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It was Sunday at Cavendish but Paul was elsewhere, his fingers moving across the piano, flirting with the idea of something new.
Outside, a summer storm had arrived, unnoticed, raging against the roof and walls of the house. Every few minutes, the room would fill with flashes of light and the low rumble of thunder would rattle the glass in its panes.
Paul paid it no mind, lost in the music.
Martha lay at his feet, content on snoozing the night away. He gave her a nice scratch behind the ears, smiling softly, before continuing on with his song that wasn’t quite a song yet, humming quietly along to the possible chorus.
He was pleased with how it was turning out and he wondered if John would like it.
Most times Paul sat down to write, physically there or not, John’s presence was felt, pushing him forward.
They were a team but Paul knew that they both got off on competing against one another. He wanted to impress John and John wanted to be better than him.
It brought them closer.
Though, depending on the day, John got a bit touchy about Paul writing too much without him. He wouldn’t pout for long, but still, Paul wished John knew how much he meant to him.
Writing together or even just being together was something Paul could admit, to himself at least, that he loved.
He wouldn’t trade it or John for the world.
The storm carried on as he went back to the start, intent on sharpening the duller parts of the bridge. It wasn’t until the second runthrough, that he finally heard the loud, insistent knocking coming from downstairs.
Paul knew it was John before he opened the door.
“Jesus fucking Christ, McCartney,” groaned John, pushing past Paul into the foyer. “Been knocking for fucking ages.”
John shoved the takeaway containers he’d been holding into Paul’s hands before shaking himself out of his soaking wet coat.
“Just about froze my bollocks off,” he mumbled as he went to kick off his boots.
“Oh come off it, Lennon” Paul laughed. “‘M sure all your bits are fine.”
John leered, waggling his eyebrows. “And wouldn’t you like to know, Paulie?”
He pulled another face as Paul rolled his eyes, fond, shoving him with his free hand. He moved past him and up the stairs, both of them laughing as they entered the music room.
Paul quickly got to work, unpacking the Indian food John had “so graciously delivered,” as John walked over to Martha, lifting her ears gently, before smoothing them back down.
He smiled down at her. “Must be nice being a dog, hm? All warm and dry.”
Martha responded by slowly blinking her eyes open at him then returning to her nap. John gave her one last rub, before joining Paul, who had already begun eating, on the floor.
They talked as they ate, laughing at the odd inside joke or shared anecdote while the rain fell heavy against the window.
When they were finished and takeaway boxes were thrown aside, John sat cross legged across from Paul, precariously balancing a rolling tray on his right knee as he went to roll a joint for each of them, and then one more.
After Paul watched him lick and seal the third one, John looked up above his round glasses and said, “Go on, then.”
Paul stared back confused before John nodded his head toward the piano.
“I was stood in the rain for fucking hours, Paul. Go on, let’s see if it’s rubbish.” he said with a smirk.
John always put on a front but Paul could hear the genuine interest in his voice. He hopped up, smiling bashfully down at him as he walked over to the instrument.
“Well,” he started, shrugging as he sat down. “It’s not much.”
John rolled his eyes, annoyed but amused. He placed one of the joints between his lips, and it bounced up and down as he said, “Paul just bloody play it, before I change me mind,” and reached for the matchbox beside him.
Paul laughed, playing a few bars of a song he’d heard on the radio to warm up.
“This one was alright,” he said, fiddling with the keys.
John hummed in agreement as he struck the match, cupping his hands and lighting the joint in one fluid motion.
He took a few puffs to get it going, before breathing the smoke deep into his lungs as his head fell back against the couch, a small smile on his face. Even from across the room Paul could make out the hills and valleys of his profile.
John’s jaw and nose were all sharp angles and the current cut of his hair emphasized his features in a way Paul wanted to compliment but didn’t.
He dragged his eyes away, careful not to linger for long and started playing the song he’d been working on earlier, humming a light melody overtop it.
John groaned slightly as he stood to join Paul at the piano.
“‘S not bad,” he said and Paul had known John long enough to know that “not bad,” actually meant quite good.
He tried not to show how pleased he was.
Paul ended abruptly at the middle eight, holding his hand out expectantly for the joint, and John obliged, handing it over as he sat beside him. He stumbled across the keys until he worked out the underlying chords.
Paul took a long drag, keeping the lit joint in between his lips as he repeated the song again and again until John could work out the harmony. Before long, the song that wasn’t quite a song, began to take new shape, filling the room with music as the joint filled it with smoke.
