John stretched on the bed, scribbling away depressing lyrics on his blank notebook, feeling his legs tingle a little with inactivity. He hadn't moved much that day, starting with a long session of meditation in the garden, followed by a private lesson with the Maharishi, listening attentively to what the man said in his soft, unhurried tone, sitting restlessly in the middle of the bright flowers crowding the room.

He hummed under his breath, chewing on the end of his pen and only looking up briefly when Cynthia went to the bathroom, leaving her own notebook of drawings and poems on the desk. John didn't bother having a look at them, scratching his stubbly chin and glancing at what he'd written so far, lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. They'd barely been in India for a week and all he could write about was death, slow agony and pining away. It wasn't that he was unhappy, not really, but meditating, instead of helping him relax, confronted him to things he usually tried not to think about.

It confronted him to the great meaninglessness of the world, to which the Maharishi had yet to find an answer; and although his creativity was seemingly out the roof, songs just pouring out of him on and on, the material he produced was rather depressing, cynical at best. John had trouble with meditation. He liked it, to a certain extent, but it was gruelling. As he'd told Mia, whenever he tried to meditate, a big brass band popped up in his head, making it nearly impossible. He'd tried though, both for his own sake and because everyone seemed to enjoy it around him. And, if he were a model student, he believed that perhaps the Maharishi would slip him the answer.

"Going for a stroll," he suddenly decided, getting up and making a face when his knees cracked. Cynthia turned around, watching him kindly. "Would you like me to come with you?" John shook his head. "Nah, 'm good." He gave her a smile and stepped out, sighing. Him and Cyn were barely talking these days. Worse, John found her disruptive. She disrupted his meditating, disrupted his creativity. She didn't even have to do anything, just her being there bothered John. He knew it wasn't fair, but that was how it was. Plus, he had to smuggle Yoko's postcards in as well, and he didn't like hiding them like a shameful secret. They weren't filth, they were beautiful.

He sauntered out to the garden, narrowing his eyes behind his round glasses, admiring the Valley of the Saints. Down below he could see the River Ganges, vivid and murky, and just across there was Rishikesh, surrounded by the jungle. Monkeys and crows were hovering at the brim of the forest, the same ones that aggressively trespassed into the garden whenever they took their meals out there, playing a game of hide and seek between the roots. The trees were huge and still, their roots black, claws digging into the damp ground, wiggling like arrested snakes. He spotted Donovan talking with Paul Horn, giving them a nod as he passed them by. Paul was nowhere in sight and Ringo was probably still being sick in his room, as he'd been for most of their stay.

He wondered where George was, easily guessing that he would still be in the meditation room, chanting mantras on and on. George was with no doubt the keenest of them all, the Maharishi's little pet, always out meditating, chanting, playing ragas on his sitar. The way he was going, John reckoned, he'd be flying a magic carpet by the time he was forty. He chuckled to himself and, sure enough, there was George as he walked into the meditation room, sitting quietly between two incense holders. John sat down on the embroidered rug and stared at him for a while. Then, he picked a thread of lint on the floor and leaned in to wriggle it up George's nose.

For the previous couple of hours George had disconnected with the material world surrounding him. His mind was at peace, a feeling of calm wrapping him in its warm embrace and the feeling of his nose being tickled went unnoticed by him. John pursed his lips, somewhat disappointed that he couldn't get any sort of reaction out of his mate with that. He leaned in further, having to resist the urge to kiss him and see whether that took him out of his trance. The meditation room was common and there were about sixty people at the ashram as far as John knew. He was foolish, but not foolish enough to kiss George somewhere anyone could see them.

"Hey." He poked George in the ribs instead, having set his mind on disturbing his friend's seemingly peaceful retreat. "Earth to the meditation queen. D'you copy?" 

It had taken George a long time to achieve this heightened sense of peace, and in a matter of mere seconds it disappeared like wisps of smoke into the air. He slowly opened his eyes, exhaling through his nose, clearly frustrated with the interruption. At times he felt as if he was the only one within his entourage to take their stay at the ashram seriously. "Yes?" he raised a heavy eyebrow at his mate, hoping that whatever John wanted to tell him wouldn't take up too much of his time.

