#kalwrites

You’re all sitting in the living room. The air is charged with something imperceptibly electric, something that dances across your skin with every movement, amplified by the four men watching you with barely restrained hunger. You don’t know how it happened or who raised the question. Maybe it was a dare? But none of that matters now.

Ringo, sitting on Paul’s other side, leans forward and brushes away a loose strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear. You smile at him gratefully. His answering grin puts you even more at ease, lending you the momentary confidence to reach up and trace Paul’s cock through his briefs. He’s hard. You’ve hardly done anything, but he’s already turned on; the realization sends a liquid heat pooling between your legs.

“Poor Paulie’s popped a stiffy already.” John smirks at the half-hearted glare Paul sends him. “I can’t blame him, though, not when you look so pretty on your knees for us.”

“Go on,” George murmurs, lips almost touching your ear. He’s sat behind you, a steady warmth pressed against your back.  His hands trace gentle circles into your hips and you shiver. “Touch him.”

And so you do, tugging down the waistband of Paul briefs. His cock springs out, flushed and red at the tip, and you go a little wide-eyed at the sight. You’ve never seen one before, not in real life. It’s not... unattractive, you muse, and it’s with an almost dazed wonder that you wrap your fingers around his length.

Paul groans immediately. His hands tighten on his knees, itching to tangle themselves in your hair. But he doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Give him a lick, baby. Don’t you want a taste?”

Ringo’s gruff voice pushes you forward. Hesitantly, you move your grip and lick all the way from the base of Paul’s cock to the tip. Sort of like a popsicle, you think to yourself. And if Paul’s answering sigh is any indication, you’re on the right track.

“That’s it.” John hums a note of encouragement. “Think you’re ready for more?”

“More?” you ask.

If only you could see what you look like. The picture of innocence, of sweet debauchery. With your cheeks a pretty pink, eyes shining and pupils blown wide. And your hands, so small and soft around Paul’s cock. You’re so close that every huff of breath is brushing feather-light across Paul’s sensitive skin. It’s enough to make the boy squirm above you, wanting more.

John laughs, reaches forward. He presses his thumb against your lips which fall open naturally, sucking on his finger.

“Do you want Paul’s thick cock in your mouth, birdie?” You moan at his words and John retracts his hand. His thumb is shiny with your spit. “Wanna suck him off til he comes down your throat?”

John’s always had a dirty mouth on him. You just never thought it would turn you on so much.

“Watch your teeth, love.” George presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, lets his canines scrape gently against your skin. “Don’t want you biting off the family jewels.”

More than anything, you want to see Paul’s face. You keep your eyes on him as you lean over and start going down on his length, making sure to wrap your lips around your teeth. You want to do this right, want to make Paul feel good.

His reaction is immediate. Paul is caught between screwing his eyes shut in pleasure and wanting to watch his cock disappear into your pretty mouth. His eyelids flutter erratically, lips part automatically around high, breathy moans. The sight of it sends another rush of arousal through you and you clench your thighs. You’ve never seen anything so hot.

“Fuck, she likes that, doesn’t she?” Ringo groans and from the corner of your eye you can see him reaching into his own slacks. “Is she wet, George?”

George hikes up your skirt, parting your legs to rub you through your panties. “She’s soaked,” he says. You moan at the friction and Paul’s cock twitches in your mouth.

“Alright, now move your head up and down.” That’s John’s voice coming from your right. You try to do what he says but you’re flustered now, trying to still your hips against George’s probing fingers. You pull away with a wet pop.

“Sorry, I- I don’t know how...”

John presses a kiss to your forehead. “It’s alright, birdie. We can go slow. Paul, why don’t you put a hand on her head, show her how it’s done?”

Paul nods and threads his fingers through your hair. His touch is so gentle, you find yourself leaning into it as he guides you back to his erect cock.

“Breathe through your nose,” Paul says, and then your lips are parting around his length again and he forgets how to speak entirely.

This time, Paul pushes you up and down slowly so that your head is making a sort of bobbing motion. You can’t take all of him in, but you bring a hand up instinctively and start pumping the base of his cock in tandem. Paul’s grip on your hair tightens almost painfully, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“That’s it, darling.” George rewards you and starts pressing tight circles around your clit. You whine, unable to stop your hips from jerking into his touch. “You’re doing so well.”

The lewd sound of skin sliding against skin fills the room as you start speeding up and George slips a finger into your cunt. Paul’s moans send trickles of pleasure through you. From the heavy breathing and grunts, you know that John and Ringo have started taking matters into their own hands, so to speak.

“Are you gonna let Paul fuck your pretty mouth?” Unable to reply to John, you hum around Paul’s cock. Your jaw is starting to ache but you want it so bad, you’ve never been so turned on. “I know you can take it, baby.”

Paul’s other hand tangles in your hair and he starts thrusting his hips up. His head tips back against the couch, mouth falls open around staccato grunts. With each thrust, you gag a bit as Paul’s cock hits the back of your throat. George murmurs low sounds of encouragement from behind. You can hardly concentrate, can hardly think when he’s curling those long, slender fingers into your cunt in tandem to Paul’s thrusts.

