Chapter Five : 1962, Part A : What happens in Hamburg...

John was sitting in a somewhat secluded corner of the Kaiserkeller, almost invisible in the dim light, the air thick with smoke and the heat of people packed inside against the cold of the night. He was staring vaguely at the dance floor, looking completely absent, dazed and confused after a seven-hours long shift of playing on stage, beer making him nauseous and cranky, Preludin running high in his blood, leaving him twitchy and goggle-eyed. He knew he should be going back home now, but was unable to muster the will to do so.

He had to find George first anyway. Of all the people he could have ended up sharing a room (well, more like a closet, really) with, it had had to be George. John would have given anything to switch with someone else, quite sure that it wouldn't be so painful or awkward to share a bed (and a fucking single bed, on top of things) with anyone else than his pretty mate. Not that he disliked the lad, far from it, it was quite the contrary actually, finding himself in need of a wank more often than the usual after seeing George come out of the bathroom half naked, or watching his caressing hands on the neck of his precious guitar, or even after he'd sloppily eaten some sort of creamy cake, for Chrissakes.

John disguised it all right of course, pretending he hadn't gotten laid for a while and having no real qualms to wank when George was sitting right there, watching the redness of his mate's cheeks anytime he did so. George wanked as well, but he was trying to be discreet about it, doing it when John slept or when he was out. John had managed to catch him red-handed a few times though, ending up jerking off with him most of them, the picture of George all twitchy and embarrassed, hiding his boner with an unsteady hand under his dirty tee-shirt too much for John to stand.

Anyway, he had to find George before going home, because the kiddo couldn't get home without him, oh no, not after what had happened to him a few weeks ago, getting in a scrape with some nasty German blokes. John snorted disdainfully and narrowed his eyes, trying to spot George in the hazy room although he couldn't really see further than a few feet away without his glasses.

George was sitting at the counter and feeling compelled to chat up a bird who sort of looked like Bardot. Well, if you squinted your eyes, tilted your head and downed several pints in a quick succession, that was. She wasn't even blonde. In truth, George was trying to take his mind off of John and it was a hard thing to do, really. John had invaded his thoughts and dreams even more than the usual lately, perhaps due to the fact that they were always together.

They were in a band together, socialized together, and shared a shoe box of a room together. George wasn't complaining, though. Their current accommodations were far from the squalor they lived in during their first trip to Germany, their manager Brian Epstein having seen to that, and although their sets were still long, they were allowed one-hour breaks throughout.

The young man took a large sip of his beer. It was hard to make small talk when you couldn't really understand one another. The bird seemed interested, or at least looked like it: she was obviously flirting with him, batting her eyelashes and laughing at everything he said even if it wasn't especially funny. He couldn't stop thinking about John, though. George desperately wanted to be 'normal' like his mates, going off with a bird after a gig for a good shag.

He was still a virgin at 19 and nowhere close to losing his virginity, too shy and awkward for his own good. When birds did approach him they weren't exactly 'top quality' anyway, just the castoffs of his band mates. And, even when it happened, he would ruin it by being aloof and cold and he'd end up going back to the room he shared with John alone and having a quick wank thinking about his mate.

George turned away from the bird he'd been halfheartedly trying to chat up. Her English wasn't too good and George's German was for shit. A grin appeared on his face when he spotted John across the way, off in a corner by himself. No bird for John tonight? He'd been striking out a lot lately. Not that George minded since it meant that John did a great deal more wanking, which meant they wanked together. He had found it rather embarrassing in the beginning and he still did feel somewhat awkward about it, but it was the closest he'd ever be to having sex with John, and he was willing to take what he could get.

The bird sitting next to him at the small table grabbed the lapel of his leather jacket, demanding his attention, looking none too pleased by his distracted nature. George tried to forget about John. He was determined to bed this girl tonight and shag the queer right out of himself.

"Schöne Fraulein," he grinned, trying to charm her, and she smiled approvingly at his words. George reached out and caressed her pimply cheek, pulling back with make up coated fingertips. He tried to discretely wipe his hand on his thigh, still smiling at the bird to distract her.

