[The Beatles] Fic: Backwards Traveller [9/?], John/Paul (NC-17)
Title: Backwards Traveller
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter)
Pairing: John/Paul
Authors: tini_91 and obstinatrix
Summary/Notes: Fair warning, this chapter is unadulterated smut. :)
By the time they were halfway back to the hotel, Paul felt John's fingers brushing against the inside of his wrist. Heart pounding in his throat, he very carefully, gently turned his hand, rubbing back against John's, until their palms slid together, fingers tangling. It was getting dark now, and the street was deserted. Paul swallowed hard and murmured, without daring to look at John, "I dunno about you, but I'm ready for bed."
John's fingers shifted slightly, his index finger rubbing a slow circle in the centre of Paul's palm that made him shiver all the way across his shoulders. "Yeah," John said, very softly, "me too."
The hotel, when they reached it, was as quiet as the street below. They made it up the stairs to their room in record time, depositing their jackets and shoes near the door and then moving, as if by silent mutual agreement, towards the bathroom together to brush teeth and wash faces, preparing for bed with uncharacteristic decisiveness. By the time Paul came to shrugging out of his shirt and trousers, he could feel that his breath was coming quick and shallow, his heart racing. On the other side of the bed, John was undressing too. When he got down to his undershorts and t-shirt, Paul only had a moment to notice how smooth and pale his thighs were before John tugged the covers back and dived into the bed like a cannonball.
"What?" he demanded, when Paul eyed him in bemusement.
"Nowt," Paul said, but in truth, he was grateful to John for having broken the strange air of anticipation that had been hanging over both of them. When he slid into the bed himself, he rolled easily onto his side to face John, and John grinned back at him, tucking one hand under the pillow and bringing his knees up so they bumped against Paul's.
"Comfortable?" John asked. He shifted, not pointedly, but enough that Paul was very conscious of the press of John's bare leg to his, his bare feet brushing Paul's own.
Paul swallowed. "Nearly," he said, and then, as matter-of-factly as possible, nudged his knee in between John's so their legs were locked neatly together, warm and close.
"Better now?" John smiled and shifted a bit closer. His hand sneaked shyly over to Paul's, covering it and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Much better," Paul smiled back, breathing a sigh of relief when John's thumb began to trace tiny circles on his hand.
It was silly, really, to blush at these simple gestures -- holding hands and innocent cuddling in bed -- since only yesterday they had done far worse things than that. This, this was just children's stuff, tame affectionate touches. However, as insignificant as they were, compared to snogging and having sex, they meant just as much to them, maybe even more. What made the small gestures frightening was what they indicated: that it wasn't all about sex; it was more than that. As for Paul, he was slightly afraid to think about what exactly this meant and what that made him, but when he caught a glimpse of John's smile in the dim moonlight from outside, the perfect white flash of his teeth, he quickly forgot about his worries.
"Come here," he murmured and hooked an arm around John's middle, drawing him into an embrace. John didn't hesitate, going along immediately with Paul's movements and allowing himself be pulled into a hug. His smile half-teasing, he rubbed his nose against Paul's and couldn't resist the temptation to brush their lips together.
"Mmm." Paul laughed softly in his throat and pressed back into John's kiss. Their lips pressed dryly, chastely together, once, twice, a third time. Then Paul felt John murmur, shifting slightly so their bodies were closer together, and John tilted his head, mouthing at Paul's lips with his own slightly parted. It would have been exactly what Paul wanted at this moment, except --
"Ow, John." He reached up blindly between them to tug John's glasses off his nose. "Get rid of these first, eh?"
"Oops." John grinned back at him a little shyly in the dark. "Sorry, forgot." He folded the spectacles and set them down on the nightstand. "What's the old rhyme -- 'Boys don't make passes at blokes who wear glasses'?"
Paul felt himself blush. "That's not the rhyme," he said primly, "and anyway this isn't a pass."
Even in the dark, Paul could feel John raising his eyebrows. "Oh, really?" He leaned in again and nipped at Paul's lower lip, catching it between his teeth very gently, but still unexpectedly enough that Paul's breath caught. "Maybe we're just being too subtle." Closing his eyes, John nuzzled his nose against Paul's, rubbed their cheeks together. "Come on, Paul. Give us a kiss."
