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The One Where Paul Has a Panic Attack

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Paul stood in the sterile hotel bathroom. Stared himself in the eyes and waited for the fated sound of Letterman introducing them on the TV outside. Not even two hours earlier he was onstage at that godforsaken studio. He was trying to sing into a microphone while shutting his eyes so tight he could almost see stars.

Sometimes he wished he never even sang in front of his stupid band in the first place. Then he'd never have had to do the whole song and dance so thousands (maybe millions) could see it later. So they could see Paul trying not to cry on camera right after Letterman making some stupid banter with thousand dollar dressed celebrities.

"C'mon man! You're gonna miss our intro," Sam's voice through the bathroom door and Paul didn't care. Oh god, he didn't care at all. His hands shook. He did not want to see them, didn't want to hear himself at all.

God, he knew he messed up. He messed up bad, and on live TV. Everyone's gonna be disappointed in him, of course, his family, his friends. Hes so stupid, he never should've agreed to be in this stupid fucking band with Daniel. All to talk to Carlos, that arrogant son of a bitch.

Blinking away tears of anxiety, Paul heard another voice, Daniel's, through the door. "Paul! Come on dude!"

"Yeah one- one second man," Paul replied, quiet and soft, biting his lips together just so he wouldn't start screaming. God, he was so disappointed in himself.

As he dug his nails into his palms, he heard Letterman introducing them on the TV outside. Nausea made him dizzy, made his eyes water and heart pound hard and fast.

He covered his ears as he heard the intro to PDA. And good god he could not handle it. His hands over his ears and he still swore to god he could hear his voice loud and clear.

Then, of fucking course, he started crying. Hard and soft. Just like he was god damn 21 again, like it was their first show again. He couldn't stand it, hot tears streamed down his face and he hated it, hated crying and losing control like this.

He stood, crying, in this cheap ass hotel bathroom as he remembered the hot stage lights pounding down on him. Remembered the shaking of his hands and the tightness in his throat as he tried to sing. God, hes crying. Hes crying over nothing and just being fucking ridiculous.

With hands still held firmly over his ears, he slid down the wall in front of the sink. Paul put his head between his knees, closed his eyes tight and felt like maybe his heart would burst.

Eventually, after an amount of time that Paul had no idea of, the door opened and pressed into his thigh. He opened his eyes to see Carlos in the doorway.

Carlos had a look of worry on his face. Something Paul had only seen once. And that was at least two years back when they played LA Route Du Rock. God fucking damn it, Paul did not want Carlos to tell him just how bad he was right now, especially when his face was so red and damp with tears.

Paul, without removing his hands from his ears, said, "Shut the fuck up, Carl. I know I sounded bad. I know I fucking suck do not tell me,"

Carlos' face had a look of being offended. Paul didn't give a shit, he knew Carlos well enough to know what he would say. Paul shut his eyes, tight, again.

He felt warm hands pull his own from his head, opened his eyes to see Carlos staring him dead in the eyes. "What do you want?" Paul glared at Carlos, forcing his hands from the other man's grip. He heard the guys outside the door laughing, the clinking of beer bottles and the sound of congratulations between them.

God, Paul wished they would all shut up.

"Wanna help you," Carlos said, pressed his warm hands to Paul's tear stained cheeks. "You okay? This hasn't happened in years."

Paul shrugged, wiped the back of his hand along his cheeks and felt Carlos' breath hot on his face. "Does it matter if I'm okay to you?" He growled and he wanted to punch something. He was so mad, so mad, so mad for no reason and couldn't get rid of how badly his chest burned.

Carlos' finely plucked brows furrowed and he swept his thumb under Paul's eye to catch a stray tear that fell down his face. "Of course it matters. I care about you."

"Yeah, okay. They don't?" Paul asked, referencing his band mates outside the door.

"Of course they do," Carlos laughed a little and sat with his back against the wall next to Paul, removing soft hands from the other man's face. "But, who cares about them?"

Paul sighed, tried hard not to keep crying. He wanted to yell at Carlos, wanted to smack him and push him into the porcelain bath tub, wanted to see blood run from his pale face while he punched him hard. This was a tactic, of course it was. He wanted Paul to have his guard down and then he'd insult him like he always did.

