What happens when John gets bored?


Bored

John Lennon was extremely bored. This was a very dangerous situation.

He discovered this boredom when he was reading through month-old American tween magazines, flipping through pointless periodical after pointless periodical, until he began to unknowingly reread them. He started making games out of it. How many times an article mentioned The Beatles’ haircuts. How many horrible lyric puns could be fit into a single sentence. How many incredibly attractive pictures of Paul he could find…

‘Fuck the rest,’ he decided, ‘I’m sticking with that last game.’

He found an especially delicious picture and stared fixedly on it. ‘Why’d they have to go and muck up the photo with the rest of us? Paul’s obviously the appeal here…’ he thought, tracing the bassists’ smooth, angelic face on the page.

Unfortunately, there came a point where even staring at a photo so sexually enticing became a bore.

“Hey Ringo, where’s Paul?” It took Ringo a second to realize John was talking to him. John had been so uncharacteristically quiet, he’d forgotten he was there.

“Oh, I think he’s asleep in his room.” Ringo answered, motioning behind him to the hallway.

“Ah, thank you Ringo, m’boy.” John got up and patted the drummers knee thoughtfully and made his way to Paul’s hotel room.

“John…please don’t fuck around. He hasn’t had much sleep.” Ringo said worriedly, and John held a hand to his chest with mock-offense.

“I cant believe you’d even suggest such a thing! I’m merely going to check up on my dear friend, Rings!”

Ringo rolled his eyes and went back to fooling with the radio.

----

John flinched as the door creaked open louder than expected, but just pushed through and hoped he wouldn’t disturb his victim. He closed the door carefully with a sigh, then turned and leaned his back against it, inspecting the room closely.

Paul was a vision.

The duvet was pulled up to his waist, but bunched around his tangled limbs. His dark hair was mussed and strewn out contrastingly among the white sheets. His shirt was hitched up showing his abdomen. But his face. That was what John couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from. His lips were slightly puckered, creating a lazy “o”, his features otherwise very relaxed. His huge eyes were hidden behind tired lids, ridiculously long lashes caressing the tops of his round, cherubic cheeks. He was poetry. He was music. His face portrayed perfect peace.

“This is going to be fun.” John whispered sadistically, climbing into bed next to his friend. He smoothed his hand over the tight stomach, feeling it spasm with the movement of his cold digits. He let his hand travel underneath Paul’s shirt, rubbing him roughly and catching a nipple between his fingers.

Paul shuddered and a moan escaped his open lips. He had to kiss those lips.

“Wakey, wakey, Paulie dear.” John cooed, then laughed deep in his throat, as he placed long, languid kisses into Paul’s slightly opened mouth.

“John…” Paul groaned out.

“Oh, having dirty dreams about me, aye?” He fluttered his lashes suggestively, but it was wasted on a mostly unconscious McCartney. “Well, let’s see if I can improve on them, mate. Give you something to dream about.”

John pulled down Paul’s trousers and pants to find that he was already half stiff from the images in his sleeping mind. Not hesitating in the slightest, John pulled the clothes all the way down Paul’s legs so they bunched at his ankles, and took Paul’s cock in his hand. It seemed to grow just from the contact and Paul whimpered.

John weighed the member in his hands, examining it thoroughly, before reaching down and giving it a little lick. Paul bucked up, silently asking for more.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Paul? Is that what you want?” He asked, teasing him with slow, firm strokes. “Tell me what you want.”

As if he could hear him through his haze, Paul groaned “Fuck…John…” between clenched teeth.

John let go of Paul and removed his own trousers, then returned his attention to Paul, flipping him over and sitting on the backs of Paul’s thighs.

“…the fuck? John?!?” Paul shrieked out, startled. “What’s going on?”

John thrust against Paul’s backside, sending Paul’s straining erection further into the bed. “Ohh…” Paul groaned, eyes fluttering. “I thought I was dreaming.”

“Maybe you still are. Maybe this is just a dream.”

Paul smiled and looked over his shoulder at Paul. “Yes, you seem much more competent than real life John. And bigger.” He laughed evilly.

“Fuck you.” John thrust again and Paul moaned. “Tell me what you want or I’m leaving.”

“I want to sleep.” He laughed.

“Fuck you, Paul.” He said, and laid down ontop of him, grazing his dick over the cleft of Paul’s ass. He smiled menacingly and bit at his ear. “You know you’re just dying…to have me…come…inside of you…” He punctuated each phrase with a quick thrust, making Paul writhe.

“Fine! Just fuck me, already.” Paul said, and was immediately rewarded with a slick finger probing his bum. Then another. And another.

John didn’t give any other warning before he pushed into him fast and quick, passed the resisting muscles, and fully sheathed himself inside. Paul cried out, surprised by the suddenness of what just happened.

“Come on, Johnny, fuck me.” Paul growled, eyes shut tight. And then John was pulling out and slamming back in, over and over, thrusting blindly into the tight heat.

John wordlessly fucked Paul into the mattress, neither of them saying a word. Just the sounds of the act filling the air around them. Then Paul reached around to grab at John, whimpering wantonly for more, and John nodded to the back of his head and picked up speed.

Paul huddled over himself, giving room between his pelvis and the bed, and grabbed his cock, frantically and desperately tugging himself, feeling the imminent release building, but not quiet getting him through.

The feeling engulfing John was overwhelming, all of his attention on hitting that little spot inside Paul, and on the constricting and releasing of pressure on his own length. He knew he was about to come, and judging by the constant moans becoming more and more frequent below him, Paul was almost there too. The building and twisting and winding, and then…

They were thrown together into ecstasy.

John rolled to Paul’s side, and Paul rolled onto his back, and they both smiled at each other, feeling accomplished.

“That was some wake up. Thanks.” Paul tried to sound sarcastic, but it turned into a giggle.

“I’m glad I could help, love.” John smirked.

“And I’m glad I could help with your boredom.”

“Hey, I wasn’t bored. I just wanted a little lovin’ from my Macca.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Paul stretched and kissed John lightly on the lips. “You get so randy when you’re bored.”

“Hey, I wasn’t bored. I just wanted a little lovin’ from my Macca.”

XD
That's lovely, darling.
hehe.