"All right, all right," Paul grumbled, smiling nevertheless, "Impatient git."
He tilted his head just a bit until he could feel John's lips brushing his, and parted them immediately. It was a funny thing, really. He felt like a dirty little teenager with no experience all over again. He knew he was too eager for John to properly kiss him, but given how eager John was himself, his tongue darting out and taking a first taste from Paul's lips, it was okay to be like this. It was okay for him, for both of them to feel clumsy and embarrassed, yet eager and excited about it. This was new, despite their familiarity with each other, but, in a way, that was exactly what made it so special. They knew each other inside and out. Taking things to a new level only seemed, in this moment, the logical thing to do. Paul reached up to cup the back of John's head as he deepened the kiss, and John made a pleased sound at the back of his throat. His hands began to roam down the plain of Paul's back, the knobs of his spine, until one of them settled somewhat hesitantly on the small of his back, barely touching the cure of his backside.
"It's okay, Johnny," Paul whispered with a shy smile. He gave John another peck on his lips as he reached around and took John's hand, moving it down further until John was cupping him properly. "You can touch me. It's okay."
John seemed to freeze for a second, body tensing, before he relaxed again, his fingers shifting reflexively against Paul through the thin fabric of his undershorts. His hand was warm, and when John gathered the courage to squeeze gently, then run his hand gently up a little and back down, Paul shivered, rocking against him involuntarily.
"Paul." John sounded breathless now, and his hand moved with a little more certainty, stroking up to the bare skin of Paul's waist beneath his t-shirt and then back down again over the curve of his arse to his upper thigh, over and over in broad, firm strokes. Paul couldn't help but push closer, his own hands slipping under John's shirt and mapping the warm plain of his back, sliding up the dip of his spine.
It wasn't -- it wasn't as if this was sex, not exactly, and Paul knew it, but there was still something ridiculously, hotly exciting about it that he barely ever felt with girls any more, the thrill of something new. John's mouth slid wetly against his, the insides of his lips smooth and gentle as they sucked on Paul's upper lip, then his lower, and when Paul felt the sharp nip of John's teeth again, he couldn't help but groan, shoving his hips against John's.
"Fuck," he murmured against John's mouth, and the hand under John's shirt slid up, up to curve over the bare line of John's strong shoulder, holding him steady. His other hand tracked over the shirt, into John's hair, and both of John's hands were on Paul's arse now, hauling their bodies flush together where it counted. Paul panted, listening to the tight little sounds of John's breathing. They kissed again, harder this time, formlessly, and John pulled, hard enough that a wild shock tore through Paul's body at the contact, the unmistakable heat of John's cock against his through two thin layers of cotton.
Paul's fingers fluttered in John's hair, shifted down to cup the warm nape of his neck as he rolled his hips against John's, his whole body hot with want. John's mouth was sweet and urgent against his, John's tongue stroking his own. Paul couldn't remember the last time a kiss had felt like this.
He felt dizzy, high, as John kissed him and they ground their clothed cocks together, but it was the best feeling in the world. His skin tingled where John touched him and the urgency behind their kiss, which grew ever deeper and more frantic, left him breathless. With a small groan, he pressed his thigh against John's body and John rocked back against it without hesitation.
"Please, Macca," he whispered into the kiss, low and insistent. Paul wasn't exactly sure what please meant, but he rocked harder against John anyway, breaking the kiss to get air. John took the opportunity to graze his teeth along Paul's neck and then to suck at it, the tip of his tongue caressing the tender skin while Paul shivered against him.
Briefly, the thought of rolling onto his back and letting John between his legs crossed Paul's mind, but he quickly chased it away. He wasn't sure if he wanted that, if he could do that now. At the moment, he was fine with lying on his side and grinding against John. Like this, it felt somehow more as if they were still equals.
"Paul," John murmured, nuzzling into the hollow of Paul's throat. The sensation of his late-evening stubble, scraping against the fine skin, was as intense as it was alien, making Paul whimper and clutch at John's shoulders even before John opened his mouth to suck gently at Paul's skin. Then -- then it was better; he felt himself bucking involuntarily against the shallow of John's pelvis, hooking his ankle around the back of John's calf to lock their bodies tighter together, seeking more friction. John's mouth was hot and clever and Paul could feel the blood rising up under the skin in the shape of John's bite.
