Johnny, My Dear
Title: Johnny, My Dear
Author: withalittlewit aka Priscila
Pairing: John/Paul, Martha/Paul (YES. I KNOW.)
Rating: NC-17 PG-13.
Summary: John wakes up one day to find out he's Martha. Oh noes! :O
Author Notes: AHHHH. I was totally planning to finish this yesterday for katexlove's birthday, but I couldn't finish it! Well, here you go, honey, a Martha/Paul (because their love is so canon). I so want to make one in Martha's pov. XD Happy belated birthday!
Disclaimer: I do not, nor intend to imply to own the Beatles and any of the individuals' lives or history.
John stirred, yawned loudly, and brought a hand to rub his face.
He was met with an unorthodox amount of hair.
He sat up and tried to reach up a hand again. His hand just missed his chin before falling on the ground, and John swore that his arm had been longer. He looked down at his body and let out a cry.
He was a fucking dog.
He was a fucking English sheepdog, to be exact. John had absolutely no clue why, either. He had fallen asleep as John, and every other day he had woken as John, so why was today different?
John tried moving; it felt so weird, with all the fur and the inability to stand like a proper Homo sapien. He took a tentative step forward with one paw, the other paws following suit as if they were already accustomed to walking. He grinned to himself and began to prance around the room happily.
Hm, being a dog wasn’t so weird.
John finally paid attention to his surroundings. It didn’t look like his house, but it looked strangely familiar. Granted, it was all muted in color, but it still looked oddly familiar.
He trotted to a nearby frame, seeing if he could recognize the people in the picture. His eyes widened at the sight before him, however.
It was a picture of him (well, human him at least) and Paul at some sort of party.
John grinned once more. He was in Paul’s house. He was a dog in Paul’s house.
He was Martha.
John took a look at himself. It was strange seeing Martha from this point of view. She was all hair and hair and hair. However, it felt strangely right. He laughed inwardly. ’At least I’m still Paul’s best mate,’ he thought to himself.
After a second of deliberating, John decided to take it upon himself to summon his ‘owner’. So, after a deep breath, John opened his mouth and let out a long howl.
He waited for a response.
And waited.
And waited.
Getting a bit impatient (John never viewed patience as a virtue), John howled again.
When he received no answer once more, he growled, then howled again.
John was met with silence once more, and it finally clicked to him that Paul wasn’t home. He was probably at Apple Records, working.
Oh yeah, work. John was supposed to be there, wasn’t he?
’Wait, if I’m here, then who’s me?’ John thought, panicking. He hoped someone random wasn’t in his body; or worse, nothing at all, and people assumed he was dead and then buried him and he was currently six feet under. Or cremated.
John shivered at the thought.
Then he heard it. The front door made soft noises, much like the sound of someone arriving home, unlocking the door and anticipating the loving attention of his dog.
“Martha! Oh, Ma-hartha!” Paul called melodiously, and John came barreling to the front door. Paul grinned when he saw his faithful pet and bent down to give him a hug. John gratefully ran into it, secretly enjoying the feel of Paul’s hands rubbing and scratching his back.
Paul straightened and closed the door behind him, looking down at John. “Alright, then, Martha, are you hungry or are you up to hearing about my day, first?” John opened his mouth to answer, but only a bark resounded in his ears. He looked confused for a moment before realizing that, of course, he couldn’t speak. Paul looked at him curiously. “That doesn’t really answer my question, I suppose. Are you hungry?” John growled in disapproval (there was no way in hell he would be eating the shitty dog food he’d seen Paul feed Martha), and Paul laughed. “Alright, then, let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you about my day.” John barked in response, causing Paul to laugh again. He bent down and gave him a kiss on the top of his furry head. “Oh, Martha. You’re the only one who cares about me,” he said melodramatically.
On a whim, John stuck out his tongue and licked Paul’s cheek. He tasted like sweat and aftershave and a bit like strawberry yogurt, which was a strange yet pleasant mix. Paul straightened and headed to the stairs, tossing his jacket on the couch on the way. John followed him dutifully, hopping up the stairs with some difficulty.
They entered Paul’s room and immediately the man went to removing his clothes. John watched with a mix of delight and mischievousness at the sight of Paul’s naked chest. He barked out his approval. Paul turned to look at his pet and he gave him a grin. “Oh Martha, you cheeky thing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were Johnny,” he teased before slipping into a pair of pajama pants and a loose-fitting shirt. He sprawled out on top of the bed, patting the area beside him for John to sleep on.
