Don't You Know, It's Gonna Be Alright (Part 6)
Title: Don’t You Know It’s Gonna Be Alright (Part 6)
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some sexytimes, humiliation at the hands of evil History teachers, language.
Summary: “He knew that it would be serious; that there would be actual affection behind it, and that made him more than just a randy teenager.”
Disclaimer: I still don’t own or know anything. This is made up.
A/N: Oh my God, guys, I am so sorry about the wait. I just moved to a town that’s an entire day’s car ride away from home in order to go to college and my brain is exploding with the newness and with the school shit. I’m afraid that this is going to be a trend for a while because I now have actual work to do, but I will do my best not to leave you guys hanging too much. As an apology, I made this one long and juicy.
A/N 2: So, after doing some actual research (I know, crazy, right?), I now realize that Julia died in July, so all this school shit doesn’t make sense since the boys would be on summer vacation. Oh well, that’s why it’s called fiction!
Older chapters can be found very easily at my Journal.
Paul was devastatingly cute.
John hated referring to him that way. It was such a trite word, so light and airy and really very meaningless, when really Paul, for all his charming smiles and easy laughter was the complete opposite of light, airy and meaningless. Nevertheless, he was absolutely adorable and there was simply no other way to describe him.
Except maybe… sexy.
John felt strange thinking of Paul in those terms. He shouldn’t have felt strange at all; he couldn’t count the number of times the irresistible blondes that filled his stickier dreams inexplicably became an even more irresistible brunette. Still, it was weird, right? Wrong. That was the word. Or sick, maybe, that fit too. Wanting to do that with another bloke? That was fucked up.
Then again, they’d already kissed and cuddled and cried together. He missed Paul when they were apart. He smiled whenever he thought of Paul’s laughter or the way he chewed on his fingers when he was thinking. He loved Paul. That might be even more fucked up.
Maybe that was the problem. Not that he wanted to… do stuff… with Paul, it was that that stuff would actually mean something. He wouldn’t be able to hide it behind the excuse of just needing to get off. If he didn’t care so much, he could tell himself that it was just for lack of any willing birds, that a warm body was a warm body.
But he couldn’t do that. He knew that it would be serious; that there would be actual affection behind it, and that made him more than just a randy teenager.
It made him a queer.
~*~*~*~*~
Paul couldn’t focus at all today. He never really cared for History, but today it was just that much worse. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was about the area just outside the classroom window that held his attention so well, but it was distracting as fuck.
He sighed quietly and turned his attention to his empty paper. He probably should have been taking notes or something. He’d only barely passed his last exam and his teacher was quite fond of surprise quizzes. Not that it would matter if he started taking notes now, they were halfway through class and he hadn’t the slightest idea what the fuck they were supposed to be learning.
Right. Doodling it is.
Paul absentmindedly sketched drawings of guitars on his paper. The habit must have rubbed off on him from George. George. He began to doodle a silly caricature of his friend. He almost chuckled aloud as he scribbled in his unibrow and added comically oversized ears. Funny enough, it did rather look like George. An ugly, trollish version of George, but still quite George-like.
He started scratching similar drawings of other people. His brother’s face materialized in the margin, with Paul’s eyes and nose, but with a much squarer face, a ridiculously large mouth and a set of big teeth that had failed to sort themselves in such a way that he did not look like a jack-o-lantern.
Paul gave John’s new friend Stuart (who Paul referred to in his head as “That Artsy Fuck”) a special treatment, making him look as much like a girl as he possibly could. Hell, why not put the lad in a dress just for good measure? A flowery hat like the old aunties on the bus wore would also be a fetching little touch.
He leaned back in his seat, seemingly out of ideas. Maybe he could go back to staring out the window; that had worked fairly well, until…
Oh, he should do John, shouldn’t he? Of course.
He thought for a moment about John’s face. Strong jaw, fine lips, long, aquiline nose. He’d never seen anyone else with a nose like that. Except for John’s father of course, but he’d only seen Alf Lennon in an old photo John had grudgingly shown him. He slowly, carefully drew John’s face. He paused on his eyes, drawing them very softly, afraid to make them less perfect than they were.