There would be a bruise there tomorrow, Paul realised, and the thought made his blood thump excitedly, thinking of it, John's mark in the hollow of his throat. Walking around with John's lovebite on him, as if John had claimed him.
"God," Paul muttered breathlessly, and then he was fisting his hand in John's newly-shorn hair, tugging him back so his neck arched, long and pale. He dived in without thinking, finding his own place under the shelf of John's jaw and sucking, loving the way John jerked and thrashed against him.
"Jesus Christ," John said, hands going to Paul's hips, pulling him in tighter, if that were even possible. "God, yeah, keep going -- please --" He pinned Paul still, rutted up fiercely against him, and Paul felt a harsh cry rising up in his throat at the sudden intensity, the hot line of John's dick rubbing directly against his own.
If they had been braver, one of them would have eventually made to get rid of their boxers. Paul wasn't that brave, though. All the while he was grinding against John's erection and sucking on his neck, determined to leave his own mark there, Paul was waiting for it, waiting for John to make the move and get rid of that last bloody layer of cloth. But nothing came, and Paul found that he wasn't too disappointed. He was actually quite relieved, if he was honest. They were taking things slow -- for a certain measure of 'slow' that involved rubbing their cocks against one another with their tongues down each other's throats -- and that was another part of what Paul liked about John. He understood.
"Come on, John," he rasped as he peppered John's mouth with tiny desperate kisses, "Come for me, love."
And that was all John needed at that moment to be pushed over the edge. With a curse and a hard kiss that had Paul almost dizzy from pleasure, he tightened his hold on Paul's arse and pulled him firmly close as John's own hips snapped forward. John's movements were frantic and became more unfocused the closer he got to his orgasm. When it finally happened, he sucked hard on Paul's tongue, body convulsing, and Paul felt his mind unhinge.
He'd never felt another boy come. He'd never thought he'd want to, either, but there was something about it, feeling the way John twitched and pulsed and spurted between their bodies, that made Paul groan and buck and catch his breath, fingernails digging into John's back, raking down it where a fine sweat had broken out.
"John," he panted, "John," and his hips rocked forward spasmodically, rutting fast and hard and firmer now against John's softening cock.
"Sssh," John murmured, gasping for breath. His cheeks were flushed and his voice was thready, but Paul felt his mouth slackly on his jaw, then mouthing at the corner of Paul's lips. "Come on, love, here -- here --"
John tugged, hand still firm on Paul's arse, and they went over like that, John onto his back and Paul flat on top of him and oh, fuck --
"Oh," Paul panted, shocked by the sudden pleasure of it, the new contact, the way his dick slid so easily in the groove of John's pelvis, rutting against his hipbone as he thrust down against him. "God -- please --"
"Sssh," John hushed him again, as Paul's thrusts grew faster, more erratic, and then his hand was in Paul's hair and he was mashing their mouths together, nipping at Paul's lower lip as Paul jerked and fucked forward and came.
The last time they'd come together, just wanking, it had been good, but this was incredible, the deep fierce pulses of it that felt torn right out of the core of Paul as he shivered and shook, spilling so much that it began to seep through the fabric of his shorts. For a brief, wild moment, he wished he could have come all over John's stomach, bare where his shirt had ridden up. Then another wave of pleasure caught him, and he couldn't think of anything any more until it had gone, left him breathless and boneless, and he collapsed onto John, face tucked into the curve of his throat.
Dimly, Paul registered how John kissed his forehead and caressed his side as he held him, strong arms wrapped around him, holding him securely. Paul couldn't have been happier. He planted light kisses to John's neck and nuzzled his jaw briefly before he lifted himself up, earning a questioning look from the other boy.
"Got to get these off," he said with a sheepish smile as he pointed at his boxers. "It's fucking disgusting otherwise, isn't it?"
"Mhm, the disadvantages of being male," John agreed, chuckling, and watched Paul with unabashed interest. Paul blushed slightly as he took off his sticky underwear and threw it onto the little pile of his worn clothes. When he lay down again, John gave him a funny look.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to put on a new pair?"
