Thick red blood oozed from the man's head onto the floor, forming a large puddle on the wooden floorboards as Ringo watched John's laboured breathing, waiting patiently for the final breath. His eyes had fallen close and he would only occasionally let out a whine, but it was properly too soft to be hearable. Ringo knelt on the floor in front of him, John's blood drying on his face from when he had wiped away the sweat from his brow. Both his hands were still covered in blood, and the room reeked of it, the thick air surrounding him making him feel slightly nauseous, but yet he kept strong, taking deep breaths as he waited for himself to calm down. John's chest movements slowed down to a halt. Slowly, he raised his hand and brought two of his fingers to John's neck, pressing down directly on his pulse point. He felt nothing. Cupping the man's head in his hand, he lifted his head and pried open his left eye, but John only stared straight through him, his eyes dim and as lifeless as the eye of a dead fish on the street market. There was no doubt. John was dead. By his hand.

Gently, he laid John's head back against the iron bars of the footboard, letting it rest there as he got to his feet and rubbed his forehead again, feeling a headache coming up. But he did not have time to look after himself. It would only be a matter of time before John's death would be noticed, meaning he had to work quickly and thoroughly. He needed to get rid of the body, or at least make it seem less obvious he was murdered, and had to clear away any evidence of his involvement. Glancing down at John, he figured the best way to hide what he had done was to make it seem like he was asleep. It would give him enough time to sneak away before anyone would get suspicious. He had looked awfully tired and even Paul must have noticed that, so he could use that to his advantage. Crouching down by his side, he wiped as much blood from his hands as he could manage with John's shirt, before he grabbed John by his armpits and hauled him up with a loud grunt. John was far heavier than he had initially considered him to be, and, with great effort, he managed to drag him from the floor over to the bed. He carefully laid him back down on the floor for a moment as he pulled the covers away, before hauling him up onto the bed and tucking him in. He didn't bother to undress him, knowing people wouldn't start looking at that before they would get suspicious. He tried to arrange the body in a sleeping position and pulled the covers as far up as they could go, so only his head was still visible. He lowered John's eyelids carefully with two of his fingers and at first glance it really did look like he was asleep, the large head wound being turned to the wall and away from sight. Satisfied, Ringo took one of the towels his housekeeper had laid down for John to use, and soundlessly manoeuvred to the bathroom to wet it with cold water. He also grabbed a bottle of baby powder from the supply closet in the hall - Paul had insisted to buy some in case Cynthia and John would come visit with their first born Julian - and chuckled at the irony of the use of it, before he hurried back into guest bedroom. He scattered some of the powder over the large blood stains on the floor and the bed, before laying the dripping wet towel over it. He knew he ought to mix it all together, but he didn't have the time nor a good excuse to find himself a bucket, so he hoped this would do.

He waited patiently for a while, before cleaning up the baby power and the towel. The stains were still there, but the blood had turned brown while he waited and most of it had been soaked up by the towel, making it barely visible. It would have to do. He rolled up the towel and stuffed it under the bed to hide it while he gave the room another close look over. It was really rather surprising how little mess he had made. He opened the window a bit more, hoping to rid the room of the horrifying stench of the drying blood, before he went back to the bathroom. He cleaned his face, hands, and arms of John's blood, before noticing another large red stain on his white shirt. He cursed, and, deciding he didn't have enough time to wash his shirt, he rolled up his sleeves. It would only be a matter of minutes after all before Paul would start to become curious and come to up to see if they were alright. He studied himself one more time in the mirror, before he was satisfied enough to conclude he was looking fine. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, before stepping out of the bathroom and going back downstairs to go on as if nothing happened. His hands still didn't so much as tremble as he reached out to grab the hand railing.

