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I'm Gonna Love You

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Paul hadn’t been expecting a fancy dinner. After all, Peter didn’t really have a job that would pay for too much beyond a trip to McDonald’s. Lydia had given him a few extra dollar bills this week for his ‘allowance’, though, and he had managed to save last week’s, so he felt like treating himself and his bandmate to an actual bistro.

Paul shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, he knew that, but he would be lying to himself if he were to say he expected more than what he got.

“Here’s the place, Paulie.”

Here? Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter nodded, pulling his feet back from his cab’s dashboard. Paul grimaced. He would have to wash that later...

“Go ahead and park on the street. I think I see a spot right in front of the ol’ place.”

Paul sighed, pulling into the space and parking his cab in front of the old building. The mint green button down shirt he had spent so long trying to iron now made him feel like he was overdressed.

“What is this place?” He asked before he could stop himself. Great. What a way to start off a conversation with Peter. The drummer had spent all afternoon hyping this place up, and the last thing Paul wanted to do was insult him by picking on his choice to eat here.

Peter shut the door to the cab. “We’re in my neighborhood, Paul.” He said, smiling at the crumbling bricks holding the building up.

“Well, duh. I know when I’m in Brooklyn.” Paul rolled his eyes, planting his hands on his hips. He picked at the lint around his pockets. He’d spent way too much time this morning trying to dig out his old white pants to go with his mint shirt. All that effort wasted… Not to mention the fact that the waistband of the pants were cutting into the remaining ten pounds hanging around his hips. He still needed to drop that weight if he was ever going to be a true frontman for the band.

“C’mon, Paul, this is the place I was tellin’ ya ‘bout. I used to come here all the time with my pals after high school let out. We’d hang out and eat.”

“I think I was still in grade school, then.”

“Oh, ha ha. Get in the restaurant, ya cheeky bitch.” Peter huffed, holding the door open for him. Paul blushed at the gesture, quickly walking inside in an attempt to hide his red face from anyone in near proximity.

The inside of the diner wasn’t overly fancy. The black and white tiled floors were faded and scratched, and the red leather of each booth looked like they had seen plenty of use over the years. There was even a row of stools set up at the counter where an old man was enjoying some lasagna and breadsticks.

Paul licked his lips at the sight of them. They looked so warm and fresh…

“Hey, hey! Mario, get out here! Lookit what the cat dragged in!” A man shouted from behind the counter.

“Ey, Tony, you don’t mean--”

“Yeah, I do! It’s Peter!” Tony smirked, moving around the counter and walking over to where Paul and Peter were waiting. He looked to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties, by Paul’s guess. His hair was dyed black and greased back, and his face spoke of a life of labor and cooking.

“Heeey, Peter! Long time no see!” Mario smiled and waved at them from the kitchen window.

Peter gave them both a big smile. “Good to see you’re still workin’ here, man. Is there room for us?”

As he looked around the nearly empty diner, Paul thought that Peter had to be joking.

Tony gave the two of them a grin, “I’m sure I can squeeze you two in. Booth or table?”

“Is the corner booth still open?” Peter glanced at Paul. The guitarist gave him a small smile, not quite sure what he should be doing or how he should be acting.

“Anythin’ for il mio miglior cliente! C’mon in!”

With that, Tony grabbed two menus from the welcome booth and made his way through the diner, Peter and Paul keeping in step behind him.

Paul was so focused on the old jukebox in the corner that he nearly missed the feel of Peter’s fingers against his own knuckles. He blinked, looking down at the drummer. He wasn’t looking back at him, but he kept bumping his hand against Paul’s.

He tried not to blush at Peter’s botched attempt at being subtle as they walked to the corner booth of the diner.

It was a pretty big booth, now that Paul saw it. Certainly too big for just the two of them. Peter probably wanted plenty of space or something or other… 

Paul took his seat on the left side, expecting Peter to sit on the right side, but was taken by surprise when the drummer slid to sit directly next to him.

Tony gave them a sly grin as he set the menus on the table. “You want your usual, Peter, or should I come back in a bit?”

Peter chuckled slightly, “Give us a minute, man. Pauline here ain’t ever been here before. But I would love a Coke.” He looked at Paul, who was too busy reeling from the fact that Peter was introducing him as a woman. “What would you like to drink, amore?”

“O-oh, um… Coke sounds great...” He nodded, shyly. 

“Alright, I’ll be back with your Cokes and to take your orders.”