One of your hands comes up to grip Paul’s thigh. As your nails dig into his skin, Paul lets out a loud, keening whine, his hips stuttering, and you don’t even know who it is that asks--

“How deep can you take him?”

--but without thinking you relax your throat and take Paul as deep as you can. He’s cumming before your gag reflex even kicks in. You manage to swallow some of it before pulling back in a fit of coughs. The rest of it dribbles down your chin but you can’t even bring yourself to care.

You fall bonelessly against George, who starts pressing kisses to the column of your neck. The hot coil of tension in your body tightens. You almost want to get away from how overwhelming it is, hips jumping as George pumps his fingers in and out of you. You can feel his hard cock digging into you back as he ruts against you.

Then you open your eyes and see Paul’s gaze devouring you, wetting his lips at the sight of you: your hair a tangled mess, falling around your face in the most perfect halo; your lips, red from biting, forming silent ‘oh’s as your orgasm builds.

“You’ve been so good for us,” Paul says. “Let go.”

And that’s all it takes, Paul’s low voice and George pressing tight circles into your clit, curling his fingers deep into your cunt. Your vision goes white and you cum. George coaxes you through it, the pleasure wracking through you in waves that fall from your lips in high, pleading moans. When you come spiraling back to earth, your entire body feels fuzzy with the drop in adrenaline.

“How was it?” Ringo asks, grin lopsided as he lazily fists his erection.

You crawl over and nose at the base of Ringo’s cock, grinning when he exhales sharply.

The three of you stand at the foot of the bed for a bit and just. Stare at it. The hotel room is long but narrow, with the bed at the very end of it literally touching three walls. Whoever designed it was obviously at the end of his wits. The bed would be roomy for one person, cozy for two, but three? That’s pushing it. Still, there’s not even a couch in the room, so when you all look at each other it’s with a wordless understanding.

“I sleep on the right,” John says. He claims his spot as such and immediately stretches out, not even taking off his shoes. You wrinkle your nose but choose not to say anything. Paul wrinkles his nose and does.

“Don’t be disgusting, John.” Paul toes off his boots and clambers onto the left side. “There’s a lady present.”

John grins and twists around, dangling his feet in Paul’s face. “Talking about yourself in the third person, eh?”

You’ve locked the bathroom door by the time they start fighting but the walls are thin. There’s a thump and a shrill screech. Laughter. More shouting. Your reflection frowns back at you, eyes tired and hair a mess, and you take your time showering. In true European fashion, it’s a tiny, miserable affair. Your elbows keep knocking into the walls. The water runs cold before you even finish shampooing. It’s a mad dash to put on your pajamas before you freeze your tits off—except even that goes awry when you realize you forgot to pack them. The only things you can find are a soft tee shirt and shorts, which are a bit shorter than you’d like to be wearing but will have to do.

To top it all off, when you step out of the bathroom, they’re still lobbing shoes and insults.

“Boys, please! It’s one in the morning!” Two pairs of eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, then back at you. “Can you at least pretend to be adults?”

Paul has the decency to look a little scolded. John, on the other hand, leers at you.

“I think someone cut a few centimeters off your shorts, love. Not that I’m complaining.” He winks and you decidedly push down the fluttering in your stomach.

All in all, it takes another hour for the three of you to get to bed. Paul insists on showering first, which leads to another argument that takes five matches of rock-paper-scissors to be resolved.

(Paul gets the first one. John calls a two out of three and wins that. Paul calls a three out of five and wins that. John accuses him of cheating and gets called a sore loser. You end up shoving Paul into the bathroom while John is looking for another shoe to throw.)

If your mother knew you were squeezing into a bed with two boys, she’d throw a fit. Especially if she knew that you couldn’t stop thinking about how rosy Paul’s cheeks looked when he stepped out of the shower, or the fact that John is bloody shirtless. No, it’s best that none of this gets back to your folks at home.

“Comfortable?” John asks. Both boys are facing outwards and you’re lying on your back, trying to ignore the warm bodies on either side of you.

Paul shifts his arm and nearly elbows you in the boobs. “I feel like a sardine,” he says.

“Try sleeping in the middle,” you retort. “It’s like being in a sandwich.”

That earns a laugh from John, which turns into a contagious yawn.

“We should go to bed,” someone says, but you’re already drifting off.

***

John’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so when he wakes up and it’s still dark out he’s very confused.

He’s also a lot warmer. Sometime in the night, John had turned and pulled you flush against his chest. His nose is pressed into your hair, one leg thrown over your hip. John rather likes the feeling of cuddling so close, but he knows it’s not the most appropriate position. He goes to move when he hears a quiet noise.

“John…”

… oh. So that’s what woke him up.