As John went back to the floor to light the second joint, Paul was filled with the same excited warmth he got every time he and John would write together. It was always so electrifying the way they’d bounce off each other, like they were speaking a language only they could understand.
He went to join John on the floor, being passed the joint immediately upon sitting down. Good lad, John.
“You’re writing circles around me, you are,” John said, casting his eyes away.
He lit a match watching it burn, putting it out just before it kissed his fingers.
“Nah,” replied Paul with a bashful smile. “I don’t know about all that.”
He took a long drag then handed the joint back to John.
“Don’t give me that shit Paul,” John snapped, gesturing with the hand that held the spliff. “You had another just Thursday that was nearly done by the time I heard it.”
“Alright, alright,” said Paul, holding out his hands in resignation.
“Okay yeah. I’ve been writing a bit. Can’t help it really.” He gestured to his head. “Got all kinds of tunes going round up here these days.”
John rolled his eyes in response, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke into Paul’s face who laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, closing his eyes as he breathed it in.
John continued to frown.
“Seems they ought’ve start taking the Lennon off Lennon-McCartney, eh? Ya don’t need that sorry git bringing you down when you’re up.”
Paul‘s brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re having a laugh. I mean you’re really laying it on thick. Of course that’ll never happen.”
John just shrugged, the joint hanging loose from his mouth.
The secret, Paul found, to dealing with John’s fast changing moods was immediate redirection. Paul learned early on that John could turn at the drop of a hat so one had to watch closely and react quickly before it escalated.
Paul had become a professional in the dealings of John.
“You’re daft!” Paul exclaimed. “Couldn’t do it without you. There’d be no fun in it,” then quickly added, “Christ, who’d I write with? Richard? Could you imagine?”
John smirked in amusement as smoke trailed out of his nose. He always liked when Paul would separate their “us,” from the others’ “them.”
John seemed to like having Paul to himself and Paul sort of liked that he liked it.
He scooted closer, encouraged.
“Yeah I’ve written a bit, but not more than you.” He said. “I’m still trying to catch up, you know.”
He’d been trying to catch up to John for the better part of a decade.
“Besides, anything we’ve written together has been loads better than anything I wrote on my own,” Paul said with a shrug of his shoulders.
They both knew that wasn’t entirely true. But it worked in placating John, who seemed to be enjoying the fueling of his ego as well as the reassurance that Paul wasn’t running for the hills.
John considered Paul’s words with a smile, while he handed the roach over to him as a peace offering. Paul took the last hit before tossing it in one of the takeaway containers stacked on the floor.
When he looked up, John was already lighting the third one.
They were well on their way to getting beautifully stoned.
Later, they’d moved even closer.
The pot had blurred the usual lines they were careful not to cross as their bodies seemed to angle towards each other.
John’s head lolled against the cushions of the sofa, staring glassy eyed, at the ceiling.
Paul was close by, rocking back and forth in peaceful intoxication. He watched John with a soft expression on his face - happy he was there.
John turned his head, sensing Paul’s eyes on him and they blinked slowly at each other.
“You’re in the clouds, Lennon,” Paul sang.
John laughed, pushing himself up. It looked to take great effort. He smiled crookedly at Paul and said, “If I’m in the clouds McCartney, you’re in the stars.”
“Might be,” Paul giggled. “Might be even higher than that, Johnny.”
“Should we shoot for the moon, you think?” John said, reaching for a fourth joint he’d rolled without Paul noticing.
John waved it enticingly in front of his face.
Paul nodded, eager, and the motion rocked his entire body as if his head was heavier than usual. He fell back against the couch, mirroring John’s earlier position.
“You’ll have to assist me, good sir.” Paul said in a posh accent. “I haven’t my wits about me.”
“Oh, indeed.” John said, playing along. They always fell into rhythm together, whether in music or jokes. “Only the best for Sir. McCartney. Right away, sir.”
Paul continued to giggle, watching patterns of light shift and dance across the ceiling.
Beside him, he distantly heard the sound of a match being struck. He floated high above them until he felt John shift that much closer to him, pulling him back to reality at once. He glanced to his left and John had entered his peripheral with a focused look on his face.
Paul turned his head and watched half-awake as John took a bigger than usual hit, holding it in his lungs, leaning towards Paul, who sat frozen, processing John’s proximity.
John carefully brought up his hand, grazing his fingers across Paul’s chin, urging him to meet him in the middle and Paul panicked, scrambling up and away.
John coughed out a cloud of smoke in surprise.