“Ay, who’s that with Peter?” Mario asked through his window as Tony walked back to the counter.

“I have noooo idea.” He chuckled in disbelief, grabbing some glasses for their Cokes. “She’s the fuckin’ hairiest chick that I’ve ever seen in my life, man.”

“Oof, I can see why Pete brought her in.” Mario laughed, shaking his head. “He’s always been good with the ladies.”

Paul raised a brow at the staff as they laughed amongst themselves. What was so funny? He knew he shouldn’t have worn that shirt. It looked like a woman’s blouse… Maybe it was, now that he thought about it. 

“Stop picking at yourself, Paul.” Peter grumbled, gently smacking his hands off the edges of the shirt.

“Sorry… I just…” Paul huffed, then shook his head. “So… Tony and Mario?”

Peter shrugged, “They’ve been working here with their family as long as I can remember.”

“So you’ve been coming here a long time?”

“My parents used to take me here when I was little, but we couldn’t keep goin’ when we couldn’t afford it no more. Cheaper to feed a growin’ family at home, y’know?”


Peter wasn’t done just yet. “When one of my buddies got his driver’s license, we used to ditch class and come in and sit down in this corner booth and eat to our heart’s content.” He laughed warmly, “On Fridays when we said ‘fuck it’, we used to stroll on in and get all the spagehtti until we couldn’t eat no more. Then we’d order a bunch of cannolis to take back home.”

There was a small smile on Peter’s face, something that Paul wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the strained smile he wore when he was trying to be polite to strangers. It wasn’t that goofy grin he got when he joked around with Ace. It definitely wasn’t that mischievous smirk he got when he was in the middle of yanking Gene’s chain and drinking after band practice. This one… Peter was sharing his good times with him.

“We should do that, then.” Paul didn’t even think before the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

“What? Grab some dessert on the way out?”

“I mean… Sure, why not?”

“Makin’ me spend all my hard earned dollars, Paulie?” Peter joked, giving him a gentle shove.

“Well, if you keep selling me on those cannolis.” Paul giggled, moving closer to Peter. “I mean, I wasn’t sure why you brought me here at first, but I guess it makes sense. You’re not a very fancy guy, and I’m not either.”

Peter was smirking at him, and Paul suddenly realized he was babbling again, “Sorry… You know I can just run my mouth…. Hope I didn’t butcher the moment.”

“Aw, c’mon. With you, I’ve come to expect the blabber. But while I did bring you here because I love this ol’ place, the food here is still to die for.”

“Oh really?” Paul smiled, glancing down at the menu they both had yet to touch. “Well, what do you recommend? I’ve never had Italian in my life...”

“You can never go wrong with the spaghetti here.” Peter nodded, “It’s such a pure, classic choice, and they cook everything from scratch, too. Even ol’ Italian grandmothers will jump off the boat proclaimin’ the food here to be authentic as fuck.”

“I doubt they’d phrase it like that.” Paul laughed, “But yeah, spaghetti sounds good. You gonna get the same thing?”

“Yup, and we’re gonna get a fuck ton of breadsticks and marinara.” Peter grinned, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Ohh, man, you’re gonna just die when you try one.”

“Oof, I know my waistline will…”

“Fuck the diet. Fuck it. ” Peter huffed, the smile dropping from his face. “I wanna have one meal without hearin’ about how a lettuce leaf is gonna make you gain five pounds.”

“Peter, you don’t und--”

“No, I won’t hear it. We’re havin’ Italian my way today. You can fuckin’ diet tomorrow.”

Before Paul could respond, Tony returned with two tall glasses of Coke, setting the sodas on the table before laying two straws next to them. “Ya ready to order, Peter?”

Peter chuckled, “Yeah, go ahead and gimme my usual, for both of us.”

Tony grinned, scribbling a few lines on his notepad. “I figured as much. With the breadsticks?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll go put your order in, Pete.”

“So,” Paul eyed Peter once Tony had collected their menus and left for the kitchen. “Why did you bring me here? Honestly. Why not bring Ace?” 

“Well, no offense to the guy, but I don’t exactly got the hots for him…” Peter looked away with a shy smile, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. His secret was out now, although, he hadn’t kept his affections too much of a mystery. Surely, the winks and spanks on the ass were a clear giveaway, but judging by the surprised look on Paul’s face, he must have thought the drummer was just being nice all this time. 

