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The problem started when Paul broke it off with Jane. She was going on a tour of America with some play, and he told her than they might as well free each other to see other people if they were going to be apart for so long anyway. She left with her theater, and John hadn't heard of her since. That was fine; he'd never liked her, and she'd hated him right back. Her absence left a place in Paul's house for John to stay in, when he didn't feel like going home, which was more and more often now. It was Paul that was disrupting John's sense of order. John had always known that Paul would fuck anyone who smiled his way. They'd shared beds, and girls, in Hamburg, and Paul loved the girls Mal brought to them in the hotels. But it wasn't girls that Paul was gravitating towards now that Jane was out of the picture. Paul had spent the past couple of months going to bed with exclusively with men, and from John could hear from his bedroom down the hall from Paul's, Paul was letting these men fuck him.
Paul was sneaky about it, or at least he thought he was. He would wait until after John had gone to bed before picking up the phone and inviting that night's date over. When he arrived, the two of them would creep down to Paul's room. John heard the hushed giggles, the excited shushing, and then the sound of bedsprings creaking and moans muffled by a hand. Paul was on all fours, arse in the air, or he was on his back with his legs up over his head, or bending over the side of the bed as some twat approached him with a hard-on. John never saw these men, or knew their names. He wanked to the sounds coming from down the hall, but they were always gone in the morning and Paul never spoke about them.
It would be easier to ignore if Paul wasn't courting so much attention because of his new pastime. Men were approaching Paul at the clubs, not to soak up a bit of his starshine or to try and convince him that their pop group was the next big thing, but to light his ciggies and laugh too loudly at his jokes. John watched it all from their table, drinking too much and being ignored as Paul let his ego be fluffed. Men were sending presents to Cavendish, too. There were bouquets of flowers that tickled John's nose, and boxes of chocolates Paul didn't mind sharing. A rich one, maybe a friend of the late Guinness heir, sent over a guitar that cost more than a new car, and Paul locked it in a closet. His arse was so fuckable, it was worth paying for.
John proposed the trip to Greece to get out of London for a while, and the plan to perhaps buy an island came together so quickly he was halfway through getting his checkbook out before he realized it would be a good idea to see the island first. Privately, he hoped that perhaps going to a different country would separate Paul from his coterie of admirers. it was just going to be the four of them, and Mal and Neil and Brian. Unless Paul managed to coax one of them to take his trousers off.
They had spent close to a week in Greece and John's mind hadn't settled. Whenever he wasn't looking at Paul, he was thinking about who might be fucking him. They were staying at Alex's family's home, where everyone had their own bedroom, and John's was too far from Paul's for him to hear what might be happening at night. Was it Neil, sticking his dick where it didn't belong again? Or could it be Mal, doing yet another favor for Paul? George or Richie? They wouldn't do something that could upset the balance of the group. Brian? Paul was a bit weird about Brian after the trip to Spain. Would Paul be so needy for a pair of hands around his waist that he would throw a bomb into the middle of the party? Was that why he was walking around in those little shorts that were so tight it was like a pair of lover's hands squeezing his arse? When John and Richie went out to do a little sightseeing at the ruins by the water, was Paul seducing George in the house?
John was sick of himself. He got out of bed one night, too busy tormenting himself, and went downstairs to the kitchen to smoke three cigarettes in a row, hating his thoughts but refusing to let them go and find something else to think about. He stubbed out his last ciggie and sat there, stewing over what he was certain was happening right under his nose, until the kitchen light clicked on and Paul walked in, wearing only his underpants. "I hope he didn't exhaust you earlier," John said, taking no pleasure in watching Paul jump at the sound of his voice. "This is supposed to be a holiday, after all."
"Who, George? We only sat around and listened to records."
"I'm sure."
Paul filled a glass at the sink. John watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed and the bottom of his chin moved as he swallowed the water down. "Don't suppose you had anyone over while I was out with Richie," John said. "None of your lads followed from London?"
"What? No, I didn't ask anyone else to come along."
"You can live for a whole week without someone sending you presents?"
"What's your problem with them? You fuck plenty of people and don't talk to them ever again."
"And I'm not getting fucking chocolates and flowers after."
Paul put his glass in the sink and turned to face John, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Seeing him in just his pants made John realize just how far up his legs went. He looked like he'd been run through a laundry mangle and stretched out - except for the small but not unsubstantial bulge sitting in his underpants. "If you wanted to fuck any of them, you're welcome to it," he said. "I'm no one's boyfriend these days. I'm not about to claim any of them for myself."
