It's like I just tripped out or something.
Title: From Prince to Pauper; Part 1
Author: xxinlovebutlazy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): John/Paul; George/Ringo
Timeframe: Medieval Times [Still no Ye Olde English]
Warnings: (Italicized applies to this chapter) Sex, Language, Forceful Situations, Angst
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. As in: I made this all up.
Summary: Our Prince has given up a life of luxury to be with the cheeky commoner- Ups and downs quickly come to visit. Sequel to The Prince and The Pauper.
Author's Note:
Whoa. Alright. Let's start off with a little preamble. There is no such town as Notting Hill- It's the title of a wonderful movie, and the name kinda stuck.
On another note, for some cosmic reason, I actually have this sequel planned. Odd. Right, so expect a whole lotta angst... Just not now.
A/N 2: Psst, this is my first time writing out some porn. I'm a bit nervous, but I did my homework, so hopefully it's not too bad? Hah. Yeah.
It was another cliché bright and early morning in Notting Hill, complete with birds twittering, flowers blooming, and children laughing. It was springtime, obviously a time of togetherness, lighthearted enjoyment, and overall, love. There wasn't a soul around that didn't have a partner by their side, friend and spouse alike- Except for our dear Paul McCartney.
There, in the modest, forgettable one story house was the former Prince, sitting at the mahogany table with his hands in his lap. It wasn't exactly going to plan, the whole eloping business. Upon arriving in Notting Hill- though the residents just call it 'Notts' -they had combed the humble town for a home. It was difficult with the money John had in his pockets (though Paul couldn't quite believe that after saving for 16 years you'd have so little money), but they had managed to find a plain, but sturdy home with a kindly landlady who had assured them that money was not a problem, and they could pay her whenever they had the chance.
Instead of sticking around and examining the new nest, John had quickly began to search around town for a job. Though Paul was impressed by his haste and responsibility, it irked him that he wouldn't be able to even spend a a few hours with him, looking over their buy. John hadn't even procured a job that day- He should have stayed!
Rapping his fingers on the table, Paul boiled by himself. It was their fourth day at Notts, and another day where John was out jobhunting. He wouldn't come home till late at night- 10 PM at least -and by then Paul would have tired himself out occupying himself with experimental cooking and constant cleaning. He had asked the landlady next door for a few cooking lessons, to which she graciously delivered. Last night she had sent over a fresh mutton dinner, which John had literally drooled over.
Paul's head perked up as the familiar creaking of the door followed by a soft slam, reached his ears, signaling John's arrival. He looked out the window, surprised to see the sun up- John was home early. He stood up, and peeked around the corner to find John standing in the hallway with a grin on his face. He caught the boy's gaze, and sauntered over to Paul's side, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Guess who landed himself a job?" John trilled, still beaming.
Paul gasped, hugging him excitedly. A job meant money, money meant things, shopping trips- Time together. Though Paul was truly ecstatic, an instant wave of homesickness washed over him. This was supposed to be a moment of accomplishment- But Paul found himself wetting John's shirt with his tears. John's smile faltered, taken aback by the boy's strange reaction. He raised Paul's chin cautiously, looking down at him somberly. "You're not supposed to cry," John murmured, stroking his cheek with a calloused finger, "This is a good thing."
"T-That's not it," Paul choked, "I miss them." John blinked, the comment not registering at first. His mind reeled once more, the grin quickly rendering itself into a frown. He kneeled down, arm behind Paul's legs before sweeping him into his arms like a bride. He carried the crying prince into the bedroom, settling him on the bed. Paul's tears ceased upon being set down onto the bed, bristling nervously. He looked over to his side, where John laid down beside him, back turned towards him.
Sniffling once more, Paul propped himself up on an elbow, examining John silently. He prodded him in the back, expecting him to snap out of his reverie and do something to scare the shit out of Paul- But with no such luck. "John?" He whispered, pulling on his shirt, "John, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
"Y'think?" He muttered, locked in position.
"I'm happy you got a job. I really am." He laid a hand on his arm, fingers tapping him lightly, "Talk to me. I've barely gotten to see you these past four days." His voice was waivering, signaling his pout to prepare itself.
"Four days," John repeated, "Four days and you already want to go back." His words were harsh, causing Paul to involuntarily flinch.
