Chapter Text
October 31, 2002.
You looked so beautiful that John wanted to arrest you. Literally.
Ever since you'd walked into that party with your bunny ears and that black corset that fit around your waist, John had thanked every possible saint for dressing up as a cop that night.
He knew he looked good. He was no fool.
He had leaned against a wall, police cap shading his eyes, and the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up enough to show his arms. The girls would pass by and smile, look at him, or directly wink at him. It wasn't him that he wasn't used to it, but tonight the girls were especially interested in him.
It was the same old routine. Arrive with the guys, grab some drinks and disperse to look for chicks to spend the night with and forget about the next day — but, today, they were waiting for you. Star girl, isn't it?
You'd helped them get dressed, like every year.
You'd helped John find a police suit, you had even given him some handcuffs while joking that he might handcuff some cute girl that night and have her all to himself, punishing her for her bad actions.
You'd helped Ringo with his tie, you had made sure to tell him not to bet stupid things, you had even cleaned his lucky rings a little, saying that maybe he would get some girl to spend the night in that sexy mafia costume.
It was you who'd convinced Paul to dress up as Michael Myers, insisting that his hair was the perfect length for the character. You helped put fake blood on the suit too, and you'd even put gloss on his lips for... you know, in case he was lucky tonight.
And it was you who convinced George to go. He'd complained a thousand times, saying that he had things to do the next day, that he was too tired, that he was thinking about watching some horror movie and that dressing up was not his thing.
When you mentioned going dressed as bunny, he completely changed his opinion.
He chose one of the simplest costumes in the world, and despite your constant complaints, he had a decision made. You didn't complain for a long time either, because at least you had convinced him to go and you were happy with that.
So you just helped him put on a little makeup to make him look more vampy, and... you went with that. George already had natural fangs anyway.
And when they saw you appear, with a white bunny ears sash, a black corset that lifted your breasts and a fluffy skirt that mixed gray, white and a little black... well, they lost it. Your skirt did little to hide your underwear when you bent over, and those cute heels made you just a tiny bit taller.
They've been hanging around you all night. You, of course, without noticing it.
You had been greeting others, talking to people you didn't usually talk to, just laughing and drinking a little — you'd decided to come out of your shell that night. You were about to cancel everything at the last minute, but you remembered the effort you had made to drag George to the party and ended up going anyway.
By one o'clock in the morning, the music was louder, the lights were lower and people seemed to be bolder.
Couples making out in the halls, drunk guys daring to talk to the cute girls, friends laughing out loud in the living room, and people locked in the upstairs rooms. You could have sworn you heard moans when you passed by the bathroom.
You ended up sitting next to John on some random couch, already half tippy, still laughing at what some guy had said in the kitchen.
"You smell good" you commented as soon as you collapsed next to him, letting out a small sigh as you looked at him with a soft little smile.
John wasn't sure if alcohol was the only thing in your body or if there was something else, judging by the way your words were literally slurred.
"Of course. Law enforcement."
He replied casually, smirking, already passing an arm behind you on the sofa. You laughed softly as you leaned barely towards him, almost instinctively seeing him closer too than before.
“So, bunny... you lied to me" John muttered, leaning towards you as he looked at you with that casual calmness that was always on him when he was joking.
"Me?" you squealed, playing at being offended as your eyes opened. You emitted a small sound by way of complaint, barely registering as his gaze lowered for a few seconds to your lips.
"I haven't arrested anyone. You said I might end up with a cute girl handcuffed to ma' bed."
"Well, I said maybe. I never assured you of anything!"
And that's how the jokes started to fall.
You two had a tug-of-war relationship. He would joke, say stupid things, and you would respond with something worse and then play innocent. Over the months, you had become attached to him, and already being naturally affectionate when you got drunk, you somehow ended up with your bare knees brushing his thighs.
John didn't mention it.
He kept teasing, teasing you, at some point during the night pointing at a girl and complaining about how he had flirted with her years ago and she had sent him to fuck. You laughed softly, teasing, not realizing how his other hand had gone to your thigh, now too close to be casual.
"I thought it'd be a real thing, y'know? it's not good to flout the law" he said, squinting at you as if he was testing you, gently squeezing your thigh, as if it was something casual. No, rather, trying to make it casual.
You rolled your eyes, smirking gently as your hand traveled to his own thigh, squeezing just as he had squeezed yours. Of course, his hand was quite a bit bigger than yours and therefore covered your thigh more than you covered his.
"Sorry, Officer. You gonna arrest me?" you asked, batting your eyelashes at him.
"There it is."
And without much thought, he leaned over and kissed you. Maybe it was the alcohol that gave you that feeling, but John was kissing like he'd been holding out all night. His kiss was almost rough, with desire bubbling under the surface.
Steady hands, squeezing your thigh and gently stroking with his thumb, cheeky, while humming softly in your mouth. You could barely let out a moan of surprise, because you were already reciprocating the kiss — faster than you'd like.
You settled better on the couch, knees brushing while his hand went up the side of your thigh, as if testing the terrain to get to your ass. His head slightly cocked, kissing you hungrily.
