What started off as a quiet, calm trip to a local café was quickly becoming one of the most awful "dates" John had ever experienced.
He wanted to take Paul out to have a nice time and let things cool down between them before they were once again ushered off to a new city; a new hotel; a whole new surrounding in general. Their lives were starting to get a little out of control with all of the touring and and performing.
This rare and simple act of going out to a quaint little restaurant would help soothe their minds and keep them from going insane in the midst of Beatlemania. But unfortunately, it was also one of the most difficult things to do at the height of their careers, and nothing seemed to be going right.
-
The uphill battle commenced as they were in the hotel bathroom, sharing the small space to get ready.
Every time Paul tried to spit into the sink when he was brushing his teeth, John's elbow would bump into his ribs or chest.
"Watch your bloody arm!" He would say, getting a sheepish smile in return before it happened all over again.
They had both just gotten out of the shower, the tile wet and slippery because of how careless they'd been with letting the water drip from their bodies. Stark white towels hung from their waists and John would occasionally get a laugh by picking up a similar one from the shelf and twisting it up tightly; snapping it against Paul's lower back or bottom.
-
The real trouble began when they had both cleaned up nicely and shaved the stubble growing on their faces. It was when they were getting dressed in the adjoining bedroom and John was having a little trouble buttoning up his shirt.
He kept getting them in the wrong holes and without his glasses on it was difficult to see exactly where exactly they were in the first place.
"Goddamn it."
He swore under his breath, fingers fumbling with the pain in the neck that this simple every day task had become.
Paul, who had just settled on a grey knitted sweater and some slacks, was nearly dressed now but without socks or shoes. With an eyebrow raised in curiosity he turned to face his partner and took a step closer.
John had his back turned to him, facing the mirror to try to see if he was doing it correctly now, his already thin lips pressed against each other into a white tense line.
"Need some help?"
"No, you nit. Stop distracting me."
Paul watched as he continued to struggle with the garment, both amused and a tad bit irritated. This wasn't as nearly as childish as the oldest one was capable of behaving, but it was enough to make him dread taking him out in public already.
A rather awkward moment of silence passed between them, and only two buttons had been successfully fixed.
"Here, jus' let me-"
"No!"
John jerked away instinctively when he felt the hands reaching out and gripping at his shirt collar from behind. He moved in such a quick, sharp way that Paul had no time to react and the fabric was still clutched in his hand when two buttons were heard dropping onto the floor, ripped from the shirt entirely.
"See what you cause? Wha' the hell am I supposed to do now? You wrecked my shirt! It's rubbish now!"
John was moving his hands, gesturing them in a frustrated manner as he fumed at his flush-cheeked boyfriend. The latter of them just let him rant on, complaining of having to change into an entirely new outfit and so forth.
And then, once he had considerably calmed down, Paul insisted quietly that 'It was already rubbish to begin with'.
-
When they were escorted out of the hotel lobby by Neil and Mal it had just begun a steady downpour of rain, the skies darkened and grey and decorated with ominous looking clouds that promised to stay awhile.
The wind was rustling leaves and ruining the styled hair of ladies walking down the pavement, blowing the drops of rain in a sideways slant, the harsh type that almost hurt when it came in contact with your bare skin.
They were forced to rush to the cab waiting for them, splashing through sloshy mud puddles that got their shoes and socks wet and made the sidewalk seem more slippery, if it were at all possible.
"Fuckin' hell!" John suddenly exclaimed, his voice high strung and undeniably irritated.
Paul heard the yelp of annoyance and realized it was no longer right next to him, but some feet behind him as the older Beatle had managed to get left behind the rest of them.
McCartney turned to look back, and sighed heavily at what he saw. John was bent down on one knee as he felt around in a small puddle of water, distressed and frantically splashing the water around.
"Lose something?" Paul asked, having to raise his voice a little over the noise of passing traffic.
When John raised his head again he looked like a deer in headlights, hand freezing in the cold rain water. He didn't want anyone to know what he'd dropped, and was hoping it wouldn't be noticed that he was a little behind.
"N-..no.." He stammered, sighing in utter relief when his fingers touched the hard metal and wrapped protectively around it.
His hand ascended and he quickly stuffed it back into his trouser pocket, running to catch up with the others.
"C'mon now before the cab leaves, you two." Mal urged them to move faster, opening the back door as they got closer.
Paul was rather distracted as he got into the backseat, wondering what on earth could have John so tore up when he dropped it into that puddle. And why didn't he say what it was? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he never noticed John's slender figure slide into the leather seat next to him, his sleeve dripping wet and a scowl present on his face.
"Nearest café, if you don't mind. Don't care where th' hell it's at." He said to the driver, slowly allowing his breath to come back to him from running that short, easy distance.
Paul was brought back, though, by the sound of the cabbie's voice.
"Sure thing, Mr. Lennon."
It was always an odd thing for people to address you like that, especially when taxis were supposed to have a sense of anonymity to them and a complete stranger spoke to you by name.
Being so known wasn't something John liked most of the time, he just wanted to make the music without putting up with being treated like some celestial being.
"John.. what did you drop back there, eh?" Paul pestered him quietly, poking his side.
He looked up at him through his eyelashes, wishing he could persuade his mate without doing things far too inappropriate that the driver might see. Instead he decided to possibly irritate him enough to get an answer.
"None of your bloody business, Macca." He growled back, fingers tightening and loosening around the jewelry in his pocket.
He was upset that his surprise was partially ruined, and Paul just wouldn't give up his inquisitions.
