The Less I Know The Better [complete]

36 ;; lessons

John leant comfortably against the lockers as he sat on the floor of the hallway, half-eaten sandwich in hand as he fiddled with his cigarette lighter, igniting the flame over and over again, only somewhat paying attention to whatever his three friends were talking about. It was nice to spend their lunch break out in the corridors, mainly deserted except for the occasional teacher walking by or student opening up their lockers; the cafeteria had been much too packed, as if every student in the entire school decided to spend their time in there to escape the cold weather, and they had had no inclinations to try and find a table to sit at and eat in there. That is, when they'd peered inside, it didn't even look like there was a single free spot at all if they'd actually wanted one. Now, with Paul sitting next to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush, John felt pretty content to just sit there and listen to his friends chatter on, not feeling much like joining in. It was only Tuesday, but John felt so sick of the school week already that he wanted nothing more than to just get suspended so he could have a few days at home. It was nice to have Paul beside him in some of his classes and to spend time with him, George and Ringo during breaks to help push him along, but they could only do so much, really. He was just waiting for the whole term to be over.
He glanced at Paul; the younger boy had finished his food and he was talking with George and Ringo about whatever it was they were talking about. As if he'd sensed John's eyes on him, he glanced over to meet his gaze, his sentence trailing off into silence - John offered a tentative smile, and Paul returned it after a second, gaze sparkling slightly as he nudged his shoulder playfully. The older boy's eyes dropped to his lips, and he felt his heart skip a beat as memories of the night before filled his mind. But of course, their moment had to be broken when George poked him in the shoulder.

"Hey!" His thick brows were furrowed, eyes focussed on a certain spot on John's neck - the auburn-haired boy felt his cheeks heat up immediately, knowing exactly what he was looking at, and he quickly adjusted his shirt collar in order to conceal from view.

"What?" He asked innocently, and he could see Paul fighting to hide his smug grin out of the corner of his eye.

George's sharp eyes flicked to Paul, before flitting back to John, and a slow grin crawled across his lips and he poked John's shoulder again.
"You've got a bloody hickey!" He declared loudly. John hissed a "shh!", kicking him harshly in the shin when his announcement caught the attention of a teacher walking by, who furrowed his brows at them, bewildered, as he walked past, though luckily he said nothing and kept moving. "Ow! Jeez, John." George muttered, rubbing his shin and glaring at him petulantly for a moment before Ringo spoke up.

"Well, you two must've had fun last night." He smirked.

"Shut up." He rolled his eyes, though he couldn't stop a satisfied smile from appearing. "Don't go yelling it to the world, please."
John thought back on what they did again. It had been pretty awkward for some of it, filled with shy giggles and fumbling movements and unsure glances; it had been brand new territory in their relationship, after all, and even though they'd both had sexual experiences before, Paul had never done anything with another guy, and they hadn't with each other before then. But, at the same time, it had been so exhilarating - exploring further and sharing a moment of intimacy. It hadn't been a race to the finish line, like it often had with other partners John had been with; they'd taken their time, relishing every second spent together, imprinting that night permanently in their minds. It was loving. John had never really done anything like that before, but he certainly would do it again. And now him and Paul shared a new sense of comfort around each other, a sense of familiarity. Like they'd gotten to know each other a bit more. It made John's heart race with barely contained excitement.

Later on, in maths class, John was endlessly bored. What bloody use does all these stupid equations have for his future? Why does he have to sit here and listen to some old codger bore him to the point of being one step away from smashing the desk in front of him over his damn head and walking out? It just didn't make any sense to him. And, not to mention the fact that Paul - the goody two-shoes smart arsehole he was - was paying full attention and writing down as much as he could, checking the textbook in front of him for confirmation and sometimes raising his hand to ask questions. It was so annoying. John wanted to grab his stupid face and snog him to shut him up and get him to stop being a good student and talk to him instead. Then he wouldn't be so damn bored.
He continued to sit there, head resting in his hands, eyelids close to closing and pointedly yawning, trying not to grin whenever the teacher sent him glares for doing so; eventually, he got an idea in his head.