John sat back on his heels, grinning. "Oh, ain't you a ray of sunshine," he drawled, purposefully trying to get on George's nerves, if only for the sake of entertainment. "I thought meditation was about being at peace with yourself and others -especially others." He tapped George's knee with an inquisitive finger, raising his eyebrows. "Mn?"

George knew John had a point, and it only served to annoy him further. There was a time when he would've welcomed the distraction, but those days felt far behind him. The need to constantly be near his lover had slowly waned over time, as George's views on love and relationships had begun to change. The Maharishi, as Krishna before him, was surrounded by beautiful young women who carried out his every whim because he was enlightened, and had the answers they sought. George looked up to his guru, and saw him as someone he wanted to emulate. He wanted be able to take any women he pleased as his lover, connecting physically and spiritually with them, and beyond, with God. That went way beyond John, Pattie or himself, so how could that be cheating?

"Has Prudence come out of her room? I hope she's all right," George finally replied, changing the subject. He was genuinely concerned about Mia's younger sister. She'd locked herself up for the last several days, refusing to come out. "Not yet." John sat in front of George, stretching on the thick rug. "I think she's trying to race us all to see who can get to God first." He scratched his stubbly chin and watched George lazily. "Y'know I was thinking of writing her a song, to coax her out?" He chuckled. "T's not a bad subject, for a tune."

"It couldn't hurt." They weren't supposed to write music while at the ashram, but it was hard not to be inspired by their surroundings, and George himself already had several possible contenders for the next album swimming around in his head. "The only time she comes out of her cottage is for the lectures and meals. She's bordering on fanatical," he pointed out, rubbing his finger over his moustache.

"Look who's talking," John retorted, eyes focusing on George's mouth as his lover shook his head. George wanted to reach God but it wasn't a competition to him, he could still have a good time sitting around with the others jamming on their acoustic guitars. "Do you think it has anything to do with Pattie receiving the answer first?" He laughed, slapping his hands together. "My own wife, and she won't even tell me! Believe me I tried, she's keeping mum on it."

John lips thinned as he pressed them together in irritation, reducing his mouth to a white line for a few seconds, before he shrugged. "Perhaps that's because she doesn't actually know shit," he drawled, giving George an unimpressed look, making him sigh.

"She knows more than you think." He didn't entirely believe that but he felt the need to defend his wife, even though she wasn't there to hear what John thought of her. Pattie was partly responsible for the lot of them ending up at the ashram, after all. She'd read about the Maharishi in a magazine article and had talked about it with George, who in turn had mentioned the guru and his teachings to the other Beatles.

When Pattie had announced the Maharishi'd told her the 'answer' a few days ago, John had only snorted. He didn't see why someone like Pattie would get there before them all, before John himself, who so desperately needed to give a meaning to things. It irritated him that she had understood it all before him, and he preferred thinking that she was only boasting or that the answer she thought she'd found wasn't a real one. George took one look at his lover and decided to change the subject to something neutral. "Jane wants another sitar lesson. She's got plenty of potential, it's not an easy instrument to master."

The idea brought a little grin to John's lips. "Oh yeah, she wants sitar lessons, now, mn?" he nudged George in the ribs, smirking. George nodded. "Just sitar lessons, John. Nothing more," he replied quietly, his demeanour easy-going, not minding the obvious innuendo. John chuckled. He liked Jane all right and he didn't think she was that kind of lady, but he found the idea of an affair developing thanks to sitar lessons amusing. After all, George had given him plenty of guitar lessons that he'd sometimes fantasized about turning into something else. "Careful there, George. You remember she said she'd had a little crush on you the first time you two met," he teased, watching his friend carefully to try and read his reaction.

George snorted, grinning. "Some crush that turned out to be, didn't it? Paul ended up pulling her." He had never given thought to him and Jane having anything more than friendship. He did find her beautiful and rather smart, but when she'd started dating Paul she'd automatically become off limits. You didn't flirt with your mate's bird, that was one of the most important rules of friendship, to George, and he wouldn't break it for Jane.