You’re moaning, soft little sighs and whimpers that go straight to John’s cock. You’re having a wet dream… about him. He wants to pull away, knows that this is wrong, but then you’re grinding against him and all thoughts fly out the window. John’s hips find yours and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. God, he’s rutting against you like a teenager but it feels so good he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed.

“John?”

John’s eyes snap open and he freezes. Your voice is different, clearer. You’re awake now. It’s like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over his head and he jolts away from you.

“Sorry, I didn’t—“

His apology cuts off because you’re suddenly moving, pushing back into him. The soft curve of your ass presses right against John’s cock. All the air in his lungs rushes out and he gasps out your name.

“Is—is this okay?” he asks. He wants to make sure, needs to.

“Yes,” you reply. It’s more of a plea, and it’s all John needs to start moving again.

The hand that’s on your stomach trails down and slips under the waistband of your panties. John groans when his fingers find your slick folds.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” John rocks his hips into yours. Your hair is still damp from showering and when he breathes in, the scent—lavender—sends a rush of arousal through him. “Were you dreaming about me?”

You can only whine in response because John is slipping a finger into your cunt. His thumb finds your clit, rubs gentle circles that send flames of pleasure licking up your body. It’s already so much, too much, not enough.

“Didn’t know you were such a filthy girl,” John growls and you arch into his touch. “What was it about, hm? Were you dreaming about this? About getting fingered while Paul is sleeping right there?” His words tear a gasp from your lips. “You’re gonna have to be quiet or you’ll wake him up, birdie. Unless that’s what you want…”

“It’s a little too late for that.”

John can’t see very far, but he doesn’t need to in order to make out Paul’s face on the other side of you. His pupils are blown wide, eyes trained on John’s hand still moving under your clothes. And John… likes it. Being watched. It should be weird, should feel wrong because Paul’s his best mate, but then his eyes find John’s and the hungry look in them tears a hot blaze of arousal through him.

Somehow, his voice is steady when he speaks. “You want a taste?”

Paul’s mouth falls open and he nods. Without a second thought, John pulls his hand from your pussy and lifts it to Paul’s lips.

The sight of Paul licking your juices from John’s fingers is quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Second only to the look on Paul’s face when you hesitantly wrap your hand around his cock and start jerking him off.

“Fuck,” he groans. His eyes flutter closed, head tips back and bares the curve of his neck. John wants nothing more than to bite into it, to mark Paul, but you beat him to it. And John, who’s never liked feeling left out, lets his hand drift back down to you. This time, he curls two fingers into your cunt. You clench around him and your grip involuntarily tightens on Paul, whose hips jerk forward at the feeling.

God, how John wishes he could see your face. You’re sure to be so pretty, cheeks flushed, lips parted around gasps, eyes watching Paul’s cock in your hand. Still, he can hear the noises you’re making, and that’s almost just as good.

It’s not the most comfortable position, really. Your wrist feels awkward at this angle, with Paul being so close to you. And John keeps breathing in some of your hair. But the intimacy, the heat, the rush of adrenaline makes all that fade away. The filthy sound of John thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt, Paul’s high, almost feminine sighs. John’s grunts as he rocks against your body, breathe hot on the nape of your neck.

Paul gasps something unintelligible but you know what he’s trying to say. You start pumping him even faster, letting the sound of his cries spur you on. You want to taste them, you think, and it doesn’t make sense but you lean forward anyway and capture Paul’s lips in yours.

The movement changes your angle. John’s fingers curl against something in you that burns white hot, electric in your veins. His thumb presses into your clit and then you’re cumming, moans falling from your lips to Paul’s as he follows you over the edge.

“Fucking hell,” Paul breathes.

You can only nod. Your mind is still floating somewhere in the stratosphere. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this, both high and irrevocably grounded, pressed tight between two bodies thrumming with warmth.

“I’m gonna… clean up a bit,” you mumble when you’ve caught your breath. While you stumble off towards the bathroom, Paul reaches and finds John’s face in the dark.

Despite the fact that he’s just had a threesome, John suddenly feels shy. It’s intimate in a different way, how Paul’s fingers trace the bridge of his nose, outline the curve of his lips. And when you come back, weight dipping the mattress slightly, the warmth of your body settling behind him is so gentle that John is scared he’s only imagining it.

Paul doesn’t say anything, just pulls John forward and kisses him. It’s a chaste brush of the lips, but combined with the feeling of you nipping at his bare shoulder sets John’s nerves ablaze.

“I—“

You shush him and run a hand down his spine, thumbing the waistband of his joggers. “Just relax, John. It’s okay.”

Whether it’s your words or the soothing touch, John’s body almost melts, curving into yours. At the same time, his lips seek out Paul, who pulls back with a glint in his eyes.

“You haven’t even come yet, have you?” Paul asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Does it fucking look like I have?” John grumbles. Your hand trails across his waist and cups his erection and suddenly John can’t come up with anything witty anymore. He keens and bucks into the touch.

“So this is what it takes to get you to shut up.” You giggle when John’s attempt at protesting is muffled by Paul’s mouth.