               Paul was in the living room, sitting with his legs curled up on the couch as he read a book, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, his hair falling sluggishly before his eyes. A faint blush painted his cheeks, and he was unknowingly biting his nails, making him look absolutely adorable and as pretty as ever. It wasn't until then that Ringo realised he would have to leave. He couldn't allow himself to get caught and be thrown into jail after all. He couldn't do that to Paul, to them. But he didn't want to leave Paul. However, it would be for the best. No one was going to believe he didn't do it. All evidence would eventually point to him and, knowing the police, they would be glad to have an excuse to lock someone like him up for as long as possible. He would have to leave, and he could pick Paul up later when things had quietened down. They could run away, perhaps to France if they were quick. It would be for the best if he left Paul in the dark about what he had done, not wanting Paul to accidentally give them away, so he was going to have to lie to him and disappear for a while, until he could come get him. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best one he could come up with. It would have to do.

Taking a deep breath to relax his nerves, he put up a fake smile as he knocked softly on the door to catch his lover's attention, before stepping inside. Paul looked up at him with a broad smile, exposing his front teeth and rounding up his cheeks. The corners of his eyes curled up and formed little lines. He was going to miss those lines.

"Richie!" Paul exclaimed, closing his book and reaching out for him with his left hand, beckoning him closer, "Took you long enough." Ringo smiled apologetically as he walked over to him, kneeling down in front of him as he let Paul wrap his hand around his, pulling him closer as he locked eyes with him. Ringo leaned in a placed his lips against Paul's for a sweet kiss, feeling sad now he knew he was going to have to leave him for a while. He hated being away from Paul, something that happened too often when Paul had to travel for a concert. But he had no choice. His heart ached when Paul pulled away.

"Where's John?" he asked, looking up behind Ringo to see if he was with him. Quickly, Ringo took his lover's face in his hands, making them lock eyes as he kissed him again.

"He's upstairs," he muttered against Paul's soft and plump, yet firm lips. "He hadn't slept well the last few days so he wanted to take a nap before lunch. He won't bother us."

"Won't he? That is good, because Mrs. Field has gone out for some freshly baked bread for lunch."

"Even better," Ringo replied with a smile as he cocked his head to the side and parted his lips, letting his tongue run along Paul's bottom lip to deepen the kiss. Paul let out a breathy laugh at his eagerness, but opened his mouth for his lover, moaning as Ringo's tongue slipped into his mouth and started marking his territory. Ringo's hands moved to take Paul's book from him, gently yet firmly prying it from his hands and putting it aside on the coffee table, deciding he wasn't going to need that any time soon. As soon as Paul's hands were free, the younger man reached up and cupped Ringo's cheek in his hand as he held onto his shoulder with the other, pulling him closer as he kissed back, curling his tongue around Ringo's eagerly with a soft moan.

It was wonderful how easy he could drown in Paul's kisses. They were soft and polite, eager to give but never taking by force, and yet so passionate and dizzying. Their lips locked perfectly together, as two parts of a whole, finally coming together but never for long enough, leaving both of them wanting more. It could be frustrating too, but most of the time it was heaven and Ringo never wanted it to end. He wished he could crawl into his mouth, be consumed by him and become a part of him, secure and safely kept there forever. Paul's scent, sandalwood and pine trees, invaded his nostrils, making it hard to breathe, and he gasped for air into Paul's mouth, as he wrapped his fingers around his arms and pulled him closer to him, needing to feel more of him. Paul whined at his forcefulness, but didn't complain. If anything, he surrendered beautifully to him, allowing him that control over him and complying to his will willingly as long as Ringo would take care of him. He could do that.

His fingers travelled up his arms, feeling how the crispy shirt ruffled under his touch, until he reached the man's suspenders and let his fingers slide underneath them, pulling them off Paul's shoulders and down his arms. Paul let him, complying to Ringo's every touch obediently and without question, raising his arms when Ringo wordlessly told him to do so and letting Ringo take them down. Paul's own hands did not make the same movements, but only held onto him, caressing the older man's cheek with his thumb as he moaned beautifully into his mouth. Encouraged and eager for more, Ringo ran his hands back up Paul's body and wrapped his fingers around the man's throat, applying gentle pressure to hold him in place and assert his dominance, enjoying how Paul would surrender to him and allow him to do anything, before moving one hand to undo the man's scarf and shirt, popping open button by button and exposing Paul's pale marble skin that just begged him to sink his teeth into it and decorate that impeccable skin with little red marks - an urge he had never felt before - and lowered his mouth from Paul's lips to his neck, licking at his pulse point.