“What are you doing?” Paul stammered as John rasped out a “Fucking hell!”
He continued to cough as Paul’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest.
“I was helping you get to the ‘fucking moon’ remember?” John gasped. “Christ!”
“Here, just take it.” John said, embarrassed, shoving the joint at Paul.
Paul stared dumbly at it burning, losing himself in the scene moments before.
John leaning in.
John’s fingers on his chin.
John, so close that he could see the specific shade of brown in his eyes.
He wanted him close again.
Paul leaned back against the couch shaking his head, ignoring the joint dangling from John’s fingers as John looked at him with mild confusion.
He shrugged, going for nonchalance.
“Nah, I reckon you ought to give it another go.”
Paul glanced at John nervously, then back to the ceiling. “‘S fine now, is what I’m saying.”
John nodded, slowly, watching Paul, unblinking.
He brought the joint to his lips again, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs.
Paul watched as the glowing end of it lit up the contours of John’s face.
He swallowed dryly.
John leaned forward but this time he grasped Paul’s face full on with his hand, as if worried he’d run away again. His thumb sat just below Paul’s bottom lip, applying the smallest bit of pressure.
Paul leaned into it, rising until he met John halfway - their faces inches apart. His eyes fluttered shut as he parted his mouth in anticipation and heard John sharply inhale through his nose at the sight. His hold on Paul’s face tightened ever so slightly, while he released the smoke from his lungs to Paul’s, in one steady exhale. The heat of his breath ghosted over Paul’s lips.
When it was over, John quickly moved back to where he was.
Paul sat frozen, his head in the same position John had held him in. He exhaled, opening his eyes and feeling his body aglow.
Paul tried to catch John’s eye looking for explanation but John seemed adamant in looking anywhere else as he took another puff.
If Paul didn’t know any better he’d say John was shy - flustered.
Paul, on the other hand, didn’t feel shy.
He felt alive.
“Hm.” He hummed and John’s eyes flicked toward him. “Was nice.”
“Oh, aye?” John asked. His voice sounded lower than usual, and the gravel of it stirred Paul on.
“Mhm.”
John opened his mouth to reply but his words seemed to get caught in his throat. He coughed and looked away again, shrugging.
“Give it here then.” Paul said, holding a hand out to John.
John passed the joint across the short distance between them and Paul took note of the way John’s hand lingered on his. It was not an uncommon occurrence but now it seemed to hold new weight like John wanted to touch him longer than he thought he could.
Paul settled back against the sofa.
By now, his body had relaxed into a pleasant heaviness, with every moment persisting longer than it should. Seconds slowed to minutes, and time seemed to drag itself forward.
Paul felt as though they were on the precipice of something as he took a long pull, eyes never leaving John’s.
They watched each other in quiet contemplation, the air growing thick around them.
Paul exhaled slowly and John’s lidded eyes flicked to his parted mouth. Heat pooled in his stomach as the image of what was growing between them suddenly became clear.
John had looked away, caught, but Paul continued to watch - paying close attention to the pink flush peeking out from above John’s collar. He cleared his throat and Paul wondered if now was the time to put an end to things before they progressed further.
It would be easy to blame the weed on the moment before and move past it, sleep it off, return to the comfortable distance they had always wordlessly adhered to.
But as his eyes mapped the long line of John’s body: his thighs, his arms, the steep slope of his aquiline nose, Paul felt his body respond with interest and he realized this was inevitable. It felt as though they were always heading in this direction as his attraction to John slid neatly beside all of Paul’s other feelings for him like it had always been there to begin with.
Paul decided then to push the limits of the barrier they had built around each other; he wanted to see where the game would lead and if John too could feel the smoldering heat in the space between them.
He brought the joint to his lips once again, taking a long drag, then crawled over to John with newfound determination.
John sat up straighter, tracking his movements with a raised eyebrow. It gave the impression of confidence but the quiet heave of his chest was proof enough of the effect Paul was having on him and the feeling was mutual.
Paul, encouraged, continued his pursuit. He boldly threw his leg over one of John’s, straddling his thigh, his arms bracketing John’s head as he braced himself on the front of the couch. There was a brief pause as they stood teetering on the edge of change. John’s hands laid clenched at his side, unsure of where he was meant to put them.
Paul wiggled closer, making sure John was watching as he flicked his eyes to John’s mouth. John’s hands hesitantly moved to Paul’s thighs and as if given permission, John leaned forward without further prompting and parted his lips obediently.