“...The hots?… C’mon, Peter, you can’t be serious now… you have a wife.” Paul couldn’t help but giggle. He was shocked, dumbfounded, even, that the 27 year old had feelings for someone other than Lydia. And another man, at that. The guitarist had only just turned 20. He was still struggling with his own sexuality, his own poor self-esteem. He’d never even kissed another man before, and he was pretty sure Peter hadn’t, either. He reached up to make sure his bad ear was well covered by his dark curly hair as Peter turned to look back at him. 

“Two years of marriage to an ungrateful wife drains ya, Paulie. Ya wouldn’t know ‘cos you’re just a kid.”

“I am not a kid.” Paul asserted, trying not to get angry. He had to admit he was flattered by Peter’s confession, but at the same time, how could the drummer possibly love him? They had only known each other for a few months. They hardly knew each other, yet Peter looked at him like they’d known each other for a lifetime. “So this is… a date?”

“If that’s what ya wanna call it...” Peter looked down at the red and white checkered tablecloth and then back up at Paul. He was beginning to regret this. Paul didn’t seem too keen, or maybe he was just playing hard to get. In reality, the guitarist was just insecure, doubtful that anyone could be attracted to someone so… hideous… so deformed. The echoing of schoolchildren calling him ‘Stanley the one eared monster’ filled his head, but it soon died down from the sincerity in Peter’s eyes. 

Paul blushed, and instead of questioning the drummer anymore and causing more awkwardness, he simply smiled down at the table. 

I definitely can’t tell Ma about this…

The breadsticks arrived not long after, and Paul had to stop himself from nearly drooling at the sight. His stomach growled as Peter reached for one, immediately taking a man-sized bite and closing his eyes. “Mmm… Just how I remember…” Paul snickered at Peter talking with his mouth full, keeping his hands firmly planted on his thighs. He hoped his bandmate wouldn’t notice he hadn’t taken a breadstick, and wasn’t planning on taking one, either. He wondered if it was too late to replace his order with a salad... 

Before he could wave Tony back over, though, Peter was holding a breadstick up to his plump lips. “C’mon, Paulie, you gotta try one. Don’t leave me hangin’.”

“I, uhh… I’m good, thanks.”

"Paulie.” One look from Peter and Paul knew he wasn’t playing around. Maybe he could have one cheat day… He just wouldn’t eat tomorrow… Yeah.

The guitarist reluctantly and slowly opened his mouth, allowing the tip of the breadstick to enter, and he bit down.

“What the fuck was that? Take a proper bite, dammit.” 

Paul sighed. He was never going to hear the end of this. He might as well just play along. This time, when Peter slid the breadstick into his mouth, he wrapped his lips around it, sucking off the garlic, butter, and herbs. Peter’s eyes grew wide as he glided the breadstick back farther into his throat, the guitarist taking almost all of it in without choking or even pausing for breath. The drummer gulped when he felt himself harden under the table, watching Paul chew and then swallow with a satisfied smile.

“Ooo, you’re right. Those are good.”

“...You, uh… You want another, Paulie?” Peter was almost hypnotized by his bandmate eating, especially eating the food he loved so dearly and grew up on. It made him happy to see Paul thoroughly enjoying it, he just didn’t expect it to be so… raunchy.

“No, no. I’m good, Petey.” Paul gave him a small, shy smile. He’d never called him that before, but he was definitely starting to warm up to the drummer after such a display. 

“Nah, you definitely deserve another one.” Peter said, reaching in the basket for more breadsticks. “I mean, when the hell am I gonna have time to bring you back over here?”

“Next time you have an hour or two to kill, and I’m not drivin’ people around in my cab.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. Lydia took the car for work. Now shut up and eat a breadstick.” Peter smirked, shoving it into Paul’s mouth before he could say another word. With his eyes half-lidded, Peter watched as Paul gave in and slowly flicked his tongue around it. First across the tip, then slowly circling the base right where his fingers were holding it still.

“God, you’re just starvin’, ain’t ya?” Peter softly muttered under his breath as Paul sucked the whole stick into his mouth then finally chewed. Dear lord, if he could do that with bread, then… 

The drummer’s jeans were suddenly getting too tight. “Mmhm… Here, you should move over some.”

“M- Move over?” Paul squeaked, trying not to gasp as Peter easily lifted him up and plopped him on his thigh. He squirmed, feeling his bandmate’s hard member throbbing right on the back of his legs. “Peter…”

This was not good.