John muttered something unclear to himself, taking a swig of his beer glass before he remembered it was empty, finally managing to spot George from across the pub, grinning to him. He got up unsteadily, crossing the room with drunken steps, nearly tumbling down when he reached George and the bird (bloody ugly, that one) he'd apparently been trying to chat up. He caught his balance holding on George's jacket roughly, wrapping a heavily companionable arm around his shoulders, his eyes glinting darkly in the smoky light, looking almost manic because of the pills and exhaustion.

George nearly fell out of the chair he was perching on, not realizing it was John at once and bracing himself for a fight with a nasty Kraut before he turned his head and instantly relaxed when he saw that a drunken John Lennon trying to steady himself was the culprit. "What's going on, son?" He chuckled, not bothering to push John away. His mate's arm was heavy and warm around his shoulder, and felt too good to recoil from it. John didn't seem to hear George's question.

"Oi, Georgie," he slurred, giving the girl a once over. "I know I said you should get laid and not be so picky about birds, but that thing is too low, even by yer standards, mate." He sneered, shooting George a nasty grin and blinking when the girl failed to be offended, merely tilting her head to the side and watching him with mild worry.

He gave her a charming smile (well, as charming as he could get considering his current state), snarling when she smiled back. John sometimes enjoyed doing that, dropping his own bird to flirt heavily with the one George had obviously been interested in, just for the pleasure to steal her right under his mate's nose.

George quickly tensed up after John insulted the German bird he was trying to bed for the night. He knew his friend could be a right nasty bastard when he wanted to and that seemed to be where things were headed. "Hey!" He snapped, glaring at John and looking rather annoyed.

"Time to say goodbye, son," John drawled suddenly, tugging George toward the exit. "'m going 'ome now and you're coming with me. No way you're getting there in one piece on yer own, and I'm not waiting for fuck knows how long it'll take you to convince that bird to let you fuck her in the loo." John raised an eyebrow to George, tugging harder, showing that this was not open to debate and dragging him out of the club before George could really process what was happening. The younger man managed to get out of John's rather tight and rough grasp once they stepped outside. He pushed John's shoulder, glaring at his mate. "What's yer problem?" He snapped.

John stumbled forward, nearly falling face first in the gutter and catching himself to a lamppost, landing in the middle of a group of prostitutes who insulted him but helped him up. "Danke sehr geehrte Damen," he slurred out, making them coo a little and pat him before he chuckled and extracted himself from their bold hands, swaying back to George.

He blinked drunkenly at the irritation on George's face, his sluggish brain taking a good second to remember what his question had been. Ah, right. "I've got no problem, son. Yer the one that's got a problem," he snarled into George's direction. "Can't even get home without ending up in some sort of scrape with blokes twice yer size, and now I've gotta babysit." He pointed an unsteady finger in George's face. "'m going 'ome, and yer coming with me, whether ya like it or not. There'll be plenty of time for shagging ugly birds tomorrow."

George glared. He was being embarrassed unintentionally and by a drunken John in front of a pack of whores, or so he thought, since the whores weren't really paying any attention to them anymore. George found it rather demoralizing. He wasn't a kid. Was that all John saw in him, the kid he met atop that double-decker bus a few years ago? John treated him more like a little brother than a peer and George found it frustrating as hell. "I can handle myself, yeah!" He spat out, knocking John's unsteady hand out of his face and turning away from him, making his way back towards the pub.

John frowned and glared at George's back when the lad shoved his hand off and made his way back to the pub in a rare outburst of temper and rebellion. He had no desire to wait for George to get laid (which wouldn't happen anyway, considering how awkwardly he'd been flirting with that bird), but he didn't especially fancy going home alone and to bed with the nagging worry that George wouldn't make it in one piece either. He snarled and caught up with George, straightening and trying to steady himself, grabbing his mate's shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, spinning him forcefully and marching him in the right direction, almost lifting the boy's small frame from the ground in his drunken determination.

George's face turned beet red. No one had ever handled him in this way, except maybe for his older siblings when he was younger and they were rough housing. "Fuckin' let me down, John!" He snapped, struggling to get out of John's surprisingly strong grasp. George wondered, albeit briefly, whether pints of beer were to John what spinach was to Popeye.

