(Nothing too awfully bad to warn you about, especially if you're used to slash and smut...)
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Part nineteen
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20 Forthlin Road, 1961
Paul finished scrubbing the last plate in the sink, hurriedly putting it to the side and drying his hands off. He stopped on the way to the living room, standing in front of the hall mirror and idly ran his nimble fingers through his locks of soft, clean hair.
He'd gotten out of the bath not too long ago, so his hair was combed neatly, not in its usual style.
He was perfectly peaceful and content as he strolled casually into the next room, seeing his dad sitting and talking to Mike, taking a drink from his cup of tea.
"Da', I'm done with all the chores, can I go now?" He asked hopefully, putting on his most innocent, pleading smile.
He'd been over to John's nearly every day this week, and each time that he asked, Jim's answer became a little more hesitant.
His father eyed him questioningly, studying his son a moment before patting the empty space next to him on the couch. Paul took the hint and went to sit beside of him, the feeling of worry slowly spreading throughout his mind.
He could sense that one of those talks were about to happen and once again he'd have to defend either himself, John, or the band.
"Listen, Paul. You're nineteen, and soon you're going to have to support yourself." He said simply, to which Paul only nodded impatiently.
"Mhm, I'm well aware of this concept. Bye, dad." He mumbled, getting up to go.
They'd had one too many conversations like this, and the young lad was tired of hearing about how being a musician wasn't a real future, that it wasn't practical.
"Paul, if you don't straighten up and get yourself a decent job, you and that Lennon lad both are going to realize the hard way how silly this band is." His dad warned him in that tone that all parents use, making Paul stop to think just a second about what he was saying.
He chewed on his lip uncertainly, walking to the front door as Jim McCartney's words rang in his ears. For a second he wondered if he should come up with some smart-arsed response, but decided against it as soon as he opened his mouth.
That was something John would do, and his dad would say just that.
Oh, there you go again, acting like that little friend of yours. I'm tellin' you, he's a bad influence on ya, Paul.
Paul snorted quietly and raised his eyebrows at the thought, wondering what Jim would say if he knew what actually went on at Gambier Terrace.
He'd have a right fit, McCartney decided with a silent chuckle.
"Go on, then. But this has got to end real soon, son. You're going to college and getting a proper career, hear me?" His father said.
It wasn't much of a question, but Paul just shrugged in response anyways, almost feeling sick at his stomach at the thought of no longer being in John's band.
He opened the door and left without another word, not wanting to argue today. He couldn't help but continue to think of it though, and having to ride the bus alone with nothing to do only made him feel worse and more doubtful.
~*~
John took the heavy-framed glasses off of his face and threw them onto the paper-cluttered wooden desk in front of him. He had been scribbling down pointless lyrics and drawings for the past hour or so, waiting impatiently for Paul to arrive.
It was very rare that the punctual little goody two-shoes was this late, and John wondered if something had happened. He had felt so attached to the lad ever since all of that snogging, groping, and longing glances they shared when they'd played on stage together in Hamburg.
At least when they were there they could sneak off together whenever they felt the need to do so. Now, John had decided to no longer stay with Mimi, he'd rather spend most of his time at the flat that him and Stu used to share.
It was a decent place if you kept it in good shape, which John tended not to do. His room was littered with papers and notebooks, trash and clothing strewn about.
Sometimes when he was alone like this he found himself missing Stuart a great deal. But at least some good came out of him staying in Hamburg. He no longer had to hear Paul's complaining, even if sometimes he found it endearing and liked it, almost, that Paul was so jealous of his mate.
Nothing left to worry about now, though. Stu was off studying his art and shagging that cute little German bird, no doubt.
John smiled a little to himself and lit up a cigarette, rubbing at his eyes tiredly when he heard a knock on the door from the front room. His smile grew even wider as his bare feet plodded to the door, opening it quickly and letting Paul in.
"'S about time, you wanker." He chuckled affectionately, pulling him inside by the boy's sleeve.
Paul grinned warmly and followed his secret lover to the couch, the nagging thoughts of his earlier conversation vanishing for the moment as soon as he fell into John's warm embrace.
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Got held up, chores and things, y'know." He mumbled apologetically, scratching at the back of his head.
"You should just stay here, then. No chores or any of that daft shit to worry about, Macca. Just you and me." John said, resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder and running his fingertips soothingly up and down the younger boy's slender thigh.
Paul closed his eyes at the feeling and sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Mm, yeah, sounds nice love." He mumbled, placing a small kiss on John's warm colored auburn hair. "Except if I stayed, I'd have to do chores anyways. It's a right pigsty you've gotten here." He added, scrunching up his nose comically.
John laughed and kept his face buried in Paul's shoulder, the clean smell of his lover's hair filling his mind. It was quiet for a while then, the two of them cuddled together on the shabby, worn-out couch.
Paul's eyelids were starting to feel heavier and he was fighting the urge to curl up against John and fall asleep.
He didn't plan on going back home tonight, he'd just tell his dad that they were up so late writing that it was too dark to walk home alone.
