Drabble Prompt # 4
“Cut!”
“Nice striptease, luv. That meant for me, then?” Paul asked with a laugh.
George leaned his head close to whisper in Paul’s ear.
As Paul recoiled in mock horror, George turned and whispered something to John. The two giggled conspiratorially, nodded in unison and began dragging Paul towards the dressing room.
Paul was still pretending to fight off their advances. Clearly, there was some naughty joke being played out amongst them. My cock stirred thinking of a few memorable dressing room scenes not caught on camera in the past. Paul caught my eye and I raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, lads! Aren’t you forgetting someone?” he asked with a nod in my direction.
“Ritchie, luv, you’re needed in the dressing room,” John announced in a prim and proper buttoned-up tone.
“Come on, wanker,” Paul encouraged.
“Clothing optional,” George stage-whispered dropping the jacket he’d been stripping off earlier on the set.
“Shhhh!!” John admonished George and the three of them turned and ran for the dressing room, looking back and gesturing for me to follow. Just as I reached the door, Tony Bramwell grabbed my arm.
“Tea break, would you say?”
I laughed. “Oh, I’d say more like dinner break.” I heard what sounded like a squeal from Paul and the door opened quickly. A grinning George grabbed my hand and prepared to pull me in, whispering to Tony, “I’d say we’re through for the day. Creative conference. No interruptions on pain of death.” With a wink he shut the door. Looking back, I’d say it was one of our finer performances.
“Nice striptease, luv. That meant for me, then?” Paul asked with a laugh.
George leaned his head close to whisper in Paul’s ear.
As Paul recoiled in mock horror, George turned and whispered something to John. The two giggled conspiratorially, nodded in unison and began dragging Paul towards the dressing room.
Paul was still pretending to fight off their advances. Clearly, there was some naughty joke being played out amongst them. My cock stirred thinking of a few memorable dressing room scenes not caught on camera in the past. Paul caught my eye and I raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, lads! Aren’t you forgetting someone?” he asked with a nod in my direction.
“Ritchie, luv, you’re needed in the dressing room,” John announced in a prim and proper buttoned-up tone.
“Come on, wanker,” Paul encouraged.
“Clothing optional,” George stage-whispered dropping the jacket he’d been stripping off earlier on the set.
“Shhhh!!” John admonished George and the three of them turned and ran for the dressing room, looking back and gesturing for me to follow. Just as I reached the door, Tony Bramwell grabbed my arm.
“Tea break, would you say?”
I laughed. “Oh, I’d say more like dinner break.” I heard what sounded like a squeal from Paul and the door opened quickly. A grinning George grabbed my hand and prepared to pull me in, whispering to Tony, “I’d say we’re through for the day. Creative conference. No interruptions on pain of death.” With a wink he shut the door. Looking back, I’d say it was one of our finer performances.