Divine Lamb [j.l +p.m]

John 1:29

     John lures Paul with dumb little gifts and promises of a good time. Biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make a move on Paul. Parading him around everyone, showing them just how perfect his catch was. There are parties they go to, which unbeknownst to Paul were packed to the brim with criminals (himself included), acid tablets on their tongues and beer filled stomachs. Blockades stand in the way of being with him, his father being the most prominent one. 

Conservative, strict fathers breed naïve pretty boys, John has learned. He takes advantage of this glaring vulnerability, convincing Paul he should stay away from women and avoid masturbating. Those were sinful, and surely such a pure boy wouldn't want to become tainted.

His plan was working from what he could tell. His control over Paul's libido has been made prevalent, with the boy becoming dark eyed whenever they remotely talked about sex and popping a boner whenever he got excessively touched. It felt empowering, being able to work up someone so easily. Especially when they were inaccessible to most, a pederast's wet dream.

John rings him up on Sunday in the late afternoon, knowing that he's already home from Church. Paul dutifully answers, sounding upbeat.

"I sang a solo today, can you believe it? Father Lawrence said—"

"Baby, that's great! We should celebrate." John glanced at his watch. "Tell your dad you're gonna spend the night somewhere. Be ready by seven."

"I want to go somewhere fancy, Johnny. I'm tired of sketchy places."

John grins, hearing the pout Paul has on his adorable face right now. "Fancy you say? Your wish is my command, love."

"I mean it."

"I got you. Just get off your ass and get dolled up for me, yeah?"

He laughs when Paul hangs up on him. If he wanted fancy, John would give him the damn fanciest place he's ever been in. The best thing about being a white collar criminal was getting favors from very prominent people.

He calls George, a very wealthy politician whom he helped embezzle some money, and asks about the properties he owns.

"I've got a killer beach house, 's great for fuckin' if that's what you're after. You've been to it before, so it'd be easy to get there."

"Merci beaucoup, Georgie."

After getting the key to the beach house from a very coked up George, John stops by at a convenience store. He quickly got some expensive looking wine and a pack of cigs before driving to pick Paul up.

The McCartney house was quaint, smack in the middle of the suburbs and a few minutes drive to the towering Church Paul and his family attended. He honks, hoping that'll get the boy's attention. George's beach house was a bit of a drive, and John wanted to get there in the early night. Paul is out of his dad's house in no time, excitement pouring out of him as he gets into the car.

"You ready to get your fill of fancy?" John asked, taking in the boy's flushed cheeks and ruffled hair. He's so perfect, looking like a cherub all the damn time even though he was going to turn eighteenth in a few months.

"Dressed for the occasion, didn't I?" Paul gestures to his outfit, bringing John's attention away from his face and to his body.

He was wearing a white button-up tucked into tight velvet pants, giving little room to his imagination with what Paul was endowed with. His fingers itched to feel the boy up, but he resisted and begrudgingly kept his hands on the steering wheel.

"I thought church boys were supposed to be decent." John jokes as he looks back to the road, distracting himself with driving instead of the main attraction sitting beside him. If he doesn't get Paul out of those stupidly tight pants tonight then he really was a failure.

Paul hits John's shoulder. "I am too decent! You're just jealous you don't have pants like these."

"I used to wear leather pants. I'd love to see how you'd fare with that." He would kill to see Paul decked in fucking leather like a second skin.

"The day I wear leather is the day my dad nails me to a crucifix." Paul scoffs, lowering the seat almost completely horizontal and closing his eyes. "I already fought with him about my bloody pants."

John gets hot around the collar, cursing his peripheral for giving him the sight of Paul's splayed open legs. There should be nothing sexy or appealing about that, it was just a stupid haphazard position.

"You should've just came with out pants." He says, half-joking. What a wonderful sight that would be.

Paul rolls onto his side, facing John. "Right? I never knew my clothes could cause so much trouble."

John forces himself to not further that conversation, letting Paul take a quick nap instead. It was better this way, because he needed to focus on the road. God forbid they crash and die just because John couldn't control his urges.

Two hours later, the moon is well into the sky, and they finally pull up into the drive way. John shakes Paul awake while grabbing the flimsy plastic bag from the store.

"Where are we?" Paul squints, trying to make out where John had taken them. He can hear waves crashing in the distance, making him wonder if John took them to the beach.

"We're at a fancy ass beach house, hun. What you wanted, right?"

Paul stretches when he's out of the car, rubbing his eyes. "If it doesn't have a comfy bed I'm goin' to have a hissy fit." He warned.

"Awww you little baby. Let's take you to bed." John grabs Paul's hand, bringing him up the stairs and unlocking the door. He pushed it open and fumbled to find a light switch, flicking it on when he found it.

Light poured into the room, displaying the semi-familiar place. He let's go of Paul, trekking to the kitchen and putting the wine in the fridge for tomorrow. There's photos littering the island and John finds himself looking at a few of them, wondering who took these nice beach pictures.

"John, I need your help!" Paul whined.

He comes to the boy's aid, confused when he sees Paul stretched out on the couch. "What's the matter?"

Paul unbuttons his pants and pulls the zipper down, grunting with effort even though it didn't take much to do that. "Undress me?"

John's convinced this is some cruel joke Paul's trying to play on him, get him to be really close and then pull his hair or something. So instead of doing what Paul asked, he stands there with his arms crossed like a disappointed father.

"You're a big boy, Paul. You can do it yourself."

"Johnny, please! I'm so tired and all I wanna do is pass out, I have no energy." He complained. "All you've got to do is take off my clothes, promise."

John contemplates taking the bait, fitting right between Paul's legs and yanking those pants down along his legs until they were off. He loosened his tie at the thought.

"John stop wasting time and help me!"

He bites his lip, cautiously getting closer to Paul. "Paul for the love of God if you do so much as flick me I'm going to beat the shit outta you." It was an obvious empty threat, but John wanted to get his point across.

"Take off my clothes before I get mad." Paul groans, glaring up at John.