Except he'd already used that excuse three times.
Shit.
"John." He said quietly, shaking his shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Let's do something before I fall asleep." Paul chuckled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He came here to spend a little more time with the older lad, not fall asleep as soon as he arrived.
And, he needed a reason to not be thinking of his father's words.
"Am I that boring?" John asked with a grin, then pretending to be offended when Paul nodded and stuck his tongue out.
He giggled as John suddenly pinned him down to the couch, hovering above him with their legs tangled a bit. Their noses were close enough to brush across the other's.
"Take it back." John threatened half-heartedly, his bushy eyebrows raised.
Paul shook his head defiantly, his hands being held above his head. "Nope." He chuckled, to which John just leaned down and kissed him sweetly, sitting up a little and freeing his wrists.
Paul sat up as well, this time climbing into John's lap, facing him.
After a year almost of being together, he still couldn't believe that they were actually doing this, that John wanted him back. At first it was awkward and clumsy, neither of them sure how to act or what to say.
Which was kind of silly, considering that they had been friends long before that.
Now, though, every time they had a bit of alone time, it was never taken for granted.
Paul had managed to escape to Gambier Terrace last night as well, and they had taken a nice, steamy shower together, not without some kissing and grinding though, mind you. Then the two fairly new lovers had laid in John's bed, coming up with ideas for songs and sharing playful banter and old memories until they finally drifted off to sleep.
Oh, Paul would come over all the time if it always ended up like that.
John ran a hand through Paul's hair, stroking it softly and twirling it between his fingers. He loved that it was growing out more, it suited him.
"Am I borin' now, luv?" He mumbled, a smirk plastered across his face as he palmed the bulge in Paul's trousers, eliciting a low moan.
Quite an enjoyable way to win pointless arguments, y'know.
They kissed for some time, slowly and passionately, their tongues twirling and tasting in delight. It was bloody breathtaking, the way they claimed each other's lips.
Paul, still sitting on top of John, began to take advantage of their position on the couch, rocking back and forth in his lap slowly. The friction it caused between the two layers of denim was almost maddening.
Hell, he was straining within his jeans and by the look of John's expression, so was he.
They continued this motion for a while, until John couldn't simply couldn't stand it anymore. He laid Paul down on his back, the younger lad groaning in frustration when he no longer could rub against John as he pleased.
John placed a single sweet kiss to Paul's lips, fumbling with his own pants button and zipper before he finally slid them down along with his boxers. Next off were Paul's, who just moaned softly in response, his sultry eyes drooping even more.
He didn't even stop to think twice about what was happening; he wasn't thinking at all, really. All he could process was the anticipated pleasure that he desired so badly, hoping John would at least suck him off.
But apparently his lover had other ideas, covering Paul's mouth with more suffocating kisses and spreading his knees further apart.
"Mm..Paul?" He asked hoarsely, his cheeks flushed and his thin lips parted. Fuck, John looked gorgeous.
"Yeah, what is it baby?" Paul panted, tugging on his boyfriend's old button-up shirt, wanting more of the delicious bare contact they shared.
"I..uh, I.." Lennon stuttered, his train of thought momentarily lost. But when he found his words again, he was nearly too nervous to utter them.
He looked into Paul's eyes seriously, his stomach feeling as if it were in knots. "I want to.. fuck you." He swallowed hard, realizing the sentence came out sounding more like a scared squeak, almost.
'Fucking way to go, Lennon' He thought bitterly. 'I bet now he's just dying to let you shag his brains out.'
Paul lowered his eyes, the tiny declaration making his heart beat even faster than it already was, if that were even possible. His breath caught in his throat, a shiver of lust and fear traveling down his spine.
Shit.
The nineteen year old found that his hands were almost shaking, he was not prepared to respond to that. Not at all.
Sure, he was curious about what it was like, he'd even embarrassedly 'tested it out' during his last wank. But that was different. If a couple of his own fingers felt uncomfortable and invasive, there was no way he wanted another man's prick up his arse.
He shuddered slightly and looked at John pleadingly, hoping he'd understand. "I don't think.. I don't think I'm ready.." He said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
John nodded dumbly, caressing Paul's face with the back of his hand and sighing quietly. His ego was quite deflated after that but he was determined not to let it show, smiling timidly.
"That's alright." He murmured, massaging the boy's inner thighs, trying to make him less nervous.
Some other time, then.
It worked for the most part, Paul's abdomen muscles relaxed considerably as John kissed him reassuringly.
A sudden moan escaped the older lad's lips as he felt those fucking beautiful, nimble fingers wrap around his throbbing length.
John bit his lip hard and after the initial shock of Paul's boldness wore off, he began to return the favor.
This was going to end up being one long, long night.
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well what do we have here huh
okay maybe I skipped ahead a whole fricking year but thATS OKAY.
it leaves more to the imagination.(◕‿◕✿)
feel free to hate the heck out of me because of this
I'm a writer, it's what I'm here for
comments are love <3