Archive of Our Own

Paul’s eyes were fixed on an orange leaf, tucked into a windshield wiper, straining to stay put against the wind. Although he had been parked for several minutes, he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the car and enter the studio. Something had changed between the four of them, though he couldn’t be sure when it had happened. It was like a frog in boiling water, unaware that anything was going wrong until it was too late to stop. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, running through future conversations in his head.

A particularly harsh gust of wind rattled the car, and with a start, the leaf came unstuck and flew away. Paul got out of the car.

Something had changed. Paul couldn’t remember if it had happened in the last few weeks or the last few months. He was a frog in increasingly hot water, completely unaware of anything changing until he was boiling. Here, in EMI studios, he could feel the thin ridges of his guitar strings wearing into the soft skin of his fingers, in the valleys below where calluses had formed years ago.

A part of Paul wanted to scream. He wanted to throw his guitar and watch it shatter, or better yet, throw John’s. He wanted to hurt him in all the physical ways, a physical manifestation of the turmoil in Paul’s chest.

“Let’s just try it again from the A section,” he heard himself say. “George, can you try a bit more of a, y’know,” he tried to emulate the way the guitar sounded in his head. He was met with a chorus of unanimous groans, and George all but rolled his eyes.

“Of course, Paulie, whatever you want,” he mumbled, picking up his guitar. Paul felt the lurch in his stomach that he had been growing deeply acquainted with. That feeling that something had changed. The George who once looked up to him like his little brother was growing sick of him, and maybe Paul had earned it for what he put the poor boy through.

“Okay, one, two, three, four,” Paul counted in. As they came in with the music, he never let his gaze leave his own fingers dancing on the neck of his bass. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, even though he hadn’t needed to look at the strings in years. If he kept his eyes downcast, he could almost pretend that everything was the same as it had been. It was hard to pretend when the air was thick with tension, and he knew that as soon as he glanced up, he’d see four disappointed faces staring right back at him.

They finished, and after a brief moment of silence, George Martin clapped his hands, graciously allowing them to move on from the moment. “Alright, boys, I think we should break for lunch.”

“No, no,” Paul said. A tendril of desperation clawed its way into his throat, and he felt, illogically, as if they stopped working now it would be impossible to get them together again. The room was silent except for the steady drumming of George Harrison’s nails on the body of his guitar. “Listen, if we just fix this one riff, I think--”

“Paul,” John chimed in. “Let’s just come back to it in an hour.” His voice was sensible, quiet, like he was scared Paul would spook and lash out again.

Paul’s head snapped over to him, and the gentle trepidation in his eyes made Paul’s heart sink. It wasn’t irrational to think Paul might snap, which hurt him most of all. George Harrison said something to John so quietly that Paul couldn’t hear, and then the two of them were whispering back and forth. Paul felt his stomach lurch again. That was it, that was what had been keeping him up at night and stoking the fear in his stomach. Somehow, while Paul was oblivious to it, the two of them had formed this ephemeral bond that left Paul, for once, on the outskirts.

It started because of that awful drug, Paul could recognize. For as long as he refused to try it, the two of them had been going off on their own and tripping together, connecting in every plane they could access. Richie enjoyed LSD with them from time to time, a welcome third wheel, and Paul was left behind. By the time he finally bit the bullet and tripped with John, it was already too late.

It couldn’t just be the drugs tying them together, though. It was like they were always on the same wavelength, always thinking the same thing. It reminded Paul of… himself. It was like looking in a mirror, looking at the relationship he had with John when they first started. And the thought of that, of George doing anything with John like what they used to do, scared Paul all the way to his bones.

“What’s going on with you and John?” Paul snapped the second he was alone with George in the kitchen. George immediately froze, and Paul could tell, but he shook it off like anything.

“Well, we’re in this band together, y’see,” George said, playing for the sarcastic. Paul knows that move all too well. He knows what it means.

“I’m serious, George,” Paul said. “I mean, I know we’re all friends, but--”

“You think I sucked his dick or something?” George said. “And so what if I did? You don’t own him.” Paul immediately feels like he’ll be sick, the image of it flooding his mind before he can blink. George on his knees, in front of John, his John, hand in his hair, his mouth…

“God, your face,” George said, turning to get a teabag. “I didn’t, either. Don’t really go that way, mate.”

