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Paul knew it was wrong. He had always known it was wrong – to feel such a way about your bandmate? To gaze at his lips during practice? To think about him practically all the time? If it wasn't wrong, it certainly wasn't normal, but up until this point Paul hadn't been stopped by that. Nothing could stop him from satisfying the feeling in his pants.
It was late, of course – Paul didn't like to go about his secret hobby in broad daylight. It just felt too... raw. Too open. Like anyone could peer into his mind and know exactly what he was thinking. In the dark, it was safe – safe from judgement, and from discovery of his dirty secret. The record he had put on was a familiar one - John's vocals rang out across the room, harmonious and, if it was Paul describing them, sexy.
Help!
Paul loved that voice. He worshipped it, in his own time and the safety of his own home, like John was a god. Paul had never considered himself a particularly religious man, but he knew he would do anything for John Lennon.
I need somebody!
Right now, Paul knew exactly what he needed, and it was a firm, sweaty hand wrapped around his throbbing cock.
Help! Not just anybody!
Paul took to undoing his belt in a sultry, teasing manner – there was no reason to tease when he was just masturbating, but he always liked to imagine the one touching him was John. He had always hoped that John had written those lyrics with him in mind – he knew John had been struggling lately, and he wanted to help him as much as he could. He would have offered to lend a hand when they had been at practice an hour prior and John had complained of a bad back, but right now, his ‘helping hand' was about to reach down into his trousers.
Help!
When Paul's dainty femboy fingers brushed his tender, leaking head, he sure needed some help. He needed John to be there, touching him instead, holding his length and bringing him to the edge, helping him finish and exploring Paul's body with his mouth. It was a string of thoughts that Paul found incredibly arousing, which led him to begin a rough stroke of his dick.
You know I need someone!
Paul needed John more than he had ever needed anything else. He needed John even more than he needed to bust right then and there – and he really needed that. His strokes were becoming more vigorous, his full hand wrapped around his dick. The thought of John accompanied by his voice through the record only made Paul more desperate, thrusting into his hand like a dog in heat. Which he was.
He had been scared of John noticing his omega pheromones from the moment he’d stepped into band practice. He had certainly gotten a look from Ringo – and not a pleased one – and George had put distance between them. Paul couldn’t blame him; George had always been a hungry alpha, but he’d stayed away from Paul. John hadn't seemed to think anything was out of the ordinary, and Paul hadn't known whether to be relieved or disappointed. Of course John would never reciprocate his feelings, but... just thinking about it made Paul's petite ass cheeks twitch in excitement.
He thought about it now, as he put another hand on his cock, rubbing his spit into the slit and groaning with an amount of horniness one could only achieve through being a top-tier freak. His mind flashed with images of John. John on top of him. John pinning him to the wall, in the middle of practice and in front of everyone. John tearing off his femboy thong with his teeth. John pounding into him. John making him scream.
That was enough to send Paul over the edge. It was an embarrassingly fast climax, but he knew it was worth it for the rush he got as he came. Producing a loud, bottom moan, Paul held his dick up, aiming at the CD. He wanted to cover John in his release any way he could. Before he knew it, his 3 inch cock was spraying like a garden hose on full power, fuelled by John's sexy voice. The CD slowed and warped as Paul's come spread over it like mayo on a sandwich, and his feminine asshole twitched with satisfaction.
Paul had thought the orgasm would be enough to take his homo cock out of heat, but all it did was make him want more. Facing post-nut clarity, he looked at what he'd done. The CD was definitely ruined – creamy, white juice bubbled on its surface, coating the album cover and seeping into the grooves in the CD itself. He could get a new one. It was his band, after all.
It turned him on looking at John on the printed photo the band had taken as an album cover, covered from head to toe with Paul's juicy jizz. His spent cock twitched, pressure building in his balls despite no stimulation. He needed to come again... it wasn’t safe for him to be this horny when he was in heat. He could make a mistake... a bad one.
He had one foot out the door already. He didn’t know what he was doing – he hadn’t cleaned his come-coated hand, and he was getting in his car. He didn’t know what he was doing until he knocked on the door of John Lennon's private home. The reality of what he had just done set in – John was always quick to answer the door, and he would be here any second. What would he do, faced with a sweaty, horny omega in heat? Paul didn't want to imagine the bad things. Instead, he focused his mind on all the good things that could happen. That John might be wearing his sexy lingerie again. That he might blush at the sight of Paul, and fuck him right there on the steps to his house. That Paul could stay for the night, and they would wake up so much more than what they had been before.