"Richie..." Paul breathed helplessly, sliding his fingers into his hair as he slumped against him. The older man drank in the wrecked sound, feeling how his erection responded to it, as his hands fell from Paul's shirt to his pants, where he fingered the top button of his trousers, asking for permission. Paul granted it with one simple roll of his hips.

"Wh-what is that?" Paul suddenly asked as Ringo began to undo his slacks. Ringo pulled away, confused about what his lover was talking about. The younger man nodded in the direction of his arm and when Ringo glanced down he had to bite back a curse. John's blood had soaked through the material of his shirt, creating a red stain on his rolled up sleeve.

"It's nothing," Ringo replied as he leaned back in to kiss Paul's neck again, but the other man turned his head away, refusing him, as he looked deep in his eye, looking for an answer that he couldn't find.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding more serious this time. Ringo chuckled, trying to be light-hearted about it as he took Paul's chin between his thumb and pointer finger, smiling down at him.

"It's nothing. Probably something of George's. I must have forgotten to give it to Mrs. Field to wash," he said, and thankfully, Paul believed him. He nodded and smiled back at him, before leaning in for another kiss on the lips, biting down on Ringo's bottom lip and making him chuckle before he pulled away again.

"Just lay back," he said, gently pushing at Paul's chest with his hand to guide him. Paul went with him willingly, taking in a deep breath as he laid back against the couch, looking up at Ringo through his lashes, making him look absolutely stunning and cute at the same time. He was so lucky. Especially when Paul looked up at him with such pure love reflected in his eyes, admiration sparkling like moonshine as he winked playfully at him.

"I love you," Paul whispered as Ringo lowered his hands to the man's knees and gently pushed them apart, opening Paul's legs for him to crawl between, his lover not giving even the slightest resistance. He swallowed thickly at his docile behaviour, his cock twitching with the need to take and claim, liking to believe Paul was like this only for him, despite John's words. He made such a tantalising picture as he lay there, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with lust, legs spread for him, suspenders down, shirt half-unbuttoned, scarf discarded, slacks opened, and his full lips slightly parted as he breathed shallowly. There was something in his submissiveness that made Ringo want to do ungodly things to him. To want to make him say the most filthy things, do the most filthy things, to hear him moan and scream and give himself over to him, and even to inflict pain. To mark him and devour him. To carve into that marble skin and watch his bright red blood poor out of him, he wanted to drink it, see him cry and give himself fully, body and soul, heart and mind, love and lust. He wanted to tie him up and watch how the robe would burn into his skin, and how he could still see where the robe had been after he had released him again. Or to have him lifeless as a doll. His perfect doll. He would look beautiful. But that was for another time.

"I love you, too," he answered, and leaned in to kiss his lips once more as his hands slid up over Paul's thighs to his crotch, where his cock lay hard and trapped in his underwear, waiting for him. Paul let out a surprised yelp into his mouth as he curled his hand around the outline of his dick and squeezed, enjoying the heat that he was giving off and how his body twitched at the long awaited contact. Not wanting to wait much longer, he undid the last two buttons of his trousers before pulling them down, taking the suspenders with him as he guided the garments down over Paul's legs and feet. He threw it aside, and just as Paul had been about to protest about his lack of consideration for the state of his trousers, Ringo dipped his tongue into Paul's mouth again, licking all the way into him to take him properly and Paul could do little else than comply and kiss back as his lover's warm fingers wrapped themselves around his heated flesh.

"You're so pretty, Paul," Ringo muttered, his voice dark and low, as he pulled away and looked him up and down. The younger man blushed and looked away coyly. Grinning, Ringo kissed the man's heated cheek, before moving down the man's body until he was face-to-face with his lover's straining erection. It stood hard and erect in his hand, the tip glistening with pre-cum, looking ever so tantalising, and Ringo glanced up at Paul briefly to see he was watching him curiously, biting down his lip, before he leaned down and took his cock into his mouth.