What if the restaurant staff could see them? God, they were going to be called freaks and get kicked out or worse…

But as Paul continued to squirm, his mind wandered elsewhere, ignoring the possibility of stranger’s eyes on them. For instance, he shouldn’t have had such a raging hard-on from sitting on Peter’s lap and eating a few breadsticks. Why in the world was that happening? He was just a deformed frontman wannabe… He still couldn’t believe it when girls gave in to his flirts and wanted to hook up. Now Peter was acting like he wanted to do that, too. It didn’t make a lick of sense.

To the drummer, though, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice how beautiful Paul was. Especially those lips of his. God, his lips were so plump and pink. He had a mouth made for sin, and Peter could imagine it in all kinds of places.

He quickly sipped at his Coke, trying to hide his grin while he thought about how beautiful it would be to hear and see Paul slowly taking his Spoiler in his mouth. He would probably make pleased slurping sounds and glance up at him with those big brown eyes of his. Peter had to hold onto the table to stop himself from moaning at how wide Paul’s cheeks were spreading or the perfect ‘O’ his mouth made around another breadstick. 

Peter had never been so jealous of a piece of bread before in his life. He could feel his cock hardening in his pants even more, and fuck did Paul really have to make such a suggestive look while sucking on it? He turned to look at Peter with his eyes half-open, steaming with pleasure with that fucking breadstick still in his mouth. Peter nearly lost it.

That was it.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand watching and wondering about what Paul’s tongue would feel like on his skin.

He needed to--

“Alright! Here we go! Two plates of the finest spaghetti in all of Brooklyn!” Tony exclaimed, breaking Peter’s train of thought. 


Paul’s shy, lispy voice shook him out of his reverie. “Y-Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, Pete. Now you two lemme know if you need anything else.”

“Why don’t ya kick on that ol’ jukebox and see what plays.” Peter smiled, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the old machine. “I bet ya haven’t changed the records since I was ten.”

“Ey, you hush, wise guy, before I slap ya upside the head. I think I got new tunes added in four years ago.” Tony laughed loudly, moving away and towards the jukebox. “I’ll see if I can’t find ya something romantic~”

Peter nodded, because he couldn’t really deny that romance wasn’t happening here. He was just lucky that Paul easily passed for a hot chick. One with a lack of tits and tons of hair, sure, but a hot chick nonetheless.

When he looked back at Paul, he was twirling the end of his breadstick against his lips, glancing at him with those soft eyes again.

Time slowed, and Peter licked his lips and swallowed as he watched a drop of marinara slide down off the bread and onto Paul’s tongue. It was unbearably erotic again, and Peter clenched his fists to stop himself from doing something completely inappropriate.

“Peter? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah- I’m fine.” Peter forked at his spaghetti, “Just hungry.” It was like he hadn’t eaten in days. Forkfull after forkfull, Peter wasn’t sure if it was just nerves or if he really was that hungry. His cock was pushing up against his jeans, and watching Paul slurp up his spaghetti strand by strand, batting his pretty lashes at him, wasn’t helping the situation either. He just wanted to scoop the guitarist up and take him to bed. 

Paul nibbled at a meatball, his eyes traveling around the room as he attempted to ignore the awkward silence between himself and Peter. He watched as Tony kicked the jukebox, and suddenly it began to play Elvis. 

Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

He blushed, his eyes widening and quickly glancing over at Peter. He stopped mid-chew, face turning as red as a strawberry when he noticed the perfect outline of the drummer’s cock in his pants. Paul couldn’t handle this… He needed a moment. 

“I, uh… I’ll be right back.” He stood from the table and rushed to the bathroom, hoping his platform shoes clicking against the floor wouldn’t draw too much attention to himself. 

The guitarist stood at the sink, staring into the mirror. What was he doing? What was even happening? He was on a date with his drummer- an older married man, sitting on his lap and letting him feed him? Sure, he found Peter handsome, sexy, even, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to take it to the next level.

His head was spinning, but after splashing some cold water in his face, Paul managed to return to the table a few minutes later. Peter watched as he approached, his eyes traveling down Paul’s body and admiring his hips as they swayed from side to side. He was gorgeous in every sense of the word, and his cock was almost leaking at the mere sight of him strutting over.

Paul sat back down, giving Peter a reassuring grin before finishing his Coke. Luckily the song had changed and now Tom Jones’ What’s New Pussycat was flooding the bistro.

“You gonna finish that, Paulie?” Peter eyed his half-eaten bowl of spaghetti. He would definitely be a little frustrated if his bandmate left that much, especially since he was paying, but at the same time, he just wanted to hurry things up and get Paul alone.