Truth be told, it was Maureen he'd always fancied a bit. She was a good mum with a fantastic sense of humour, always sweet and in good spirits, doting on her husband. Still, just like with Jane, George knew nothing would ever happen between the two of them. "I thought Jane fancied you," he shot back. "Can't say that I blame her." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully and John laughed, scratching his brow. "I know, who doesn't fancy me?" He gave George a dead-pan look, before glancing around, a small smirk curling his lips.

"Speaking of which..." He leaned in a little, hand coming to rest on George's knee. "I could use a few sitar lessons myself, mn?" He watched George, eyes glinting with mischievous intent, but his friend only patted his hand, trying to let him down as easily as possible. "I'd like to get back to meditating," he stated, genuinely apologetic. It had nothing to do with him not being attracted to John. The desire he had for his lover was still there, but the need to satisfy it above all else was no longer part of him.

John's eyebrows rose on his forehead in surprise and he paused, looking rather dumbfounded and even a little hurt for a second, before he easily concealed it. "Really? I didn't know you liked meditation that much," he mocked, trying to sound playful but still ending up somewhat cold. George had never rejected him before, at least not that way. He felt an unpleasant feeling crawl into the pit of his stomach, dread at what that meant making a shiver go down his spine.

George nodded, sighing. He hadn't meant to upset John but he wasn't up for a shag with his lover or anyone else, for that matter. He felt that he'd been close to reaching something profound through meditation before being interrupted, and he wanted to try and find it again. "You just caught me at a bad time, that's all," he explained, hoping his friend wouldn't take it too personally. He knew John well enough to know that it was exactly what he'd do, though. "I'll see you at dinner?" 

"Yeah," John replied, getting up. George's lack of interest (or so he perceived it to be) rattled him, because it put in question one of the rare things he didn't usually feel insecure about, the fact that his mate wanted him and loved him more than anyone, or anything else. It didn't matter to him that perhaps he himself didn't love George more than anything else anymore these days, he still couldn't stand the idea of George choosing meditation over him. His pride was hurt, and he settled on going back to his bedroom to notify Cynthia that she would have move out and stay somewhere else at the ashram, from then on.

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Rumours of the Maharishi's impropriety with young female students spread through the ashram like a wild fire in the desert, scorching the Earth and leaving ugliness in its wake. George hadn't hesitated too long before believing them, thinking that no man, holy or not, could possibly be surrounded by so many attractive women and not act on his desires. 

No one had yet to come forward with accusations that the guru had been inappropriate with them, still. It was rumoured that Mia Farrow had been the one on the receiving end of the Maharishi's unwanted advances, but she hadn't actually said anything about it. It had just been rumours and gossip really, but it had managed to put a premature end to their time in India. John and George were the only ones that had stuck around, with their wives, growing more and more disenchanted with the Maharishi until that one last straw.

They'd decided to leave but kept it quiet, dreading what the guru would say or do. John had been given the undesirable task of telling him they were leaving the next day, first thing in the morning, but he didn't plan on doing so until the last moment. 

After dinner, George had gone to the room John now slept in alone, to compose. They were the last two Beatles left there, after all, and John wanted to write some sort of epilogue to the story. George was reading the lyrics scribbled on a note pad in his lover's distinctive scrawl. "Maharishi, you little... twat?" He guessed. His mate's writing was terrible. John looked up and nodded. "Yeah. Who the fuck do you think you are?" he added, pointing towards the next verse. George shook his head, thinking that this was precisely the kind of harsh statement John would come to regret if they were to record this song. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

He could understand John's disenchantment and anger with the Maharishi though, since he felt the same thing. The Maharishi was supposed to be a holy man, above acting on his base desires. Paul had tried to put things into perspective, pointing out that he'd never claimed to be a god, only a meditation teacher, but neither one of them had been willing to hear him out. They still believed the guru had misrepresented himself, John feeling especially deceived. 