So, naturally, he decides to confront John about it. Paul calls his boyfriend after class and they agree to meet in John’s office before going out for the night.

It’s a Friday night, so any reasonable student would be out getting plastered for the weekend, not visiting professors for office hours. The halls are quiet, dark, dimly illuminated by the dying rays of sunlight outside. Paul’s footsteps echo rather loudly off the tiles as he walks towards the English wing. They’re the only sound in the building. Even the other professors have left, either to get a head start on grading essays or to do some of their own drinking, but he knows John has his office hours for another half hour. Putting them on a Friday afternoon is a rather stupid idea, though, since no one in their right mind would choose Thoreau or Austen over Dan’s Sports Bar. Or, so he thinks… until he nears John’s office.

He almost doesn’t hear it at first, but there’s definitely some noise coming from behind the door. Did John schedule a student appointment right before their own meeting? Paul can’t quite make out what it is, though, so he chances the doorknob. It’s not locked.

Nothing could have prepared Paul for what he sees when he opens the door.

There are papers all over the floor, as though someone had swept them all off in a hurry. But that’s not what catches his eye. It’s the sight of you, bent over the desk so prettily on your elbows while John fucks you from behind.

You don’t even notice the intruder at first. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth falling open in little gasps and moans that go straight to Paul’s groin. John, though, sees Paul almost immediately.

“Hello, Paul.” John’s voice is a little strained, and the sound of it sends your head snapping up and gaping at the man standing at the doorway. “Or, is it Professor McCartney for you, sweetheart?”

John doesn’t even let up his pace so you can barely respond, the feeling of his cock slamming into you almost too much to bear. You should be embarrassed, should be trying to cover up or push Professor Lennon away, but something about the other teacher watching as you get fucked into the desk unravels a hot spool of arousal in your stomach.

“Pro-Professor!” It comes out more of a sigh, one that makes Paul’s grip on the door tighten. “I didn’t-didn’t see- fuck, John.”

Paul shuts the door behind him and steps closer, watching your eyes widen at his motions. Something about the situation settles deep in his stomach and becomes almost… normal. “She calls you John?”

“Only ‘cus I asked her to.” John buries himself deep into your cunt and stills for a moment, catching his breath. It makes you whine and push your hips back, begging for some friction. “You should’ve heard her the first time, Paul. Loved callin’ me Professor Lennon… think it turns her on. Doesn’t it?” John slaps your ass and you whine, nodding your head.

“Pretty little thing,” Paul murmurs. He walks up to the desk until he’s standing right over you and reaches out to cup your face. You lean into the touch, cheeks flushing a pretty pink, and when Paul presses his thumb to your lips they fall open willingly. He can’t help groaning as you suck on his finger, eyes searching his almost like they're looking for approval.

“She takes cock so well,” John says, smirking at the way his boyfriend is completely mesmerized by your mouth. When he starts making shallow thrusts, just pulling out an inch before rocking back into your warm cunt, Paul’s eyes snap to his with a heat he’s never seen before. “Can you take Professor McCartney too, hm? Let him fuck into your pretty mouth while I fuck your pretty pussy?”

You whine almost embarrassingly loud at the thought of both men filling you up. John slaps your ass again and then soothes the red mark with gentle fingers.

“Got to hear you say it, darling.”

It takes you a second, but you gasp out your response.

“Please, please- wanna suck you off, Professor McCar-ah, ah, John!”

You don’t manage to finish your sentence but Paul takes it and unbuckles his slacks. He doesn’t even bother kicking off his pants, just pulls his aching hard cock out of his briefs and rests it against your lips. They part for him easily and Paul’s eyes roll back at the feeling of your warm mouth engulfing his length. When he hits the back of your throat, he stills a moment before pulling out again and then sliding back in. Paul fucks into your mouth at a leisurely pace which is soon matched by John, who takes his cue to start fucking your cunt in earnest now.

The almost rhythmic sound of grunts and skin slapping on skin fills the office and turns you on so much it almost hurts. If it wasn’t for John’s hips drilling you into the desk, your legs would probably give out. There’s just something about the two professors filling you up on both ends, something about how filthy the situation is, that ramps up your orgasm almost alarmingly quickly. Tendrils of ecstasy roll through your body, from John’s cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust to the ache of Paul driving his length in and out of your mouth. John starts speeding up, fucking you at a brutal pace with both hands leaving even harder imprints in your hips, and Paul matches him, tightening his grip in your hair. It’s so much, it’s too much, this tingling that’s sweeping from your cunt to the tips of your fingers that are grasping so hard at the edge of the desk, just trying to hold on.

You come with a high-pitched moan, muffled around Paul’s cock, and John follows right behind you, hips stilling as he comes into your still pulsing cunt. You fall onto the desk bonelessly, so tired that you don’t even notice when John slips out and tosses his condom into the bin.

The feeling of fingers probing at your still dripping folds draws a whine from you. You’re still sensitive from just orgasming. But these fingers are different from John’s, softer.