His older mate stumbled a bit but held still, giving George a warning look. "I said we goin' 'ome, don't piss me off, son. It's already bad enough to have to share a place with you," he spat meanly, not really meaning that. He shivered when his cold hand found its way under George's jacket, coming in contact with the hot material of his shirt. "Don't be cranky," he added, a little more friendly. "Ye can have a wank when we get there." He grinned. "I need one too, I'll tell ya my last dream 'bout Brigitte, yeah?"

"Bet you'd like that." George broke free from John. "Wanking together," he spat out viciously, still hurt by John's remark about having to room with him. George headed off to 'home', not wanting to argue or fight with John on the streets of Hamburg. John raised an eyebrow and followed his friend in the narrow street, watching his steps not to fall flat on his face on the dirty pavement, the garish lights from the still open pubs and whorehouses lighting their way.

"Well," he drawled, catching up with him and giving the lad a little nudge, not liking the idea of George being pissed off. "What's not to like 'bout having a nice lil' wank thinking about the lovely Brigitte?" He asked, his shoulder bumping into George's occasionally, both because he wanted to be companionable and because he was too drunk to walk straight. "Pretty thing, she is," he said somewhat dreamily.

George took quicker strides, walking ahead of John, not willing to forgive him so easily for being a prat back there. He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his drainpipes and slumped his shoulders forward, wondering why John always had to ruin things for him. It'd been happening a lot lately. Well, at least ever since he'd been jumped by those German blokes on his way back to the room he shared with John, it seemed that his mate never missed an opportunity to bring it up. George wouldn't even consider the idea that John might care about him and want him to get to their room safe and in one piece.

John sighed heavily and followed, aware that George would be pissed off with him for a while now, but also knowing that he never held grudges against people too long, and was especially lenient to forgive John's bullshit, for some reason. He didn't try to keep up with his mate, just sauntering behind him, watching him walk hurriedly to their rooms, picturing the grumpy look on his face all too well. 

George wasn't much of anything, he thought lazily, watching the way his narrow hips swayed and his thin legs moved, making him look a bit like a grass hopper. John's eyes paused on his bum and there wasn't much to stare at there either, but he reckoned that he still wouldn't mind hitting that so much and fuck, he didn't really think that now, did he? John shook his head and stepped in as George opened the door to the Bambi Kino, not bothering to look over his shoulder to check and see if his mate was still behind him but quickly weaving through the crowd and heading towards the back of the club. 

Once up the stairs, John fumbled into his pockets for the key of their flat, cursing under his breath when it took him a while to find it. He gave George his best goofy smile and finally unlocked the door, holding it gallantly open for his mate. "Now if you highness allows, we'll return to our royal apartments..." he drawled in an appalling posh accent, rather obviously trying to make George less annoyed with him.

The lad grinned, showing that he wasn't that pissed with his mate anymore. After all, there'd be other birds for him to try and pick up. He stepped inside, shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it onto a nearby battered chair, sitting down on the edge of their small single bed, and taking his boots off. "That girl back at the pub, she kind of looked like Bardot, right?"

John closed the door behind them with a yawn, feeling tired but rather aware that, hopped on prellies as he was, he probably wouldn't be lucky enough to fall asleep any time soon. He slouched on the bed next to George, scratching the back on his head and tucking a fresh cigarette between his lips, offering one to his mate and giving a little snort. "As much as I hate to break your wildest fantasies Georgie, I look more like Bardot than this bird ever will." He wiggled his eyebrows and kicked his boots off, staying fully dressed and lying down on their mangy bed.

George waved off the offer for a ciggie and looked over his shoulder at his mate lying back on their bed, cigarette protruding from between his thin lips. He sighed, turning away from John and running a hand through his hair. The night of performing had ruined it and he gave up quickly, wiping his hand on the thigh of his drainpipes, leaving a stain of sweat and brylcreem behind. 

John was right even when he was drunk and it annoyed George very much. Of course that bird looked nothing like Bardot. She hadn't even been a blonde. George snorted to himself with a grin on his face and stood up from their bed, putting space between the two of them. Not that it mattered though, soon enough they'd be underneath the same thin sheet. He slipped off his drainpipes and tossed them onto the battered chair with his leather jacket before slipping into bed carefully and turning his back to John, sighing and closing his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.