He stared at his work for a moment. It was probably one of the best things he’d ever drawn. It wasn’t silly or grotesque. It looked like John. There was nothing silly, and certainly nothing grotesque about John’s face. He drew John’s shoulders and chest just as carefully. He wondered if he was getting it right - he had never looked long and hard at John’s body; it was always fleeting glances while John changed his shirt. With a flush of embarrassment, he realized that he really, really wished that he could clearly imagine John’s shoulders, chest, stomach…
Oh God, he really couldn’t think about that right now. He didn’t need an awkward in-class erection today.
On that note, he really didn’t want to think about the fact that the mental image of John naked even made him hard. Christ.
None of this stopped him from starting on another drawing of John, this time holding, no, caressing, a guitar. Was it possible to be jealous of a musical instrument? If it was, then he definitely envied John’s guitar.
He was busy writing different incarnations of the recently invented “Lennon/McCartney” songwriting credit when…
“Mr. McCartney?”
Oh shit. Was that him?
“Mr. McCartney.”
“Sorry, what was the question, sir?”
“Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Sure, I was just taking notes and missed the question.” He lied through his teeth.
“Is that so?”
“Yes sir.”
Lying was apparently a very bad idea.
“Hm.” The teacher approached Paul’s desk and snatched up his paper before Paul could think of a convincing reason why he shouldn’t.
“Funny, I don’t believe we’ve covered the topic of guitars or cross-dressers. Is this how you take notes?”
John would stare the teacher straight in the face and say “Yes, sir, that’s how I take notes.” Paul wished with all his might that he could be like John for one moment, but with the sound of his classmates snickering at him, he couldn’t muster the presence of mind or the courage required to do so. All he could manage was a few mumbled excuses and a deep blush.
Then the worst thing happened.
“My goodness, how productive you’ve been today. Two pages?”
Paul felt like his chest would cave in as Professor Nosy Bastard picked up the second sheet of paper gingerly. He suddenly realized how that page would look.
“Uhh…” he couldn’t seem to say anything intelligent. He wanted to drop into a hole.
“Headmaster’s office, right now.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Christ, Paul, what happened to you today?”
He had just gotten on the bus. Just now, not even a moment to sit down. God, could George be at least a little less observant today?
“What d’yeh mean?”
“Yeh look awful. Get in trouble?”
Jesus, that boy was psychic or something.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“It… it’s a long story. Let’s just say that there were some misunderstandings and now the headmaster thinks I’m a pervert.”
“God, Paul, didn’t you learn your lesson about drawin’ naked girls in class the last time?”
“I didn’t draw a naked girl.”
“What, then?”
“I drew John.”
The pause between the two boys seemed endless.
“Naked?” George grinned jokingly.
Paul didn’t smile. “Not exactly.”
George’s smile faltered. “Not exactly? I was kidding.”
“Well, I sort of drew him… not wearing a shirt. Which, you know, wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been trying to design a logo for our songwriting credit on the same page.”
“Whadda yeh mean?”
“Well, a drawing of a guy with no shirt next to ‘Lennon & McCartney’ looks kinda queer, doesn’t it?”
“Paul, just the drawing of the guy with no shirt looks queer.”
“The logo is the icing on the cake, though,” Paul grumbled bitterly.
George watched Paul intently.
“Paul?”
“I’m not a queer.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
“You were gonna.”
George paused. “Yeah, I was.”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah.”
The boys sat in silence for the rest of George’s ride. As the bus slowed to a halt at his stop, George gathered his things and began to walk toward the door with the usual silent nod in Paul’s direction when he stopped suddenly.
“Paul?”
“Yeah?” Paul jumped slightly.
“I wouldn’t mind. I mean… I wouldn’t hate you or anything. If you were… you know. I wouldn’t care. You’re my mate an’ all, so… yeah.” He shrugged.
Paul stared at him for a moment.
“Th-thanks. I… thank you, George,” he croaked softly.
George nodded, looking him straight in the eye.
He watched his younger friend step off the bus and realized with a mixture of fear and relief that George had gone past suspecting and straight into knowing.
~*~*~*~*~
John was scratching away at his notebook, drawing a series of monstrous little characters with horrifyingly prominent genitalia. He’d already done ones with big arms, big noses, and big feet, what else could he focus on now but pricks?
A soft breeze blew through his window. It was a bit cold outside, but he didn’t really mind. He liked the prickle of moist air on his skin. The sky outside was gray and soggy, as usual. He was about to start another giant-pricked fat man when he heard his aunt’s voice carrying up the stairs.