“Since Jane is out halfway around the world, I guess it’s just you and me, girl,” Paul said sadly and ran his fingers through John’s hair. John gave him an appreciative, quiet bark and licked Paul’s cheek again. Paul smiled at the display of affection before his eyes lit up, as if remembering something. “Oh, I still haven’t told you about my day!”
John barked gratefully; he had hoped he could hear something about his human self to see how he was carrying on. Paul flipped onto his stomach, his legs swinging off the bed like he was a fifteen-year-old girl. “So, we had to go to work today, and I went over to John’s to pick him up. Well, when I got there he was already high off of something, but he wouldn’t tell me what, so I drove him to work,” he said, then his voice dropped down to a whisper as he looked around the room nervously. “And guess what, Martha? He was nuzzling me and licking my cheeks and neck the entire time, and he wouldn’t focus on the words at all.”
Paul eyes were wide with surprise as he told the story, and John almost began cackling (well, had he been able to). The way Paul looked was not unlike a teenage bird telling the story of her first date with the popular boy at school, and he couldn’t help but feel smug.
And then the words hit John.
He had been nuzzling Paul? And licking him? God, John had wanted to do those things (and so, so much more) for the longest time, and yet here this intruder was, sneaking up on John’s territory. If anyone deserved to lick and nuzzle Paul, it was the real John Lennon himself. As if to prove his point, he leaned forward and buried his nose in Paul’s hair. The man smiled and moved his hand to rub John’s belly.
“I know, Martha. I was a bit scared… You know, after the whole ‘Jane thinking I was cheating on her’ thing. Especially since John is, well… You know,” Paul sighed and ran a hand through his own hair. “Oh well. Can’t think too much into it, can I, Martha?” he asked, turning to look at his dog. He smiled. “I’m glad I can talk to you, girl.”
John, however, was less interested in Paul’s weird obsession with his dog, and more interested in what “he was”. Paul was going to say something potentially (or hopefully) life changing, and John was more than desperate to hear what it was.
It wasn’t much of a secret that John was taken by the bassist. He had been since they had met in ’57. It was nerve-wracking just being by him at times; always wondering if Paul knew, if Paul would despise him for it. And then there were times when Paul would lean his head against John’s shoulder or lie on his lap and it just felt perfect, like that’s how it was destined to be. Too bad Paul never fucking realized it.
John’s eyes lit up suddenly. Fuck, it couldn’t be… No way, it was too weird. But, still, he was a dog… He suddenly remembered the night before, after a very “sexy” night to himself (which really consisted of tossing off to a picture of Paul), John fell asleep thinking how he wanted to be the closest person to Paul. And then when he had woken up, he was Martha.
At the realization, he suddenly grew jealous. ’Fuck, his dog? I would’ve been okay with being fucking Jane, but his dog?’ It lasted all of five seconds, however, when he realized that he was a dog, and, at the very least, John didn’t have any sexual rivals (that he knew of).
He felt Paul pull him into a tight hug, and John relaxed, letting his legs sprawl out on the bed. “Martha, my dear, don’t ever leave me,” he mumbled into his fur. John gave Paul another reassuring lick and Paul smiled sadly. “Thank you,” he said with another sigh. “I’m just tired, you know. Of work, and being near John all the time.”
John’s ears pricked up. Finally, it looked like Paul was going to spill something of interest. He gave Paul an encouraging bark. “It’s just sometimes I think John knows. How I feel. And I get scared because I don’t want him to hate me or anything. I just want to be best mates. I’ll be fine if that’s it,” he confessed, and John suddenly put two and two together.
Paul was in love with him.
Fuck, Paul was in love with him.
John praised the gods that be and nuzzled Paul’s cheek once more. He was enjoying being a dog; he could be affectionate in way that his human self would never have gotten away with. Paul let out a tired laugh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry too much. I should probably get some rest too,” he said, his voice starting to drop. John lightly licked Paul’s cheek (it was starting to get borderline addictive) and let him fall asleep.
He watched the younger man quietly before looking down at himself. John wondered how long he would be Martha; not that he cared particularly, but it’s not like he could go off and confess his love for Paul and then proceed to shag him silly when he was a dog. However, something vaguely warm and optimistic (hope?) rose in his chest and he let out a contented sigh. John buried his head into Paul’s hair before allowing himself to fall asleep as well.
