Anthology of pegging Paul (among other things) throughout the years. It spans from 1962 to 1994
Its not a narrative love story, but more of an interconnected series of events. It's in the second person. I tried to make any physical descriptions vagu...
The rooftop concert was the 30th, George left on the 10th
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You arrived at the house about a couple hours after Paul would've returned from the studio. You didn't see him around the house or hear anything for that matter.
You walked into the dark bedroom, and there he was. He lay resting on the bed, eyes closed and gently breathing. Paul could've been sleeping, but his breaths indicated otherwise. They weren't consistent in the unconscious manner. He was also fully clothed, on his back above the blankets.
He made no movement, but he likely heard you enter the room.
Paul hadn't been feeling his cheeriest lately. Things with his group were growing increasingly tense. He couldn't change his bubbly nature easily, and he could still pep up, but he had been more downcast, frustrated sometimes. In appearance too, for the first time in his life, he allowed a beard to grow, hiding his girly face. It framed his eyes well, you thought, the same rich dark brown of his hair.
"Difficult day?" You said to him.
Paul made a low noise in affirmation, again, making no indication of movement.
You wouldn't tell him this, but you couldn't blame his group for getting tired of playing "Maxwell's silver Hammer" for the 600th time. Paul could be a bit of a perfectionist, a control freak sometimes. He was very strong willed.
Still, you could tell it was getting to Paul, and of course you felt for him. This was the life he'd become accustomed to. He was twenty-one, then immediately had his life taken over by fame. Without the group, what would become of him? He didn't know any other way.
His low quiet voice came abruptly, shaking you out of your thoughts.
"It won't be long now, they're tired of me"
You felt bad. It couldn't be good to think that way about people you were once so close to. However, it had to be this way. No use dragging it out.
You sat with him a while, on the edge of the bed. You kept his company, allowing him to reflect in silence.
It must've been a good twenty minutes before he spoke again.
"Would you take care of me...please..." He said quietly, not opening his eyes.
You moved to indulge him, not needing to speak.
Paul had asked for this before. He wanted you to "take care of him", taking your time, every movement slow, all the while he lay quietly, focusing on each drawn out sensation.
He laid still as you undid his fly. Paul was wearing a woolen vest over his collared shirt, but he had taken off his shoes before lying down.
You took him in your mouth. He wasn't immediately aroused. Paul didn't ask for this because he was turned on or horny, he rather wanted the comfort of it. He wanted you to take over for him, let his body fill with pleasure, so he could rid his head of thoughts for a short while.