“Um… I think I’m good. Thanks.” 

The drummer sighed, “Pass it here.” He tucked in, finishing Paul’s dinner as quickly as possible before requesting the check. He wasn’t even going to ask if Paul wanted any dessert; the body conscious guitarist probably wouldn’t eat it all anyway. Peter just ordered some cannolis for himself to-go, smacking a tip for Tony on the table. 

“Ciao, Tony.” Peter waved, his other arm resting around Paul’s waist. 

“Arrivederci, mio amico! You and your girl make sure to come back soon!” 

“Will do.” The drummer opened the door for Paul, stepping back out into the bustling streets of Brooklyn. 

Finally, they were alone. Now Peter just needed an excuse to get Paul back to his place. 

As they walked to Paul’s cab, Peter let his hand drift down to rest on the taller man’s ass, giving it a slight pinch and getting a squeak in response. 

“Peter…” Paul felt himself grow excited under Peter’s touch, the rosy colour in his cheeks returning from before. No one had made him feel this way before. He felt like a teenage girl walking with her crush, awaiting her first kiss. He wondered what Peter’s lips felt like. He’d watched them while Peter spoke, imagining what they tasted like, and as he looked down to listen to his bandmate talk, it took everything in him to fight the urge to find out. 

“So, Paulie, I got a new bass drum sittin’ at home if ya wanna check it out… I mean, if ya ain’t too busy…” 

“Sure… my folks aren’t expecting me till six.” Paul shrugged, unlocking his cab and getting in. His hopes for success weren’t exactly high since Wicked Lester had broken up earlier that year, but he still had a few hours to kill, anyway. Besides, anywhere was better than back at home with his crazy older sister and his stressed out parents taking care of her baby. He couldn’t wait until the band’s big break, and he could finally leave that place forever. He was doubtful, however. They didn’t even have a name yet...

Paul turned his cab’s duty sign to ‘off’ before driving them to Peter and Lydia’s apartment just outside Williamsburg, the two men not speaking a word to each other for the entire trip. The radio crackled and spat out romantic tunes that Paul quickly changed once they became too suggestive. He cursed under his breath; it was like the DJ was doing it on purpose. 

His heart was almost beating out of his chest as they pulled up to the building. Paul swallowed, glancing out the corner of his eye at the drummer in the passenger seat. He was still hard beneath his jeans, and Paul could feel himself growing hard as well. Maybe Peter hadn’t noticed…

“Lydia ain’t home yet.” Peter noticed his car was still missing from the parking lot and sighed in relief. He didn’t need his wife walking in on him trying to seduce his bandmate. She usually didn’t come in until after eight, giving him and Paul plenty of time for any spontaneous intimacy.

After two flights of stairs, they finally reached the apartment. Paul tried to hide the fact he was winded as Peter stuck his key in the lock and opened the door, allowing the guitarist to enter first. It was small, as expected, smaller than his place, and very lived-in. The scent of cigarettes hit Paul as he walked into the living room, and he looked down when he felt something soft brush against his ankle. Peter’s black and white cat took quite a liking to the new visitor.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Peter threw his coat on the sofa, “Lydia didn’t bother to clean up her shit today.” Paul only nodded. As he scanned the room, it mainly looked like Peter’s shit. “Mateus, come get dinner.” The drummer entered the kitchen, opening a new tin of cat food and emptying it into a bowl. Mateus happily trotted in behind him and ate as Peter rejoined Paul in the living room, watching him look around for any sign of this ‘new bass drum’. 

“So… where is it?” He asked, turning to Peter. 

Peter struggled to come up with an excuse, saying the first believable thing that popped into his head. He faked a disappointed sigh, “Ah, y’know what? I forgot I lent it to my buddy, Jerry… Sorry ‘bout that.”

Paul rolled his eyes. The drummer was just wasting his time. “Great! Now I gotta drive over half an hour back to Queens… I mean, gas is 36 cents! Ya think money grows on trees, Peter?” 

“I’m sorry, Paulie. Can I get ya somethin’ to drink before you go?” 

“I really shouldn’t…”

“Aw, c’mon. I insist.” Peter walked back to the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge, passing it to Paul who simply sighed in defeat as Peter grabbed another for himself. He watched as the guitarist bent over the kitchen counter and took a swig. 