"Some of them might try and claim you, though."
"Fuck off," Paul said, turning and starting to leave the room. "Jealousy's an ugly look, John."
"So's being a whore, Paul. And I'm not the one who's bending over and letting myself get fucked by half the wankers in London, am I?"
Paul stopped. He turned his head slowly to look at John. If John wasn't mistaken, his expression was half amused, half confused. "Is that what you think is happening? That I'm going around getting fucked?"
"Hard to see it any other way, I think."
Paul let out a snort. "Don't blame me 'cause you've got no imagination," he said, before leaving.
John followed Paul out of the kitchen and up to his bedroom, closing the door when he walked in. Paul let out an exasperated sigh. "Christ, if this is about you hearing me and them back home, then I'm sorry I'm so good at sex," he said. "I'll buy you earplugs and you'll never have to hear me again, okay?"
"That's not my fucking problem."
"Then what is your fucking problem?"
"You won't be honest with me!" John said. "Look, it's your life and it's none of my business, I know that, but I don't understand why you won't just tell me. I was living with you and hearing you, do you think I'm stupid?"
"I think you've come to a conclusion without seeing all the evidence."
"Fuck's sake, why are you talking like this? Just tell me! You're picking up all these blokes and letting them fuck you, aren't you?"
"I'm not," Paul said. "I promise."
"Oh, pull the other one."
"It's not what you think it is."
"Tell me, then, if you're so concerned with the truth. Why won't you just tell me who's fucking you?"
“Because nobody’s fucking me these days since I’m the one doing all the fucking, thank you very much,” Paul said, jabbing the tip of his finger in between John’s pecs, “and there are scores of satisfied blokes I’ve left walking funny to prove it.”
“Come off it,” John said, batting Paul’s hand away. “You? Fucking half of London’s eligible bachelors?”
“What, you think they wouldn’t be lining up like the girls do? They say one in every four, you know.”
“Don’t I bloody know it,” John griped, feeling the warmth spreading through the pit of his stomach and down into his pelvis. The sensation of Paul’s fingertip tingled on his chest. All those men, the ones he knew and the total strangers, slipping out of Paul’s house early in the morning after Paul had been on top of them, gotten inside them? If he’d know that he would have wanked himself into dehydration every single day. “You think I’ll believe that?”
“Well,” Paul said, reaching over and slipping two fingers into the elastic waist of John’s knickers. He smiled like the cat who’d just pawed the goldfish out of its bowl. “I could prove it to you.”
John swallowed. Of all the places in the world to be fucked for the first time, Greece was the most historically appropriate. “I think you’d better.”
The next few seconds were a blur. One moment, John was standing there, confronting Paul, and the next he was lying in Paul’s unmade bed and Paul was climbing on top of him. “Christ, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Paul said, straddling John’s hips and taking John’s face in his hot hands. “How many times I wished it was you.”
“You fucked all those boys thinking about me?”
Paul chose to answer by kissing John hard enough to make John’s eyebrows leap up. He suctioned John’s bottom lip between his own and pulled until there was room for him to lave the tip of his tongue inside the slick rim of John’s mouth, his day’s worth of stubble scratching against John’s skin. Paul squeezed his thighs to tighten his grip around John’s hips, like he was afraid he might fly off. John responded by linking his arms around Paul’s neck and holding him close enough so they could breathe the same air. He closed his lips around Paul’s tongue. Fuck, it was like Paul was trying to eat him, and John would have let him if he could. The teasing heat John had felt a moment before was running through his body at full speed now, and he could feel his cock standing and hardening with every breath. Paul’s was just as hard too, both of them straining against the thin cotton shields of their pants. John’s imagination had failed him. Nothing he had dreamed of was as good as this, and they were only kissing still.
Paul pulled off, his wet mouth in a big smile. “That’s how you get them going, yeah?’ John asked. “What comes next?”
“You, eventually,” Paul said, as he started pushing himself down. Their cocks bumped together as he moved, and John let out a hiss of pain so sweet it turned into pleasure before it faded. Paul held onto John's sides and rested his pointy chin between John’s pecs, the same place where he’d poked with his finger when they were arguing. It was all foreplay, from the moment Paul walked into the kitchen in just his underwear. “Left or right?”