"I'm sorry," Paul tried again, gripping his arm tighter, "I didn't mean it that way." The silence remained, unnerving him even further, "I'll cry again. You'll make me cry again." The mattress creaked as John turned over again, looking up at Paul's large, sad eyes. He raised a hand to Paul's face, who held his breath carefully. He touched the back of his fingers against his cheek, wiping off the tears. Paul relaxed, closing his eyes and leaned towards his touch greedily.
"I'm not doing a bad job, am I?" John asked, raising his brows questioningly, fingers brushing the back of Paul's ears, "Am I doing a bad job, Paul?" The prince gripped the sheets, eyebrows arching as John's fingers played along his jawbone, caressed his mouth, and twirled his hair. "Well?" He shook his head lightly, as to not perturb the touches.
"No." Paul moaned, "No." He repeated more clearly, though a soft whimper quickly followed. As John slowly withdrew his hand, Paul inched closer, attracted to the nimble, gentle fingers. He soon found himself pressed against John, a throaty moan escaping his lips. John seemed amused at his reaction to a simple touch, an easy smirk playing on his lips. He pressed a hand to Paul's chest, pushing him down on his back slowly while simultaneously positioning himself over him.
Paul's eyes shot open, a mixture of fear and lust rising in his chest. John had that look in his eyes again; The same one he had before being caught and taken to prison, when they were bathing in the oasis- It was quite obvious what he wanted. "Let me." John demanded softly, voice firm but tender. Paul turned over, burying his red face in the pillow, refusing to meet John's gaze. "Don't you love me?" He asked, playing with Paul's dark hair, sending a chill down his spine.
"I do." He mumbled into his pillow, voice muffled.
"No you don't." John retorted, falling back on his side, back to Paul again, "I want one fuckin' time, Paul. I've gone through enough shit for you- At least give me this." Paul raised his head fron the pillow and stiffened, brows furrowing in distaste. He kicked John in the back of his legs, tightening his fists.
"Yeah, is that what I am? Some pretty little whore you get to fuck once you've had a hard time?" Paul's tone was bitter and resentful, but the trembling of his voice gave him away, "I gave up a charmed life for you-"
"Cut the crap," John growled, turning to face him, "What's the real issue?" Paul gulped, averting his eyes to his hands shyly. Once again, he had looked right through him, hitting the nail on the head.
"I'm afraid." He mumbled, picking at the sheets nervously.
"Of what?" John questioned, cocking a brow, "You know I'd never hurt you on purpose, love. I wouldn't even dream of it." Paul raised his eyes, peeking up at John, who had a somber expression on his face. A pang of guilt resonated in his chest, as his chewed his lower lip in contemplation. It was just one time, right? Sensing Paul's defeat, John slipped a hand up his shirt, running his fingers over the warm skin. Paul's muscles tensed, then relaxed, his heart pounding out an uncertain beat. His shirt was pulled off, and his trousers promptly followed suit.
Paul's clumsy fingers had tugged off John's shirt, the latter pulling off his own pants. Before making another advancement, John paused, taking in the sight of the near naked boy with the red face and ruffled hair. Mentally taking back everything he had said, he knew very well that the wait was worth it.
"Stop staring at me." Paul grumbled self-conciously.
"You want me to grab the blindfolds? Kinky, Paul, very kinky." John teased, shifting position to straddle his waist. He leaned forward, nose touching Paul's. "Now spread those pretty legs for me." Paul chewed his lower lip, fear injecting itself into his system again. John's hand rested on his thigh, causing him to stiffen again. "I'll make you a deal." John declared, "Humor me this once and I won't fuck you again unless you want me to. I promise."
Paul's lip parted, and his muscles relaxed in a sort of unspoken agreement. John tilted his head, planting one more kiss on those full lips. He hooked his finger in the waistband of the other's underpants, pulling them down sluggishly. His other hand kneaded the skin of Paul's thigh slowly, coaxing him to open up.
Paul felt his crotch grow hot, an eager throb pushing a soft whimper past his lips. His legs spread instinctively, as he raised his arms and dug his nails into the soft skin of John's back. He could hear John tenderly praising him, purring out a throaty "Good boy, good boy".
John stuck his index finger in his mouth, wetting it with his saliva. He slipped his finger in Paul's opening, procuring a sharp gasp from the boy, shutting his eyes in anguish. He dug his nails deeper into John's skin, pain and pleasure creating an almost-illicit concoction. He groaned, his hips bucking impulsively. John's finger was pulling out, his breath returning in short, labored gasps. With his cleaner hand, John rubbed at the corner of Paul's mouth, where a spot of drool had appeared. "You're doing great, Paulie." Paul whimpered in response, coherent words lost in his throat.