It was a difficult thing to do, being so close to getting laid (or at least he thought he had been) when John had come along and ruined it. A good wank would tire him out and put him to sleep, but he was still too shy to do it next to John. His feelings for his friend, whatever they were, prevented him from pulling it out and tossing himself off. "You tired?" He asked, hoping that John would nod off soon enough.

John gave a little hum when George lay down, shifting so the lad would be able to do so, sitting on his side of the bed his back to the wall and his feet propped at the edge of the mattress, legs folded not to touch George's body. He shrugged at the question, considering it as his cigarette smoked itself to death between his tobacco-stained fingers, forgotten. He reckoned he should have been at least somewhat tired, but he'd taken so many prellies and drank so much beer that night that he didn't feel even slightly sleepy, knowing there was no way he'd go to sleep right then. He put his ciggie out of its misery and snorted. "No. But all right."

John indulged George's silent plea mechanically, getting up and taking his jacket and tight trousers off, switching the lights and climbing back to bed, crawling above George awkwardly, trying not to touch him, before he slumped on his side of the mattress, recoiling from the cold wall and getting under their thin blankets. He lay on his back in silence for a while, staring at the dirty ceiling in the dim light, listening to George's breathing and feeling the heat coming from his mate's back against his arm, his bare skin brushing against the material of George T-shirt in the cramped bed. He could have moved away and folded his arm on his chest, but he didn't mind the contact so much, George's back feeling warm and almost soothing.

George licked his lips, listening intently to the tell-tale signs that showed John was still awake : his light breathing and the tossing and turning of his body. He was thankful for the darkness of the room since his cock had begun to harden at the thought of a wank and being so close to John only made it worse, his mate's body radiating warmth and the scent of booze, ciggies and sweat hanging thick in the air like some kind of aphrodisiac that made George twitch.

John lay in bed for a good while, keeping his eyes closed forcefully since they seemed to open every time he thought about something else, blearily gazing at the dirty ceiling. His body was warm and restless, toes curling and uncurling under the sheets, bustling with the unnatural energy he got from the pills, yet to be spent. Not to mention that George's body, lying unmoving and tauntingly close to his, was becoming harder and harder to ignore as fire started burning treacherously in his groin.

"'m not tired," George announced all of a sudden, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up with his back to John. He hoped his mate would feel too lazy to prevent him from leaving in spite of the fact that he'd been so adamant about George getting back to their shoebox, tucked away upstairs in one of the seediest clubs on the Reeperbahn. He walked over to the battered chair that had his clothes draped on it, his back still to John, not daring to look at him. He grabbed his drainpipes and slipped them on, hissing in frustration and a bit of pain when his erection pressed into the restricting crotch of the pants, not managing to close the fly completely.

John sighed heavily, watching George get up and almost wincing at the loss of warmth, sitting up with a deep frown. "Oh, come on now," he said, annoyed, watching George struggle to put his pants on in the weak light coming from the red neon in the street outside. "Come back to bed, 'ave a toss and lemme fucking sleep," he growled out, sounding dangerously edgy, deliberately ignoring the fact that he wasn't actually anywhere close to getting to sleep at that moment. "Anyway, I got the key, what are you goin' to do, body search me?" He asked with a snort, lying back on the bed in a heavy huff.

George's cheeks reddened with embarrassment and he rubbed the back of his neck with a shaky hand. How had John known he needed to toss off? It wasn't that obvious, was it? He sneaked a peek at his own crotch. It was obvious, but he had been careful about keeping his back to John. He sighed in defeat, feeling odd about it but slipping off his drainies and slinking back to their small bed. It wasn't too surprising that John, even a drunken John, would figure him out. They'd become attuned to one another for the most part, sharing such a small place, and such a small bed, on top of things. George pulled the blanket up to his chin, his back to John, and slid a hand down his chest stopping short of reaching his crotch. He couldn't wank now, he felt too put on the spot. "Night," he croaked out, licking his lips and closing his eyes. 