“John, your little friend is here!”
John grinned. Much as John hated the condescension with which Mimi referred to Paul, he loved to hear those words.
“Yeah, let ‘im in, will yeh? Be down in a minute.”
He carefully stashed his drawings - he thought they might not be to Mimi’s taste - and bounded down the stairs.
Paul was attempting to charm the uncharmable Mimi Smith when John’s feet hit the ground floor. Only Paul would have the kind of deluded self-confidence to try something like that, John thought with a burst of affection.
“’Ey.”
Paul looked up at his friend. John realized with silent amusement that a look of relief passed over the younger boy’s face at no longer having to force small talk with Mimi.
“Don’t just stand there lookin’ dumb. I mean, yer good at it, but…”
Paul playfully punched him in the arm as the two practically skipped over to the stairs. John could feel his aunt’s disapproving stare boring into the back of his skull, but he didn’t really care right now.
“So, you’re here at mine instead of me at yours. That doesn’t happen too often,” John smiled.
Paul shrugged. “Had a shitty day.”
“Uh oh, what happened?” John asked with over-acted sympathy.
Paul grimaced. “Ohhh. It’s a long story. I really should pay more attention in History.”
He told John the whole story. Well, almost.
“Why would he think anything about you from a picture of me? I mean, I could kind of see the names lookin’ suspicious, but you explained those, right? Doncha think yer bein’ a little paranoid?”
“I didn’t exactly get a chance to explain the names.”
“So? I still don’t see a problem.”
Paul shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
“You… well…” He blushed.
John grinned lecherously. “What, drawing naughty pictures in class, Paulie?”
Paul’s face grew even redder. “No! Just… I mean… you were… I mean, just not wearing a shirt…”
John laughed. “Shut up and get over here, you little pervert.”
He tugged Paul on top of him, chuckling. Paul smiled weakly and accepted John’s affection without any resistance whatsoever. A sense of complete calm seemed to wash over the younger boy when John tangled his fingers in his hair. As usual, John’s constant sadness was also mollified somewhat by the feeling of Paul’s body against his.
John began to press soft kisses to Paul’s face, moving slowly to his lips. God, how was this so much better than kissing a bird? It shouldn’t be. John was in love with Paul, no doubt, but he was also sure he still liked girls. But this was completely incomparable to that. This was mind-numbingly good. It was everything he could have ever wanted from a kiss.
Paul kissed back feverishly, instantly responding John’s lips. He straddled his hips and let his arms loop around his neck as the two fell back against the pillow. He felt John’s hands sliding down his back and landing firmly on his hips.
“Paul…” John whispered, his voice heavy with want.
Paul just moaned softly in return. John rolled his hips in response.
The reaction from both boys was immediate and intense.
“Ohhhh…” Paul let out a groan.
“Paulie…”
Paul realized that both he and John were hard. He had never even dreamed it would be this good, and they’d barely started. His mind filled with visions of what he wanted most, what he wanted John to do to him…
Suddenly, his brain seemed to short circuit. Oh God, he was a pervert! He was queer! He didn’t just want to kiss John or wank together. He wanted John to fuck him. It wasn’t even him wanting to fuck John! What was wrong with him? This was sick. Completely sick. He was sick for even thinking about this, let alone doing it. What was wrong with him?
“Paul?”
Paul realized that he had stopped kissing John in his panic.
“Everything alright, lad?” John’s face was flushed and his hair had gone slightly messy. He was irresistible.
And that was exactly what Paul was afraid of.
John stared at Paul’s wide eyes with confusion. “Paulie?”
“What the hell are we doing?”
“Huh?”
“This… We shouldn’t be doing this.”
John stared at him longer, thoughts buzzing in his eyes before he replied.
“You’re right. We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t be doing this because it’s bad to want to fuck another bloke and it’s worse to be in love with one, but here we are. Right?”
Paul stared back, stunned at John’s honesty. “So we should stop?” he asked weakly, a mixture of relief and disappointment.
“I didn’t say that,” he whispered.
A few moments of stillness passed between them, marred only by nervous, shallow breaths and an acute awareness of the fact that both boys were desperately aroused.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I… can you… I don’t know what you look like.”
“What?”
“Today, in class, I… I was drawing you, and I realized that I’ve never really looked at you close enough to know what you look like. You know… naked. I… don’t know what you look like.”