Peter leaned against the fridge as Paul took a second sip. God, he was gorgeous, far more handsome than he had any right to be. His eyes traced the curve of Paul’s ass, and damn, could he stick it out any further?

Peter bit his lip, trying his damndest to hold his hand back. Did he even know, though? Was Paul even aware of how much of a goddamn tease he was being right now?

“I’m 20, y’know.”

“What?” Peter shook his head. That came out of nowhere.

“I’m 20. Not old enough to drink legally.”

Peter raised a brow. He threw his arm up and motioned around the kitchen. “Ya see any cops in here? Ya gonna race down the steps and snitch me out?”


“Then shut your damn mouth and drink your beer, you baby.”

“...Did you just call me ‘baby’?” Paul snickered, nervously. Maybe he misheard. He definitely misheard.

“No, I called you ‘a baby’... I can call you baby if you want me to,… baby.”

Paul flushed, suddenly, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks. He had never expected that word, coming from Peter of all people, to make him blush like that.

“Hey, lookit me.”

Paul slowly turned and glanced at him. He couldn’t for the life of him make eye contact, so he settled on the drummer’s collar. Freckles were scattered along it, and his shoulders and arms, too, from what he’d seen during band practice. Peter smirked and looked at him like he knew exactly the kind of reaction he was causing in him.

“Peter… I, uh…” Paul bit his lip, trying not to focus on his stuttering voice. “I dunno what you’re lookin’ for…”

Peter was staring at him, and Paul knew that he could see just how hard he was in his pants. He tried not to squirm, but it was impossible when he noticed how equally as hard Peter was.

“So, have you ever had sex in a kitchen before?”

Paul shook his head and swallowed.

Blunt as hell, but then again, Peter was, and he didn’t care. What was the point in tiptoeing around what they both wanted? 

“Well… you up for changin’ that?” Peter walked around the counter to where the guitarist was stood. He reached out and brushed his hand against Paul’s pants, listening to his sharp intake of breath.

“Peter… seriously? W-we’re just gonna do it? Just like that?” Paul stuttered out. He was a nervous wreck, but he wasn’t saying no. “Does it just work like that?”

“Yeah, baby, it can just work like this.” Peter winked at him.

“...Do you even have condoms? Or lube? Oh god, how does this-- I mean, I know how it works… but Peter, I- I’ve never… done it… with a guy before.” Paul whispered, almost like if he said it loud enough, then all of the world would hear and ridicule him for his wants and desires.

Peter squinted at him, smirking, “I ain’t gonna getcha pregnant, Paulie.” The guitarist really needed to lighten up. It was 1972, for fuck’s sake. Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll was a motto Peter lived by, and he was more than willing to teach it to his skeptical bandmate. 

Peter adjusted his position to stand behind Paul, resting his hands on the guitarist’s wide hips. Paul let out a deep exhale, closing his eyes as Peter pressed into him, his erect cock pushing against his ass. 

“Oh, Peter…” He moaned, reaching back to grab at the drummer’s hips and pull him forward.

“You like that, baby?” Peter circled his hips, grinning at the reaction he was getting. Paul nodded and bent over the counter again. He was so desperate he didn’t care anymore, he just wanted Peter to fuck him until he couldn’t walk. 

“Well, I got somethin’ you might like even more…” Peter suddenly pulled away, getting a whine of disapproval in response. He left the kitchen and headed to his bedroom, walking to Lydia’s side of the bed and opening her bedside drawer. He retrieved the items he was looking for and returned to Paul, still bent over with his ass sticking right out. 

“The Mrs doesn’t think I know about these...” Paul looked to his left, a purple vibrator, anal beads, and a tube of lubricant lying there next to him. His eyes widened, and suddenly the panic he was feeling earlier came back. Was Peter gonna stick those up his…?


The drummer closed the space between them again, thrusting at a slow, agonizing pace. Paul whimpered. Peter’s largeness felt so good pressing into the back of his pants, and if it felt that good to have it simply rubbing against his ass, how good would it feel to have it balls deep inside of him? 

Peter reached down for Paul’s belt buckle, and in a matter of seconds the guitarist’s pants and boots were off and tossed aside on the floor. 

“Which d’ya want first, Paulie?” Peter asked, his eyes glued to Paul’s perfect ass. He wanted so badly to just go right in and fuck his bandmate senseless, but the promise of Paul’s high-pitched whimpering and begging for Peter’s cock was too tempting to turn down. 