“So you guys aren’t…”

“Nah. Just wanted to see what you’d say,” George said.

The thing between Paul and John has never been a secret, per se. Lord knows George has walked in on them with their hands down each other’s pants enough times to know the truth, but they never speak about it. It’s just the sort of thing that boys from Liverpool don’t mention, and none of them have felt the need to break that routine. If anyone else knows, Paul doesn’t exactly mind. Brian certainly does, Richie too. There have been more than enough times where Paul slipped up in Robert’s bed, calling out the wrong name, that he’s sure he’s figured it out as well.

“Well, that’s alright then,” Paul said, praying that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “So what, you two just drop acid and talk?”

“Well, sure,” George said. “Why, what’d you do? When you thought he was the emperor of eternity, or whatever.”

A chill ran down the back of Paul’s neck.

“He told you about that?”

“We’re all friends here, Paul,” George said, shrugging around his tea. Paul couldn’t help wondering if John shared that story, what else he let George in on.

“I’d do it again, y’know,” Paul said quickly. “LSD. If you want to do it all together, like.”

“You’d do anything to get closer to John.”

George said it so matter-of-factly that it took Paul by surprise for a second. He nodded slowly, hating the feeling of being so seen. It felt like his stomach was cut open and lying on the floor. Paul had hated that feeling since he was a kid, doing anything to keep the secret parts of himself from knowing eyes.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” He said. He knew it was bullshit, but he’d gotten away with bullshit before. “I’m not totally square, y’know.”

George stared at him with that deciphering gaze for another moment. Then, seemingly making his mind up, he said, “You should come home with us tonight.” Something about the wording made Paul feel a bit lightheaded.

“You’re not propositioning me, are you?” Paul laughed. George didn’t blink.

“What, like you’d decline it?”

Again, Paul couldn’t help picturing it, an adjustment of the image from before. George on his knees, but with Paul in his mouth rather than John. John, next to him, pulling him into a kiss. He had to blink away the force of the image, feeling his ears redden.

“So I guess I’ll see you tonight,” George said, setting his now empty mug down. Paul could only nod, still furiously battling his traitorous thoughts.

-

The interior of George’s home was surprisingly plain, in contrast to the vibrancy of its exterior. Paul had thought so the first time he was invited over, when the modern wooden siding made him feel warm and comforted. Now, it was only cold as he kept his eyes fixed on the wall. John shifted next to him on the couch, the two of them conspicuously far apart. There had been a time, Paul thought, when the two of them would be pressed thigh-to-thigh. It didn’t matter who was in the room with them, whether it was George or a whole fleet of reporters. Now, with only the three of them alone, he had never felt further from John.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” George asked, idly rearranging the assortment of knick-knacks on the shelf. Paul’s eye caught on a miniature doll they’d bought in America. He can remember them, aged 21 and 20, laughing at its distorted face.

“Can you imagine giving this to your kid?” George had remarked, handing it off to John. John had held it up next to his face, mimicking the doll’s cross-eyed expression. Paul thought he might suffocate if he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Coffee, but do hold the acid, please,” John said. George laughed, shaking his head in endearment. Paul was violently brought back to the present, George’s couch, George and John’s seemingly blossoming friendship. It was clear that JohnandPaul had transformed into JohnandGeorge. The two were always going off alone, trying new drugs, making new music and inside jokes.

“Paul, are you alright?” John asked him, jolting him back to the room again. Paul realized he had been staring at the wall, trying to turn off the part of his brain that simmered with unbridled jealousy.

George was sitting in the chair across from the couch, gently tapping his fingernails on the arm. Paul’s eyes instinctively followed them, the repetitive motion, the warm light reflecting off George’s rings.

“So I’ve been thinking about a trip to India,” George started. His fingers were still tapping on the arm of the chair, the steady rhythm the only other sound in the room. “Y’know, to learn more about meditation, and the like.”

“Mhm?” Paul responded. George, and subsequently John, had recently been enticed by the appeal of meditation and Indian culture. It was like the LSD thing-- something that connected the two of them, that Paul could only engage in from afar.

“I think it’s a great idea,” John added. Paul whipped his head to him, slightly incredulous.

“Have you been discussing this? Without me?”

“It was just an idea,” John said, seeming to pick up on the intensity of Paul’s dismay. “We’re not packing our bags or anything.”