Paul stirred several hours later, mumbling nonsense to himself as he turned over. He reached out a hand to stroke Martha and smiled to himself as his hand ran down a chest. However, he felt that it was off in some way. It felt smooth and manly. He ran his hand down Martha’s chest once more before realizing that it was most definitely not a dog.
Paul sat up, his eyes wide with shock. Taking in a few deep breaths, he slowly turned to look at how exactly was in bed with him.
Upon seeing a very naked John Lennon sprawled out on his sheets, Paul let out a scream.
John woke at the sound, sat up, looked confused, then lifted a hand to his head as his eyes began to roll to the back of his head. “Ah, fuck, got up too fast,” he cursed. After a few seconds of waking up, however, the older male seemed to look surprised as well. He looked down at his body and gave it a good feel, as if seeing it for the first time. Paul jumped out of bed and grabbed the nearest thing he could. He brandished his belt threateningly.
“John, what the fuck are you doing in my bed naked?” He cried, more stunned than disgusted (after all, John was in his bed naked, which had only been a main theme in his dreams for the past eight years). John looked at Paul, looking just as shocked.
“I don’t know. I remember I was Martha when I went to sleep,” he said slowly, more to himself than to Paul. Paul looked at him as if he were completely mad.
“What are you talking about, you were Martha?”
John pointed to himself. “I was Martha, and Martha was me, but in this body, and I was in her body, and then I remember falling asleep and-“ he suddenly looked up at Paul. “Fuck!”
Paul looked alarmed at the sudden curse. “What?!”
“It’s because I got what I wanted! I get it now!” John cried, grinning. He stood and took several steps towards Paul. However, the younger man just turned his head away and closed his eyes, waving the belt at him. John looked down at his body as realized he was naked. He thought about putting on clothes then looked up at Paul. He shrugged to himself, figuring if all went well he wouldn’t even need them. John took several more steps towards Paul and grabbed his shoulders. “The other day, before I went to sleep, I wanted to be the person closest to you, and I woke up as Martha.”
Paul dropped the belt when he felt John’s hands on his shoulders. His eyes grew wide and skeptical when he heard John’s explanation. He looked back at the older male. “What are you talking about?”
“I woke up as Martha, and then when you told me- Martha- whatever, that you loved me, I turned back into my normal self. God, I’m such a fucking genius!” John looked up to the ceiling and grinned to himself as he figured out what had just transpired. Paul took a step back and felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.
“Wait, you heard what I said? Bu-but, I didn’t even say I loved you. Nobody said that. I don’t love you, I’m not queer or something-“
Paul’s incessant babbling ceased when John roughly pulled him into a kiss. It was brief and sloppy and not at all as romantic as Paul had imagined their first kiss would be, but he felt himself smiling dreamily as John pulled away nonetheless. John grinned. “I love you, you stupid git,” he confessed, and Paul let out a shaky laugh. The older man licked his lips. “Sweat and aftershave and strawberry yogurt,” he said, and Paul laughed once more.
John turned Paul around and shoved him onto the bed. Paul’s eyes grew wide as he realized what was going to happen. “Hold on, John, don’t you think it’s too soon?” he asked, panicking slightly. However, John let out a chuckle.
“Too soon? I’ve been waiting eight fucking years to do this, Macca,” he growled, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. Paul blushed but couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face as well. “Paul McCartney, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Is that a promise?” Paul asked cheekily, his arms reaching up to link behind John’s neck.
John leaned down to press their lips together in their second kiss, planning on being gentle and passionate and romantic and sweet. However, he stopped dead when another weight jumped on the bed and got between them. Instead of Paul’s mouth, his lips met with a mass of hair.
“Martha!” Paul shouted delightfully, his arms instead moving to wrap around his sheepdog lovingly. “Oh, how I missed you, girl.”
Martha let out a bark in response, dropping the clothes that were in her mouth. John realized they were his own, and they now had dog drool all over them.
John sat back on the bed, narrowing his eyes at Martha. He watched as Paul pressed kissed to the dog’s nose affectionately and he suddenly stood up. He pulled on his (somewhat damp) clothing before heading towards the door in a huff. Paul looked towards him, a bit worried. “Wait, John! Where are you going?” he asked, concern in his voice. John shot them a backwards glance and opened the door roughly.
“I’m going to rent myself a fucking dog suit!” he cried enviously and as he shut the door, he heard Paul’s melodious laughter ringing in his ears.