John smiled slightly. “You should find out.”
Paul nodded. Yes, he really should.
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some sexytimes, humiliation at the hands of evil History teachers, language.
Summary: “He knew that it would be serious; that there would be actual affection behind it, and that made him more than just a randy teenager.”
Disclaimer: I still don’t own or know anything. This is made up.
A/N: Oh my God, guys, I am so sorry about the wait. I just moved to a town that’s an entire day’s car ride away from home in order to go to college and my brain is exploding with the newness and with the school shit. I’m afraid that this is going to be a trend for a while because I now have actual work to do, but I will do my best not to leave you guys hanging too much. As an apology, I made this one long and juicy.
A/N 2: So, after doing some actual research (I know, crazy, right?), I now realize that Julia died in July, so all this school shit doesn’t make sense since the boys would be on summer vacation. Oh well, that’s why it’s called fiction!
Older chapters can be found very easily at my Journal.
Paul was devastatingly cute.
John hated referring to him that way. It was such a trite word, so light and airy and really very meaningless, when really Paul, for all his charming smiles and easy laughter was the complete opposite of light, airy and meaningless. Nevertheless, he was absolutely adorable and there was simply no other way to describe him.
Except maybe… sexy.
John felt strange thinking of Paul in those terms. He shouldn’t have felt strange at all; he couldn’t count the number of times the irresistible blondes that filled his stickier dreams inexplicably became an even more irresistible brunette. Still, it was weird, right? Wrong. That was the word. Or sick, maybe, that fit too. Wanting to do that with another bloke? That was fucked up.
Then again, they’d already kissed and cuddled and cried together. He missed Paul when they were apart. He smiled whenever he thought of Paul’s laughter or the way he chewed on his fingers when he was thinking. He loved Paul. That might be even more fucked up.
Maybe that was the problem. Not that he wanted to… do stuff… with Paul, it was that that stuff would actually mean something. He wouldn’t be able to hide it behind the excuse of just needing to get off. If he didn’t care so much, he could tell himself that it was just for lack of any willing birds, that a warm body was a warm body.
But he couldn’t do that. He knew that it would be serious; that there would be actual affection behind it, and that made him more than just a randy teenager.
It made him a queer.
~*~*~*~*~
Paul couldn’t focus at all today. He never really cared for History, but today it was just that much worse. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was about the area just outside the classroom window that held his attention so well, but it was distracting as fuck.
He sighed quietly and turned his attention to his empty paper. He probably should have been taking notes or something. He’d only barely passed his last exam and his teacher was quite fond of surprise quizzes. Not that it would matter if he started taking notes now, they were halfway through class and he hadn’t the slightest idea what the fuck they were supposed to be learning.
Right. Doodling it is.
Paul absentmindedly sketched drawings of guitars on his paper. The habit must have rubbed off on him from George. George. He began to doodle a silly caricature of his friend. He almost chuckled aloud as he scribbled in his unibrow and added comically oversized ears. Funny enough, it did rather look like George. An ugly, trollish version of George, but still quite George-like.
He started scratching similar drawings of other people. His brother’s face materialized in the margin, with Paul’s eyes and nose, but with a much squarer face, a ridiculously large mouth and a set of big teeth that had failed to sort themselves in such a way that he did not look like a jack-o-lantern.
Paul gave John’s new friend Stuart (who Paul referred to in his head as “That Artsy Fuck”) a special treatment, making him look as much like a girl as he possibly could. Hell, why not put the lad in a dress just for good measure? A flowery hat like the old aunties on the bus wore would also be a fetching little touch.
He leaned back in his seat, seemingly out of ideas. Maybe he could go back to staring out the window; that had worked fairly well, until…
Oh, he should do John, shouldn’t he? Of course.
He thought for a moment about John’s face. Strong jaw, fine lips, long, aquiline nose. He’d never seen anyone else with a nose like that. Except for John’s father of course, but he’d only seen Alf Lennon in an old photo John had grudgingly shown him. He slowly, carefully drew John’s face. He paused on his eyes, drawing them very softly, afraid to make them less perfect than they were.