“I-I... I dunno…” Paul had no idea what he was doing, but Peter obviously did. His breath turned shaky as he listened to Peter open the lube and coat one of the toys.

“Paulie, relax.

“I am relaxed!”

“It ain’t gonna fit if you keep clenching like that. Just breathe.” Peter stroked up Paul’s shirt comfortingly. “Ya ready?” 

The guitarist wasn’t. He was still much too tense, but he nodded anyway. He couldn’t stand his neglected cock pressing up against the cold counter anymore. He needed stimulation. Anything.

Paul gasped when he felt the first small bead enter him, and with each one Peter inserted, he felt fuller and fuller, panting as his muscles tightened around the toy.

Haaa… Oh, Peter… Oh godddd…” He whined, pressing the side of his face against the countertop. Once all the beads had entered Paul, the drummer began to pull them out at a quicker pace, making his bandmate cry out. He’d never felt anything like it in his life, and as good as it felt, he was starting to yearn for Peter’s thick member. 

Peter inserted the beads again, his free hand caressing and stroking Paul’s back, encouraging him to relax and take more. “Baby, you look so fuckin’ beautiful right now…” He pulled them out again, Paul’s loud moan making his cock twitch. Peter didn’t think he was patient enough to use the vibrator. Paul just looked so gorgeous… so tantalizing…

“Oh fuck, Peter… need you…! Need you now!” The guitarist whimpered, closing his eyes as Peter threaded the beads back in.Please…”

Peter paused before grabbing the vibrator, “Ya sure ya don’t want this?” He turned it on, placing the head against Paul’s opening and gliding it around in circles. 

Paul’s entire body quivered at the sensation, but he shook his head, desperately. “Want you! Please!” He was downright begging at this point, and Peter couldn’t help but smile proudly. His hand on Paul’s back slipped down to cup his asscheek. He was more than willing to give his baby exactly what he wanted.

“Alright, you asked for it, Paulie.” Peter pulled the beads out one last time and unbuckled his belt, “But I’m warnin’ ya. They don’t call it the Spoiler for nothin’...” Paul heard Peter’s pants drop to the floor, followed by the lube bottle being opened again. He turned his head back to look at what he would be dealing with, his eyes almost popping out of his head at the size, the length... There was no way in hell he was going to fit that all in.

“Peter… I- It’s not gonna fit.” He began to panic. “I’m too tight.”

“Damn it, you’re too tight ‘cause you keep clenching! Just relax.” Once Peter was fully lubed up, he stepped forward, placing his cock against Paul’s ass and gently gliding it up and down the rim, “Relax…” He gripped onto the guitarist’s hips, listening to his breathing slow as he rested his head against the counter again. Paul’s eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled, awaiting penetration. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, baby. Trust me.” Peter positioned himself, “The tip of my dick’s the widest so… Just a warnin’.” Paul rolled his eyes. He really loved to stroke his own ego. He was almost as bad as Gene

“Ya ready?” Almost as soon as Paul nodded in response, Peter inserted the tip, pausing before slowly sliding up the shaft and reveling in the little gasps and moans the guitarist made as he inched in. Paul squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth, grabbing at the counter for balance as Peter filled him to his limit. 

“Oof, baby, you took me so well…” Peter sighed, only halfway inside, “Shit, you’re tight.” 

Paul couldn’t believe he was doing this, but in a way, it felt… exhilarating. It was so taboo, so frowned upon… illegal, but at that moment, the sheer bliss of having his ass plugged with the drummer’s huge cock overrided any remaining shame and guilt he felt. He was young and hungry for excitement. 

Fuck it.

Paul rested his elbows on the counter as Peter began to slowly pull out and thrust back in again, bucking back against him and trying to ignore the shaking of his legs. Maybe the bed would have been a better idea...

He felt Peter’s hand rub at his back, continuing to coax him to relax as he thrusted back in. Peter let his eyes slide shut when he’d buried himself balls deep inside the guitarist. He’d never felt such a tight fit from any girl he’d ever slept with, and the way Paul was wrapped around him was so sinful.

He moved his hips back until only the tip of his cock was inside Paul’s hole, then snapped them forward with a satisfying moan. Paul gasped, and Peter laughed at the way he saw his bandmate gripping the counter.

The drummer started up a steady pace as his balls smacked against Paul’s backside obscenely, loving the sounds that he was pulling from Paul with each snap of his hips, the way the younger man responded to him and how good Paul’s tightness felt.