Author: withalittlewit aka Priscila
Pairing: John/Paul, Martha/Paul (YES. I KNOW.)
Rating: NC-17 PG-13.
Summary: John wakes up one day to find out he's Martha. Oh noes! :O
Author Notes: AHHHH. I was totally planning to finish this yesterday for katexlove's birthday, but I couldn't finish it! Well, here you go, honey, a Martha/Paul (because their love is so canon). I so want to make one in Martha's pov. XD Happy belated birthday!
Disclaimer: I do not, nor intend to imply to own the Beatles and any of the individuals' lives or history.
John stirred, yawned loudly, and brought a hand to rub his face.
He was met with an unorthodox amount of hair.
He sat up and tried to reach up a hand again. His hand just missed his chin before falling on the ground, and John swore that his arm had been longer. He looked down at his body and let out a cry.
He was a fucking dog.
He was a fucking English sheepdog, to be exact. John had absolutely no clue why, either. He had fallen asleep as John, and every other day he had woken as John, so why was today different?
John tried moving; it felt so weird, with all the fur and the inability to stand like a proper Homo sapien. He took a tentative step forward with one paw, the other paws following suit as if they were already accustomed to walking. He grinned to himself and began to prance around the room happily.
Hm, being a dog wasn’t so weird.
John finally paid attention to his surroundings. It didn’t look like his house, but it looked strangely familiar. Granted, it was all muted in color, but it still looked oddly familiar.
He trotted to a nearby frame, seeing if he could recognize the people in the picture. His eyes widened at the sight before him, however.
It was a picture of him (well, human him at least) and Paul at some sort of party.
John grinned once more. He was in Paul’s house. He was a dog in Paul’s house.
He was Martha.
John took a look at himself. It was strange seeing Martha from this point of view. She was all hair and hair and hair. However, it felt strangely right. He laughed inwardly. ’At least I’m still Paul’s best mate,’ he thought to himself.
After a second of deliberating, John decided to take it upon himself to summon his ‘owner’. So, after a deep breath, John opened his mouth and let out a long howl.
He waited for a response.
And waited.
And waited.
Getting a bit impatient (John never viewed patience as a virtue), John howled again.
When he received no answer once more, he growled, then howled again.
John was met with silence once more, and it finally clicked to him that Paul wasn’t home. He was probably at Apple Records, working.
Oh yeah, work. John was supposed to be there, wasn’t he?
’Wait, if I’m here, then who’s me?’ John thought, panicking. He hoped someone random wasn’t in his body; or worse, nothing at all, and people assumed he was dead and then buried him and he was currently six feet under. Or cremated.
John shivered at the thought.
Then he heard it. The front door made soft noises, much like the sound of someone arriving home, unlocking the door and anticipating the loving attention of his dog.
“Martha! Oh, Ma-hartha!” Paul called melodiously, and John came barreling to the front door. Paul grinned when he saw his faithful pet and bent down to give him a hug. John gratefully ran into it, secretly enjoying the feel of Paul’s hands rubbing and scratching his back.
Paul straightened and closed the door behind him, looking down at John. “Alright, then, Martha, are you hungry or are you up to hearing about my day, first?” John opened his mouth to answer, but only a bark resounded in his ears. He looked confused for a moment before realizing that, of course, he couldn’t speak. Paul looked at him curiously. “That doesn’t really answer my question, I suppose. Are you hungry?” John growled in disapproval (there was no way in hell he would be eating the shitty dog food he’d seen Paul feed Martha), and Paul laughed. “Alright, then, let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you about my day.” John barked in response, causing Paul to laugh again. He bent down and gave him a kiss on the top of his furry head. “Oh, Martha. You’re the only one who cares about me,” he said melodramatically.
On a whim, John stuck out his tongue and licked Paul’s cheek. He tasted like sweat and aftershave and a bit like strawberry yogurt, which was a strange yet pleasant mix. Paul straightened and headed to the stairs, tossing his jacket on the couch on the way. John followed him dutifully, hopping up the stairs with some difficulty.
They entered Paul’s room and immediately the man went to removing his clothes. John watched with a mix of delight and mischievousness at the sight of Paul’s naked chest. He barked out his approval. Paul turned to look at his pet and he gave him a grin. “Oh Martha, you cheeky thing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were Johnny,” he teased before slipping into a pair of pajama pants and a loose-fitting shirt. He sprawled out on top of the bed, patting the area beside him for John to sleep on.