“It’d be a great opportunity to learn more about meditation,” George added. “Y’know, it would help us with disagreements in the band. If we could access that focus and clarity, like.”

“Inner peace,” John added, nodding. “What'd you say, Paulie?”

“I don’t think that sort of thing works for me,” he said.

“Oh come on, Paul, open your mind a little,” George said, exasperated. “It’s just about, y’know, reaching a state of relaxation. Taking some deep breaths, grounding yourself.” George took a deep breath, in and out, as if to demonstrate. “See? It’s easy.”

Paul felt himself follow him, taking a deep breath. He was back to watching George’s fingers on the armrest again, the rhythm helping him steady his breathing.

“That’s it, in and out.” George’s voice was lower, quieter, Paul noticed. It was soothing-- he had to admit, it was helping him relax. “Feel the weight of your body on the couch. Feel the floor underneath your feet. See, it just feels better to relax. Lighter, happier, all that. It’s easy.”

Paul nodded. It was easy, he had to admit. He already felt lighter, a peace entering his mind that hadn’t been there before. Even still, a slightly sick feeling was pooling in his stomach, cautioning him. He tried to speak, to ask George if this was normal, and found it difficult to form words. It was like his mouth was moving ten steps behind his brain.

“What’s… what’re you doing to me,” he demanded, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“That’s alright, Paul, it takes practice,” George soothed, stopping the tapping. “But, you did well for your first time.”

Paul squeezed his fingers and toes, trying to snap out of the headspace. The feeling of being out of control was not one that he liked, especially with the current company. He turned to John, about to ask him about it, but was struck silent by what he saw.

John was staring blankly ahead, eyelids drooping, mouth hanging slightly open. He looked-- well, he didn’t look good.

“John,” he snapped. “John, are you…”

“He can’t hear you,” George said, standing up. He walked over to John and raised a hand in front of his face, fluttering his fingers back and forth. Paul noticed that John’s eyes were following them intently, back and forth, still with that blank, sleepy expression.

“He can’t hear anything, actually, except my voice,” George continued. “Only my voice, and only when I want him to. Goes down so easily, does our John.” He swiftly pressed a finger to John’s forehead, John’s eyes crossing to follow it, and said, “Drop.”

John crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. He would have fallen over completely, probably rolled onto the floor, if George wasn’t there to catch him, ready and waiting. He eased John back on the couch, murmuring, “that’s it, John, dropping even deeper.”

“What did you do to him?” Paul practically shouted, panic rising in his throat. “Was it-- it can’t be LSD? Did you drug him?”

“That’s the beauty of it. You’ve heard of hypnosis, I assume,” George said, running a hand through John’s hair. “There aren’t any drugs necessary to achieve this state. Just the power of your brain. ”

Paul had heard of hypnosis, of course, and he knew that it was fake. Fictional. Despite this, his mind replayed the moment when John crumpled, dropped, and he shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not possible.”

“You felt it, Paul,” George stated, simply. “I could tell. That nice feeling of peace, when you connected with your breathing? When you felt yourself sinking into the couch?”

Paul shook his head again, but without the same intensity. He could feel it again, the sinking sensation, the peace rolling into his chest in waves. The steady tapping of George’s nails on the table, George’s other hand petting John’s head.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” George asked, voice dropping back to that soothing tone.

“No, I--”

“It will feel good, though. The less you fight it, the better you feel.”

Paul tried to shake his head again, but it felt heavy, like it was full of water. Like a sandbag, so dense it was blocking out all of his thoughts.

“I knew you’d be harder to drop than John,” George said, returning to his seat. “John’s always been so eager to give up control. But of course, you know that.”

Paul knew that better than anyone. All of those nights John had begged him to take control, tie him up, whatever it may have been. All in the past, now, though. They hadn’t been together like that in, well, years.

“You know what’s going to happen,” George continued, “if you follow my words. If you listen, you’ll drop, so it’s best not to listen.”

Paul nodded, mind fuzzy. He could do that. If he didn’t listen, he could still win whatever game they were playing.

“But then again, I’m telling you not to listen, so if you don’t listen, if you don’t follow, you would be listening, wouldn’t you?”

Paul nodded again, confusion raking through his mind. He couldn’t stop listening now, even if he wanted to. But did he want to? He couldn’t tell what he wanted.

I should just listen, then, his mind helpfully supplied.