By this point, both boys were hard, their cocks throbbing shamelessly. John was perversely turned on by Paul's changing expressions, from pouty to pained to greedy. He paused, taking in Paul's face- His eyes were opening again, slowly and cautiously, the brown irises piercing his thoughts. The gaze had said something- 'I'm ready. I want this.'
John tugged off his underpants, making no hesitiation as he pushed the tip of his erection into Paul. His penetration caused the younger boy to tense up, fingers digging further into John's back. "Fu-" Paul's curse cut off, his energy slowly being sapped.
"Tight. So tight." John grumbled, pushing farther into him. "Calm down, love. Breathe." He lowered himself so his nose would be buried in Paul's warm neck. He nibbled on his earlobe softly, shivering as Paul moaned in pleasure. John pulled out, and thrusted himself back in, the sound of Paul's audible breaths fueling his desires. His arms moved from the smooth skin of John's back to his tousled hair, gripping the brown locks desperately.
As John thrusted, he bucked, as his moans, groans, gasps, and whimpers served as background vocals. With his teeth, John tugged on his earlobe, and pulled out of the boy, sensing Paul's orgasm coming along. With one stroke, the sticky fluid fell onto his hand, a final groan escaping Paul's lips. He raised a finger up to his lips, running his tongue down the length of a messy finger. "You taste good." John teased, taking another taste, "Wanna try?" Paul flushed red in response, embarassment replacing the previous pleasure.
"What the hell is it?" Paul grumbled, averting his eyes from John's grin.
"You came." John replied bluntly, "Good job, Paul. You were fantastic." Paul buried his face in the pillow, his flaming cheeks only provoking him further. Chuckling, John stroked his own cock, his own spunk mixing with Paul's. He searched for his underpants, tugging them on as he stepped off the bed. He paced the room, looking down at his feet. The sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor made Paul sit up, pulling the sheets over his lap.
"Where are you going?" Paul squeaked, wide eyes dancing with something new- Something John couldn't recognize.
"Man." He groaned, sticking another finger in his mouth, cleaning off the substance, "I haven't had a good shag like that in a while."
"Fuck you." Paul growled, pulling the covers over his head.
"Stop pouting. You liked it, you horny girl." John chided, getting on the bed on all fours. He tugged the sheets off Paul's head, grinning broadly.
"Don't call me that." He said sternly, glowering, "'m not a girl."
Rolling his eyes, John pressed his lips to Paul's collarbone, planting wet kisses up his neck. He ran his tongue along Paul's protruding lower lip, slipping it through his teeth. Paul eyes closed as batted at John's chest, searching for something to hold onto and pull him closer. However John pulled away, gazing at Paul mischeviously, who still had his eyes shut. He lowered the boy onto the bed, laying down beside him. Through the covers, he intertwined his legs with Paul's, and held his head to his chest. Soft snores replaced the creaking of the old bed, the tired prince slumbering in his lover's arms.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~
George had only one word to describe his mood- Fascinated.
He had never rode on a horse despite bunking with them- The second he climbed onto the elegant steed and gripped the reins, it was as if it was a sixth sense. The first gallops were literally breathtaking, the full sense of his freedom suddenly seeping in. With the cold, dank air whipping against his face, the various night noises making for a dramatic backdrop, and Richard's idle chatter, George was simply, conpletely, and utterly fascinated.
They rode throughout the land, unsure of their direction and destination, riding only for the sake of riding. It was a thrill for both of them, each one stopping to run around, pick some flowers, or stalk a lone rabbit. By the time noon had arrived, George's voice was hoarse due to their laughter.
Joking aside, they had finally cleared their throats and searched for a town to settle in. Richard had wanted a quaint town with pleasant people, his sights set on a bright house on a hill. George, on the other hand, wanted a bustling city with people of all sorts, where there would be something new every week. The boys had managed to agree to a small town with stylish, somewhat strange people, by the name of Notting Hill.
The two immediately feel in love with the quirky atmosphere and the beautiful surroundings, as they found themselves window shopping instead of house hunting. The people- though there were an eccentric display of personalities -were sweet and welcomed them with open arms, suggesting the different neighborhoods they should check out.