He gave a shrug. "I don't care. What's he going to do anyway, sue us?" he snorted, bending over the notepad and scribbling more heinous lyrics, putting his hand on George's knee for balance, looking up when his lover slid his own hand on top of it and laced their fingers together. John let him, not commenting, too absorbed with the thought of the Maharishi suing them. He honestly couldn't have cared less. He was angry and terribly disappointed in the man he'd seen as an answer to all his problems, only to find out that he just lusted after women, money and power, like the rest of them. "Should put something 'bout him having a little dick," he grumbled, drawing a stick figure of an Indian man with a very small penis next to his lyrics. "What d'you think?" He flashed George a grin.

George raised the back of John's hand to his mouth and pressed a loving kiss to it. "I think if this Beatle thing doesn't work out you could have a fantastic career as an illustrator of children's books. You'll have to leave out the pricks though." He sniffed poshly, pointing to the caricature with a good natured smile on his face. John laughed, relenting a little and giving his hand a friendly squeeze at the show of affection bestowed upon him.

Had this been a week earlier George wouldn't have found his lover's disrespectful sketch of the Maharishi amusing, but he was resentful now, and it was open season on the so-called holy man. "You should draw eight arms on him." His dark eyes had a mischievous look to them, making John raise an eyebrow. "How 'bout eight equally small dicks?" he proposed instead, surrounding the stick man with small scribbled penises. "I think we might have the cover of our record too," John stated with a smirk, satisfied. He knew that the song would never be broadcasted as such, much less with his obscene drawings, but it felt good to let the venom out.

George had that hissing laugh of his, throwing his head back. "Oh, yes, I'm sure Paul would go right along with that." He raised an amused eyebrow at his lover. "If you tone them down just a bit and switch out "Maharishi" to another word with four syllables, you might have an actual song, you know." John tilted his head to the side, grumbling a little for the sake of it but knowing George was right. As satisfying as it felt, there was no way in hell the song would be accepted as such. 

"Make it a girl, perhaps. Paul'd like that." He snorted and scratched his sideburns. "Girl's name, four syllables, ending with ee..." George nodded, feeling quite good about John listening to his input, for a change. Their collaborations were rare and it reminded him of another time, lifetimes ago. "Do you remember asking me what I thought of the Quarrymen practising 'Be-Bop-A Lula'?" The look on his face was fond as he recalled the past. John set his pencil down, eyebrows furrowing in thought. "I was afraid to tell you the truth but I knew that if I didn't, you'd never respect me," he added. "Sounds like me." John shook his head. "Can't say I remember. Did I rough you up for tellin' me we were terrible, you little shit?" he teased, grinning to George.

"No," George chuckled, leaning against his side and rubbing his thigh affectionately. "I thought you were Marlon Brando in 'The Wild One' come to life." He pressed his nose against John's stubbly cheek, feeling him smile. "Did you?" John leaned away a little, considering George through his thick glasses. "What's up with you? You've been 'too busy meditating' for two months and now you're all over me?" he asked, looking impish but also a little resentful. "Not all the time, John," George corrected, eyes dark and soft, but John merely pursed his lips. "Well, most of the time, then. Been neglecting me, you 'ave." He sniffled poshly to show he wasn't too annoyed, though. "What sort of lady d'you think I am..."

"The sort that'll let me have my way with her?" George proposed, wiggling his thick eyebrows goofily. "Or maybe she'd like to have her way with me. I'm flexible." He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the side of John's face. He knew that moments like these would become rare once they were back in London and wanted to take advantage of their last night together at the ashram, hoping John would go with it.

"Flexible, eh?" John repeated with a chuckle, giving George a little look before he sat up suddenly, crawling into his lap and using his weight to pin him down none-too-gently, hands gripping George's shoulders to keep them pressed against the mattress. "Let's put that to the test, shall we?" he drawled, looking playful and a little dangerous, possessiveness creeping back into the pit of his stomach after having been ignored for what he thought to be too long a time. 

"Let's." George nodded, looking up to John and licking his lips, willing to give up control to his lover. The position reminded him of a more aggressive version of John, the one that he'd known in Hamburg. George smirked, thinking of the passionate and rough encounters the two of them had shared back then. He could tell from the look in John's eyes that this was what he needed, and he wanted to give it to him. He tried to lean up to kiss him but couldn't, his mate pinning him down pretty well. 

