High on you

Please please me

John abruptly pulled from his bed, slick in sweat. The blanket feeling ten times heavier than usual. He wrestled it off, throwing his legs over the side. Rolling his head back to crack his neck, he caught the time, four in the morning. He grimaced and dragged his hand down from his hairline. He had nothing to blame but his dream for thrusting him awake. His breathing was still left erratic and his body read nothing but dissatisfied. Just about to get the ghost of someone's pleasurable touch only to be thrown out of it. And it wasn't hard to recall who's soft touch he'd been squirming for. The drowsiness started drawing his eyelids shut but his body twitched and had his hands clutching at the sheets. He briefly thought about finishing himself off in the loo but he was afraid if he did, it'd satisfy him to the point of making it a recurring dream. So he let the frustration sweat from his body. An idea to calm himself popped into his mind and he quietly pulled his stash or rather Stuart's, from his bag and rolled. Because he wasn't daft, he thrust his window open. It was after a few minutes that John began second guessing his thoughts. Paul was a dismissive primadonna and he gave John one night, that's all it was. He had to get it through his thick skull that Paul just wasn't interested and he could t charm himself back into Pauls pants. He in fact hadn't had a lay quite like that one since Paul. When the drag met its end, he put it out and threw it from his window. Retracting his hand, he wiped sweat from his brow. He didn't have that much time left before he'd have to be up again but that didn't stop him from crawling back onto his bed. When he closed his eyes he hoped no other dream would wake him.

John was sure his sleep distress was written all over his face when Stuart gave him a cross look as they exited his car. "Something I should know about John?" He chuckled when John flinched.

"Fuck off Stu." John rolled his eyes and started walking towards the school.

"You've got a temper today, aye?" Stuart rushed to his side to teasingly bump his shoulder. "Yer fuckin' dripping on me" Stuart pulled off to the side with amused laughter, wiping the unwanted sweat from his skin.

"S'hot" John didn't bother looking at him. Stuart rolled his own eyes and decided putting up with an ill-tempered John was not going to be part of his day. He walked off, leaving John to stand at his locker alone. The lack of company didn't last him long as George approached him, an annoying look of concern on his face.

"Aye, John?"

"Look George. I'm fine. But I can't wait till last class, I'm gonna get into my stash now. Feel free to join." John threw his bag over his shoulder and shut his locker. George watched him for a half second before speaking.

"You're skipping?" George asked, John chucked.

"We're skipping George" he reached out and grabbed the lads sleeve, pulling him to the car lot.

"But John I don't know-"

"C'mon George. I don't feel like Mr. Epstein's class today." John gave him a serious look. George seemed to straighten.

"Alright. But didn't you ask Stuart?" 

John shrugged, "you're a much better smoking buddy George."

George grinned to himself as John turned and they walked off.

Paul couldn't help but take notice that John wasn't around this morning. Mr. Epstein even asked him if he'd seen or knew where John was. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen George either. Not that he saw George often during the school day but he usually spotted him a few times.
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Jim McCartney wouldn't call himself a nosy parent but a concerned parent, maybe. He'd been seeing Paul drift into distant behavior. And Paul did tell him what had been bothering him but part of him was still worried. He hesitantly twisted the doorknob to Paul's room. Upon his first real glance in some years, he realized it was quite dreary in comparison to his son. It stuck him as odd and for a guilty moment he wandered if his previous inclination that the room was fine was because he didn't know his son well enough. He crossed Paul's carpet and went to his closet that was already lazily hanging open. The clothes were non-matching to what Paul left the house wearing. He quirked his brow. He frowned and looked to the clock on Paul's wall.