He stared at his work for a moment. It was probably one of the best things he’d ever drawn. It wasn’t silly or grotesque. It looked like John. There was nothing silly, and certainly nothing grotesque about John’s face. He drew John’s shoulders and chest just as carefully. He wondered if he was getting it right - he had never looked long and hard at John’s body; it was always fleeting glances while John changed his shirt. With a flush of embarrassment, he realized that he really, really wished that he could clearly imagine John’s shoulders, chest, stomach…
Oh God, he really couldn’t think about that right now. He didn’t need an awkward in-class erection today.
On that note, he really didn’t want to think about the fact that the mental image of John naked even made him hard. Christ.
None of this stopped him from starting on another drawing of John, this time holding, no, caressing, a guitar. Was it possible to be jealous of a musical instrument? If it was, then he definitely envied John’s guitar.
He was busy writing different incarnations of the recently invented “Lennon/McCartney” songwriting credit when…
“Mr. McCartney?”
Oh shit. Was that him?
“Mr. McCartney.”
“Sorry, what was the question, sir?”
“Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Sure, I was just taking notes and missed the question.” He lied through his teeth.
“Is that so?”
“Yes sir.”
Lying was apparently a very bad idea.
“Hm.” The teacher approached Paul’s desk and snatched up his paper before Paul could think of a convincing reason why he shouldn’t.
“Funny, I don’t believe we’ve covered the topic of guitars or cross-dressers. Is this how you take notes?”
John would stare the teacher straight in the face and say “Yes, sir, that’s how I take notes.” Paul wished with all his might that he could be like John for one moment, but with the sound of his classmates snickering at him, he couldn’t muster the presence of mind or the courage required to do so. All he could manage was a few mumbled excuses and a deep blush.
Then the worst thing happened.
“My goodness, how productive you’ve been today. Two pages?”
Paul felt like his chest would cave in as Professor Nosy Bastard picked up the second sheet of paper gingerly. He suddenly realized how that page would look.
“Uhh…” he couldn’t seem to say anything intelligent. He wanted to drop into a hole.
“Headmaster’s office, right now.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Christ, Paul, what happened to you today?”
He had just gotten on the bus. Just now, not even a moment to sit down. God, could George be at least a little less observant today?
“What d’yeh mean?”
“Yeh look awful. Get in trouble?”
Jesus, that boy was psychic or something.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“It… it’s a long story. Let’s just say that there were some misunderstandings and now the headmaster thinks I’m a pervert.”
“God, Paul, didn’t you learn your lesson about drawin’ naked girls in class the last time?”
“I didn’t draw a naked girl.”
“What, then?”
“I drew John.”
The pause between the two boys seemed endless.
“Naked?” George grinned jokingly.
Paul didn’t smile. “Not exactly.”
George’s smile faltered. “Not exactly? I was kidding.”
“Well, I sort of drew him… not wearing a shirt. Which, you know, wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been trying to design a logo for our songwriting credit on the same page.”
“Whadda yeh mean?”
“Well, a drawing of a guy with no shirt next to ‘Lennon & McCartney’ looks kinda queer, doesn’t it?”
“Paul, just the drawing of the guy with no shirt looks queer.”
“The logo is the icing on the cake, though,” Paul grumbled bitterly.
George watched Paul intently.
“Paul?”
“I’m not a queer.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
“You were gonna.”
George paused. “Yeah, I was.”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah.”
The boys sat in silence for the rest of George’s ride. As the bus slowed to a halt at his stop, George gathered his things and began to walk toward the door with the usual silent nod in Paul’s direction when he stopped suddenly.
“Paul?”
“Yeah?” Paul jumped slightly.
“I wouldn’t mind. I mean… I wouldn’t hate you or anything. If you were… you know. I wouldn’t care. You’re my mate an’ all, so… yeah.” He shrugged.
Paul stared at him for a moment.
“Th-thanks. I… thank you, George,” he croaked softly.
George nodded, looking him straight in the eye.
He watched his younger friend step off the bus and realized with a mixture of fear and relief that George had gone past suspecting and straight into knowing.
~*~*~*~*~
John was scratching away at his notebook, drawing a series of monstrous little characters with horrifyingly prominent genitalia. He’d already done ones with big arms, big noses, and big feet, what else could he focus on now but pricks?
A soft breeze blew through his window. It was a bit cold outside, but he didn’t really mind. He liked the prickle of moist air on his skin. The sky outside was gray and soggy, as usual. He was about to start another giant-pricked fat man when he heard his aunt’s voice carrying up the stairs.
“John, your little friend is here!”