“I’m sorry, it’s confusing, I know,” George murmured. Tap tap tap tap. “It’s probably best to just listen to me, because I know better.” Tap tap tap tap. “Just sink, drift, and don’t think about what I’m saying. Don’t think at all.”

Paul nodded. He thought his mouth might be hanging open. He was immediately reminded of John, John’s face just before he went under, and how he must look like that now. Just as soon as the thought came in, it washed away. He could have stayed there for minutes or hours, the drum of George’s voice and fingernails echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

A hand slipped into his own and lifted his arm. It took him a second to realize it was George, who was standing above him now. He couldn’t be sure when that happened, how long he had been drifting in the haze. George gave his hand a gentle shake, and Paul felt his arm sway, completely limp.

“That’s right, Paul, completely relaxed. I’m going to drop your arm in a second, and when it reaches the couch, you’re going to sink completely. You’re going to drop, just like John.”

Paul’s mouth twitched, the last trace of protest in his body. It didn’t go unnoticed by George.

“You want this, Paul. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll feel so happy.” A wave of peace passed over Paul. Was it acceptance? He couldn’t tell. “That’s it, yeah? You’re going to drop now, in three, two, one.”

Paul felt his arm drop, and just like George said, it pulled him under. Everything went dark.

-

“Wake up.”

Paul’s eyes snapped open. He was still on the couch, still in George’s living room. George was there, sitting in his chair, reclining leisurely. He looked to his right and saw John, who was awake now, too. The image of John dropping flashed through his mind again.

“Hi, Paulie,” George murmured. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” he answered, startled at how fast he said it. He didn’t need to think about it, but once he said it, he realized-- he did feel good. Really, really good. Happy, relaxed, content. There was a cloud of peace sitting over his mind. It was almost like being high, he realized.

“What are you smiling at?” George asked him, a small grin on his lips. Paul stopped, a bit startled. He didn’t realize he had been smiling at all.

“‘Dunno.”

George seemed satisfied with that.

“John has something for you, Paul,” George said, walking to where they were on the couch. John was holding a necklace with a blue crystal on the end, one that Paul could vaguely remember belonging to George.

“That’s right,” George said, voice low and even. It was hard not to listen to him when he spoke like that. “John, get a little closer to him.”

John shifted closer, so that their thighs were touching, and looked back to George for approval. Like a dog, Paul thought.

“Hmm, a little closer than that, please,” George said. “Maybe you should get in his lap.”

A swell of hunger coursed through Paul. He needed that, he realized, and as John swung a leg over and situated himself in Paul’s lap, he had to bite back a moan. The weight of John, though he was much lighter than he had once been, was comfortable and familiar to him. Almost on instinct alone, Paul placed his hands on John’s waist and pulled him closer. He looked into John’s eyes and saw a mirror of his own drowsiness in them. Still, being this close to John again filled him with warmth, and John’s eyes pulled him deeper.

“John’s going to hypnotize you, Paul,” George said. John held up the pendant, so that it was eye level for each of them. “Perfect, John. And what you’re going to find, Paul, is that it’s impossible to tear your eyes away from the crystal. It takes you so deep, and it feels so good to stare. Mind empty, blank, and happy. Just stare.”

Paul’s eyes met the crystal easily, and as described, he could feel himself sinking into the couch again. The comfortable weight of John on him only pulled him down faster.

“And John, you’re going to realize that the crystal is pulling you in as well. You’re just as helpless to it as Paul.”

Paul was almost as enamoured with John’s face as he was with the crystal. John’s eyes were fixed, fluttering gently with the effort to stay open. Paul couldn’t keep his eyes off the crystal long enough to notice much more.

“God, that’s gorgeous,” George muttered, from somewhere in the room. It was hard to understand him when he was speaking to himself. If it didn’t concern Paul, he wouldn’t hear it. “I should make you kiss.”

Someone whimpered, pleadingly. Paul thought it might be him. He’d have done it, he’d kiss him, if he had any control left over his body. As it was, his limbs sat heavy at his sides, much too heavy to lift.

“‘Should make you beg for it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Paul’s body burned with desire, and he nodded, head heavy. “I know,” George said, patronizing, running a hand through Paul’s hair. He melted into the touch, eyes desperate to roll back, only the crystal keeping them forward.

