flush hot, willing to keep doing this forever if it keeps John looking at him like that, like he’s hung the moon.
Unable to do anything but chase that look, Paul slides his hand down John’s pale thigh to his knee, bending his leg slightly and shifting it so he has more room to move between his legs.
They haven’t done it yet, but they’ve certainly talked about in short, pleasure-filled bursts so Paul is aware John wants it as he lets his fingers trace up over the cluster of freckles on John’s inner thigh and back, behind his balls.
“Oh, fuck...” John mutters, his voice raw and like gravel as Paul finds that tight ring of muscle he’s been unable to stop himself thinking about for the last couple of weeks. He wants to be in him, can only imagine how tight John would be around his dick, aware that would last an unreasonably short length of time but not caring, wanting it anyway.
For now he just feels his way with the tip of his fingers, tongue still running up and over the head of John’s dick in his mouth.
“I’m not - “ John pants. “I’m not going to last much longer if you keep doing that, Paul. Paul.”
In response Paul just carries on, pressing gently at the edge of him until John shivers, the twitching running right through his body. Paul moves his mouth up until his lips are right at the head of John’s cock and flicks his tongue, gently.
“God, I just...” Paul raises his eyebrows when John’s sentences trails off and then tries not to smirk as the words pour out of him in a rush. “God, I need you. I – fuck, I want you inside me, don’t ever want anything but this. You’re so fucking – God, Paul – I want... just us. Always.”
When John comes Paul takes him in deeper so he can swallow all at once, fingers in his hair gripping tightly. Whilst he licks John clean with his tongue Paul reaches up and loosens John’s hand, drawing it away from his hair.
“You trying to take a chunk out of me?” he asks, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, but John is still shivering from the aftershocks, whole body flushed and so sensitive that even when Paul reaches down and touches his arm, he twitches.
“You’re a fucking menace,” Paul continues, rubbing at the spot on his head where John was pulling at his hair as he lies down next to the body still shaking beside him. And as soon as Paul pulls the covers up John curls into him like he’s trying to fuse their skin. It pulls a laugh from Paul. “Hello - speechless now, are we?”
“Shush,” John says. “Trying to sleep.”
Paul huffs another laugh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” But he slips his fingers into John’s hair gently, smoothing through it. “You done now?”
“Think so,” John replies, but when he pushes his hips against Paul’s thigh Paul can feel he’s still hard. “Wake me up before midnight, I’ll be able to go again.”
A tug of arousal pulls at Paul just at the thought, aware it’s Pavlovian now, his response to John’s lack of recovery time. “Alright. Then maybe you can wish me a happy new year too,” he says, but realises John is probably already slipping into sleep, head on Paul’s shoulder, drifting off as easily as he does everything else.
And to the sound of him snoring, Paul falls asleep too.