Paul brings his hand to his lips, humming around the taste of your juices. And then you’re gasping, a shudder wracking your body at the feeling of Paul’s blunt tip nudging your entrance. Your cunt is still aching but you already want more, already want to be filled again.

You greet him with a nod and a smile, as per usual, but John can’t bring himself to smile back. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. So when a flash of hurt streaks through them, he misses it, having already turned his back to write the day’s lesson on the chalkboard.

All of class, John is distracted. Not distracted enough for his students to take notice, of course; he’s familiar enough with the topic and his students are too busy scribbling notes to care. Still, John can’t stop thinking about running his fingers over your ass, about bending you over his desk and fucking you, your pretty little skirt bunched up in his hands. Maybe he’d wrap his tie around your wrists. Make you beg to be touched. And John would give in, if only to hear you whine when he teases your clit.

Thank god for the podium at the front of the room. John’s always been an active teacher, walking up and down the aisles as he lectures, sometimes even sitting on his students’ desks just for the hell of it. Professor McCartney calls it dramatic, but John knows that it brings so much more to his teaching. It keeps his audience engaged, which is exactly what he needs when he’s trying to get them interested in some dead 13th century Italian guy’s rhapsody on death.

Unfortunately, he’s got the worst hard-on ever right now, and even moving slightly behind the podium is causing the fabric of his slacks to shift agonizingly against his erection. John curses having tied his belt so tight this morning. 

He’s halfway through the class, basically talking to a dead room of glazed eyes and drooping pens, when you raise your hand. 

“Sorry, Professor Lennon.” John inhales sharply at the way you say his name and almost misses your next words. “But just now when you mentioned Beatrice, did you mean that she symbolizes divine love? Because isn’t that the whole reason she can take Dante to heaven, whereas Virgil is limited by human reasoning?”

“Yes, that’s right. What did I say?”

You bite your pen and John’s gaze is immediately drawn to the shape of your lips around it. He swears that he can see you almost smirk a little when you speak again.

“You called her ‘forbidden love.’”

Okay. Maybe John is more distracted than he thinks.

The rest of the hour, Johns finds himself glancing at you even more often. And though you’re sitting in the back of the room, John thinks that he catches you looking right back.

For the first time in his career, John has to agree with his students: the end of class can’t come quickly enough. The moment that last straggler pushes out of the lecture hall, the double doors closing behind them, he pushes off from the podium and rushes into his office, not even bothering to lock the door. John just needs some sweet relief and he finds it when he leans against his desk and unbuttons his slacks.

The moment John takes his cock in hand, he groans and lets his head fall back. Fucking hell, he’s been wanting to touch himself since you walked into class in that stupidly short skirt. He knows that this is improper, especially in his own office, but John couldn’t care less right now. He strokes himself with one hand, bracing against the desk with the other. And then his mind veers off and imagines that it’s you touching him. Your hands are so much smaller than John’s. The thought of them wrapped around his cock makes him swear, your name tumbling from his lips before he can stop it. Fuck, he’s getting close, and in his head he can hear you edging him on, can hear you calling his name—

“Professor?”

There’s no time to hide. John can barely even react, eyes jolting open to see your wide, shocked ones… glued to the sight of him masturbating.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t hear you knocking, I...” His babbling trails off when you don’t seem to be freaking out. And when you close the door behind you, turning the lock, something else entirely shoots through his body.

“I heard you saying my name.” You walk to where John is standing, his hand still wrapped around his cock. “Were you thinking about me?”

“I, uh. Look, I didn’t-”

The sight of you dropping to your knees in front of him is the hottest thing John has ever seen. Involuntarily, his hand jerks and he lets out a shaky breath. 

“Tell me, please?” And how can he say no when you’re looking up at him like that, biting so innocently at your lip?

Something inside John lurches and he stumbles right across that line separating right from wrong.

“Fuck, I was.” John’s voice pitches a note lower, tone more confident and now it’s your turn to catch your breath in your throat. “Been thinkin’ about you all class, birdie. You knew what you were doing, paradin’ around in that little skirt. I bet you wore it for me, hm?”

You nod your head, a little shyly, and place a hand over his, not quite touching his cock. Still, the sight of your much smaller hand on John’s makes his grip tighten and he grunts. The sound goes right to your core.

“Wanna feel you in my mouth. Can I?”

John barely gets the chance to nod before you’re mouthing at his tip. His hand falls away immediately, joining the other in gripping the desk at the feeling. You pull away a little and lick all the way from up from the base, flattening your tongue against his veins, before taking his cock into your mouth.

You go down on him slowly, so slowly, and the feeling of your warm mouth enveloping his length makes John groan. His eyes want to fall shut but he forces himself to watch your pretty lips stretch around his cock. It’s worth it, especially when you flick your eyes up to look at him. The sight of you makes his hips jerk involuntarily and you gag, pulling backwards with a wet pop that sends another wave of arousal coursing through John.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand to brush away the tears that have welled up in your eyes, but you shake your head. Wordlessly, you guide both of his hands into your hair and go down on him again—and when you take in as much of his cock as you can, you look up to John as if waiting for something. 