“What people don’t realize about hypnosis is that it doesn’t control you, in so many words. It just helps you lean into suggestions that you wouldn’t have accepted outside of the headspace. If I ever say something that you do not want to do, you will wake up and tell me. Nod.”

Paul nodded.

“You two have no idea how gratifying this is. You think I’m dumb, useless, and you treat me like it. But look at you. Who’s dumb now?”

Paul whimpered again.

“I know, I know,” George said. “I can remember the two of you as teenagers. Always sitting together on the bus, always off in the corner during rehearsals. Why are most of my memories of the back of your heads?” George laughed, running a hand over Paul’s head again.

“I was so desperate for your approval. I thought, I don’t know, if I did a better job, I would be allowed into your space. I would be on your level. But I never would, would I? Even though I did get better. I am better, isn’t that right?”

Paul could barely focus on George’s words, so lost in the crystal, but he knew he had been asked a question. He nodded.

“Say it,” George hissed. “Say I’m better.”

“You’re better,” Paul mumbled, unbidden, his voice sounding foreign to his ears. He heard John say it, too. He had completely forgotten that John was there at all, sitting in his lap.

“Good boy,” George groaned. “Fuck, that’s good. Say I’m smarter.”

Again, Paul heard himself say it, and George ran a hand over his head in praise. A wave of pleasure, new, washed over Paul. It was so hard to think, so hard to do anything other than float in the haze and listen to George. But it was okay, because it felt so good. It felt so good to drift, to listen, to follow.

“That’s right, so good,” George said, low. Paul couldn’t tell where George’s words ended, and his own thoughts began. Was there a difference at all? Had there ever been anything in his head besides the low tone of George’s instructions?

“I’m going to wake you up in a moment. You’re going to realize how awfully you’ve treated me. How you’ve made me feel like shite for the last ten years. You’re going to need my forgiveness, more than anything. You would do anything to apologize. Nod if you understand.”

Paul nodded.

“Good boy. When I reach one, you’ll wake up. Three, breathing out any resistance. Two, waking up more, ready to obey. One.”

-

Paul blinked. He was on the couch. There was a heavy weight against him, and it took him a moment to realize it was John, seated comfortably in his lap. He had the vaguest memory of John crawling into his lap, showing him something, but he couldn’t remember a thing since then. George was still there, watching them.

Shit. George.

It came like a wave, memories of every time he and John had snuck off alone together, leaving George behind. All the inside jokes they would keep to themselves, the shared glances when George showed them his new music.

The music was good, too. Better than anything John and Paul could have come up with. That’s why they didn’t let him on their albums, besides a token song here or there. Paul looked up to John, and he could tell immediately that John was thinking the same thing.

“Shit, George, I’m so sorry,” Paul said. John untangled himself from Paul’s limbs and went to George, kneeling easily at his feet.

“Georgie, really, we didn’t mean it,” John pleaded. “We’ve been treating you like shite, but really, we’re sorry.”

George hummed, considering.

“What would you do to make it up to me?” He asked, leisurely. Paul was already speaking before he knew what he was going to say.

“Anything, truly, anything you want,” he stammered.

“Anything, George,” John agreed.

George looked at them for a moment, John kneeling on the floor, Paul still seated on the couch. He fixed his gaze on Paul, a deep-seated hunger behind his eyes.

“You can suck me off,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Then I’ll forgive you.”

“Okay,” John said, nodding. “I’ll do it, of course, anything…”

“Not you,” George said, eyes never leaving Paul. “I want Paul.”

Paul felt a surge of arousal knock through him, even though his face was reddening. He wanted to do it; he would do anything that George asked of him. It was just difficult, with John right there, when they hadn’t…

“Paul,” George said again, voice lower. “Come here.”

If there was any doubt earlier, then this was definitely a command. A command Paul would follow, without second thought. He lowered himself to the floor and crawled in between George’s legs, hands already reaching for his belt.

“Good boy, so well behaved,” George murmured, dragging a hand into Paul’s hair, pulling gently. “Doing exactly as I asked. Your mind going completely blank. Christ, I should have done this a long time ago.”

Paul nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to. Those words--blank, empty, happy--were the only things running through his mind. His sole focus was getting George’s cock into his mouth as soon as possible. Shaking from the onslaught of desire, his hands fumbled with the belt, and George had to bat them out of the way to help.