John grinned. Much as John hated the condescension with which Mimi referred to Paul, he loved to hear those words.
“Yeah, let ‘im in, will yeh? Be down in a minute.”
He carefully stashed his drawings - he thought they might not be to Mimi’s taste - and bounded down the stairs.
Paul was attempting to charm the uncharmable Mimi Smith when John’s feet hit the ground floor. Only Paul would have the kind of deluded self-confidence to try something like that, John thought with a burst of affection.
“’Ey.”
Paul looked up at his friend. John realized with silent amusement that a look of relief passed over the younger boy’s face at no longer having to force small talk with Mimi.
“Don’t just stand there lookin’ dumb. I mean, yer good at it, but…”
Paul playfully punched him in the arm as the two practically skipped over to the stairs. John could feel his aunt’s disapproving stare boring into the back of his skull, but he didn’t really care right now.
“So, you’re here at mine instead of me at yours. That doesn’t happen too often,” John smiled.
Paul shrugged. “Had a shitty day.”
“Uh oh, what happened?” John asked with over-acted sympathy.
Paul grimaced. “Ohhh. It’s a long story. I really should pay more attention in History.”
He told John the whole story. Well, almost.
“Why would he think anything about you from a picture of me? I mean, I could kind of see the names lookin’ suspicious, but you explained those, right? Doncha think yer bein’ a little paranoid?”
“I didn’t exactly get a chance to explain the names.”
“So? I still don’t see a problem.”
Paul shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
“You… well…” He blushed.
John grinned lecherously. “What, drawing naughty pictures in class, Paulie?”
Paul’s face grew even redder. “No! Just… I mean… you were… I mean, just not wearing a shirt…”
John laughed. “Shut up and get over here, you little pervert.”
He tugged Paul on top of him, chuckling. Paul smiled weakly and accepted John’s affection without any resistance whatsoever. A sense of complete calm seemed to wash over the younger boy when John tangled his fingers in his hair. As usual, John’s constant sadness was also mollified somewhat by the feeling of Paul’s body against his.
John began to press soft kisses to Paul’s face, moving slowly to his lips. God, how was this so much better than kissing a bird? It shouldn’t be. John was in love with Paul, no doubt, but he was also sure he still liked girls. But this was completely incomparable to that. This was mind-numbingly good. It was everything he could have ever wanted from a kiss.
Paul kissed back feverishly, instantly responding John’s lips. He straddled his hips and let his arms loop around his neck as the two fell back against the pillow. He felt John’s hands sliding down his back and landing firmly on his hips.
“Paul…” John whispered, his voice heavy with want.
Paul just moaned softly in return. John rolled his hips in response.
The reaction from both boys was immediate and intense.
“Ohhhh…” Paul let out a groan.
“Paulie…”
Paul realized that both he and John were hard. He had never even dreamed it would be this good, and they’d barely started. His mind filled with visions of what he wanted most, what he wanted John to do to him…
Suddenly, his brain seemed to short circuit. Oh God, he was a pervert! He was queer! He didn’t just want to kiss John or wank together. He wanted John to fuck him. It wasn’t even him wanting to fuck John! What was wrong with him? This was sick. Completely sick. He was sick for even thinking about this, let alone doing it. What was wrong with him?
“Paul?”
Paul realized that he had stopped kissing John in his panic.
“Everything alright, lad?” John’s face was flushed and his hair had gone slightly messy. He was irresistible.
And that was exactly what Paul was afraid of.
John stared at Paul’s wide eyes with confusion. “Paulie?”
“What the hell are we doing?”
“Huh?”
“This… We shouldn’t be doing this.”
John stared at him longer, thoughts buzzing in his eyes before he replied.
“You’re right. We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t be doing this because it’s bad to want to fuck another bloke and it’s worse to be in love with one, but here we are. Right?”
Paul stared back, stunned at John’s honesty. “So we should stop?” he asked weakly, a mixture of relief and disappointment.
“I didn’t say that,” he whispered.
A few moments of stillness passed between them, marred only by nervous, shallow breaths and an acute awareness of the fact that both boys were desperately aroused.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I… can you… I don’t know what you look like.”
“What?”
“Today, in class, I… I was drawing you, and I realized that I’ve never really looked at you close enough to know what you look like. You know… naked. I… don’t know what you look like.”
John smiled slightly. “You should find out.”
Paul nodded. Yes, he really should.