John rolled his eyes with a smirk although he knew his mate couldn't see it in the weak reddish light and watched George intently as the lad rolled on his side and stroked down his chest, making John's breathing hitch and his own groin thud, stopping short and seemingly giving up. "Oh fuck you, Harrison," he ground out, giving George's back a little shove. "Can't even hear myself think over how loud yer brain's screaming for a wank, no way 'm gonna get to sleep with you all twitchy next to me!" He glared at George's pale and delicate neck with an annoyed sigh. "I need one as well, so let's get on wit' it."

George wanted to tell John to sod off, but he was honestly thankful his mate had put it out there so bluntly. He still felt odd about it, but John needed to have a wank as well and that took a bit of edge off the whole thing for him. He stayed on his side with his back to John although it would've been more comfortable on his back, too shy to expose himself to his mate's eyes. He slipped a hand underneath the waist band of his underwear, grabbing hold of his hard cock and giving it a squeeze, inhaling sharply at the contact, biting down into his bottom lip to prevent himself from groaning. He slowly worked his shaft, stroking from base to tip and rubbing his thumb over the head, spreading pre-come over the tip, trying to be quiet about it, a groan managing to escape his mouth nonetheless.

John lay on his back with his eyes glued to the ceiling, listening to the noises coming from George with all his might, the little hitches in his breathing, the quiet moans of pleasure, the faint sound of the sheets rustling as he stroked himself. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly stone dry, squeezing his eyes shut as his cock twitched, hardening at the auditive picture George was unknowingly drawing for him.

He rolled on his side, spooning behind George but not touching him, trying to make it seem as if he didn't have any other choice and not too obvious that he was getting off on that. He breathed deeply, George's scent filling his senses, making him gasp shakily against his mate's sweaty neck, his lips inches away from George's skin. Gripping his own cock, he palmed himself through his underwear with a quiet groan. "What're you thinkin' of?" He asked in a hot whisper, his breath washing against George's neck, hot and uneven.

Spurred on by the feeling of John's hot breath against the back of his neck, George continued to stroke his cock. He wanted to reach out behind himself and grab hold of John, any part of his mate would do, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. He didn't want to risk John calling him a queer. "Thinking of..." he stuttered out with a shaky breath. It should have been an easy answer, but George couldn't tell John he was thinking of him, could he? "Bardot," he lied, hand stilling on his cock. "Who are you thinking of, uh? Cyn?" He asked, turning his head, surprised by just how close John was to him. 

"Bardot?" John repeated with a shudder, wishing he could be thinking of Bardot right then, and not about how hot George's voice was when it was low and gruff like that. He blinked when the lad turned around to look at him, their face inches apart, George's eyes dark and wide in the dim light. "Fuck no," John whispered when he evoked Cyn, making him snort. He gave a light shrug, licking his lips and lying. "Nothing in particular, y'know. Juss having a wank, too drunk to come up with anything." He gave himself a hard squeeze through his underwear, letting out a little moan and inching closer unconsciously, eyes falling shut.

George turned his head away from John when his mate inched closer to him, afraid he might close the distance between the two of them with a kiss. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, trying to make himself think of Bardot, but every time he tried to evoke the French beauty in a hand-held fantasy, she always turned into John. "John," he groaned, freezing. It had just slipped out of him. 

John had closed his eyes, stroking himself tight and good, panting against the bedding, his forehead very nearly bumping into George's bony spine every time he shuddered too violently,l etting out a moan when George groaned his name. His eyes blinked open, hand stilling on his cock. "Yeah?" He whispered shakily, pretty sure that George hadn't been moaning his name but merely calling him, swallowing dryly because he'd liked the sound of George whimpering that way far too much for his own good.

But why would George be calling him right then? He sat up sharply, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring, arousal and fear running thick through his veins. "What the fuck do you think yer doing?" he growled, his heart thudding.

"What?" George asked, confused, hand stilling on his hard cock. He turned his head to get a look at John and a chill traveled up his spine. John looked angry and George was too embarrassed by his slip up to notice that there was arousal tangled up in that anger along with fear. "I wasn't doing nothing!" He snapped defensively. "You're the one that said we should toss off!" He croaked, throat suddenly going dry.