“What?”
“Left,” Paul said, eyes darting to John’s left nipple, “or right.”
He was a filthy boy, but he was creative. All dirty minded types had to be. “Left,” John said, in deference to Paul’s favored hand, and closed his eyes.
Paul’s mouth was so hot John expected that it would leave a scorched ring around his nipple. He’d had plenty of girls’ tits in his mouth before, and it was nice, but he had never expected or even considered that someone might want to do it to him. His chest was nothing to write home about; too soft, mainly, too much like jelly when he pushed it around. But Paul was sucking and lapping on his tight little nipple like it was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth, and he was making up for lost time. He pulled John’s skin into his mouth, folding his crafty little tongue into a point and tracing around the outer ring before pressing directly into the center. If John’s cock wasn’t trapped by his pants and by Paul on top of him, he would have started wanking himself, but he had to settle for unproductive rutting against Paul’s stomach. Paul pulled off and moved himself rightward. “Don’t come too quickly,” he said, before lowering his head again, “or you’ll have to wait for me to fuck you.”
John forced himself to lie still as Paul sucked his right nipple. As much as he was tempted to run his fingers into Paul’s hair, or even to start trying to work Paul’s pants off and get two handfuls of that thick arse to hold onto, he knew that this was all Paul’s design and he had to play along if he wanted to get the reward. He knew that if this was anyone else, he would have felt like a mule with a carrot dangling in front of his face. But he’d spent too long listening to Paul fuck to try and take over from him now.
When Paul finally lifted his head, John’s cock was standing flush against his belly and he could feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat. “Let's a have a look here,” Paul said, pushing himself down even further until his long legs were off the bed, bending them up to kick the air behind him. He took two pinches of cotton in his thumb and forefingers and slowly, maddeningly, pulled John’s underwear down until it was sitting loosely around the middles of his thighs. His cock finally free, John felt himself relax a fraction of a hair, but then he realized what Paul was going to do to him next. “You’re a fucking tease,” John moaned, hitting the bed with a limp fist. All his blood was rushing south, and he had no strength for more than that. “You love this. You love seeing me on my back, waiting for you.”
“I never said that,” Paul said, lifting one finger to trace around the base of John’s cock. “Maybe I’d just like to admire this piece of God’s handiwork before I start swallowing it. It’s such a nice cock, John. You should be so proud.”
“No one’s ever said so before.”
“Really?” Paul asked, making himself sound incredulous, eyes like headlamps. “But it’s so handsome. This nice, thick base for example.”
John could only watch as Paul lowered his head and started to mouth the base of his cock, kissing around it with his plump red lips. John tensed his thighs and his arse, praying that he wouldn’t lose control now, even if he did want to see what it would look like if he came all over Paul’s pretty face and mile-long eyelashes. “And this vein that goes up the back, it’s so strong,” Paul said, sticking that pointy tongue out and running it up and down the length of John’s shaft a few times. “I can practically feel your pulse through it. Your heart is racing, by the way.”
“You think I wasn’t aware?” John snapped.
“But this is my favorite part,” Paul said, resting his chin on his elbows and looking at the head of John’s cock, already dripping wet. A bead of pre-come welled at the top and rolled down the length, disappearing into John’s pubic hair. "It's not often I get to admire an uncut cock, you know. I always thought it looked so nice, ever since we used to wank together with the lads."
"Did you?" John asked. A cock was a cock was a cock, he thought, whether he was wearing a collared shirt or not, and no bird had ever told him it looked nice. Every partner he'd ever had only wanted it inside them in some capacity and never mentioned how it looked. "What's so nice about it?"
"Mine feels so exposed, you know," Paul said, lifting one finger to lightly trace the edges of John's foreskin, making John want to pull away because it was like tiny electric shocks running into his groin. "Out there, all red and tender. But you've got this little bit of protection. Plus it helps you keep a bit of the mystery, you know? Makes a person wonder what you've got on the inside. Makes me want to take special care with you," Paul added, before popping his pink tongue out of his mouth and swiping the slick underneath over the foreskin, pulling it slightly to one side, before opening his lips wide enough to wrap fully around the head and sucking hard enough that John's head snapped back.
