A/N: Writer's block is a fucking loose-ass cunt whore bitch
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"First day of prison with homework! Are you ready?" George said, sarcasm laced with every syllable.

"Ooooh, can't wait. I'm sitting on pins and needles." He joked back as they clambered off the bus. Ritchie and George swung their connected hands together as they walked up to the front of their high school to start their senior year. Schedules in hand, the pair compared their classes.

"Damn. Well, I'll see you third period Ritchie." George pecked Richard's cheek and waved as he jogged off to his first class.

"See ya Gear." Ritchie trotted off to Mrs. Rigby's classroom, history.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Now, clear your mind of every single thought, feeling, or emotion." Paul addressed to the lecture hall of art students. "Now you've done that. Sketch the first thing that comes to your head when I say; beauty." The class thought for a moment before the scraping of pencils on paper filled the room. Paul strolled to his desk and sat down, running his hands through his hair. First day on the job and normally Paul wouldn't be smiling so much his cheeks hurt. One thing had been on his mind all morning; Richard. Anything and everything graced his vivd imagination. He picked up a pencil and began to doodle on a paper in front of him. Well, it started out as a doodle, now it was a commitment. A round face with a protruding nose, droopy eyes, and light brown, quiffed, hair. Flowers arranged in a ring on his head.

"Mr. McCartney?" Paul snapped up from his sketch, just now realizing that the lecture was half over.

"Yes...?" He flipped the drawing over.

"Stuart. And I believe you're supposed to critique our pieces halfway through."

"Oh, yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me." Paul stood up, he needed to get his mind off of Richard anyway. He weaved through the sketches of intricate flowers, sunsets on beaches, and people as well. But he didn't take in any of it. Usually he'd make insightful comments and constructive criticism, instead of "That's pretty good." or "Needs some work.".

"Now, uhm... color those however you like. Charcoal, watercolor, colored pencils... anything. I'll be back in just a moment." Paul exited the classroom and made his way to the loo. Shutting and locking the stall door, he leaned against it and rubbed his temples.

'So innocent...
So sweet...
So young...

'He could be mine.'

"No. Stoppit!" He accidentally said out loud.

'But he's too perfect not to have.
Remember those eyes.
That young voice that hasn't uttered a pleasureful "yes daddy" in it's life.' Paul's subconscious drawled softly.

"I've been clean for five years." He said mentally.

'Oh but you want it so very badly.
Slipping a hand under those cutoff shorts and making him cry your name in ecstasy.' Paul found himself pulling his fly down and sliding his hand over his erect prick.

"Mmhm Richard." He tugged on his cock, closing his eyes and imagining it was Ritchie's hot mouth. Paul bit on his other hand that was balled into a fist to suppress the moans that dared to slip out.

'That's it. But I know how much you really want the real thing. And no amount of wanking can satisfy that need Paulie. You know it.'

"Oh God... Fuck yes." He felt his dick twitch in his hand as it pumped faster. "RITCHIE!" Paul moaned loudly after cumming in his hand. He quickly pulled up his pants, feeling like a piece of shit. The 25-year-old man pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing he had just jacked off to a 17-year-old. Who could quite possibly become his step-son. Paul unlocked the door and went to the sink to wash the evidence from his hand, feeling ashamed yet wanting more.

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A/N: Wow Maggs, you must hate your followers for being such shit at updating. No wonder you're the royal sugar daddy of the "I'm-shit-at-updating-regularly" club.

Here's a random-as-hell picture to compensate

No idea why it's smaller than Paul's party sausage, but we'll just go with it.

When will Senpai notice me,
Moose xoxo