When he understands, he finally lets himself close his eyes. 

“God, you’re so good for me, aren’t you?” John pulls out of your mouth a little before sliding back in, gasping at the warmth. “Taking your professor's cock like this. Mm, fuck—you feel so good.”

John increases his pace, starting to really fuck into your mouth. His grip tightens in your hair and you whine. 

“What if Professor McCartney walked in right now, huh? I bet you’d keep sucking me off. Would you?”

The blush across your cheeks darkens and John takes note of it, something piping up in the back of his mind. But then you’re moaning around his cock and the vibrations are making his knees weak. He’s gonna come, soon, and his words devolve into grunts and curses as his hips jerk faster and faster into your mouth. Your throat has got to be tired by now but you’re not stopping or pulling away. The thought that you actually enjoy this, that it’s turning you on to be on your knees for John, is what sends him over the edge.

You let him finish in your mouth, swallowing all of it—or at least, as much as you can. Still, a little bit of John’s cum makes its way down your bottom lip. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls you up to your feet and kisses you. It’s soft, a distinct contrast to the fervor with which John had just been fucking your mouth with, and a little bitter with the taste of his own cum on his tongue. You whine when he swipes a tongue across your lip and the sound turns into a high pitched moan when he bites down where he just licked. 

“Professor-”

“Call me John,” he says, pulling away and seeing a shy smile cross your face.

“Okay,” you say. You close the gap between your lips and kiss him again. “John.”

Just to make sure, though, John has you scream it for him when it’s his turn to get on his knees.

* * *

“Gonna come for me soon? Or do you want John and Paul seeing my girl get fucked right in the studio?” He chuckles when you shake your head, unable to even speak while he pounds into you. Your thighs are starting to burn from the motion but Ringo helps a little, lifting you minutely with his hands and then slamming you back down onto his cock.

Ringo shifts, leaning against the wall, and the new angle burns something red-hot through your legs. Your mouth falls open and now your moans are louder, escaping from your lips uninhibited. The feeling is building, building in your core, spreading like wildfire, and you’re chanting Ringo’s name as you feel your orgasm grow closer. Your pretty sounds make his cock twitch in your cunt and then he’s grunting, his warm cum spilling into you.

“Did you guys even go out for lunch?”

You still, eyes snapping open at the sound of George’s voice. He’s walking into the studio, barely sparing a glance in your direction—all for the better, because when Ringo slips his now-soft cock out of you you almost cry. You haven’t come yet and you want to scream in frustration. Your arousal is still throbbing through you, heart still pumping adrenaline through your veins—and you’re aching for release.

“Nah, we weren’t hungry.” Ringo’s voice is painfully casual, like he wasn’t just fucking you right there, and you whip around to stare at him. He winks at you, tucking himself back into his briefs and zipping up his slacks. “Was showin’ her a bit of my drum set.”

George just grunts in response. He’s got his headset on now, zeroed in on tuning the guitar in his hands. You can’t believe it. Ringo is gently pushing you off his lap and you almost stumble standing up, legs still sore. When you turn around to gape at your boyfriend, stunned speechless at the turn of events, you’re greeted by a crooked little grin that sends your heart racing again.

“That’s what you get for teasin’ me like that, doll.”

“Ritchie, I-”

“C’mon, get a move on.” Ringo runs a hand up your thigh and something dark flashes in those pretty eyes that are gazing up at you. “Don’t even think about touching yourself before I get home. I’ll make it up to you later, hm?” And he’s right, John and Paul are loping into the recording studio now, still laughing at some joke one of them told. The last thing you want to do is leave, but his promise sends you on your way across the studio, face burning.

Just as you’re about to leave the room, a hand catches your wrist. You turn to see George half leaning out of his seat, fingers still wrapped around you. His lips are quirked up, almost amused.

“The bathroom’s just down the hall.”

You look at him blankly. “What?”

You suddenly, desperately want to kiss him. But he’s sure to be minty, so you cross the room instead and, leaning in, wipe away the bit of toothpaste making its way down the corner of his mouth.

“Go finish brushing,” you say, and he turns with a smile and trots off to the bathroom.

You’re still examining his vinyls when Ringo returns and flicks off the light. He’s changed into a pair of flannel bottoms with nothing on top. Before you can admire his shirtlessness, though, he flops onto the bed, wiggles, and is completely still.

Smirking, you kneel beside Ringo’s prone form, propping your elbows on the edge of the mattress.

“Ringo...”

No reply.

“Ringooooo?”

An exaggerated snore. He buries his face even deeper into the pillow.

You sigh loudly, then move to get up. “I suppose I’ll put my shirt back on then...”

Ringo’s eyes shoot open and dart to your very much clothed chest. Quick as a whip, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you onto the bed.  