“Anyone ever tell ya that ya got a great ass, baby?” Peter asked with his rough voice, “What a tight ass you’ve got? How ya were made to be fucked?”

Paul whimpered and glanced back at him, “N- No… I’ve never… You’re the first…”

“Mmhm, bet you're such a damn pillow princess. You’d probably love to be laid back and fucked for hours, endlessly. God, you just take it so well, baby~” Peter gripped Paul harder and kept rapidly snapping his hips forward, the pressure inside him building and building as he got closer to his release.

When his orgasm finally came, his mouth dropped open and his eyes slid shut. His hips jerked forward a few times, chasing that pleasurable feeling as he rode it out.

Peter!” Paul gasped, feeling the drummer empty into him. He cried out when Peter slid his cock out and smacked him on the ass as he observed the mess he’d made.

“Damn, you’re still not done?” Peter huffed. He flipped Paul around so he was pressed back against the counter, jerking him off in quick, sure strokes. Any complaints over the cum dripping out of his ass were gone and replaced by feminine whimpering moans.

Peter fixed his eyes on Paul’s lovely face, watching how his mouth fell open and a flush darkened his cheeks. Paul was trying to fuck Peter’s fist, but he was already so close that Peter didn’t have to try hard to send him moaning out his release.

Paul threw his head back and whined loudly, his seed spilling over the drummer’s hand. He felt so alive. It was almost like one of the stories he’d read in dirty magazines about women sleeping with married men. He’d never fully understood it until now.

“I think the bedroom would be a good place for an encore, don’t you?” Peter pressed his lips to Paul’s, then up to his forehead. “I mean, if you still have time to kill?”

Paul could only nod, weakly.

Peter chuckled, “Lemme get something to clean you up first…” He briefly left Paul on wobbling legs to wander to the sink and fetch a warm damp dishrag, which he used to gently wipe him down. When he was done, he tossed it on the floor for someone else to deal with, then grabbed Paul by the hand and led him to the bedroom.

Scooping the guitarist in his arms, they tried to jump, but mostly fell onto the bed. Peter gingerly turned Paul over so that he was facing him, pulling him into his chest. Paul’s hands curled in front of himself, making him appear much smaller. 

“Mmhmm… Peter…” Paul blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering against the pillow.

Peter watched him fall asleep, listening to his slow, even breathing until he, too, fell into a deep sleep. Too bad it couldn’t last as long as he wanted it to.

It must’ve been way past six o’clock when he heard it.

The piercing sound of the telephone on the nightstand made Peter’s eyes snap open in frustration and tumble around Paul to find it. He quickly answered the call, his heart thumping wildly in his chest from fear that it woke Paul up, too. Luckily, he confirmed that Paul was still asleep and snuggling against his chest.

“Hello? Peter?”

Oh great. 

“Mmh, Lydia,” He yawned. “Hey, it’s like…” He glanced down at the clock. “Almost seven. This important?”

“Just lettin’ you know I’m hangin’ out with my girlfriends after work tonight, Peter. Probably gonna stay over at one of their places. Thought I’d remind you in case you didn’t hear me this morning...”

Of course he’d forgotten, but this was excellent news. He squeezed Paul tighter in his arms with a relieved grin.

“Okay, guess it’ll just be me n’ Mateus havin’ leftovers or somethin’. You girlies have fun- but hey, not too much fun.”

“Sure, okay.” Peter could hear her eyeroll. “Alright, see you tomorrow, babe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, babe. I’ll talk to ya later.”

“Mmmhmmm… Peter…?” Paul stirred, slightly.

“Hush, baby~” The drummer leaned down to kiss his head. “It’s all good. We got the house to ourselves for the rest of the night~”

“But… what about my curfew?”

“Shhh… If your folks give you any shit, I’ll come talk to ‘em. You sleep for now, okay?”

Paul nodded, nuzzling against Peter’s chest. The room fell silent for a moment, just the sound of Paul’s soft breathing as he tried to block out any intrusive thoughts. What was he going to tell his parents? They were probably sat at home wondering where he was, why he was late…

He sighed, “Hey, Peter, y’know that song you were tellin’ me about? The one you wrote with Stan in Chelsea?” 


“Would you sing it to me?” 

The drummer was more than happy to, and as he began to sing, Paul felt himself finally relax into his arms. Peter was right, he’d definitely spoiled his appetite for any other lover.

“Just a few more hours, and I’ll be right home to you~ I think I hear them callin’~ Oh, Beth, what can I do~?”