Paul exhaled as John inhaled. Their lips never touched but Paul wanted them to - wanted to feel the press of John’s lips against his. He pulled back and watched as John’s eyes slid closed, holding the smoke within his lungs.
Paul playfully patted the top of John’s head and said, “There’s a good boy.”
John’s eyes shot open and Paul felt delicious excitement down to his toes as John regarded him with a hungry look. Paul continued to grin, almost coquettishly now, as he reached behind him and placed the burning joint between John’s lips.
As he went to climb off him, more than pleased with his reaction, John’s hand quickly grasped onto the meat of his thigh, pulling hard until Paul fell fully across his lap - his legs spread wide. His hand landed on John’s shoulder to steady himself.
“Where d’you think you’re going,” John breathed.
Paul could feel the heat of John’s body flush against his and when he shifted, the friction on his hardening cock, had him biting at his bottom lip, a movement that John followed closely with his eyes. They were so close that Paul could feel the warmth of his breath against his face as John held him firmly in place, a strong arm wrapped around his back. Paul moaned.
“Oh, aye?” John teased, smirking around the joint. “Does Paulie like it a little rough?”
He seemed pleased to have taken back control.
“Come off it, Lennon,” Paul tried to scoff but it held no weight as John moved beneath him, rubbing himself against Paul’s ass.
His mouth parted in pleasure.
John took a quick drag off the joint, while Paul panted above him. He disposed of it into one of the empty takeaway containers on the floor, making sure to keep Paul planted firmly on his lap.
He threaded his fingers through Paul’s hair and pulled on it tightly, exposing his long neck.
Paul whimpered, anticipating the feel of John’s lips on his own as John went to exhale the smoke into his waiting mouth. Before they touched though, John pulled away, adamant on making Paul wait. Paul blew out the transferred smoke with a shuddering breath.
He’d never been this wound up. It was mad how easily John could turn him on. He wanted to return the favor.
John leaned forward, grazing his parted lips against the base and sides of Paul’s throat, breathing him in. He placed open mouthed kisses across Paul’s jaw before nibbling at his ear. Paul’s hands tightened in John’s shirt and he felt John smirk against him in response. John leaned back and grasped Paul’s chin like he had the first time. His thumb coming up further, gliding against the soft skin of Paul’s bottom lip. Paul thought distantly of lost time as he pulled the calloused pad of John’s thumb into the warm wet heat of his mouth.
“Fuck Macca,” John gasped. “You’re gonna bloody kill me.”
Paul moaned as he held John’s hand in his, guiding his thumb in and out, enjoying the way it felt on his tongue and the sounds it pulled out of John. He nipped at it lightly with his teeth and John growled, the sound driving Paul forward to capture John’s lips in a heated kiss.
It was unlike any other first kiss Paul had experienced before.
Kissing John was obscene; all tongue and teeth, both determined in their consumption of each other. They breathed heavily into the space between them and it was unclear who the wrecked sounds, filling the room, belonged to.
John’s hands went to Paul’s ass, palming it roughly, as he licked into Paul’s mouth, trying to memorize every inch of it and Paul, already feeling ready to burst, had trouble believing he could be this hard over a kiss.
Everywhere John touched or grabbed or kissed was on fire. Every new grunt or groan that came from John’s lips would send Paul reeling. He wanted his hands on every inch of him, he wanted to see what other sounds he could get John to make.
Paul’s hands went to the button of John’s trousers, making quick work of it. He needed to touch him and soon. He needed to feel the weight of his want for him, hard and leaking in his hand. Paul pulled him out of his pants and they both moaned into the other’s open mouth. John leaned in to kiss him again as Paul stroked him with an unhurried pace, entranced by the feel of him in his hands and the way he’d jerk forward when Paul would squeeze him just so.
“You like that?” Paul breathed into John’s ear.
He ran his thumb across the tip in a way he enjoyed. It seemed to have the desired effect.
“Course I fuckin like it.” John almost whined, his hips stuttering beneath Paul’s.
He wondered if John also liked to be talked to when he was getting off. Paul surely did. Didn’t matter much to him if he was the one talking or getting talked to, either way it made him hot.
“Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” Paul asked, ghosting his lips across John’s cheeks and mouth, pulling away before John kissed him.
He stopped mid stroke and started teasing John with the tips of his fingers.
John did whine as he said, “Jesus, Paul.”
He pushed his hips up in search of more friction but Paul held back, enjoying the desperation painted on John’s face.