John raised an eyebrow, sitting in George's lap, straddling his narrow hips easily and reaching down to grip his wrists and pull them above his head. "Not even going to struggle a bit?" he teased, glasses slipping down to the end of his nose as he leaned in to kiss George briefly. "Where's me macho George?" He grinned, settling more fully on top of his lover, hissing as his quickly hardening dick was pressed between their bodies. George just chuckled. "Why would I struggle?" He stared into John's eyes. "I've always wanted you. Why fight?" His words were genuine, with an undertone of submissiveness that did wonders on petting John's ego.

"You're no fun anymore," he stated fondly, making George grin. "Do you want me to struggle? Would you like that?" He didn't wait for an answer, straining underneath John, rather half-heartedly attempting to buck his lover off of him, grinning when he felt John's dick harden even more against his stomach. "I think you do." John laughed quietly, pressing his face against George's neck, his grip on his body tightening. "Well, you're squirming all over the place," he explained although they both knew that there was something arousing in the idea of fighting for domination.

He nipped up George's jaw, firmly reaching down to spread his legs and slip his hips in between, groins pressing together. "Now, behave," he warned, his tone still playful, giving George's thigh a little slap and leaning up to kiss him demandingly, grinding their bodies together slowly.

"Where's the fun in that?" George mumbled against his mouth, no longer struggling though, completely compliant to his lover and allowing him to set the pace. He groaned against John's mouth, slightly parting his lips for his mate's tongue, hardly able to remember why he hadn't been entirely receptive to John's overtures, not when he was this turned on. "Don't get cheeky," John muttered, giving him another slap before cupping his face with both hands and kissing him, slow at first and then with increasing passion, pushing his tongue into George's mouth to taste him fully.

He tugged George's pants open with eager fingers, slipping his hand inside and rubbing his lover's hardening length, squeezing the way he knew George liked it, making him groan and throw his head back, biting down into his plump bottom lip. John stroked the tight skin of George's neck, stretched in pleasure. "Be a good boy and roll over, mn?" he asked, his voice low and sultry, eyes glinting mischievously as he sucked on George's jaw.

His lover laughed, complying with no apparent hesitation. "Will you respect me in the morning?" He looked over his shoulder at John with cheeky eyes. "What makes you think I respect you in the evening?" John shot back, pulling his pants down and watching George's narrow butt move as he began rubbing his hard-on against the bed, moaning rather loudly at the intense feeling of pleasure. "Come 'ead, what're you waiting for, an invitation from the queen?" George whispered, breathless.

"Don't get bossy." John smirked and pulled George's pants low enough, spreading his legs and running his fingers up his crack, teasingly. George inhaled sharply, wiggling his bum, desperately trying to get any part of John inside of him but his lover only lay on top of his body, pinning him down. He leaned in to bite into the crook of his neck, grabbing a handful of his hair to pull his head back and George groaned, not fighting the rough handling. He relaxed his body, trusting his lover completely and giving over all control. "I'll get there when I get there." John let George's head go and slipped his hands underneath his chest, giving both his nipples a good tug when he found them, hard and sensitive.

George moaned, dick beginning to twitch. "You're already there," he stated, teasingly rubbing his bum against John's hard-on, hoping that would make his lover take him. He hadn't realized just how much he needed to be claimed by John this way. "Nope," John groaned in his ear, licking a sloppy path up his neck and pushing two fingers into George's mouth, nibbling on his ear. "But I will, if you behave." George briefly gagged, not having expected John to stick his fingers into his mouth, his lover kissing the nape of his neck in apology. He quickly recovered though, swirling his tongue around his fingers, pretending he was giving him a blowjob and being a tease about it, moving his mouth slowly from the base to the tip, groaning for effect. 

"You little..." John gasped, shuddering at the feeling and swatting George's bum. He withdrew his fingers from George mouth, slick with spit, reaching down to push them inside of him none too gently, sucking on his ear lobe, taking his time more to make George wait than because he really thought he needed that much preparation. 