"No." Paul smiled and buried one half of his face in their pillow.
John laughed. "Dirty bastard," he muttered, but took his boxers off as well, dropping them carelessly on the ground next to their bed.
"Now who's being dirty?" Paul interjected.
"Shut it, Macca. Never said I was clean, did I?" John chided him in a mock-serious tone and lay down again. Immediately, he pulled Paul back into his arms.
It was nice, lying together like this. John's skin was warm and a little damp, the sex-flush cooling slowly until they were both breathing steadily, curled nakedly into each other. All the angles and planes and curves of their bodies seemed to fit together as if they had been made a matched set, John's broad chest the perfect pillow for Paul's head. Paul felt good like this. He felt loved.
It was probably lucky that he was too comfortable to say anything before he fell asleep, the gentle motions of John's chest lulling him under.
**
The next day, they slept late. It must have been noon by the time Paul blinked lazily into awareness, the light slanting yellow across the bed. Beneath him, John was still asleep, but as Paul made to carefully get up, John shifted and murmured, clutching at Paul's back.
"Oy," Paul said firmly, "let me up."
"Timezit?" John demanded, blinking.
"Late, probably," Paul said, squeezing John's outstretched hand as he slipped out of the bed. "Come on, lazybones, I want to go for a bit of an explore. We've done beautiful Paris, how about we do real Paris?"
John snorted. "You what?"
Paul shrugged his shoulders and reached for his jeans. His utterly ruined undershorts from last night were still on top of them, and Paul tried not to blush as he kicked them aside. "Well, y'know. This area."
"You mean seedy Paris," John said with a leer, sitting up. Paul pursed his lips at that look on John's face, but at least he looked more eager to actually get out of bed.
"Well," Paul protested, and John laughed.
"No, love, I like your thinking. Let's go and mooch around the red light district, eh, see what weird places we can find. We fit in with the weird lot, usually."
"We're not weird," Paul muttered under his breath, and John smiled at him as he stood and stretched, apparently unconcerned about his nakedness.
"No, we're not," he said, ruffling Paul's hair.
Paul only slapped John's hand away from his hair with a roll of his eyes and a poorly concealed smile.
***
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter)
Pairing: John/Paul
Authors: tini_91 and obstinatrix
Summary/Notes: Fair warning, this chapter is unadulterated smut. :)
By the time they were halfway back to the hotel, Paul felt John's fingers brushing against the inside of his wrist. Heart pounding in his throat, he very carefully, gently turned his hand, rubbing back against John's, until their palms slid together, fingers tangling. It was getting dark now, and the street was deserted. Paul swallowed hard and murmured, without daring to look at John, "I dunno about you, but I'm ready for bed."
John's fingers shifted slightly, his index finger rubbing a slow circle in the centre of Paul's palm that made him shiver all the way across his shoulders. "Yeah," John said, very softly, "me too."
The hotel, when they reached it, was as quiet as the street below. They made it up the stairs to their room in record time, depositing their jackets and shoes near the door and then moving, as if by silent mutual agreement, towards the bathroom together to brush teeth and wash faces, preparing for bed with uncharacteristic decisiveness. By the time Paul came to shrugging out of his shirt and trousers, he could feel that his breath was coming quick and shallow, his heart racing. On the other side of the bed, John was undressing too. When he got down to his undershorts and t-shirt, Paul only had a moment to notice how smooth and pale his thighs were before John tugged the covers back and dived into the bed like a cannonball.
"What?" he demanded, when Paul eyed him in bemusement.
"Nowt," Paul said, but in truth, he was grateful to John for having broken the strange air of anticipation that had been hanging over both of them. When he slid into the bed himself, he rolled easily onto his side to face John, and John grinned back at him, tucking one hand under the pillow and bringing his knees up so they bumped against Paul's.
"Comfortable?" John asked. He shifted, not pointedly, but enough that Paul was very conscious of the press of John's bare leg to his, his bare feet brushing Paul's own.
Paul swallowed. "Nearly," he said, and then, as matter-of-factly as possible, nudged his knee in between John's so their legs were locked neatly together, warm and close.
