Creep [j.l + p.m]

in which he recognizes

(All of my stories suck like¿ at least my covers are ok I guess)

John Lennon usually didn't peep into the guest rooms- it was a very anticlimactic thing to watch nothing happen, and getting caught would result in out of proportion consequences.

On the thirtieth of June 1967, when John was just passing by, he heard shouts and a bed creak. John had tried to see exactly what was happening, but curtains were pesky things to look through late at night.

A whole week had passed by until John had finally found the perfect opportunity, his wife left along with Julian yesterday to tend to something and the bathroom window was unlocked.

John cracked the bathroom door open enough to catch glimpses of the two bodies on the bed, and an extra guy with his back to the couple who didn't seem interested with what was going on as he smoked.

"Don't bite me! That hurts."

"I didn't pay for disobedience, did I?"

John's breath became caught in his throat. Both of the voices sounded masculine. The door was opened wider, and John crouched down so he could get a much better view of what was going on.

He recognized one of the messy bodies a few feet away from him. It was that nice looking lad who came by the office a few times and asked for directions to this club or that restaurant.

John didn't peg him as someone who took it up the ass, or sells himself like a cheap whore, yet something in John knew being handed crumpled bills had to be some sort of dead give away.

"Oh fuck! I'm close."

John tilts his head to the side and stares at the young man's face. His lips are bruised and eyes shut but he doesn't look pleased as the guy on top of him speeds up.

"Holy shit." Someone sneers above him and he feels his heart beat faster. "I never knew a peeping Tom would go to such measures."

John lifts his chin and meets the dark eyes of the chain smoker. He was caught. This stranger caught him. "Well, got somethin' to tell me?"

"No. I'll leave." John tries to stand up as smoothly as possible without shaking.

"I don't think so." The smoker shakes his head before speaking up. "I found a lil' prezzie for you, Paul!"

The movement on the bed stills and the rustling of clothing is followed by hushed voices. After the door is slammed shut footsteps come towards them. "What is it?"

"See for yourself." The man steps aside and John is out in the open, leaning heavily against the frame of the bathroom to keep upright.

A smirk slowly forms on his face. "Aren't you the receptionist?"

John doesn't answer, because in all honesty he can't find the right words to say.

The smirk turns into a full on grin of realization, his eyes lighting up. "You are. I remember you. Your name is John, right?"

John gives a hesitant nod, digging his nails into the wooden frame.

"You want me to kick him out, Paul?" The second guy asks as he places a new cigarette between his lips.

"Nah." Paul shrugged. "Gotta let him know something first. Come out of the bathroom, John."

John straightened his posture, trying to seem intimidating so he doesn't get punched that hard, and steps out of the doorway.

Paul stood right in front of him, a few inches taller. "What was so interesting that you had to watch?"

"You." John mumbled.

"If you want to watch," Paul reached out and grabbed John's dick through his pants, "you 'ave got to pay."

John groaned as Paul licked the shell of his ear and palmed him lightly. "I will."

Paul giggled and suddenly squeezed John harder. "But, if my friend catches you again, I won't hesitate to let him beat the shit out of you. Understood?"

John's knees buckled at the intense pressure. "Y-Yeah."

"Geo, show him out, yeah?" Paul released John with a wink.

John felt rooted to the floor. His dick was not fully hard, but just enough to make him irritated and uncomfortable.

Two hands shoved him towards the door. "Let's get a move on, creep."