John looked down to George lying there on his back, face flushed, lips parted and eyes dark and scared, lust boiling inside of him violently, making him angry at himself and even more so at George for causing him that sort of unnatural desire. "Yeah," he barked, "but I didn't tell you to bloody do it moaning my name!" John snarled and tried to get up, not knowing where he was going to run but unwilling to stay any longer in the heady and tense atmosphere of the room. 

He shoved George's shoulder, awkwardly trying to crawl out of bed without touching him, his legs still tangled in the bed sheet. He lost his already precarious balance easily, alcohol and arousal making his head spin, and crashed rather heavily on top of George, his body connecting with his mate's hot and bare skin, cock pressing against his lean leg. "You fucking..." John growled, trying to move away, his legs too tangled in the sheet, letting out an involuntary moan when his wriggling ground his cock against George forcefully, sparkles of pleasure shooting through him. He gasped, deadly aware of George's hard-on pressing against his hip, of George's body hot and tense under his, making his brain reel and his cheeks heat up.

George groaned when John collapsed on top of him, surprised by the feeling of his weight pressing him down into the thin mattress, but he did nothing to get John off him. He stayed still because he was afraid to move, for fear John would think he was trying to rub against him.

He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply at the sound of a moan escaping John's mouth and he though that this noise alone, combined with the press of John's hip against his cock, could have made him come already. The way John moved against him to free himself from the tangled sheets caused waves of pleasure to roll over his body and drag him under. "John," he breathed out hesitantly, not wanting to upset his mate further. "'m sorry," he whispered, red-faced from lust and embarrassment.

John dropped dead still on top of George, his body trembling and shaking, tucking his head into the crook of George's shoulder with a defeated sigh. "Shut up, yeah?" He said breathlessly, grabbing George's bare shoulder for support, settling on top of his mate, and letting his hips give a very deliberate roll this time, groaning. He made sure of aligning his groin with George's, fingers white with tension on his mate's arms, and began bucking against him slow and good, panting into George's neck, eyes tightly shut and cheeks flaming red with shame.

George opened his mouth to protest being told to shut up, but he quickly decided against it. He didn't want to cause an argument and stop John from continuing to rub his cock against his. George didn't know what to do with himself, so he just lay on his back, allowing John to press him down into the mattress.

John's breath hitched when his mate didn't push him away as he'd thought he would and didn't even protest against his rude behavior, just lying there, letting him do whatever he pleased. He licked on his lower lip, trying not to think about what else George might be willing to let him do.

"John," George whispered shakily, a tingle of pleasure traveling in his groin and spreading throughout his entire body. "You won't tell the others, will you?" He asked, sliding his hands onto John's shoulders, trying to push the older boy off in a halfhearted attempt. George knew it was a silly question the moment if left his mouth. Of course John wouldn't tell the others. 

John looked up a little when he felt George's hands push weakly against his shoulders, meeting his eyes. His mate looked scared and confused but unmistakably aroused, and John knew he would have struggled much harder if this had really been upsetting him. "What is there to tell?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "We're just having some sort of improved wank, right?" He lied, eyes narrowing and slipping down to George's mouth before he caught himself and looked up quickly.

"Alright then," George nodded, agreeing although he knew this was more than just an improved wank between two mates who were horny and needed to get off. He wondered if he wanted to kiss him, and sighed in disappointment when John didn't. "You can keep doing it then," he whispered, closing his eyes and turning his head away from John, trying to be thoughtful and not to make him feel strange about what they were doing. 

John nodded along curtly, not liking the dispassionate way George turned around so much, as if he weren't even interested in the situation. Anger and hurt mixed with lust in the pit of his stomach, making his lips curl up a little, almost malevolently. Oh, he could get a rise out of George, he bet, and a pretty good one. He spread George's legs wider, settling more forcefully on top of him, rubbing their groins together with a moan, feeling beads of sweat pearl on his forehead. He tucked his face into the crook of George's neck, shivering with pleasure, and bit into the soft skin, gripping George's shoulders harsher as he began humping him in earnest, moaning at how good it felt.

 
George's dark eyes shot open in surprise at John's aggressive and rather pleasurable humping against him and he thought it'd be okay to look now, John seemingly enjoying himself quite a bit with all of the moaning he was doing. He gripped his shoulders tightly, leaving red finger marks on the pale skin when he slid his hands up John's neck slowly. George tangled his fingers in the back of his mate's hair, burying his face against his shoulder and sucking on the skin. "You taste like ciggies and sweat," he mumbled, rolling his hips forward and rubbing his cock against John's. 

