Fic: ThighGHGHGHGS

ThighGHGHGHGS Part 1

Title: ThighGHGHGHGS Part 1  

Author: chutjedors  

Rating: R I think??  

Pairing: John/Paul (wow I'm so original)  

Warnings: Thighs. Lots of thinking of thighs. Thighs. Wanking. Swearing. Thighgs.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Beatles or George Martin or John's thighs *jumps off the cliff*

***

Paul was dying to touch them.

He was fucking dying to touch them.

He wanted to touch them, and stroke them, and pet, and smoothly run his fingers over them. He wanted to caress them and poke them and grab them so hard it would leave bruises on them. He wanted to mark them as his fucking own.

He wanted to press his lips against them, wanted to nuzzle his cheek against them, wanted to meet them with his tongue, wanted to lick them and suck them and bite them and mark. He wanted to look at them for so long, wanted to feverish them with kisses, wanted to breath against them, to run his hands up and down before following their moves with his mouth.

It was a torture, to only watch from the distance. He hated it. He hated how it made him so painfully hard, so emotionally unbalanced and so. Fucking. Horny. He wanted to tell the bloody press to fuck off and then tackle the owner of them under the water and have them fucking rub against him and fuck him and he wAS GOING MAD...!

He pressed his knuckles against his eyes and rubbed them a bit before sighing deeply. He needed to get inside very soon or this would be no fun anymore, not that it was now. Because he was in pain and he needed to have his hands on them but he just couldn't, because it was so wrong and everything but he NEEDED THEM---

"Macca? Ev'rythin' alright?" a voice called him and his head snapped up and he smiled his press smile before actually thinking anything.

"Yeah, jus' too much sun I think", he grinned and waved his friend and the owner of them to leave it. He frowned, but didn't say anything more and turned and splashed some water over Ringo who was now talking animatedly with those girls that Paul had just moments ago been so interested in. Or so it had seemed to the others probably, but he had been quite busy checking up them and hadn't really found anything intriguing in the female part of their company. Which made him worried. But which he didn't give a single fuck because he was dying.

To have them.

He shook his head and forced himself to turn away and talked to press and to the girls and had fun with the other band members and was trying his all to concentrate on something else too than them but he couldn't. So it was a relief when they finally decided to head back to the hotel and so he went to sleep that night and thought about them and maybe had a wank or two but again he didn't give a shit, because he needed them and so it was not wrong to wank off of the thought of having them slide on top of his own, and he came so forcefully he thought he might have blacked out.

And of course the others heard him groan but that was nothing unusual, so he didn't give a shit.

Because he wanted them and he wasn't going to stop himself from getting them, end of story. Even if it was illegal.

Of course he had to wait to be somewhere alone with the owner of them. And that was going to be so painful, to sit around and wait. And only look at them. Only think about having them on him. Only think about how they would feel under his hands. Only see them every evening when they were heading to bed. Only wank off every night at the thought of brushing his lips against them and bite and suck and lick and worship and he was going to be so dead before the tour was over.