Paul jumped at the sound of a lock turning. This was it. Shit. All the bad thoughts suddenly came to him. What if John told him to leave? What if John thought he was some disgusting, loser bottom with no hopes? He wouldn't exactly be wrong. He would just be recognising Paul for what he is: pathetic. Pathetic and desperate for a love he can't have, for a man who would never view him as more than a co-vocalist. For his fellow bandmate, who probably thought nothing more for him than repulsion. A wallowing pain grew in Paul's stomach. He knew everything was over--
“Hey, Paul,” said John, in a sexy way. It wasn’t intended in a sexy way, but anything John did was sexy to Paul. Paul blushed all over. His cheeks were rosy (both sets), and he knew his dick was pulsing too. John could probably see it. God, what would he think? That Paul was some creep who got off thinking about his bandmates?
Upon reflection, if John did think that, he wasn’t necessarily wrong.
John's brows creased slightly. It wasn’t a large movement, but Paul noticed it. Paul noticed everything John did. He knew alphas had a skill for sniffing out omegas when they were in heat, and in his current post-goon state, John surely knew exactly what was going on. Paul was startled and horrified to see John look down. He followed John's eyes to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, sticking out at the fly and writhing around like a salty slug.
He looked up, expecting a look of disdain and a “Get the fuck off my porch!”. The words were simple, but Paul knew they would hurt more than anything – it was something Paul knew had to happen if they wanted to stay friends. If John would ever talk to him again after this.
Paul was trying his best to avoid John's eyes, but after a few moments, he heard his voice.
“Do you wanna come in?” Paul couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. John Lennon, the alpha he had been yearning for since he was just a little puppy boy, had invited him into his home with full knowledge of Paul’s three inch boner. John held the door open for him, and Paul didn't waste another second before dashing through. He glanced to the side at John as he passed, and nearly fainted when John winked at him. This was going in a completely different direction than what Paul had previously thought, and he knew he wasn't going to complain.
When John joined Paul in the living room, Paul noticed something rather... enticing. John was hard too – Paul gazed, mesmerized, at John's monster boner, sticking out like a gothic cathedral against a city landscape, except instead of a city landscape they were in John Lennon's living room, and instead of a gothic cathedral, Paul was boring his eyes into a juicy, thick, English cock. It suddenly dawned upon Paul that they should probably make conversation.
“Um. H-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-how are you?” Stuttered the fragile omega. He had known that he would be nervous, if John were to reciprocate his lust, but he didn’t think the stutter he’d had since childhood would take him over like that. John didn’t seem to be listening. A coy smile spread across his face, and he worked his way across the room to the couch as Paul shivered with something that he couldn’t tell was anticipation or anxiety. Whatever it was, the way that John lay his arms either side of Paul’s head and stood over him like the filthy alpha he was was a good indicator that he found whatever Paul was shaking from extremely arousing.
“I think we both know why you're here.” Paul had never witnessed John be so upfront before, but god, he was hot about it. Paul's micropenis stood up just a twinge more, and John looked down at it lustfully. Paul didn't know what to do – did he need to get out, or did he just need the sweet release that he'd been craving for so long?
John decided for him, pressing into him like a hungry hound, the powerful alpha dominating the smaller omega undeniably and sexily. John was even more turned on by the shade of bright pink Paul had flushed.
“W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-we shouldn’t be doing this...” whimpered Paul, but he knew he had no chance changing John’s mind. John gave him the cuntiest smirk he could muster before closing the distance between them.
The kiss was warm, like John had just finished a cup of tea. Paul wondered what John would taste like once they opened their mouths for each other... he shouldn't think about that right now. It wasn't hard to focus on the soft, plush feel of John's lips against his, but it wasn't just lips. It was years, so many years of a love that he had always thought of as unrequited, and every moment they had shared flooded Paul’s mind. Every brush of the knee; every shared look; every bump of the elbow had meant something. And now that something was something physical, and oh god John was opening his mouth.