"Better now?" John smiled and shifted a bit closer. His hand sneaked shyly over to Paul's, covering it and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Much better," Paul smiled back, breathing a sigh of relief when John's thumb began to trace tiny circles on his hand.
It was silly, really, to blush at these simple gestures -- holding hands and innocent cuddling in bed -- since only yesterday they had done far worse things than that. This, this was just children's stuff, tame affectionate touches. However, as insignificant as they were, compared to snogging and having sex, they meant just as much to them, maybe even more. What made the small gestures frightening was what they indicated: that it wasn't all about sex; it was more than that. As for Paul, he was slightly afraid to think about what exactly this meant and what that made him, but when he caught a glimpse of John's smile in the dim moonlight from outside, the perfect white flash of his teeth, he quickly forgot about his worries.
"Come here," he murmured and hooked an arm around John's middle, drawing him into an embrace. John didn't hesitate, going along immediately with Paul's movements and allowing himself be pulled into a hug. His smile half-teasing, he rubbed his nose against Paul's and couldn't resist the temptation to brush their lips together.
"Mmm." Paul laughed softly in his throat and pressed back into John's kiss. Their lips pressed dryly, chastely together, once, twice, a third time. Then Paul felt John murmur, shifting slightly so their bodies were closer together, and John tilted his head, mouthing at Paul's lips with his own slightly parted. It would have been exactly what Paul wanted at this moment, except --
"Ow, John." He reached up blindly between them to tug John's glasses off his nose. "Get rid of these first, eh?"
"Oops." John grinned back at him a little shyly in the dark. "Sorry, forgot." He folded the spectacles and set them down on the nightstand. "What's the old rhyme -- 'Boys don't make passes at blokes who wear glasses'?"
Paul felt himself blush. "That's not the rhyme," he said primly, "and anyway this isn't a pass."
Even in the dark, Paul could feel John raising his eyebrows. "Oh, really?" He leaned in again and nipped at Paul's lower lip, catching it between his teeth very gently, but still unexpectedly enough that Paul's breath caught. "Maybe we're just being too subtle." Closing his eyes, John nuzzled his nose against Paul's, rubbed their cheeks together. "Come on, Paul. Give us a kiss."
"All right, all right," Paul grumbled, smiling nevertheless, "Impatient git."
He tilted his head just a bit until he could feel John's lips brushing his, and parted them immediately. It was a funny thing, really. He felt like a dirty little teenager with no experience all over again. He knew he was too eager for John to properly kiss him, but given how eager John was himself, his tongue darting out and taking a first taste from Paul's lips, it was okay to be like this. It was okay for him, for both of them to feel clumsy and embarrassed, yet eager and excited about it. This was new, despite their familiarity with each other, but, in a way, that was exactly what made it so special. They knew each other inside and out. Taking things to a new level only seemed, in this moment, the logical thing to do. Paul reached up to cup the back of John's head as he deepened the kiss, and John made a pleased sound at the back of his throat. His hands began to roam down the plain of Paul's back, the knobs of his spine, until one of them settled somewhat hesitantly on the small of his back, barely touching the cure of his backside.
"It's okay, Johnny," Paul whispered with a shy smile. He gave John another peck on his lips as he reached around and took John's hand, moving it down further until John was cupping him properly. "You can touch me. It's okay."
John seemed to freeze for a second, body tensing, before he relaxed again, his fingers shifting reflexively against Paul through the thin fabric of his undershorts. His hand was warm, and when John gathered the courage to squeeze gently, then run his hand gently up a little and back down, Paul shivered, rocking against him involuntarily.
"Paul." John sounded breathless now, and his hand moved with a little more certainty, stroking up to the bare skin of Paul's waist beneath his t-shirt and then back down again over the curve of his arse to his upper thigh, over and over in broad, firm strokes. Paul couldn't help but push closer, his own hands slipping under John's shirt and mapping the warm plain of his back, sliding up the dip of his spine.
It wasn't -- it wasn't as if this was sex, not exactly, and Paul knew it, but there was still something ridiculously, hotly exciting about it that he barely ever felt with girls any more, the thrill of something new. John's mouth slid wetly against his, the insides of his lips smooth and gentle as they sucked on Paul's upper lip, then his lower, and when Paul felt the sharp nip of John's teeth again, he couldn't help but groan, shoving his hips against John's.