"Oh... Yes, please, Richie..." Paul moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he thrusted his hips up and parted his legs a little more to give Ringo more room to work, exposing himself completely to him. Ringo forced himself not to smile or grin and muck it up. He kept his lips wrapped tightly around Paul's twitching erection as he lowered his mouth and let him slide deeper and deeper inside his mouth. Paul cursed softly, as he lifted a hand to bite down his fingers as he watched Ringo work him up and down, pulling back before sliding back down, whining when he hollowed out his cheeks, applying suction. Ringo forced his eyes open and glanced up at his lover, feeling how his cheeks heated up as he saw Paul nibbling on those long, talented fingers of his, his cheeks so beautifully flushed and his lustful staring, straight at him through half-lidded eyes, wanting to see. He winked at him, before briefly closing his eyes and bobbing up and down at a fast pace, moaning at the taste of him and sending shock through Paul's body. He trembled around him, his legs curled around Ringo's shoulders to keep him closer, as Paul's free hand travelled down and into his hair to pull, encouraging him to go on pleasing him. He huffed his name in pleas, begging for more.

He could look at him forever, just watching him react to his every touch, lick and suck, revelling in whatever he was willing to give him at that moment and completely at his mercy. Paul was so different during sex than he was in normal life, that Ringo had been shocked at first to find him so compliant and willing to submit, while he was normally bossy, confident, and in control, not taking anything from anyone and completely independent. He had thought him to be the same in bed as outside of it, but he had been wrong and he had never been happier to be so.

Opening his eyes again and locking them with Paul's, he pulled off with a wet plop, before curling his tongue around the head and licking at him as he nuzzled the man's erection, taking in his musky scent that was much stronger there. Paul whimpered at his touches, legs spreading wider as he tugged at his lover's hair, sounding and looking utterly wrecked and needy. With a grin, he licked into the slit one last time, before kissing his way down the man's cock, going lower and lower, licking teasingly at his balls, before going even lower. He grabbed Paul's hips with both hand and moved him further down the couch, earning himself a surprised gasp, but Paul let him anyway. Grabbing one of Paul's thighs, he pulled it up to Paul's chest, exposing Paul's ass and the tiny pink hole that twitched before his eyes. Shooting one last glance at his face, he leaned in and licked a deliberate stripe over Paul's crack, right over the man's hole that twitched under his tongue's wet touch.

"Oh! Oh, Richie..." Paul gasped at the odd feeling, as he threw his head back into the couch and thrusted his hips up into Ringo's face, wanting more. Ringo grinned, and moved hand to Paul's crotch to cup his cock in his palm to play with as he leaned back in to give Paul's hole another firm lick, enjoying the delicious sounds Paul made at the touch. He continued to lick him over and over again, never giving Paul time to catch his breath and when he dug his tongue into his lover's hole, he actually cried out.

"Oh God! Don't stop, Richie. Oh God, please don't stop," Paul begged him, his head rolling from left to right and back again, as he pushed back into the touch, loving the feeling. Ringo grinned and pulled away briefly as he gave Paul's cock a firm squeeze, causing him to gasp.

"And I thought weren't a religious person," he said smugly, and Paul looked down at him with a murderous glare.

"Just because I don't go to church, doesn't mean I don't believe, Richie. And I can believe in any damn thing when you're doing that with your tongue. Oh fuck..." His voice died down as Ringo leaned in again, lapping eagerly at the twitching rim, spreading him further open.

"Such a dirty mouth," he mused, and Paul chuckled as he shook his head.

"You're one to talk," he said, but soon interrupted himself without another lewd moan. The fingers in his hair tightened and he started pushing back onto Ringo's tongue, trying to fuck himself on it and get it to go deeper. Ringo let him, enjoying it as he watched Paul lose it bit by bit. He was sweating now and his hair was sticking to his forehead, making him look even more wrecked. His thighs were trembling with intense pleasure and his cock was continuously leaking pre-cum. Ringo sped up the movements of his hand and tongue, fucking Paul with it as he brought Paul closer and closer to his orgasm. He kept him there for a while, holding him just on edge, pulling away or squeezing his fist whenever Paul was on the verge of tipping over the edge. He kept him there for a while, trying his lover out and savouring the sweet sounds he made, until he was shamelessly begging to come. Deciding he had deserved it, Ringo licked into his lover's entrance and fucked him with his tongue, wiggling it around and trying to go as deep as possible, as he let his other hand speed up, allowing Paul to fuck his fist until finally he came with a shout, his spunk erupting from his cock and covering his belly and Ringo's hand, as his arse muscles clenched down around his tongue, keeping it as deep inside as possible as he rode it out, hips twitching as he tried to fuck back on Ringo's touch.