“So eager, aren’t you?” he said, easing down his fly. His trousers were gorgeous, dark blue things, and they moved like water as they came to pool around his ankles. Paul nodded, hungrily, eyes trained on the stiff outline of George’s prick in its confines.

“You need this,” George said, voice dropping into that low, hypnotic tone. Paul felt his eyes flutter, threatening to roll back. “More than you’ve ever needed anything.”

Like everything he said, it became true the second it left his lips. Paul whined, obscenely, completely deaf to how he must look and sound. He lowered his head, dragging his tongue hotly against the outline in George’s pants.

“Don’t forget you have an audience, Paul,” George crooned. Paul was reminded suddenly of John, sitting just behind him. “Why don’t you put on a show for him, Paulie? Do what you do, and all that.”

“Fuck,” Paul groaned, obediently, lowering George’s pants as fast as he could, his hands clumsy. “Please, George, please let me, I need it.”

“Go ahead,” George said, graciously. Paul licked the head once, and too eager to wait another second, he swallowed him down. Even through the haze dampening his thoughts, he had more than enough muscle memory to bob his head properly, years of practice reminding him how to move his tongue and avoid his teeth.

“Christ, you’re good at this,” George said, breathing ragged. He looked at John, over Paul’s shoulder. “You’re a lucky man, John.”

Paul couldn’t see John, but he heard a small whimper escape him. He could picture exactly what he looked like, now, probably on his knees, trying furiously not to touch himself. It was a picture Paul had seen a hundred times. In another lifetime, now, it seemed. His eyes fluttered closed.

John’s noises were getting louder, and for a moment, it felt like it was John’s dick in his mouth, John’s hand in his hair. He groaned, pulling off for a second. Fuck, John.

“What?” George said, stopping him in his tracks.

Fuck. Did he say that out loud?

“I’m sorry, Georgie, really,” he looked up, expecting George to be glaring at him, or maybe look hurt. Instead, he was laughing, albeit sadly.

“Christ,” he murmured, sweeping a hand under Paul’s jaw. It was wet with drool. “Hypnotized out of your bloody mind, and I still can’t get you to stop thinking about him. To think about me, for once.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Paul pleaded, tears pricking his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about him. It was an accident.” George only looked at him, calculating.

“I’ve decided your punishment,” he said, trailing a finger in front of Paul’s eyes. Paul latched onto it instantly, his face going slack. The effect was stronger every time, his mind eager to return to that blissful, empty state. “Your mind is going blank, even more obedient than before. I’m tying your arms behind your back, Paul. You won’t be able to move them. All you want, all you can think about, is pleasing me. Do you understand?”

“I… I…”

“I’m sorry,” George said, patronizing. “I forgot dumb little things like you need the words given to them. The answer is yes.”

“Yes.” The words tumbled out of his mouth uninvited, but as soon as he said them, Paul could feel the reality of them coming true. His hands tightened behind his back, bound.

“Good boy. Wake up, now.”

Paul snapped back to reality with a jolt. He noticed his wrists were attached, unmoving, but it didn’t faze him. The desire to get George’s prick back into his mouth overpowered any reservations he had. Blessedly, George grabbed him by the back of his hair and pulled him down, seeming to be just as eager as Paul.

The weight of George’s cock on his tongue was indescribable. He’d given head countless times, almost always for John. There were a couple others, Robert and Tara, and nameless men at artsy parties, but none of them compared to this. He bobbed his head greedily, taking as much as he could.

“John, touch yourself,” George groaned, fucking his hips up into Paul’s mouth. Paul only accepted it with more vigor. There could have been drool running down his mouth, down his neck, and he wouldn’t have known. His awareness ended at the place where his mouth touched George’s skin.

“No,” George muttered, but Paul could tell he wasn’t speaking to him. “John, finger yourself. Open yourself up for me, that’s a good boy.”

George sped up his thrusts. Tears threatened to escape Paul’s eyes, or maybe they were already trailing down his face. He was at the complete mercy of George’s movements. A small part of him, buried so deep he couldn’t rationalize it into thought, wondered at what he must look like. Dumb, slutty, desperate to be used. Like a toy.

Suddenly, George pulled back, the vacancy in his mouth making him beg for more. He desperately tried to get his mouth back on George’s cock, his hands straining against invisible rope, but George pushed him back.