"Fuck," he murmured against John's mouth, and the hand under John's shirt slid up, up to curve over the bare line of John's strong shoulder, holding him steady. His other hand tracked over the shirt, into John's hair, and both of John's hands were on Paul's arse now, hauling their bodies flush together where it counted. Paul panted, listening to the tight little sounds of John's breathing. They kissed again, harder this time, formlessly, and John pulled, hard enough that a wild shock tore through Paul's body at the contact, the unmistakable heat of John's cock against his through two thin layers of cotton.
Paul's fingers fluttered in John's hair, shifted down to cup the warm nape of his neck as he rolled his hips against John's, his whole body hot with want. John's mouth was sweet and urgent against his, John's tongue stroking his own. Paul couldn't remember the last time a kiss had felt like this.
He felt dizzy, high, as John kissed him and they ground their clothed cocks together, but it was the best feeling in the world. His skin tingled where John touched him and the urgency behind their kiss, which grew ever deeper and more frantic, left him breathless. With a small groan, he pressed his thigh against John's body and John rocked back against it without hesitation.
"Please, Macca," he whispered into the kiss, low and insistent. Paul wasn't exactly sure what please meant, but he rocked harder against John anyway, breaking the kiss to get air. John took the opportunity to graze his teeth along Paul's neck and then to suck at it, the tip of his tongue caressing the tender skin while Paul shivered against him.
Briefly, the thought of rolling onto his back and letting John between his legs crossed Paul's mind, but he quickly chased it away. He wasn't sure if he wanted that, if he could do that now. At the moment, he was fine with lying on his side and grinding against John. Like this, it felt somehow more as if they were still equals.
"Paul," John murmured, nuzzling into the hollow of Paul's throat. The sensation of his late-evening stubble, scraping against the fine skin, was as intense as it was alien, making Paul whimper and clutch at John's shoulders even before John opened his mouth to suck gently at Paul's skin. Then -- then it was better; he felt himself bucking involuntarily against the shallow of John's pelvis, hooking his ankle around the back of John's calf to lock their bodies tighter together, seeking more friction. John's mouth was hot and clever and Paul could feel the blood rising up under the skin in the shape of John's bite.
There would be a bruise there tomorrow, Paul realised, and the thought made his blood thump excitedly, thinking of it, John's mark in the hollow of his throat. Walking around with John's lovebite on him, as if John had claimed him.
"God," Paul muttered breathlessly, and then he was fisting his hand in John's newly-shorn hair, tugging him back so his neck arched, long and pale. He dived in without thinking, finding his own place under the shelf of John's jaw and sucking, loving the way John jerked and thrashed against him.
"Jesus Christ," John said, hands going to Paul's hips, pulling him in tighter, if that were even possible. "God, yeah, keep going -- please --" He pinned Paul still, rutted up fiercely against him, and Paul felt a harsh cry rising up in his throat at the sudden intensity, the hot line of John's dick rubbing directly against his own.
If they had been braver, one of them would have eventually made to get rid of their boxers. Paul wasn't that brave, though. All the while he was grinding against John's erection and sucking on his neck, determined to leave his own mark there, Paul was waiting for it, waiting for John to make the move and get rid of that last bloody layer of cloth. But nothing came, and Paul found that he wasn't too disappointed. He was actually quite relieved, if he was honest. They were taking things slow -- for a certain measure of 'slow' that involved rubbing their cocks against one another with their tongues down each other's throats -- and that was another part of what Paul liked about John. He understood.
"Come on, John," he rasped as he peppered John's mouth with tiny desperate kisses, "Come for me, love."
And that was all John needed at that moment to be pushed over the edge. With a curse and a hard kiss that had Paul almost dizzy from pleasure, he tightened his hold on Paul's arse and pulled him firmly close as John's own hips snapped forward. John's movements were frantic and became more unfocused the closer he got to his orgasm. When it finally happened, he sucked hard on Paul's tongue, body convulsing, and Paul felt his mind unhinge.
He'd never felt another boy come. He'd never thought he'd want to, either, but there was something about it, feeling the way John twitched and pulsed and spurted between their bodies, that made Paul groan and buck and catch his breath, fingernails digging into John's back, raking down it where a fine sweat had broken out.
