~McLennon Oneshots~A Collection

Marks (hickeys and kisses)

Paul McCartney. Pretty boy Paul McCartney. The cute Beatle. Unobtainable to basically everyone, and John had him up against the wall. He got in early, he supposed, meeting Paul when he was fifteen, way before anyone had realised what a catch he was. Well, maybe some of the girls at the Liverpool Institute had clocked on, but they were nothing. John leaned in, running his mouth down Paul's neck, leaving hot trails of spit in it's wake. Paul groaned in appreciation.

"You like that, don't you?" John chuckled, dragging his teeth gently along Paul's jawline. Paul didn't respond, just lifted his head up high to let John have all the access he could want to his neck. John smiled slyly, fingers moving to the buttons of the younger man's shirt, undoing the first couple and pulling the collar back. His head dipped forward to suck at the bare skin just above Paul's collarbone. John had every intention of leaving marks there. Hot saliva dribbled down from where John's mouth was, running down under the fabric of Paul's shirt. Paul pushed his chest forward against John's mouth, desperate for more contact. John relaxed his mouth against Paul, before sucking sharply, making the skin where his mouth was tingle, and causing Paul's whole body to tense up. He pulled away, eager to see what sort of mark he had left on the boy. Sure enough, there it was. A dark purple splotch at the bottom of Paul's neck. The first of many, John thought to himself. Paul's body was a blank canvas there for him to leave his mark on. And only him. He loved how the mark- soon to be marks on Paul's neck stood out; letting anyone and everyone one know that this man was taken.

"The second you go out like this," John laughed quietly, speaking softly into Paul's ear, "The newspapers will be on it, you know. Everyone will be wondering who this mysterious lover of McCartney's is."

Paul sighed, smiling and letting his gaze meet John's. He was right.

"They'll never guess it's you," Paul whispered, giggling a little at the thought.

"No, they won't," John agreed, "Girls will get jealous y'know. They'll reckon you're fucking some other bird. How do you think they'd react if they found out that their sweet Paulie is a flaming queer?"

Paul blushed. Flaming queer. He'd never thought of himself like that before, though he supposed that's what he was. He'd only ever liked boys. Correction: he'd only ever liked John. And Elvis. John and Elvis. Not that Paul thought he'd ever come close to bedding Elvis, so really that was kind of irrelevant.

"I'm gonna cover your neck," John said surely, nodding, "Not even one of your turtlenecks will cover these up, Paul. You wait and see."

Paul bit back a moan as John leaned in again, sucking harshly down his neck, each time he was satisfied with the mark made, moving on to the next patch of skin. John liked the way Paul tasted. He couldn't really describe it, but he loved it. He liked the paleness of the skin on Paul's neck, the roughness of the stubble at his jaw, and then the purple patches that formed anywhere John wanted them to. Anywhere he put them. He kept like this, mark after mark. It was almost addictive. Paul was his drug. After a while, he pulled away one last time, stepping back to admire the work of art he'd left all over Paul's skin.

"No one's gonna take you away from me," he mused, "They'll know you belong to someone now. Don't you think?"

Paul sighed softly, nodding and smiling. His neck and collar we pleasantly sore, stinging slightly at places where John had been most recently.

"Nobody was going to take me away from you anyway." He said bluntly, letting his eyes wander down from John's, to the tip of his nose, to his lips.

John edged closer, putting an arm on the wall either side of Paul, locking him in place and moving so their bodies touched.

"You're gorgeous, you know," he whispered, against Paul's cheek, "People would be stupid not to try."

Paul smiled at that, colour rushing to his cheeks. John thought he was gorgeous.

"Yeah, but..." He murmured in reply, "I wouldn't let them, I mean. I've got you."

John moved his hands to the sides of Paul's face, holding Paul there as he pressed his mouth against the younger man's. Not that he planned to move. John's tongue curled around Paul's and the two men relaxed against each other in the hot exchange of saliva. Pulling away, John nuzzled against Paul's cheek, his voice a whisper.

"I think, Paulie dearest, that you might be going a tad soft."