A finger trailed in front of his eyes, dropping his mind like a stone as George murmured something to him, though he couldn’t understand the words. It was better this way, to let George do the thinking for him. This was what he really wanted.

“Freeze,” George said, snapping his fingers next to Paul’s ear. Everything went blank as the trigger snapped through Paul’s body like a lightning bolt, his eyes rolling up. Distantly, he was aware that he couldn’t move even if he tried, but he didn’t want to try. His limbs felt so heavy he wondered if they might go right through the floor.

“That’s right, baby,” George crooned. “You just sit there and watch. John, come over here.”

Watching John crawl into George’s lap and sink on his cock was like watching something on the TV from the other room. Paul could see it happening, far away, but he could hardly process it beyond the faint thrum of arousal in his body.

It still caused an ache in his chest, somewhere so deep down by now, to watch his John getting fucked by another man. John had sworn to him, once, that he was the only man he would ever be with. Of course, Paul had no right to hold him to that. Between all of the men he’d been with and the knowledge of John’s streak for infidelity, it would just be unfair. Rationalizing that didn’t soothe the pain of watching John being split open on George’s cock, though, and possessiveness thrummed through his frozen body.

“Fuck, Paul,” George groaned, speeding up. “He’s so tight. I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this all to yourself.”

Distantly, Paul could hear John whimpering as he moved, those breathy groans he’d come to know so well. His eyes were locked on the place where their bodies met, each thrust making him sink deeper into trance. He couldn’t be sure how much time passed, floating in his dreamy state, unable to move or think.

He was only aware of a faint pressure in his knees when there was a snap next to his ear, and he woke up with a start. The first thing he noticed was that he was kneeling on the floor. His legs were spread, and his hands rested on his knees, palms up. His mouth was slightly open, a trail of drool leaking out of the side.

“You’ve been so good for me, Paul,” George murmured in his ear. He was crouched on the floor next to him, John by his side. Paul had no idea when they had gotten up. “You deserve a reward.” He kicked Paul’s cock, which was still painfully hard and leaking. Paul had forgotten it was even there.

“A… a reward?” he said. His voice sounded slow as his thoughts moved through his head like molasses.

“John still needs to come,” George said, “don’t you, Johnny?”

“Yes, please, fuck, George,” John groaned, hand rapidly working his cock. Paul watched the head disappear and reappear in his grip, transfixed.

“He can’t come until I say,” George said, and then lowered his mouth to Paul’s ear. “Neither can you. Say it.”

“I can’t come until you say,” Paul repeated, feeling the words sink into him as the truth. George patted him on the head like a dog.

“Good boy. I’ve gotten him nice and loose for you, Paulie,” he said, moving his hand down to Paul’s jaw. “I didn’t want to assume, but I thought you’re probably used to being the one on top, is that right?”

Paul nodded, desperately watching John. He was growing frustrated. The longer George spoke, the longer it would be before he could get to John.

“Go ahead,” George said, permitting him. That was all it took, and it was like a rubber band snapped in Paul. He grabbed John and bent him over the couch, pushing his face into the cushions. John groaned gratefully, already grinding his hips down into the rough fabric.

Paul couldn’t wait another second, and with both hands on John’s hips, he drove into him until he was fully seated. The pleasure was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, the trance amplifying everything tenfold. John practically screamed into the couch, inhibitions completely gone.

Paul would usually build up to speed, but he knew John was ready, already stretched out on George’s cock. Nothing was stopping him from snapping his hips into John at full force. Dimly, he was aware of cum leaking out of John’s hole, and knew it was George’s. The thought only filled him with a possessive fervor, inspiring him to fuck John into the couch even harder.

There were slick sounds off to his right, and taking a quick glance, Paul saw that George was pleasuring himself. George’s eyes were fixed on the point where Paul and John’s bodies became one, almost as entranced by the sight as Paul felt.

“Fuck, Paul,” George groaned, speeding up his ministrations. “He really knows how to take it, doesn’t he? As well as you know how to give it. Fuck, but you two really are made for each other.”

Paul groaned at his words. He was right there on the edge, a tight coil of pleasure spiraling in his stomach. He could tell John was close, too, from the familiar sound of his moans muffled by the pillows. The pleasure was torturous and unrelenting, and Paul was sure he didn’t typically last this long on the edge. It was only George’s words holding him in place, keeping him balanced on the edge with no relief.