George clenched the bedding. The feeling of John's fingers inside of him wasn't foreign but it took him a moment to get used to the rough way he entered him. He moved back against him, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling sharply, moaning as John kissed the back of his neck. "That's good, nice and tight," John praised, not slowing down but kissing up George's neck, pulling his fingers out and reaching to stroke his lover's straining cock instead. He rubbed his aching dick against George's butt, wanking him slow but good, breathing heavily into his ear.

John's hand was just where George needed it but it wasn't enough, he needed more and he wasn't above begging for it, desperate enough to tell John just how much he needed him. He ached for his lover to be inside of him and make him feel complete. He rubbed himself against John's dick, feeling it poke wetly against the heated and sensitive skin of his bum. "You're really getting off on all this, aren't you?" he laughed, giving John a knowing look that made him grin.

"What was your first clue?" John teased, tilting his head to kiss him in spite of the awkward angle, roughly tugging his pants around his knees so he could spread his legs wider. He spat in his hand, coating his hard cock as good as he could before settling back on top of George's body, guiding himself in. John had to put a little force into the move to manage to slip in because of the lack of lube, hissing and gasping at the feeling. He went deeper cautiously, gripping George's waist and pulling him closer until he was fully in.

Pleasure mixed with pain made George cry out, John stilling and hushing him, kissing the crook of his shoulder. Shagging without lube could be harsh, but within the same breath there was something incredibly arousing about it. He pushed back against John's dick, grabbing hold of himself and stroking his shaft quickly, gasping. George would never allow anyone else to have him in this way, to hold him down and over-power him. What he and John had wasn't only a physical connection, it was an emotional one, one that had grown twisted and even more complex within the past months.

"Easy," John whispered in George's ear, stroking up and down his ribs, petting his thin thighs soothingly, as if reassuring a frazzled horse. "Feels too good." George's words were shaky and filled with longing for as much of his lover as possible. John let him get used to the feeling and wank for a little while, slipping one arm around his chest and going back to teasing his nipple, waiting for his lover to relax around him.

George gasped and began moving back against John, finding a comfortable rhythm that allowed him plenty of pleasure, knowing that they didn't have a lot of time. There never seemed to be enough time for them, and he began moving back against John harshly, spurned on by his mate teasing his nipple. It sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin and he hissed, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb over the tip of his dick. He exhaled, throwing his head back and turning it to try to kiss his lover to no avail.

John grinned and stroked up George's cheek, kissing his temple and pushing his fingers inside of his mouth again, following his moves with careful thrusts, groaning as George's rhythm grew harsher and somewhat jerkier. He grabbed George's rocking hips with his other hand, fingers stiff with tension, and bucked inside of his lover, groaning at the tightness and warmth gripping his cock. George groaned loudly, beads of sweat causing his bangs to stick to his forehead. He was too hot but there was no way he'd part from John to rid himself of his clothing. 

"Harder, yeah." His words were shaky and desperate, his lover so close to hitting that spot that would really send him over the edge. John hummed and shifted forwards, knowing what George wanted, pushing hard inside of him, causing him to bite down into his fingers, not with the intent of seriously hurting him but being rough with him in turn. John yelped, withdrawing them and hissing in pain. George knew that giving it right back to John would turn him on, hoping it would get him to be a bit rougher. "You want to play it the hard way, mn?" John growled, pulling George's hips higher and making his bum stick up, grabbing his arms and holding his wrists behind his back to prevent him from pleasuring himself completely. 

George groaned in protest, needing to touch himself. It was a real kind of torture, having a stiff dick and not being able to stroke it, making him ache even more for a pleasurable release. "You're going to get it," John warned, a thrill of anticipation travelling down George's spine. John thrust hard inside of his lover, moaning, watching with a certain satisfaction as the move pushed George's face into the pillow, adopting a quick, unforgiving rhythm. George closed his eyes, licking his dry lips, craving the force in which John pounded in and out of him, crying out when he hit that spot inside of him. 

"Please..." He struggled to free himself from his lover's tight grasp, needing to touch and pleasure himself. "No." John tightened his grip on George, holding him still and pushing roughly into him. "You'll come when I decide you deserve to," he panted, knowing that he was getting closer himself, thrusting into George quick and hard. George groaned, squeezing his eyes shut so tight that he began seeing white spots behind his eyelids. 