“Since Jane is out halfway around the world, I guess it’s just you and me, girl,” Paul said sadly and ran his fingers through John’s hair. John gave him an appreciative, quiet bark and licked Paul’s cheek again. Paul smiled at the display of affection before his eyes lit up, as if remembering something. “Oh, I still haven’t told you about my day!”
John barked gratefully; he had hoped he could hear something about his human self to see how he was carrying on. Paul flipped onto his stomach, his legs swinging off the bed like he was a fifteen-year-old girl. “So, we had to go to work today, and I went over to John’s to pick him up. Well, when I got there he was already high off of something, but he wouldn’t tell me what, so I drove him to work,” he said, then his voice dropped down to a whisper as he looked around the room nervously. “And guess what, Martha? He was nuzzling me and licking my cheeks and neck the entire time, and he wouldn’t focus on the words at all.”
Paul eyes were wide with surprise as he told the story, and John almost began cackling (well, had he been able to). The way Paul looked was not unlike a teenage bird telling the story of her first date with the popular boy at school, and he couldn’t help but feel smug.
And then the words hit John.
He had been nuzzling Paul? And licking him? God, John had wanted to do those things (and so, so much more) for the longest time, and yet here this intruder was, sneaking up on John’s territory. If anyone deserved to lick and nuzzle Paul, it was the real John Lennon himself. As if to prove his point, he leaned forward and buried his nose in Paul’s hair. The man smiled and moved his hand to rub John’s belly.
“I know, Martha. I was a bit scared… You know, after the whole ‘Jane thinking I was cheating on her’ thing. Especially since John is, well… You know,” Paul sighed and ran a hand through his own hair. “Oh well. Can’t think too much into it, can I, Martha?” he asked, turning to look at his dog. He smiled. “I’m glad I can talk to you, girl.”
John, however, was less interested in Paul’s weird obsession with his dog, and more interested in what “he was”. Paul was going to say something potentially (or hopefully) life changing, and John was more than desperate to hear what it was.
It wasn’t much of a secret that John was taken by the bassist. He had been since they had met in ’57. It was nerve-wracking just being by him at times; always wondering if Paul knew, if Paul would despise him for it. And then there were times when Paul would lean his head against John’s shoulder or lie on his lap and it just felt perfect, like that’s how it was destined to be. Too bad Paul never fucking realized it.
John’s eyes lit up suddenly. Fuck, it couldn’t be… No way, it was too weird. But, still, he was a dog… He suddenly remembered the night before, after a very “sexy” night to himself (which really consisted of tossing off to a picture of Paul), John fell asleep thinking how he wanted to be the closest person to Paul. And then when he had woken up, he was Martha.
At the realization, he suddenly grew jealous. ’Fuck, his dog? I would’ve been okay with being fucking Jane, but his dog?’ It lasted all of five seconds, however, when he realized that he was a dog, and, at the very least, John didn’t have any sexual rivals (that he knew of).
He felt Paul pull him into a tight hug, and John relaxed, letting his legs sprawl out on the bed. “Martha, my dear, don’t ever leave me,” he mumbled into his fur. John gave Paul another reassuring lick and Paul smiled sadly. “Thank you,” he said with another sigh. “I’m just tired, you know. Of work, and being near John all the time.”
John’s ears pricked up. Finally, it looked like Paul was going to spill something of interest. He gave Paul an encouraging bark. “It’s just sometimes I think John knows. How I feel. And I get scared because I don’t want him to hate me or anything. I just want to be best mates. I’ll be fine if that’s it,” he confessed, and John suddenly put two and two together.
Paul was in love with him.
Fuck, Paul was in love with him.
John praised the gods that be and nuzzled Paul’s cheek once more. He was enjoying being a dog; he could be affectionate in way that his human self would never have gotten away with. Paul let out a tired laugh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry too much. I should probably get some rest too,” he said, his voice starting to drop. John lightly licked Paul’s cheek (it was starting to get borderline addictive) and let him fall asleep.
He watched the younger man quietly before looking down at himself. John wondered how long he would be Martha; not that he cared particularly, but it’s not like he could go off and confess his love for Paul and then proceed to shag him silly when he was a dog. However, something vaguely warm and optimistic (hope?) rose in his chest and he let out a contented sigh. John buried his head into Paul’s hair before allowing himself to fall asleep as well.