Anyone would think that you two have kissed before, judging by how John seemed to know perfectly how to kiss you.
You were too dizzy to register that you were tugging on his shirt collar gently, urging him on, while he stuck his tongue in your mouth.
The kiss became messy, too obscene, and they definitely earned some bad looks that you didn't noticed, too caught up in the moment.
"Get a room!"someone shouted.
John raised a finger at them without breaking the kiss, though mentally he was already trying to remember which was the closest room with insurance. You, on the other hand, couldn't wait.
"Johnnie..." you murmured against his lips, breathless, pulling away to rest your forehead against his shoulder, the drunkenness suddenly hitting you at the lack of oxygen from kissing for so long.
Shit, you should definitely learn to drink less.
"Ah, I see. And I thought the drunk here was me..." you heard him say, his voice like a mocking melody to your ears.
You felt his hand slide from your thigh to under your skirt, a small sound escaping from your lips. John didn't stop — his hand found your warmth, stroking you with two fingers, mockingly soft.
You squeezed your legs, whimpering as you felt the despair growing in you little by little. His fingers caressed your panties, touching just enough to get you going but not to give you what you needed.
"This is wrong, y'know?" John murmured close to your face, breath brushing your skin as he looked at you without taking his eyes off you. Eyes closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed, biting your lip so as not to moan.
"Public indecency. You're rubbing on ma' hand like you don't mind being in a crowded place."
You gave his shirt a little tug in response, almost like a silent complaint at his words. His hand then stopped for a moment.
You heard him click his tongue, before he barely moved so he could sneakily look under your skirt, giving a brief glance around before his eyes went back to your panties.
God, you were desperate.
He could already see a small wet spot on your black panties, and for a moment it crossed his mind how it hadn't occurred to you to occupy something to cover yourself. Maybe you had forgotten, or maybe you'd done it on purpose.
John quickly convinced himself that he was the second choice.
"Usually, I'd get you arrested all at once... but, ya know, I don't wanna do a show. And I'm really bored."
He muttered, low voice close to your ear as he carelessly pushed your panties away from your wetness. He barely grazed your entrance, before sliding a finger inside.
You mentally thanked how big his hands were at that moment.
"I get bored at the station, ya know? is..."
That's when you lost your patience.
"John, stop playing the cop and fuck me."
"... Fine. If you insist."
You two soon arrived in a room with the door closed — John opened it urgently, without asking, while throwing you inside with him before anyone saw you two.
Barely when you turned to look at him when you heard the metallic sound of handcuffs. John lifted the handcuffs in one hand slowly, with a smile on his face, squinting at you mockingly.
You snorted softly, somewhat incredulously. "Really?"
"What?" he replied, falsely innocent. "I bought them to use. Be a good girl."
You couldn't resist after he called you that.
You let him handcuff your hands behind your back, you gently complained when he pressed you against the wall, saying it was too cold... and yet you let him fuck you.
You moaned softly, feeling as he grabbed both of your wrists to keep you still, even if the handcuffs were already doing their job well. At first you could feel your panties halfway on your thighs, but you forgot it as soon as you heard a belt opening and a zipper coming down.
It was just as you expected.
Messy, tough, shameless.
He held you against the wall the whole time, muttering obscenities while maintaining a relentless pace — fast, urgent, as if he had no more patience to take his time with you.
You whimpered, cheek pressed almost painfully against the wall as he pushed you against it every time with his thrusts, an obscene sound of skin bumping against skin filling the room. If people outside were listening, you were screwed.
What were you gonna say? That John Lennon had been fucking you messy not caring if others were listening because he was a top pervert?
"It gets you worked up, doesn't it?" He mumbled, rapid breathing barely controlled. "Fucking knowing that there's people outside, listening. Bloody hell— How dirty you are."
His cock was going in and out of your hole quickly, not caring to be careful, feeling your walls tighten around him every time he kissed your neck or left you hickeys. It was dirty, and to be honest, you could see it coming. It was John, for God's sake.
When he finished, muttering that he wished he could fill you up but he'd leave that for another day, he barely remembered to unbutton your cuffs. His cock was rubbing against your entrance still, condom still on and still half hard.
"Damn you, cocky bastard."
You murmured to him, still with your cheek against the wall, gently rubbing your wrists once he released them. You gave him a bad look over your shoulder, watching him smirk at you smugly.
"Uh-huh. You enjoyed it" he replied, without much flinching as he turned up the zipper again, distracted, condom already in the trash can.
"You're unbearable."
John was too much in his bubble to listen.
He kissed you one last time, proud and smug, complaining when you bit his lip. He excused himself with going to get another beer, but you saw how his eyes went to a chick and....
Well, there he went.
Belt still unbuttoned, police cap twisted on his head, clothes crumpled, and handcuffs who knows where. You didn't look much better — messy hair, slightly red cheek from so long against the wall, and with the wrinkled skirt.
You decided you weren't going to go get John because, well, you knew it would be stupid.
That's how you ended up with Ringo, who was playing beer-pong.