After hours of contemplating, one night in a motel, and a bit of splurging, they had settled on a spacious, cozy house nestled right by the centre of town. It was a cute little home, furnished with floral sofas and hardwood floors.
George was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in his hand, still smiling from the past few days' events. Richard was sitting across from him, reading a flier left on their doorstep that morning, holding his own cup in his other hand. It was an easy, quiet life, unlike the one our other two boys brandished.
George looked up at Richard, examining his expressionless face. He seemed concentrated on whatever was on the paper, his eyebrows arching every once in a while. It was entertaining to watch Richard, George had concluded as he continued to scrutinize his mate's face.
"Oi, Geo," Richard spoke up, cutting off George's engrossment, "There's gonna be a festival type thing in a week. You wanna go?"
George nodded, his brown eyes brightening at the thought, "That sounds like fun. We could meet some people there. Maybe we'll find J-" George stopped himself, biting his tongue before he uttered the name, "Junk. To put around this house and brighten it up, y'know. Feels a bit empty don't you think?"
If Richard had noticed his pause, he didn't let it show as he nodded his agreement, "Sounds like a plan, then. But before that," Richard got up, placing his hands on his hips, "I should probably find a job. That money John gave us ain't gonna last forever." George bristled at the sound of his name, an odd, warm feeling enveloping him.
"Yeah, you're right," He said plainly, "I can prolly pick up some odd jobs to do. Not like I can do much 'round here."
"I can stick at home and cook and clean and whatnot," Richard added, "I feel like a wife." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Eh, whatever happens happens, right?"
George nodded, that slow, easy grin tugging at his lips, "Right." George looked into his teacup, his reflection beaming back at him, "Y'know," He pressed his lips to the cup, tilting it slightly, "You'd make a great wife- If you were a bird and all that." His voice was muffled by the cup, but judging by Richard's expression, he heard him.
"Y'think?" Richard laughed, scratching at his head, "I'd make a pretty weird bird. Prolly a bit ugly, too."
"No." George countered quickly, the clink of his cup hitting the table resonating throughout the room, "I don't think you would." He mumbled, looking back down at his cup abashedly. His neck was warming up, the sure signs of a blush creeping onto him.
"Thanks, Geo," Richard said sincerely, looking down at the flier again, "I'm sure you'd make a pretty cute bird too."
Author: xxinlovebutlazy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): John/Paul; George/Ringo
Timeframe: Medieval Times [Still no Ye Olde English]
Warnings: (Italicized applies to this chapter) Sex, Language, Forceful Situations, Angst
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. As in: I made this all up.
Summary: Our Prince has given up a life of luxury to be with the cheeky commoner- Ups and downs quickly come to visit. Sequel to The Prince and The Pauper.
Author's Note:
Whoa. Alright. Let's start off with a little preamble. There is no such town as Notting Hill- It's the title of a wonderful movie, and the name kinda stuck.
On another note, for some cosmic reason, I actually have this sequel planned. Odd. Right, so expect a whole lotta angst... Just not now.
A/N 2: Psst, this is my first time writing out some porn. I'm a bit nervous, but I did my homework, so hopefully it's not too bad? Hah. Yeah.
It was another cliché bright and early morning in Notting Hill, complete with birds twittering, flowers blooming, and children laughing. It was springtime, obviously a time of togetherness, lighthearted enjoyment, and overall, love. There wasn't a soul around that didn't have a partner by their side, friend and spouse alike- Except for our dear Paul McCartney.
There, in the modest, forgettable one story house was the former Prince, sitting at the mahogany table with his hands in his lap. It wasn't exactly going to plan, the whole eloping business. Upon arriving in Notting Hill- though the residents just call it 'Notts' -they had combed the humble town for a home. It was difficult with the money John had in his pockets (though Paul couldn't quite believe that after saving for 16 years you'd have so little money), but they had managed to find a plain, but sturdy home with a kindly landlady who had assured them that money was not a problem, and they could pay her whenever they had the chance.
Instead of sticking around and examining the new nest, John had quickly began to search around town for a job. Though Paul was impressed by his haste and responsibility, it irked him that he wouldn't be able to even spend a a few hours with him, looking over their buy. John hadn't even procured a job that day- He should have stayed!
Rapping his fingers on the table, Paul boiled by himself. It was their fourth day at Notts, and another day where John was out jobhunting. He wouldn't come home till late at night- 10 PM at least -and by then Paul would have tired himself out occupying himself with experimental cooking and constant cleaning. He had asked the landlady next door for a few cooking lessons, to which she graciously delivered. Last night she had sent over a fresh mutton dinner, which John had literally drooled over.