John allowed himself a little satisfied smirk when he felt George reply to his ministrations, his mate's fingers grabbing him almost painfully, pulling on his hair in a demanding way that made shivers crawl down his spine. He let out a disbelieving cackle against the skin of George's neck, too pleased to feel his mate's mouth suck on his sensitive skin to be really pissed, voice low with lust. "You need to work on your wooing style, George," he drawled, grabbing George's chin and looking into his eyes. "Besides..." he gave a rough buck against him, humping a little harder, growling. "You really need to shut up, now." He raised his eyebrows, leaning down and pressing his lips to George's harshly.

George nodded in compliance when John told him to shut up, the thought of making a smart remark not even crossing his hazy lust-filled mind. His dark eyes widened into saucers when he was kissed, though. He'd wanted that for along time now, but never expected John do it. He kissed back, hands slipping out of John's hair and grabbing onto the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

John was rather taken aback by his mate's readiness to kiss back but pleased at the feeling, giving a little moan. He pushed his tongue into George's mouth aggressively, tasting him, biting him, grabbing his thin thighs and lifting his hips, humping against him forcibly. His body was ablaze with desire, blind and lost to the whole world except George's skin against his, lust making him tense and desperate.

George moaned against John's thin lips, wrapping his skinny legs around his mate's waist and pulling him closer. If he had given himself a moment to think, he'd have realized that this was what queers did and he'd have put a stop to it, or at least tried not to appear so eager, but his brain wasn't functioning properly right then. He slipped his hands off John's neck and down his sweaty back onto his underwear covered bum, grinding his cock against his body.

John broke their kiss with a gasp, taking a sharp breath of much-needed air, knowing he should kiss George as much as he could now because it was unlikely he ever would again but unable to bring himself to do so, tucking his face into the crook of George's neck instead, panting against the damp skin, moaning shakily as he felt his climax build in the pit of his stomach.

George whimpered when John pulled out of their heated kiss, missing the press of his mouth and the feeling of his rather skilled tongue. He had indeed discovered that his mate was quite the kisser and he longed for more. He tilted his head back, pushing his neck against John's mouth, and began squirming underneath him, close to coming.

John rubbed against George harshly, fueled by the feeling of his mates' legs around his waist, of his hands on his butt, pressing him closer. His body tensed up, reaching an almost painful climax suddenly, his groin heated and sensitized from rubbing frantically against George, making him growl out a shout and bite into George's shoulder harshly, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

George yelped in pain, but it soon gave way to pleasure when he tensed up against John, coming hard underneath his mate. He continued to rub himself to John, clinging to the older boy tightly as he rode out his orgasm. He gradually went still and then slack, limbs unwrapping themselves from around John's body, falling back on the bed.

It took the older one a few seconds to recover from his climax, breathing unsteady into the pillow, his forehead pressing damply against George's neck, body shaking a little. He stayed on top of George, lower halves still pressed together, back hunched and head lowered, trying to come up with something, anything to say. He was feeling drowsy and confused, his brain not truly processing what had happened, and he couldn't think of anything to tell George right then so he just kept quiet, slipping off his mate and lying back on his side of their small bed, facing the wall, his back to George.

George opened his eyes, looking satisfied but also very confused at the absence of John's weight pressing him down into the thin mattress. He looked over, staring at his mate's bare back, wanting to reach out for him, but controlling his urge to do so. He swallowed hard, feeling rather upset about what had just happened between the two of him. Did John find him disgusting now? He couldn't even look at him. George turned onto his side, facing away, and pulled the thin blanket up to his chin, suddenly feeling very cold. 

John's nose bumped against the cold wall slightly as he inched away from George, lying as far as he could from his mate on their tiny bed. What the fuck had just happened? What was he thinking, giving in to his body's unnatural desires and humping George into the mattress like some kind of ponce horny for his mate? He bumped his forehead against the wall with a dull thud, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids until he saw bright colors in the dark, blood thumping in his temples. This was going to be a long night.