“False advertisement!” he yells over your shrieks of laughter. For a moment, it’s elbows and feet and muffled curses before suddenly—WHUMP! Ringo’s rolled right off the edge of the very small bed with you in tow. When you land smack onto him, he makes a half-strangled noise.

“Jesus, my dick—”

Naturally, that’s when Elsie opens the door.

“Everything alright in here?”

You freeze. Ringo freezes. You realize two things at once: one, that Ringo is still very shirtless, and two, that you’re straddling him on the ground.

Oh, and a third thing—

“It’s not what it looks like,” you and Ringo blurt out.

Elsie purses her lips, holding in what looks like a giggle. “You’ll be needing a bigger bed, is what it looks like.” Then, ignoring the mortified look on your face, “Goodnight!”

She leaves. You collapse onto Ringo and thump your forehead against his chest (which is very firm, but now is not the time).

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” (These are each accentuated with an additional head thump against said firm chest.)

“Well, don’t take it out on me.”

“Of all the things for your mum to walk in on!”

“She’s seen worse—”

“Do you hear yourself, Ritchie?” You groan and slump forward, pressed completely to Ringo’s front. “The minute she has to think of worse things... then it’s all over!”

Ringo clears his throat underneath you.

“... is this a bad time to tell you I’m getting kind of turned on?”

This makes you sit back up in a flash. He does look a little flushed and he’s got some of that messy sex hair already.

“Huh. Thought that was a drumstick digging into my leg.”

The beginnings of a retort (probably that was funny the first time) don’t make it past Ringo’s lips because you take that exact moment to lean back on your heels—and right onto his hard-on.

Ringo’s hands fly to your waist with a whispered “fuck.”

“Not on your floor, I won’t.” You wriggle out of his grasp and back onto the bed, and before you can even say come hither Ringo’s scrambled on after you. The bed is narrow and his bounce almost sends you off the other edge again. Ringo grabs you just in time. After a moment, you two burst into giggles, facing each other on your sides and holding on for dear life.

“Fun sleepover,” you whisper when the laughing dies down. There’s still a grin on your face.

“Dunno what kind of sleepovers you were having as a kid,” he replies, moving in to capture your mouth with his, “but mine were never like this.”

Ringo kisses you, soft and sweet, taking his time exploring your mouth. Your hand comes up to rake through his fluffy hair and it’s innocent, really, until you drag your nails slightly over the nape of his neck and he shudders—and before you can react, Ringo’s got you underneath him.

“I see how it is,” he mutters, and when Ringo kisses you this time it’s with a fervent heat. Gasping, you arch into the hand that’s slipped under your shirt.

“Normally I’d love the pretty sounds you make-” he nips at your collarbone and draws another one from your lips—“but you’re gonna have to keep quiet this time. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I- oh- I don’t want Elsie barging in again.”

Ringo draws away for a moment, frowning. “Can you not mention my mum when we’re having sex?”

You giggle and pull him back to your lips. “Let’s get to the sex bit first, then.”

A calloused hand trails down your chest, rings nipping shivers of chill across your skin that are quickly soothed by gentle fingers. By the time Ringo reaches your underwear, you’re already slick with arousal. He finds the damp spot and runs his middle finger over it, feather-light. The friction of the fabric against your folds toes the lines between too rough and not enough and, really, he’s just being

“-such a tease,” you gasp, squirming under his touch.

He huffs and the action tickles your ear. “How am I supposed to give you what you want if you don’t tell me, baby?”

“Ritchie...” you whine. God, how he loves the way his name sounds from your lips. It’s enough to bring Ringo to his knees—but for now, he acquiesces to your plea and slips two thick fingers into your cunt.

On their own, your hips raise to meet his thrust and the angle sinks his digits in just a little deeper, setting alight a dull buzz in your core. Then he curls them upwards and finds the familiar sweet spot and the buzz becomes arcs of electricity that pulse slow, steady waves of heat through your body. The feeling laps from your navel to your fingers, hardening your nipples to peaks before retreating to your core and then sweeping through again with each thrust.

“You ready, love?”

Nodding, you reach down and stroke the hard length that’s been jutting against your thigh. Ringo groans into your shoulder, hips jerking forward in your grip.

“Are you?” you tease.

“Didn’t know this was a competition.”

“It’s not.” You thumb over his tip and he hisses. “But whoever finishes first loses!”

“Very funny,” he deadpans and leans in to kiss you again, biting down gently on your lower lip. That shuts you up. Without pulling away, Ringo manages to shuck his trousers off—which is pretty impressive considering that he’s still knuckle-deep in your cunt with the other hand. He helps you wriggle out of your panties and you whine as he pulls out to do so. Finally, the two of you are naked. A year ago, you would have blushed at how Ringo gazes at your form under his. By now, you’re both as comfortable with each other like this as you’d be fully clothed and fighting over what to see at the movies. The thought makes you smile—and then groan, thumping your head against the pillow.

“Ugh, god damn it!”

Ringo furrows his eyebrows, concerned. “What- what? Did you come already?”