"John," he panted, "John," and his hips rocked forward spasmodically, rutting fast and hard and firmer now against John's softening cock.
"Sssh," John murmured, gasping for breath. His cheeks were flushed and his voice was thready, but Paul felt his mouth slackly on his jaw, then mouthing at the corner of Paul's lips. "Come on, love, here -- here --"
John tugged, hand still firm on Paul's arse, and they went over like that, John onto his back and Paul flat on top of him and oh, fuck --
"Oh," Paul panted, shocked by the sudden pleasure of it, the new contact, the way his dick slid so easily in the groove of John's pelvis, rutting against his hipbone as he thrust down against him. "God -- please --"
"Sssh," John hushed him again, as Paul's thrusts grew faster, more erratic, and then his hand was in Paul's hair and he was mashing their mouths together, nipping at Paul's lower lip as Paul jerked and fucked forward and came.
The last time they'd come together, just wanking, it had been good, but this was incredible, the deep fierce pulses of it that felt torn right out of the core of Paul as he shivered and shook, spilling so much that it began to seep through the fabric of his shorts. For a brief, wild moment, he wished he could have come all over John's stomach, bare where his shirt had ridden up. Then another wave of pleasure caught him, and he couldn't think of anything any more until it had gone, left him breathless and boneless, and he collapsed onto John, face tucked into the curve of his throat.
Dimly, Paul registered how John kissed his forehead and caressed his side as he held him, strong arms wrapped around him, holding him securely. Paul couldn't have been happier. He planted light kisses to John's neck and nuzzled his jaw briefly before he lifted himself up, earning a questioning look from the other boy.
"Got to get these off," he said with a sheepish smile as he pointed at his boxers. "It's fucking disgusting otherwise, isn't it?"
"Mhm, the disadvantages of being male," John agreed, chuckling, and watched Paul with unabashed interest. Paul blushed slightly as he took off his sticky underwear and threw it onto the little pile of his worn clothes. When he lay down again, John gave him a funny look.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to put on a new pair?"
"No." Paul smiled and buried one half of his face in their pillow.
John laughed. "Dirty bastard," he muttered, but took his boxers off as well, dropping them carelessly on the ground next to their bed.
"Now who's being dirty?" Paul interjected.
"Shut it, Macca. Never said I was clean, did I?" John chided him in a mock-serious tone and lay down again. Immediately, he pulled Paul back into his arms.
It was nice, lying together like this. John's skin was warm and a little damp, the sex-flush cooling slowly until they were both breathing steadily, curled nakedly into each other. All the angles and planes and curves of their bodies seemed to fit together as if they had been made a matched set, John's broad chest the perfect pillow for Paul's head. Paul felt good like this. He felt loved.
It was probably lucky that he was too comfortable to say anything before he fell asleep, the gentle motions of John's chest lulling him under.
**
The next day, they slept late. It must have been noon by the time Paul blinked lazily into awareness, the light slanting yellow across the bed. Beneath him, John was still asleep, but as Paul made to carefully get up, John shifted and murmured, clutching at Paul's back.
"Oy," Paul said firmly, "let me up."
"Timezit?" John demanded, blinking.
"Late, probably," Paul said, squeezing John's outstretched hand as he slipped out of the bed. "Come on, lazybones, I want to go for a bit of an explore. We've done beautiful Paris, how about we do real Paris?"
John snorted. "You what?"
Paul shrugged his shoulders and reached for his jeans. His utterly ruined undershorts from last night were still on top of them, and Paul tried not to blush as he kicked them aside. "Well, y'know. This area."
"You mean seedy Paris," John said with a leer, sitting up. Paul pursed his lips at that look on John's face, but at least he looked more eager to actually get out of bed.
"Well," Paul protested, and John laughed.
"No, love, I like your thinking. Let's go and mooch around the red light district, eh, see what weird places we can find. We fit in with the weird lot, usually."
"We're not weird," Paul muttered under his breath, and John smiled at him as he stood and stretched, apparently unconcerned about his nakedness.
"No, we're not," he said, ruffling Paul's hair.
Paul only slapped John's hand away from his hair with a roll of his eyes and a poorly concealed smile.
***