Paul's head perked up as the familiar creaking of the door followed by a soft slam, reached his ears, signaling John's arrival. He looked out the window, surprised to see the sun up- John was home early. He stood up, and peeked around the corner to find John standing in the hallway with a grin on his face. He caught the boy's gaze, and sauntered over to Paul's side, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Guess who landed himself a job?" John trilled, still beaming.
Paul gasped, hugging him excitedly. A job meant money, money meant things, shopping trips- Time together. Though Paul was truly ecstatic, an instant wave of homesickness washed over him. This was supposed to be a moment of accomplishment- But Paul found himself wetting John's shirt with his tears. John's smile faltered, taken aback by the boy's strange reaction. He raised Paul's chin cautiously, looking down at him somberly. "You're not supposed to cry," John murmured, stroking his cheek with a calloused finger, "This is a good thing."
"T-That's not it," Paul choked, "I miss them." John blinked, the comment not registering at first. His mind reeled once more, the grin quickly rendering itself into a frown. He kneeled down, arm behind Paul's legs before sweeping him into his arms like a bride. He carried the crying prince into the bedroom, settling him on the bed. Paul's tears ceased upon being set down onto the bed, bristling nervously. He looked over to his side, where John laid down beside him, back turned towards him.
Sniffling once more, Paul propped himself up on an elbow, examining John silently. He prodded him in the back, expecting him to snap out of his reverie and do something to scare the shit out of Paul- But with no such luck. "John?" He whispered, pulling on his shirt, "John, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
"Y'think?" He muttered, locked in position.
"I'm happy you got a job. I really am." He laid a hand on his arm, fingers tapping him lightly, "Talk to me. I've barely gotten to see you these past four days." His voice was waivering, signaling his pout to prepare itself.
"Four days," John repeated, "Four days and you already want to go back." His words were harsh, causing Paul to involuntarily flinch.
"I'm sorry," Paul tried again, gripping his arm tighter, "I didn't mean it that way." The silence remained, unnerving him even further, "I'll cry again. You'll make me cry again." The mattress creaked as John turned over again, looking up at Paul's large, sad eyes. He raised a hand to Paul's face, who held his breath carefully. He touched the back of his fingers against his cheek, wiping off the tears. Paul relaxed, closing his eyes and leaned towards his touch greedily.
"I'm not doing a bad job, am I?" John asked, raising his brows questioningly, fingers brushing the back of Paul's ears, "Am I doing a bad job, Paul?" The prince gripped the sheets, eyebrows arching as John's fingers played along his jawbone, caressed his mouth, and twirled his hair. "Well?" He shook his head lightly, as to not perturb the touches.
"No." Paul moaned, "No." He repeated more clearly, though a soft whimper quickly followed. As John slowly withdrew his hand, Paul inched closer, attracted to the nimble, gentle fingers. He soon found himself pressed against John, a throaty moan escaping his lips. John seemed amused at his reaction to a simple touch, an easy smirk playing on his lips. He pressed a hand to Paul's chest, pushing him down on his back slowly while simultaneously positioning himself over him.
Paul's eyes shot open, a mixture of fear and lust rising in his chest. John had that look in his eyes again; The same one he had before being caught and taken to prison, when they were bathing in the oasis- It was quite obvious what he wanted. "Let me." John demanded softly, voice firm but tender. Paul turned over, burying his red face in the pillow, refusing to meet John's gaze. "Don't you love me?" He asked, playing with Paul's dark hair, sending a chill down his spine.
"I do." He mumbled into his pillow, voice muffled.
"No you don't." John retorted, falling back on his side, back to Paul again, "I want one fuckin' time, Paul. I've gone through enough shit for you- At least give me this." Paul raised his head fron the pillow and stiffened, brows furrowing in distaste. He kicked John in the back of his legs, tightening his fists.
"Yeah, is that what I am? Some pretty little whore you get to fuck once you've had a hard time?" Paul's tone was bitter and resentful, but the trembling of his voice gave him away, "I gave up a charmed life for you-"
"Cut the crap," John growled, turning to face him, "What's the real issue?" Paul gulped, averting his eyes to his hands shyly. Once again, he had looked right through him, hitting the nail on the head.
"I'm afraid." He mumbled, picking at the sheets nervously.