When his orgasm finally ebbed away, Paul's body went completely slack against him, his hands falling away and his legs dropping to the floor. Ringo slowly kissed his way back up and licked up Paul's spunk, cleaning him and swallowing it all down, not caring about the bitter yet salty taste. Paul didn't react to his touches, his body only occasionally twitching against him. When Ringo looked up to see how he was doing, he noticed Paul had passed out and was fast asleep, looking blissful and at peace, his breathing calm and steady. Smiling at the sight, Ringo crawled up Paul's body and gently ran his hand through Paul's hair, pushing it out of his face, before arranging his body so he was lying comfortably on the couch. He watched him sleep for a little while, taking in all the soft features of his face - the curve of his lips, the arch of his eyebrows, the length of his eyelashes, the droopiness of his eyes, and the lines of his face, trying his hardest to remember every detail. He gently ran his hand through Paul's silky hair and caressed his inviting lips, following the curve, before leaning in and placing one last kiss to his lips.

"I'll come get you," he whispered against them, and briefly closed his eyes as he enjoyed what he knew was going to be their last kiss for a long time. Regretfully, he pulled away and caressed his cheek, before getting up on his feet. He let out one last deep sigh, before turning around and walking away to grab his coat and shoes, needing to be out of there before their housekeeper would be back or Paul would wake up.

               London was busy, as usual. People were hurrying down the streets, chatting to each other, carrying boxes and bags, moving from shop to shop, and horses were trotting around, pulling large black carriages at an easy pace. The occasional dog or cat would scurry across the street, chasing a bird or running away with a stolen piece of bread or meat. The bell of a nearby church chimed once, and a large bulky man shouted at a young delivery boy who had ran into a carriage by accident, earning himself a wave of insults and curses. A nearby young man commented on it to the young woman at his arm, probably his fianceé, and the bulky man turned to him next, giving the boy a chance to run away, a scruffy dog following him on his heels. Ringo held his pace to let the boy run past and tightened his hand on his walking cane to keep himself from mingling in the minor affair. It was best to keep to himself and not attract any attention to himself, in case anyone would recognise him if the police were to ask about him. Still, he would have liked to teach that man a lesson, the excitement and adrenaline of his killing and the sex still rushing through his body. A good beating might have done to trick. The young man and his fiancée, however, didn't pay the man any attention on simply walked on, deciding their time wasn't worth the trouble.

Accidentally, Ringo walked into another man in front of him, having been too caught up in the little scene to pay proper attention to his surroundings. He quickly apologised, before walking on, cursing softly at the man who had only grumbled at him. Yet, the business of the streets did not put him off like it normally would. He felt secure in the mass of people, just another nameless face among many more. No one would recognise him or bother him, giving him time to collect his thoughts and come up with a plan. Frankly, he had no clue what to do next. His first initial instinct was to flee the city and board a train to the southeast of England to find a passage across the canal to Calais. But he couldn't. Not only was he carrying little more than a few pounds, an umbrella, and the clothes he was wearing at the moment, which was hardly enough for such a journey, he could not leave Paul. What he needed to do was remain in London, find a place to call home under a false name and make arrangements for their escape before picking Paul up as soon it had quietened down a little. But the longer he remained in London, the more anxious he got. Already, he felt himself getting dizzy and it becoming more and more difficult to breathe properly. His fingers had started to shake and his stomach was churning unpleasantly, which Ringo ascribed to nerves. He found it difficult to focus on anything for long and soon the world began to swirl around him.