Paul hummed as John groaned in frustration then met his eyes with a heated look. The blush from earlier, now covered John’s entire face and Paul found it beautiful. He wanted to tell him. Instead he leaned forward and kissed John sweetly on the lips as he whispered, “If you’re good for me, I’ll make it good for you.”
John moaned low in his throat, hips jerking forward - his cock swollen between them, leaking from the tip.
He nodded eagerly, ready for Paul to touch him again.
Paul smiled, running his hands through John’s hair, enjoying the control. “You have to tell me, Johnny, so I know.”
John rolled his eyes but his breathing had quickened.“I’ll be good.”
“Yeah?” Paul nipped at his ear. “How good?”
“Mm so good, Paulie. Just touch me,” John begged.
“Shh,” Paul hushed, rocking his hips forward, the roughness of his pants against John’s bare cock made John’s eyes roll back into his head.
“Paul,” John moaned. “Get on with it.”
He tightened his grip on Paul’s thighs dragging his thumbs across the outline of Paul’s cock in his trousers. He traced the hard lines of it with the tips of his fingers and Paul bucked forward into his hands.
“Alright,” Paul breathed. “Fucking hell.”
He quickly unbuttoned his trousers, pulling himself out as John watched with lidded eyes. He spit generously in his hand before wrapping it tightly around the both of them, stroking them together. They watched the slick slide of skin against skin in awe, as Paul set a relentless pace, John fucking into his fist with fervor.
“Oh fuck, Paul, fuck,” John groaned. “S so good. So good.”
Paul tried to focus on keeping his rhythm as he reveled in the feeling of John’s cock against his. The weed only seemed to amplify the waves of pleasure that pulsed through his body. John snaked a hand under his shirt, tweaking a nipple and Paul yanked on his hair in response. John moaned loudly and begged him to do it again.
Paul wouldn’t last much longer.
John’s hand joined Paul’s wrapped tight around them, matching his stroke. He seemed unable to stop the obscenities that continued to fall out of his mouth.
“Come on Paulie, fuck. I’ll be so good. I’ll be so good for you. Give it to me, I want it. Please.”
He was everywhere. Paul could feel him in every part of himself. He didn’t know where he began and John ended.
It was this thought and John’s pleading voice that pushed him over the edge. He bit into John’s neck hard as his orgasm ripped through him, sending hot spurts of cum onto John’s cock and shirt.
John watched him closely, stroking him through it, mouth agape in dreamy fascination, his own cock momentarily forgotten.
Paul’s head fell between John’s neck and shoulder as he came down. He didn’t let himself think as he nuzzled against the exposed skin, peppering it with kisses and slight grazes of his teeth. John seemed to enjoy it as he leaned his head against him, his breath still coming out hard.
Paul lifted his head and met John’s lips in a tender kiss, a hand landing possessively on his neck and pressing down, barely there but enough. John seemed to get lost in it as Paul parted his mouth with his tongue, tasting him over and over. While they kissed, Paul brought his other hand back between them and began stroking John in the way he’d learned he liked.
John moaned into his mouth as he quickened his pace.
“You’re so good, Johnny.” Paul said in a gravelly voice he didn’t recognize.
John whimpered in response, panting.
“Are you going to come for me, John?” Paul said as he jerked him off, the wet sounds of flesh and John’s moans filling the room like music. The more he talked the closer John got to the edge.
“Fuck, come on John, I want to see you come, baby. You’ve been so good for me. Come on, you’re so close. I want to feel you.” He paused. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up. Would you like that? Would you put your cock in me?”
John suddenly heaved forward as if punched, his orgasm catching them both by surprise. Paul watched, captivated as John’s face contorted in pleasure. He continued to stroke him through it until John’s shaky hand pushed him away with a whimper.
They both took a moment to catch their breaths and John, blissed out, kissed every inch of Paul he could reach: his nose, his cheek, the slant of his jaw until Paul was laughing above him. He stopped when John finally kissed his lips, slow and soft.
There was no heat in it; only the gentle exploration of the other, only John kissing Paul because he wanted to. They kissed like that for a while, John with his hands on Paul’s thighs and Paul with his arms around John’s neck, melting into him.
John wrapped both arms around him and held Paul gently in place, his hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. His head was buried in Paul’s chest but still Paul could just barely make out the mumbled, “Stay.”
Paul smiled, petting the back of John’s head. He ran his fingers through the short hair at the base of his skull, feeling John relax beneath his touch.
They had a lot to talk about but for now, this was enough.
They could figure out the rest tomorrow.