It was an invitation, Paul knew, and not an obligation – but he still felt he had to do it. Whether it was some kind of influence the alpha had over him or just the burning lust he felt for him, he dove in with his tongue. The kissing turned hot and wet and messy, fingers in hair and tongues slipping past each other like sentient wet rubber gloves vigorously slapping each other. John moved his mouth to just under Paul's. Paul leaned forward, chasing John and letting out a twinkish moan in protest. John didn’t stop, and only began to work his way down Paul, suckling on his skin like an infant looking for milk.
Paul groaned, his mouth wet and swollen and missing John's touch, but he revelled in the kisses that John was snaking down his body. John slipped a hand under Paul's shirt, and Paul knew he was absolutely lost in the sauce.
Several buttons and a belt later, Paul was left in only his underwear, and John was working his tongue all over Paul’s bare, skinny homo chest. He tongued at Paul’s belly button, licking the residual dirt and debris hiding in there. Paul moaned at the top of his femboy lungs as the hungry alpha dug deeper with his tongue. Suddenly, Paul felt a tug from deep inside him.
He had always loved to hide his prized possessions deep in his belly button. It was his personal museum, a treasure trove hiding his favourite things, from treats to trinkets to iPhones. He couldn’t quite comprehend yet what it was that John had found lodged so deep in his belly button.
John struggled and pulled with every muscle in his body. His tongue was hooked around something seemingly round that had managed to work its way onto his tongue, clutching on as he yanked upward again and again. Paul squirmed under him, letting out yelps that were at first a result of pleasure, before they turned into ear-splitting screeches of pain. Paul screamed, but the only words he could think of to scream were John’s.
HELP! I NEED SOMEBODY!
John kept working the object out of Paul’s labyrinth belly button, as Paul’s screams progressed in volume.
HELP! NOT JUST ANYBODY!
Paul could feel it almost out. John pulled with all his might...
HELP! YOU KNOW I NEED SOMEONE!
With a final gasp from Paul, John yanked the object out from his belly button. After licking it clean of all Paul’s belly button grease, John held the item close like a newborn baby. Paul realised what it was almost immediately.
Almost six years ago, Paul had been drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he had fantasized about marrying John. It had been such a vivid fantasy that he hadn’t realised just how improbable it was. He wasn’t thinking straight that night – he forgot their platonic relationship, he forgot the rule that the alpha must propose to the omega, and he forgot everything he knew when he walked into that store. He had stumbled toward the counter, drowning in beer and alcoholic tea, and looked the cleric in the eye.
“I’d like an engagement ring, please, love.”
The ring was beautiful, with the ring part itself consisting of two gold rings twisted together. The original design had beheld a shimmering diamond, but Paul knew that he and John had a relationship far more significant than a simple diamond. John gazed down, eyes watering, at the bejewelled charm upon the ring. A sparkling, jewelled, yellow submarine.
Paul met his eyes. “J-j-j-j-j-j-john... Do you like it?” John gazed into Paul's eyes, hopelessly in love.
“It's perfect, Paul.” Paul had been waiting his whole life to say these words. It had taken him every ounce of courage to get to this point – and a fair amount of horniness. His bottom, twink, femboy omega pheromones had carried him across an endless plane of unrequited love for John Lennon, and now he was finally going to say the words he was so ready for six years ago. The words he had buried deep in his belly button. The words that had resurfaced, despite everything. It was time, and he knew it.
“John... Will you marry me?”
Tears sprouted in John’s eyes. He began to sob enough tears to water a thousand houseplants. Paul knew it would be an emotional moment, and he knew he was probably getting ahead of himself, but more than anything, he had always told himself that John would say no. He would say no, and everything would go to shit and they would never be friends again, and that word rung out in his ears for the next minute, reverberating around the echo chamber that was Paul McCartney’s mind. No. No, no, no, no, no--
“Yes.”
Paul looked up. He hardly saw John's teary, bleak-eyed face before John threw himself at Paul, holding him tighter than Paul had ever been held in his life.
“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” cried John, hugging his submissive bottom and kissing him with the passion and homosexual lust of a passionfruit. Paul was crying now too, their very differently sized erections forgotten for the emotion of the moment.
“Do you really mean it?” whimpered Paul.
“I'd marry you in every lifetime, Paul. I love you more than anything.”
The two embraced, the alpha-omega relationship between them tossed aside for something far more intimate, for something beautiful.
For love.