"Of what?" John questioned, cocking a brow, "You know I'd never hurt you on purpose, love. I wouldn't even dream of it." Paul raised his eyes, peeking up at John, who had a somber expression on his face. A pang of guilt resonated in his chest, as his chewed his lower lip in contemplation. It was just one time, right? Sensing Paul's defeat, John slipped a hand up his shirt, running his fingers over the warm skin. Paul's muscles tensed, then relaxed, his heart pounding out an uncertain beat. His shirt was pulled off, and his trousers promptly followed suit.
Paul's clumsy fingers had tugged off John's shirt, the latter pulling off his own pants. Before making another advancement, John paused, taking in the sight of the near naked boy with the red face and ruffled hair. Mentally taking back everything he had said, he knew very well that the wait was worth it.
"Stop staring at me." Paul grumbled self-conciously.
"You want me to grab the blindfolds? Kinky, Paul, very kinky." John teased, shifting position to straddle his waist. He leaned forward, nose touching Paul's. "Now spread those pretty legs for me." Paul chewed his lower lip, fear injecting itself into his system again. John's hand rested on his thigh, causing him to stiffen again. "I'll make you a deal." John declared, "Humor me this once and I won't fuck you again unless you want me to. I promise."
Paul's lip parted, and his muscles relaxed in a sort of unspoken agreement. John tilted his head, planting one more kiss on those full lips. He hooked his finger in the waistband of the other's underpants, pulling them down sluggishly. His other hand kneaded the skin of Paul's thigh slowly, coaxing him to open up.
Paul felt his crotch grow hot, an eager throb pushing a soft whimper past his lips. His legs spread instinctively, as he raised his arms and dug his nails into the soft skin of John's back. He could hear John tenderly praising him, purring out a throaty "Good boy, good boy".
John stuck his index finger in his mouth, wetting it with his saliva. He slipped his finger in Paul's opening, procuring a sharp gasp from the boy, shutting his eyes in anguish. He dug his nails deeper into John's skin, pain and pleasure creating an almost-illicit concoction. He groaned, his hips bucking impulsively. John's finger was pulling out, his breath returning in short, labored gasps. With his cleaner hand, John rubbed at the corner of Paul's mouth, where a spot of drool had appeared. "You're doing great, Paulie." Paul whimpered in response, coherent words lost in his throat.
By this point, both boys were hard, their cocks throbbing shamelessly. John was perversely turned on by Paul's changing expressions, from pouty to pained to greedy. He paused, taking in Paul's face- His eyes were opening again, slowly and cautiously, the brown irises piercing his thoughts. The gaze had said something- 'I'm ready. I want this.'
John tugged off his underpants, making no hesitiation as he pushed the tip of his erection into Paul. His penetration caused the younger boy to tense up, fingers digging further into John's back. "Fu-" Paul's curse cut off, his energy slowly being sapped.
"Tight. So tight." John grumbled, pushing farther into him. "Calm down, love. Breathe." He lowered himself so his nose would be buried in Paul's warm neck. He nibbled on his earlobe softly, shivering as Paul moaned in pleasure. John pulled out, and thrusted himself back in, the sound of Paul's audible breaths fueling his desires. His arms moved from the smooth skin of John's back to his tousled hair, gripping the brown locks desperately.
As John thrusted, he bucked, as his moans, groans, gasps, and whimpers served as background vocals. With his teeth, John tugged on his earlobe, and pulled out of the boy, sensing Paul's orgasm coming along. With one stroke, the sticky fluid fell onto his hand, a final groan escaping Paul's lips. He raised a finger up to his lips, running his tongue down the length of a messy finger. "You taste good." John teased, taking another taste, "Wanna try?" Paul flushed red in response, embarassment replacing the previous pleasure.
"What the hell is it?" Paul grumbled, averting his eyes from John's grin.
"You came." John replied bluntly, "Good job, Paul. You were fantastic." Paul buried his face in the pillow, his flaming cheeks only provoking him further. Chuckling, John stroked his own cock, his own spunk mixing with Paul's. He searched for his underpants, tugging them on as he stepped off the bed. He paced the room, looking down at his feet. The sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor made Paul sit up, pulling the sheets over his lap.
"Where are you going?" Paul squeaked, wide eyes dancing with something new- Something John couldn't recognize.
"Man." He groaned, sticking another finger in his mouth, cleaning off the substance, "I haven't had a good shag like that in a while."