“No, you idiot.” You let go of his dick, much to his chagrin, and drag your hand down your face exasperatedly. “We forgot to bring condoms!”

Ringo looks at you for a moment and then turns, almost falling off the bed again as he reaches for something. There’s the sound of a zipper, some fumbling, and when Ringo scrambles back between your legs he’s triumphantly brandishing a familiar square of foil.

Despite the steady ache of arousal between your legs, you let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“... did you think you were gonna get laid at your parents' house?”

“Is that not what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes and snatch it from his fingers. “You’re a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Starkey.”

“Jesus, don’t call me that.” His breath catches for a moment as you roll the condom onto his cock and then continues, “That’s my dad. You gonna bring my whole family into this?”

“And the father, the son, and the holy spirit, amen.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbles, but a sappy grin makes its way onto Ringo’s face nonetheless. Giggling, you wrap your fingers around his length and guide it forward. Just the feeling of his blunt tip pressing against your entrance is enough to make your walls clench in anticipation.

He’s about to enter you when he just… stops. Looks at you. Swoops in, unexpectedly, and this kiss is nothing more than a brush of the lips, a lingering touch, but when he pulls away you’re unspeakably dizzy.

“What… what was that for?”

“I just can’t believe you’re my girl. In my bed. I never thought I’d see it.”

“Oh, Ritchie—”

His name trails off into a gasp as he sinks into you, stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. There’s no other way to describe it except that you feel full. The two of you stay like that for a while, just soaking in the closeness. Ringo brings a hand to your cheek and smooths away some flyaway hair.

Then he pulls out so, so slowly you almost cry, the drag of his cock inside you setting fire to your nerves. That familiar ache starts building in your core. When he’s almost all the way out, he sinks back in again and sets an almost painfully slow pace.

The otherwise quiet room fills with your whimpers as Ringo fucks you into the bed. You have half a mind to comment on his rhythmic skills, something he’s rolled his eyes at a thousand times before—but then he wraps one of your legs around his waist and his next thrust hits you there and the only thing that spills from your lips is his name.

“Fuck,” Ringo groans through his teeth. Your cunt is so tight and warm around him. He can feel himself spiraling towards release, every breathy moan of yours edging him closer. “You’re so- so beautiful.”

And you are, with your hair wreathed around your face, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, lips pink and parted around the pretty noises you’re making. You can’t help thinking the same thing. Even in the dim lighting of the bedroom, Ringo’s eyes are a liquid blue that send different kinds of shivers down your spine. The pressure below your stomach coils tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock against your sensitive spot.

“Look who’s talking,” you gasp out. “Ritchie, ‘m close-”

Your breasts are bouncing from the force of him moving in and out of you. Ringo palms one, rolls your hardened peak between his fingers, and drags his hand down to your clit. Two rough fingers circle around the sensitive nub and he snaps his hips forward, cock burying deeper than before, and then you’re coming. It’s long and drawn out and you feel it move through your body in waves. Ringo follows you over the edge soon after, hips stuttering at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

When Ringo pulls out you sigh at the empty feeling.

“You’re gonna have to carry me home tomorrow.”

“Think I can manage that.” Ringo smiles adoringly at you beneath him. He presses a kiss to your nose and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Be back in a mo’,” he says, slipping off the condom. He stands and stretches and you let your eyes wander over his naked form. When you whistle appreciatively—the only thing small about this boy is his stature—Ringo winks at you before turning and trotting off to the bathroom.

You don’t even get the chance to half doze off when he runs back into the room, eyes wide and panicky as he shuts the door behind him.

“What the hell happened?” you ask as Ringo practically dives under the covers with you. He’s breathing hard and it takes him a second to respond.

“... Elsie was still up.” Before you know it you’re falling into a fit of giggles that shakes your entire body against his. Ringo looks at you, unimpressed. “‘S not funny, you know!”

“I’m s- I’m sorry, Ringo, really.” Your attempt at sobering up is ruined with a particularly hard snicker. “But I’m sure she’s seen worse.”

He snorts and wraps an arm around you, pulling you so that your head is nestled into the curve of his shoulder. You place a hand on his chest and, for a while, you just feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. It’s not long before your breath matches Ringo’s, deep and slow. Your favorite rhythm. When he speaks, his voice is already mellowed with the onset of sleep, vowels slipping clumsily into slurred consonants, chest rumbling like a purring cat.

“’m glad you’re here.”

His heart beats under your hand. Ringo’s own little drum solo, you think with a smile. “Me too.”

“No, but like-” Ringo shifts on the pillow and you crane your neck to look at him. “I still can’t believe it. That you’re here with me. But at the same time, I don’t have to be here to feel at home when I’m with you. You’re… a different kind of home.”

Something inside you swells like a balloon and you feel as though you could float to the ceiling, maybe even out the window and up, up, up to the stars. You want to say so much—that’s cheesy, and you make me feel like flying, and I want to stay like this forever, can we just lay here until we die? But what comes out is

“I love you.”

And he knows exactly what you mean.