Paul sucked John's cock, swirled his tongue around the head and dragged it up and down the shaft like he was eating a dripping ice lolly. He played with it, popping it out of his mouth to kiss and tease with his fingers, rubbing it against his face like it was made of cashmere. How was this happening, that Paul was the one with the sticky head of John’s cock smearing against his cheek, but John was the one getting fucked? That was the secret, John realized, as Paul mouthed the side of his pulsing cock. Paul got his partners to feel like they were in charge, while he was turning them inside out and heating them to boiling. Those blokes probably went strutting down the street, feeling like they were the ones who's just bedded the pretty Beatle, even though Paul wasn't the one who had to sit carefully for the rest of the day.
John covered his eyes with his hands and watched the swirl of colors playing across the insides of his eyelids. If Paul kept this up for much longer, he was going to come so hard it might kill him. "Paul," he said, through the gap between his wrists. "Paul!"
"Yeah?" Paul said, not looking up from where he was massaging John's balls.
"I need it," John admitted. He was afraid to look at his own cock. Seeing it in such a state would probably scare him into coming. "I need you to fuck me."
"Can't you say it any more polite than that? I know Mimi taught you your manners."
"Don't fucking talk about Mimi." John inhaled and exhaled through clenched teeth. "Paul. Please. For the love of God. Please, fuck me."
"A friend in need," Paul said, lifting himself. "Lube's in the side drawer there. Help yourself."
"We're not using olive oil? I heard that's the done thing here."
"We're just visiting, you know."
Paul did all the arranging. He was the expert, John figured, so he let himself be moved into position. Paul bent his legs up so his knees were in his face, and shoved a spare pillow under the small of his back so his arse was pointing up. He hopped off the bed to yank his y-fronts off before getting back in and kneeling over John, and for the first time John got to see Paul's cock, not hidden by a hand or concealed by clothing. It wasn't the biggest cock in the world, no, but it was much thicker when it was hard than John thought it would be, and red all the way up the shaft to the nearly purple exposed head. It would feel good inside him, John realized. He wanted to close himself around it. Paul was going to fuck him and he was going to like it. Paul popped the cap off the lube and squeezed a healthy amount onto his fingers. "Oh, you're ready for me, babe," he said, spreading the lube over John's hole thickly, and then going back for more to coat himself with. "You can't see it, but believe me. You can take all of me."
"I'll just have to trust you, then," John said. His whole body was on fire, nerve ending alight with a need stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. "Well? Are you going to fuck me or are you going to talk me into blue balls?"
"Don't get shirty with me." Paul pressed one slippery finger to John's hole, and smiled when John bucked against his touch. "You'll get what I've got to give you."
John bit back half a dozen smart remarks. Anything that risked Paul not fucking him was too much to think about. He kept his mouth shut and watched as Paul positioned himself, spreading John's thighs and settling in between them like he lived there. The swollen head of his cock pushed up against John's hole, and he let out a hiss. "I'm honored," he said. "To be the first one."
"Can't believe I'm a virgin again," John said.
At first, when Paul began pushing in, excruciatingly slow, John only felt the burn of his skin stretching beyond anything he'd ever felt before. When he got used to the burn and the tingle of his nerves waking up for the first time, he realized that he was taking in the heat of Paul's cock too as it spread and filled his core. It felt so heavy, too, taking up more room than John thought possible as Paul worked himself inside up to his sac. Paul was fully on top of him now, trapping John's dripping cock between them, so hot John thought he might start glowing. "Ah, fuck," Paul sighed, pushing underneath John to hold him. "Fuck, you're tight. Tighest I've had yet."
"Yours is the best first dick I've ever had," John said. "You should let me return the favor."
"We'll see," Paul said, before he lifted his hips and bucked into John, starting to fuck him properly instead of just heating himself up.
So this was how it was to be fucked. John couldn't keep a thought straight so he stopped trying to think. He kept his eyes open so he could watch Paul's face contort with the effort of fucking him, pumping into him and somehow going even deeper as he did. John wished he could see Paul's cock going into his arse. Too bad there wasn't a mirror. John forced himself to relax his muscles and let Paul fuck him. It wouldn't be any good if he was too tense to get as much pleasure out of it as he could. The sensations carried him through the initial pain and the heat building inside him. The hair on Paul's thighs and shins rubbing up against John's smoother legs; the tiny beads of sweat that were rising on Paul's forehead like budding flowers; the way John squeezed around Paul's cock, straining to keep him inside. John arched his back and forced himself onto Paul as much as he could, like he was trying to swallow Paul himself.