"Ooh, it's a secret then? You keepin' secrets from me now?" The younger one asked in a rather playful voice, his fingertips brushing casually against John's leg.
John stiffened though, pushing his hand away. He couldn't be in public with Paul very easily, he was always wanting to touch him and Paul was always fanning the flames without knowing it, making it more difficult for him to keep his hands to himself.
He remained silent, not knowing how to respond without sounding pissed off or defensive. Paul realized he should just drop it and crossed his arms over his chest, sighing silently.
"Don't be so touchy." John huffed, offering up a small smile as an apology.
"Hm."
-
"Two banana milkshakes." John nodded his head at the waitress, pressing his thigh against his mate's as he tried not to grin.
The petite brunette wrote it down on her pad of paper, then hastily slid the pen behind her ear.
"Is that all?"
"Mhm."
As she walked away Paul chuckled slightly, discreetly resting his hand on the firm knee next to him, squeezing it lightly.
"Just like Paris then, huh?" He mumbled, and John finally let his lips part in a sweet smile, looking over at the beautiful being sitting so closely to him.
He felt a small pang in his chest at not being able to be affectionate with him in public, but nonetheless he was grinning and it was genuine to it's core.
"I liked that trip. Money well spent." He agreed.
"As I recall, you were also well spent." Paul suggested with a mischievous glint to his usually innocent, hazel eyes.
He ran his hand up John's leg smoothly, getting dangerously close to his crotch before returning to the safety of resting it daintily on his knee.
"Not now, am I?"
"No, not now."
They shared mutual smiles and held hands under the table, fingers intertwined and tucked cozily between their legs.
The intoxicatingly sweet smell of the café filled their senses and as they remained quiet with the occasional soft spoken comment, they were able to listen to the gentle breaths parting their lips and share the heat of skin against calloused palms. It was a beautiful, picturesque moment that you'd want framed and displayed on your wall, always being asked about it and explaining to others the way the scent of bitter coffee mingled with creme filled desserts reminded you so much of the relationship being portrayed in black and white.
It was lovely.
Until Paul's left hand hit John's right one when they both reached for their smoothies. One of the thick frozen drinks was tipped over in the clumsiness of it all, spilling on Paul's nice trousers.
Maybe it was a sign to move on from Paris.
Or maybe they could just add this to the long list of things gone wrong today.
-
Twenty minutes later John had ushered Paul out of the café, assuring him that the paper towels had cleaned his pants well enough and no one would notice. This was untrue of course, but whatever worked was fine by him.
They walked a little ways down the street and took a sharp turn into a narrow alley, sprinting all the way to the main back and behind the closed business building there.
"Please tell me we're not shagging here or anything, for God's sakes. We're not in Hamburg anymore, we have a hotel room." Paul complained as he was being backed against the cool stone wall, sighing.
John laughed heartily and shook his head, leaning in to kiss the dark haired boy gently.
"No. I have something for you." He replied against his lips, beginning to run his tongue across Paul's lips and pushing forward in hope of entrance.
When the plush lips eagerly dropped open for him he purred almost silently, hands roaming and feeling without restraint. But then he was pushed away and had to take a moment for catching his breath and preparing for the present he was about to give his boyfriend of a couple years.
He felt daft, in a way. Paul probably didn't want his silly trinkets and for God's sake, it was a piece of jewelry!
John swallowed rather thickly and bowed his head, staring down at the contrast of his shiny black boots and the gritty texture of the ground.
Paul rose an eyebrow at this - was John actually ashamed of bringing him something? That couldn't be it, they'd given each other things before, poems and songs scribbled onto napkins and those odds and ends they see in shops that remind them of one another. There was no reason to be shy now.
"Is it - the thing you dropped earlier, is that it?" Paul murmured, lifting the older man's chin and looking into his hesitant but thankfully not closed off eyes.
John nodded dumbly and fished around in his pocket for it, cursing himself silently when he realized his hands were shaking. Finally the bracelet was grasped in his palm and his heart quivered.
This wasn't just a gift to him. It seemed so much more personal and intimate, it was claiming and final.
It was no better than having Paul walk around with a bloody dog collar around his neck that read: Sole property of John Lennon. Do not touch, think about, or flirt with.
He would just have to man up.
"Yes, Paul. And, uh, just don't think too much of it, okay? I've had something inscribed on the inside, only you'll be able to see it when you take it off." He stuttered with the explanation, bringing his hand out of his pocket and dropping the flashy piece of metal into Paul's awaiting palm.
The younger boy studied it quietly, his upper back propped against the wall as he realized exactly what he had been given.
An ID bracelet.
It had his name on the front, and just as John had said, it had a message just for him on the side that would be hidden against his wrist.
There is no force stronger on this Earth than the way you hold onto my hand - never let go or surely the world will crumble.
Paul whispered the inscription quietly, his chest pounding harder than his head was. That didn't sound like John.
John was rough edges and harsh tones that secretly spelled out words of love, words he didn't feel acquainted with. This sentence didn't seem like it would sit comfortably in the elder's mouth, but at the same time it was all Paul needed to hear.
"I love you."
He said, reaching out and holding on to the lapels of John's jacket, pulling him in for another smothering kiss, all tongues and lips and hands that mapped out the surface area of their bodies. They pulled and pushed and nibbled and licked, taking all that they wanted simply because it would be given.
And that night, deep into the night when it became pitch black and desolate, Paul was softly moaning as John took him in the most enchanting of ways- and the silver bracelet dangled on his wrist in a symbol of not ownership, but greedy love.
Perhaps it wasn't the most awful date.