Paul stirred several hours later, mumbling nonsense to himself as he turned over. He reached out a hand to stroke Martha and smiled to himself as his hand ran down a chest. However, he felt that it was off in some way. It felt smooth and manly. He ran his hand down Martha’s chest once more before realizing that it was most definitely not a dog.
Paul sat up, his eyes wide with shock. Taking in a few deep breaths, he slowly turned to look at how exactly was in bed with him.
Upon seeing a very naked John Lennon sprawled out on his sheets, Paul let out a scream.
John woke at the sound, sat up, looked confused, then lifted a hand to his head as his eyes began to roll to the back of his head. “Ah, fuck, got up too fast,” he cursed. After a few seconds of waking up, however, the older male seemed to look surprised as well. He looked down at his body and gave it a good feel, as if seeing it for the first time. Paul jumped out of bed and grabbed the nearest thing he could. He brandished his belt threateningly.
“John, what the fuck are you doing in my bed naked?” He cried, more stunned than disgusted (after all, John was in his bed naked, which had only been a main theme in his dreams for the past eight years). John looked at Paul, looking just as shocked.
“I don’t know. I remember I was Martha when I went to sleep,” he said slowly, more to himself than to Paul. Paul looked at him as if he were completely mad.
“What are you talking about, you were Martha?”
John pointed to himself. “I was Martha, and Martha was me, but in this body, and I was in her body, and then I remember falling asleep and-“ he suddenly looked up at Paul. “Fuck!”
Paul looked alarmed at the sudden curse. “What?!”
“It’s because I got what I wanted! I get it now!” John cried, grinning. He stood and took several steps towards Paul. However, the younger man just turned his head away and closed his eyes, waving the belt at him. John looked down at his body as realized he was naked. He thought about putting on clothes then looked up at Paul. He shrugged to himself, figuring if all went well he wouldn’t even need them. John took several more steps towards Paul and grabbed his shoulders. “The other day, before I went to sleep, I wanted to be the person closest to you, and I woke up as Martha.”
Paul dropped the belt when he felt John’s hands on his shoulders. His eyes grew wide and skeptical when he heard John’s explanation. He looked back at the older male. “What are you talking about?”
“I woke up as Martha, and then when you told me- Martha- whatever, that you loved me, I turned back into my normal self. God, I’m such a fucking genius!” John looked up to the ceiling and grinned to himself as he figured out what had just transpired. Paul took a step back and felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.
“Wait, you heard what I said? Bu-but, I didn’t even say I loved you. Nobody said that. I don’t love you, I’m not queer or something-“
Paul’s incessant babbling ceased when John roughly pulled him into a kiss. It was brief and sloppy and not at all as romantic as Paul had imagined their first kiss would be, but he felt himself smiling dreamily as John pulled away nonetheless. John grinned. “I love you, you stupid git,” he confessed, and Paul let out a shaky laugh. The older man licked his lips. “Sweat and aftershave and strawberry yogurt,” he said, and Paul laughed once more.
John turned Paul around and shoved him onto the bed. Paul’s eyes grew wide as he realized what was going to happen. “Hold on, John, don’t you think it’s too soon?” he asked, panicking slightly. However, John let out a chuckle.
“Too soon? I’ve been waiting eight fucking years to do this, Macca,” he growled, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. Paul blushed but couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face as well. “Paul McCartney, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Is that a promise?” Paul asked cheekily, his arms reaching up to link behind John’s neck.
John leaned down to press their lips together in their second kiss, planning on being gentle and passionate and romantic and sweet. However, he stopped dead when another weight jumped on the bed and got between them. Instead of Paul’s mouth, his lips met with a mass of hair.
“Martha!” Paul shouted delightfully, his arms instead moving to wrap around his sheepdog lovingly. “Oh, how I missed you, girl.”
Martha let out a bark in response, dropping the clothes that were in her mouth. John realized they were his own, and they now had dog drool all over them.
John sat back on the bed, narrowing his eyes at Martha. He watched as Paul pressed kissed to the dog’s nose affectionately and he suddenly stood up. He pulled on his (somewhat damp) clothing before heading towards the door in a huff. Paul looked towards him, a bit worried. “Wait, John! Where are you going?” he asked, concern in his voice. John shot them a backwards glance and opened the door roughly.
“I’m going to rent myself a fucking dog suit!” he cried enviously and as he shut the door, he heard Paul’s melodious laughter ringing in his ears.