"Fuck you." Paul growled, pulling the covers over his head.
"Stop pouting. You liked it, you horny girl." John chided, getting on the bed on all fours. He tugged the sheets off Paul's head, grinning broadly.
"Don't call me that." He said sternly, glowering, "'m not a girl."
Rolling his eyes, John pressed his lips to Paul's collarbone, planting wet kisses up his neck. He ran his tongue along Paul's protruding lower lip, slipping it through his teeth. Paul eyes closed as batted at John's chest, searching for something to hold onto and pull him closer. However John pulled away, gazing at Paul mischeviously, who still had his eyes shut. He lowered the boy onto the bed, laying down beside him. Through the covers, he intertwined his legs with Paul's, and held his head to his chest. Soft snores replaced the creaking of the old bed, the tired prince slumbering in his lover's arms.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~
George had only one word to describe his mood- Fascinated.
He had never rode on a horse despite bunking with them- The second he climbed onto the elegant steed and gripped the reins, it was as if it was a sixth sense. The first gallops were literally breathtaking, the full sense of his freedom suddenly seeping in. With the cold, dank air whipping against his face, the various night noises making for a dramatic backdrop, and Richard's idle chatter, George was simply, conpletely, and utterly fascinated.
They rode throughout the land, unsure of their direction and destination, riding only for the sake of riding. It was a thrill for both of them, each one stopping to run around, pick some flowers, or stalk a lone rabbit. By the time noon had arrived, George's voice was hoarse due to their laughter.
Joking aside, they had finally cleared their throats and searched for a town to settle in. Richard had wanted a quaint town with pleasant people, his sights set on a bright house on a hill. George, on the other hand, wanted a bustling city with people of all sorts, where there would be something new every week. The boys had managed to agree to a small town with stylish, somewhat strange people, by the name of Notting Hill.
The two immediately feel in love with the quirky atmosphere and the beautiful surroundings, as they found themselves window shopping instead of house hunting. The people- though there were an eccentric display of personalities -were sweet and welcomed them with open arms, suggesting the different neighborhoods they should check out.
After hours of contemplating, one night in a motel, and a bit of splurging, they had settled on a spacious, cozy house nestled right by the centre of town. It was a cute little home, furnished with floral sofas and hardwood floors.
George was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in his hand, still smiling from the past few days' events. Richard was sitting across from him, reading a flier left on their doorstep that morning, holding his own cup in his other hand. It was an easy, quiet life, unlike the one our other two boys brandished.
George looked up at Richard, examining his expressionless face. He seemed concentrated on whatever was on the paper, his eyebrows arching every once in a while. It was entertaining to watch Richard, George had concluded as he continued to scrutinize his mate's face.
"Oi, Geo," Richard spoke up, cutting off George's engrossment, "There's gonna be a festival type thing in a week. You wanna go?"
George nodded, his brown eyes brightening at the thought, "That sounds like fun. We could meet some people there. Maybe we'll find J-" George stopped himself, biting his tongue before he uttered the name, "Junk. To put around this house and brighten it up, y'know. Feels a bit empty don't you think?"
If Richard had noticed his pause, he didn't let it show as he nodded his agreement, "Sounds like a plan, then. But before that," Richard got up, placing his hands on his hips, "I should probably find a job. That money John gave us ain't gonna last forever." George bristled at the sound of his name, an odd, warm feeling enveloping him.
"Yeah, you're right," He said plainly, "I can prolly pick up some odd jobs to do. Not like I can do much 'round here."
"I can stick at home and cook and clean and whatnot," Richard added, "I feel like a wife." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Eh, whatever happens happens, right?"
George nodded, that slow, easy grin tugging at his lips, "Right." George looked into his teacup, his reflection beaming back at him, "Y'know," He pressed his lips to the cup, tilting it slightly, "You'd make a great wife- If you were a bird and all that." His voice was muffled by the cup, but judging by Richard's expression, he heard him.
"Y'think?" Richard laughed, scratching at his head, "I'd make a pretty weird bird. Prolly a bit ugly, too."
"No." George countered quickly, the clink of his cup hitting the table resonating throughout the room, "I don't think you would." He mumbled, looking back down at his cup abashedly. His neck was warming up, the sure signs of a blush creeping onto him.
"Thanks, Geo," Richard said sincerely, looking down at the flier again, "I'm sure you'd make a pretty cute bird too."