Paul thrust, and John felt something new. He knew that he was getting close to coming, but this was different. Instead of a full, intense pressure in his groin, he was feeling waves of pulsing warmth radiating out from his core. Paul thrust again, hitting the same spot, and John let out an involuntary moan, breathy and soft, like his voice was being pulled back in as he let it out. All the air in his body was being forced out and replaced with pleasure that vibrated in his marrow. "Oh, you like that, yeah?" Paul said, in a gleefully wicked tone. "You like the way I'm fucking you?"
John let out a whine as Paul thrust once more and he thought he might begin to melt from the inside out. "Why don't I help you, then," Paul said, "and let you control how you come?"
Before John could react, or even register what Paul was saying, Paul was throwing himself to the side and rolling them over, and suddenly John was on top of Paul, sitting on his cock. John shifted his weight back and speared himself fully on Paul's cock, the head of it now pressing fully against his prostate and heating him up so quickly he imagined he would start throwing off sparks. He forced himself down as far as he could, bouncing on Paul as his own cock smeared pre-come across Paul's stomach. Paul lay there grinning like a madman, thrilled at the sight of John desperate to come. John's eyes rolled back in their sockets. The top of his head was going to blow off, his blood was about to boil, his bones were going to turn to dust if he didn't come -
"Anything for you," Paul said, bucking up into John one last time.
John had never been struck by lightning, but he couldn't think of anything to compare how he felt as he came. Or maybe it was more like having an ocean wave crash into him and send him spiralling arse over heels, unable to find his way up from down. He was being stretched from the inside, molten lava rushing through him. His whole body shook as he kept fucking himself on Paul's cock. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his calves tightened until they started to seize. He was clenching around Paul almost without even trying, almost like cramping, but so sweet and so hot. He was coming in waves over Paul's chest, even reaching up to his collarbone and the spot under his chin, more than he had ever come in his life, as he kept fucking Paul and kept coming.
Paul arched his back until the back of his head lifted off the pillow, and his legs bent up. John knew it when he came because all the tension left his body. His face slackened, and his shoulders lowered from where they'd been around his ears. John felt the rush of warmth inside him, marking the place as somewhere Paul had been, and would always be the first person to get there. John had covered Paul, and now Paul had filled him. They had claimed each other.
Paul helped John dismount, and he collapsed onto the bed next to Paul. Every inch of him was sore, from his tight, sweaty scalp, to his aching abdominals, all the way down to his throbbing arse and his toes, curled too tightly. Paul's come was starting to ooze out of him, still warm. Paul forced himself out of bed and wiped himself off with the shirt he'd taken off and left on the floor. He staggered over to his dresser, grabbed his ciggies and lighter, and got back into the bed. Lighting two cigarettes, he puffed until they were properly lit and handed one to John. "Believe me now?" Paul said.
"Fuck off," John replied, almost reflexively. He was going to be aching for days, and he knew he would be walking funny for the whole next day. Everyone would know what had happened. Paul had fucked him, and now he would never be someone Paul hadn't fucked. Still. It was good - better than good. Better than better could be. "Are you going to keep fucking every stray who comes across your path?"
"Why? Did you want to piss on me and claim your territory?"
"If you're into piss then we're going have to have a conversation about that."
Paul exhaled a cloud of smoke. "If you're going to make yourself available, I won't have to go around fucking anyone who smiles at me."
"I might as well keep staying with you, then," John said. He needed to bathe and scrub a layer of skin off. He was drenched in sweat, his arse was throbbing, Paul's come was drying on the backs of his thighs, and he might have cried a little. "Keep us both happy, you know."
"Call it whatever you want, love," Paul said, giving John's thigh an affectionate squeeze. "You were more fun than any of them. I swear. You were the only one who wasn't so bloody starstruck at having my cock up their arse."
"I know you too well for that," John said. He was going to move his things from the spare room to Paul's room. He was going to tell Cyn he was staying with Paul for work, at least until he found his footing with this new arrangement. He was going to get used to having Paul's cock in his arse. "You're not that special."
"Scads of blokes all over London would disagree," Paul said, giving John a light pinch.
"No getting a big head while I'm around," John said, pushing himself closer so his shoulder was against Paul's. "Save that for everyone else."
"Anything for you," Paul said, and John felt the same warmth in his chest. He was going to lie there for a while, yet, skin to skin to Paul. It was much better than having a wall between them.