“Please,” he cried, and realized with a start that tears were falling freely from his eyes now. “George, please, can I--”

“Yeah,” George said, speeding up. “Go on, come.”

The three of them exploded at practically the same moment, Paul spilling into John. His vision nearly blacked out, and he greedily fucked John through their orgasms. By the time he was done, sensitive and raw, he had completely forgotten where he was and what was happening. His mind started and ended at the feeling of pleasure.

Worn, he collapsed to the floor, and found John following him shortly after, chest rising and falling rapidly. Paul pressed a kiss to his forehead and curled an arm around his chest.

“Aw, look at you,” George said, voice somewhere in the endless void above them. “I have one more reward for you.”

“Reward?” Paul mumbled, voice barely making it past his lips.

“Drop.”

He dropped.

-

“Six, feeling more awake and aware.”

Paul felt the couch under his skin. It was sturdy, supporting him.

“Five, coming up even more.”

The voice was George, Paul thought.

“Four, flexing your fingers and toes, feeling even more awake.”

Definitely George, guiding up from somewhere so deep within himself.

“Three, feeling incredible, feeling so refreshed and relaxed.”

Warmth flooded through him, and his eyes flickered behind closed lids.

“Two, almost completely awake now, no trace of your trance lingering.”

Paul felt a presence next to him on the couch. Was it John? He thought it must be.

“And one, wide awake.”

Paul’s eyes snapped open. He took a deep breath, air filling his chest and settling peace over him.

The memories came back slowly. John dropping on the couch, George putting them both under. Sucking George’s cock and watching as he fucked John. Fucking John himself. He looked at John, and was met with a similar look of realization.

“Fuck,” he said and looked at George, who was resisting a grin.

“Fuck,” George replied. He handed Paul a mug of tea from the table. “Thought you might need some tea.” Paul accepted it gratefully, but hesitated as he brought it to his lips.

“Is this--”

“It’s not drugged, if that’s what you’re worried about,” George said. “You think I’d need to drug you? After what you accomplished sober?”

Paul shivered at the thought, and took a sip. The tea was warm, comforting. George’s words bounced around his head. He had been sober, and yet felt completely outside of his own body. Then again, he remembered what George told them right before they dropped. They couldn’t be forced to do anything they didn’t want, and Paul had felt that, even in trance. He had known that he could pull himself up if George asked him for anything he didn’t want.

And he wanted to fuck John, he could admit that now. He knew that John had wanted him just as much. The way he begged him, face pushed into the couch, that couldn’t be falsified from trance.

“How did you know?” He asked, although he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted. How did George know to do that? How did he know Paul wanted him? How did he know he and John wanted each other at all, anymore?

“What, that you and John haven’t been fucking?” George asked, taking a sip from his own mug. Paul felt his face go hot.

“George!” John said, tossing a hand over his chest in a camp display of disbelief.

“I-- what?” Paul stammered out. “No, I meant… how did you know that?”

“Please,” George said, rolling his eyes. “How could I not have noticed? The two of you have been avoiding each other like the plague recently. ‘Thought I might help you find what you really wanted.”

John coughed, a familiar sound, and Paul stifled a laugh. He looked at John for a moment, those beautiful almond eyes, and knew immediately what he was thinking. That was how it had always been between them, since the day they met. Only recently had they started drifting, with John living as a proper house husband and Paul diving into the London scene with open arms. That connection between the two of them had weakened, but nothing could fully put a stop to it.

“Thank you, George,” John said, fidgeting with his hands. “I mean, I don’t agree with your methods, but someone had to get us talking.”

“And we’re sorry,” Paul added, slipping a hand onto John’s thigh. He felt the muscle briefly tense and then relax into the touch. “Really, we’re sorry for the way we’ve been treating you.”

“Please,” George said. He looked suddenly so much younger, like the George that Paul had introduced to John way back when. The George whose hands shook when he played for John on the bus, still playing ten times better than either of them could. Paul’s chest filled with something like pride for the boy. “It’s a bit too late for an apology, d’you think?”

“Okay, well, we’ll make it up to you,” Paul said. “Seriously, we’re going to make this right. Just tell us what you want.”

“Half the songs on the next album?”

“Jesus, Georgie,” John groaned. “It’s still my band, give a man a break.”

George grinned, cheeky.

“Just wanted to see how far I could push it.”