Realising he needed a place to rest, he hurried past a few people and disappeared into an alleyway, which he followed. He took a few more passages until he was certain he was as far away from the main streets as possible, reducing the chance of being seen. The alley he found himself in was dark and deserted and not somewhere Ringo had been before. Hoping he would be alone and not run into any thieves or murderers, he leaned back against a brick wall and slowly lowered himself onto the dirty ground as he tried to control his breathing, taking deep breaths as he closed his eyes to try to remain calm. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could not focus his eyes on anything for too long, before it would become blurry and start to float before his head. In an attempt to steady his head, he took it in his hands as he stared down at the ground between his knees and took deep breaths. It didn't help. A ringing sounded loud and incessant in his ears, making his head ache horribly and his stomach seem to want to jump out of his body through his throat. He whined and growled, hoping to make enough noise to block out the ringing.

"Mister? Mister, are you alright?" Ringo growled and wanted to lash out at the strange boy beside him, telling him to go away or he'd be sorry, but he had only just lifted up his hand before everything went black and he fell to the ground with a soft thud. The ringing stopped.

               When Ringo woke up again, he couldn't figure out where he was. The stones of the streets hurt where he was lying on them, and his muscles complained when he tried to move. Still, he tried to sit up, and looked around himself to see where he was. He frowned when he noticed he was outside in a dimly lit alley way. It must have been late, as he could hardly see anything and the stars were already out and shining in the dark blue sky overhead, making him wonder how long he had been out here. And what he was doing here in the first place. His head was thumping and breathing was rather difficult, so Ringo sat down with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. A black cat scurried past him, making him jump and hit his head against the brick wall. He reached up and rubbed the painful spot soothingly as he continued to look around himself and tried to remember what had happened to him.

The last thing he remembered was being at home with Paul and John, having coffee in the living room as John explained his situation. He remembered they had made up a bed for him and he had had to show him to his room. Upstairs and in the room, he remembered talking to John about an aggravating subject, but what it had been, he couldn't remember. A flash of red doomed up before his eyes, only briefly before disappearing. It was followed by a most ghastly sight of John lying slumped against the bed, dead eyes looking up at him and blood trickling down his head and onto his hands. Shocked, Ringo pulled off his coat and studied his arms, gasping as he saw a red bloodstain on one of his rolled up sleeves. But he couldn't have... surely not! Paul! What happened to Paul? He looked up in shock, knocking his head into the wall again and as if on cue, he saw Paul, faced screwed up in pleasure as he sat knelt between his lover's legs, lapping happily at his cock as he saw the same red stain on his shirt. Blood. John's blood. He couldn't have. He swallowed thickly and slowly, but surely, all his memories came back to him. How he and John had fought and how angry he had gotten. How he had slammed John's head into an iron bar of the bed and how he had watched him die before covering it up. How he had cleaned himself and the room and how he had gone back downstairs and had sex with the man he loved while his best friend was lying rotting in his guest bedroom. How he had looked at Paul as they had made love, if he could even call it that, how he had wanted to hurt him and -

Shaking his head, he forced the images out from his brain. He couldn't have done those things. He couldn't. But then, how did he get the blood stain? How did he end up here, if not because he needed to flee for the murder he had committed? Oh God, he had committed a crime. He had actually killed someone with his bare hands. Someone who he had considered his friend. Suddenly, his throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe. He gasped for breath, needing oxygen, but his breathing only came in short sharp breaths. He closed his eyes, took his head in his hands, and focused on one of the bricks in front of him as he tried to take deep and slow breaths, knowing he was about to hyperventilate and he could not deal with that right now. Not when he was utterly alone. What was he going to do? Had he actually killed someone? His memories did not seem like his own. It was as if he was watching someone else in his body do those things, commit that murder and have sex with his lover, his body not feeling like his own. It was as if something had taken over his body. But how stupid was that? Was he going crazy?

Then it hit him. George. What if the potion had worked, but not the way his friend had anticipated. He could go to George. He would believe him and try to help him. He was always there for him and, if it was his potion, he would know what to do. He had to go to George, the sooner the better. Slowly, he scrambled back up on his feet, clawing at the walls for support, his knees feeling weak. He took a couple of deep breaths and slowly started to move forward along the walls, not trusting himself to let go of them just yet. He had to reach George before it was too late. He was his only hope.