Paul thought this until Carlos tilted his chin sideways so he faced the pale man fully. He looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. "I care about you, okay?" And Carlos kissed him, soft lips against his.

Paul tensed up, didn't see this coming, didn't even know that this is what he had wanted all this time until it happened. He relaxed into the kiss, reciprocated and grabbed Carlos by the back of the neck to pull him in closer.

He kissed Carlos again, hard, all teeth and Paul was still crying, so fucking stupid, so goddamn stupid that he was crying like this. Carlos didn't seem to care though. His hands went up the back of Paul's shirt and stayed right above Paul's slacks, where his shirt rode up.

Carlos tilted them back, pushed Paul down and he hit his head on the door but he didn't care. He didn't care at all and kept kissing Carlos, pulling at the other man just so he could have him a little closer. Carlos kissed along Paul's jaw, his neck, his cheek with an open mouth.

Paul sighed, "Carl, what- what are we doing. I cant-" and Carlos quieted him with lips against his.

"Who cares what we're doing? It's fine. I'm just helping you," and Paul nodded to Carlos' words, didn't care as long as he could keep kissing him. Carlos' knee went between Paul's legs, pressed on his groin and he moaned a little into the kiss.

God, his heart was beating slower. It was so embarrassing what Carlos was doing to him, what he could do. The other man's hand went from fluttering around his face to palming Paul through his jeans. "Carlos I'm- I can't do this," he said through a gasp, though, totally invalidating his argument.

"I'm just calming you down, helping you with your stress," Carlos said against his mouth and oh god Paul didn't care anymore. Just wanted to stay here forever with him. Paul gripped Carlos' shirt tight as he kissed his neck and palmed him harder through his slacks.

"I wanna do something for you," and Carlos unzipped Paul's pants, took his boxers down and took Paul's dick into his hand, slid his hand up and down him soft and slow, kissed him as he did so.

Paul sighed, already feeling his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach like a fire. Why didn't Carlos do this sooner?

And moving from Paul's mouth, Carlos went down between his legs, bobbed his head up and down and he took Paul into his mouth. He got most of his length into his mouth and moved up and down him. Threading his fingers through black hair, Paul bit his lip as he felt tight wetness around him, felt his orgasm building up and fuck, this was gonna be embarrassing, how fast Paul would come.

"Carlos," he warned, "I'm gonna-" and he did with a gasp, biting down on his lip, blushing through his embarrassment. "Sorry. I gotta work on that," he said and looked down to see Carlos.

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, wrecked and missed black hair. Paul felt his come drying on his skin, felt the pressing of Carlos' hard cock into his thigh and maybe he never did this with a guy before but he didn't care, he had to apologize somehow.

So he took Carlos into his fist and pumped him the only way he knew how. The other man gasped against his neck, hot breath on Paul's skin and how was this so good?

He fumbled with the zipper of Carlos' pants, unzipped him then kept sliding his palm up and down his shaft, fast and rough. It must hurt Carlos, Paul guessed, it mas dry and hard but the other man didn't seem to mind, just bit his lip and gasped against Paul.

Carlos came about a minute later with a loud groan occompanied with him pressing his hands into Paul's hips, grabbing at him hard with his head in Paul's neck.

They laid there for a while, until the linoleum was too cold for Paul to handle anymore, and Carlos' bony body was hurting Paul too much for him to take it.

"You gotta get off me, I think I'm getting bruises from your hipbones man," and Paul pushed himself up off the floor.

"You okay?" Carlos asked, scrambling from the linoleum and crossing behind Paul for the door.

Paul shrugged, smiled slightly, "Yeah. You?" Carlos nodded and slid his hand to the back of Paul's neck.

"I really do care." And he left the bathroom after zipping up his pants.

Cleaning himself up, Paul swore at the stickiness of his skin. He finally let himself feel embarrassed for coming so early, and for Carlos who was so goddamn loud everyone must have heard him.

Carlos was fucking stupid, Paul thought as he blushed just thinking about that look he had given him

So fucking stupid.