One touch from John was all he needed to release himself from this excruciatingly intense pleasure. He struggled wildly, really putting his strength into trying to free his hands but John wouldn't let him go, straining and sweating with the exertion of holding him down, biting into the crook of his shoulder with a growl, fucking hard and fast into his lover's trembling body. George moaned, far too caught up in the moment to even think of Pattie questioning the bruise that was sure to be left behind on his skin. "George," John gasped, giving a few more jerky thrusts before he felt pleasure pull him over the edge, the muscles of his belly and legs tensing up, moaning loudly as he rammed one last time inside of his lover, coming. 

There was nothing close to John coming inside of him, to George. It just made him feel incredibly connected to his lover. George panted breathing heavily, shagging so rough and fast had taken a lot out of him, moaning a little as John shuddered, riding the bliss of orgasm through ragged breaths, his muscles twitching as sweat rolled down his back underneath his shirt. He panted into George's ear, blood pounding in his temples and unable to move for a few seconds before he took pity, releasing him and flipping him to his back with a grunt. 

George was flushed and dishevelled, his eyes dark, hazy with desire and his cock stood stiff against his stomach, dark red and wet. John took one look at the beautiful mess his lover made and leaned in with no hesitation, brushing his mouth against George's dick and wrapping his lips around it, going all the way down with a slight gag, frowning at the effort it took. George ran his hand through the wet strands of John's long hair, groaning when his lover's mouth, hot and wet, sunk down onto his sensitive shaft. He instinctively began rolling his hips, moving his dick in and out of John's mouth, knowing that he would only need a little more to come and feeling relieved when John indulged him, letting him buck as he wished to, sucking hard and humming low in his throat.

Several more thrusts into John's incredible mouth was all it took for George to tense up, coming into his lover's mouth with no proper warning. John gagged but didn't pull away, swallowing as good as he could, sucking George through his climax as he groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes and jerking underneath him for several long moments. John sat up when his lover slowly pulled his dick out of his mouth, going completely boneless, lying on the bed sweaty, spent and completely satisfied. "Sorry, for not warning you." The words came out breathlessly, opening his eyes slightly and looking at John, who smiled.

"It's all right." He wiped his lips and cleared his throat, the taste of come heavy in his mouth, pushing back his damp hair, feeling too hot. "Let's have a shower, mn?" He slipped his hand underneath George's ruffled skirt, patting his sweaty stomach. "You're all sticky." John smiled and leaned in to kiss George's lips gently, his eyes fond and caring after his earlier show of domination. 

George grinned, closing his eyes. "Shower sounds fantastic." He made no move to get out of bed, running a hand through his damp hair and John didn't push for it either, stroking George's hip softly. "Christ that was good," George said, his laughter filling the room. John grinned, kissing his jaw. "Bit naughty," he teased. 

"I needed that." George patted the back of his mate's head, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. "I love you." He couldn't remember the last time he'd said it and yet, he needed John to know. He ran the back of his hand across John's stubbly jaw, looking into his soulful eyes, the storm he sometimes saw there seemingly appeased for the time being. "I love you too," John replied quietly, sitting up when George got out of bed "Let's get clean." He winked, slowly beginning what felt to be the tiring task of removing his clothes. 

John smiled, removing his own shirt with a pleased sigh, toeing his jeans off, the smell of sweat heavy in the locked room. The notebook on which he'd scribbled the draft for his Maharishi song was still on the bed, hanging precariously at the edge of the rumpled sheets. "'ave to finish the song," John mused. "When yer nice an' clean I'll show you some guitar stuff Donovan showed me the other day too, if you like." He scratched his sideburns. "It's quite good."

George nodded. "All right." He drummed his fingers against his chest, walking into the bathroom. John followed him, slipping out of his underwear and waiting for George to turn the shower on, making the water a comfortable temperature, not too hot so they could cool down. George pulled back the curtain and they stepped in, standing underneath the spray of water, grinning to each other.