Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Half drunk in a club, surrounded by his friends, staring into his drink as if it held the secrets of the universe, with some song playing so loud it made his chest vibrate, all Paul McCartney can think about is how much he doesn't want to be there.

And to think this was his idea… He’d been a bit insisting after the concert, which was some hours ago. Brian, please, can we go? Brian, but we have the next gig in two days. Brian, it's more than enough for our voices to recover. Brian, I swear, if anything happens to us, I will allow you to kick me out of the band.

"If that happens we'll be all jobless before summer's over" John said under his breath.

Paul smiles faintly as he remembers the conversation they had. For tonight’s gig in Madrid, they didn’t have the biggest venue or the largest crowd, but the people who showed up made them forget all about it the moment they stepped on stage. The boys left the stage euphoric, and that same energy carried over to the whole crew, meaning, Brian and their sound engineer. They felt the need to celebrate their triumph in some way.

Brian is especially concerned about how the boys spend their free time, as he knows the shenanigans that used to occur back in the Hamburg days. But to Paul, he has nothing to worry about. The boys had learnt quickly after Brian discovered them while performing one of their gigs in The Cavern that he knew what he was doing, and that taking him seriously could lead the Beatles to stardom. So they worked hard, like the professionals they wanted to become, and then, after the day was done, maybe, and only maybe, they allowed themselves to have some fun. And finally, after all these years breaking their backs, all their efforts were giving the deserved return. The boys are now touring for the first time around Europe, beyond England, where their names are already well known. With all the dates sold out, they’ve just released a single that is working well on the charts, better than any single so far. Brian couldn’t say no, especially when Paul pulled that angel's face.

So there they are, dancing in a club surrounded by people. In this place, they’re anonymous lads, probably mistaken by tourists, which is a relief. They can’t do that in Liverpool anymore.

The tune changes and the crowd reacts with enthusiasm. The energy in that big room suddenly rubs off on Richie and George, who start dancing with more abandon. Under normal circumstances, Paul would have laughed and joined them, but nothing tonight is normal.

John loves that song. He doesn't know a single word of Spanish, but he sings Bad Bunny's discography effortlessly, even imitating him, which makes the boys burst out laughing every time. It's like a guilty pleasure of his, except that he doesn't feel guilty at all. He likes the puzzled looks he gets when he tells people in the scene that, instead of rock legends from the last century —maybe a bit of Arctic Monkeys here and there, or obscure underground bands led by rich kids— he also loves to shake his ass to some Caribbean rhythms in his free time.

But Paul can't find John at the moment, and he doesn't think he wants to. Some minutes ago, some guy was trying to get closer to him, Paul saw it clearly from a mile away. He had managed to catch his attention eventually, Paul saw it all: the smiles, the brief conversation in each other’s ears, the subtle touches on John's arms. He decided that if he had to witness that he better be infinitely more drunk, so he went to the bar for his third drink, if he’s not mistaken. When he got back, John was gone.

“I’m stepping out,” he shouts in George’s ear.

His friend looks at him, puzzled.

“You okay, man?”

Over time, Paul has gotten very good at hiding things —his homosexuality, and his attraction to John in particular. He isn’t about to stop now, shouting in a club.

“I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

“Want us to come with you?”

“Don’t worry. Just hold my drink for now.”

The warm Madrid summer air hits his face the moment he steps outside. He can’t call it refreshing, but it’s better than the heat inside the club.

Paul walks through the crowd of people who had had the same idea as him, stepping out for a smoke, talking to each other at various levels of drunkenness. Truth was, that’s the most fun part of clubbing: getting out for some fresh air, meeting people, sharing confidences with strangers. But Paul is not exactly the social type, especially if he doesn’t have his mates beside him.

George, the quiet one, observant but always sharp enough to impress everyone. Ringo, the funniest guy he knows, charming in a way that makes women eventually forget he’s the shortest of them all. And John, of course, handsome, witty, thoughtful when needed, charismatic. He can get anyone, any boy, any girl, and people remember him.

With them, Paul can navigate parties, gigs, press conferences, interviews, premieres, pretending to be as charismatic and extroverted as his friends and even succeeding at it. But when he’s alone, he prefers silence. Or music.

A few meters away from the crowd, Paul moves closer to the street and leans against the hood of a car. Here no one will bother him and he can indulge in self-pity without explaining himself to anyone.

He breaths in deeply for a few seconds, eyes closed. Up until that moment, he hasn’t realized how dizzy he actually is.

He brings a cigarette to his lips and lights it. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he feels the anxiety of the last few moments fade timidly. If Brian saw him, he would probably kill him, especially in the middle of a tour, but at this moment Paul doesn’t care.

There was a time in which he thought that his feelings for John would fade with time, but it’s been years, and Paul’s still waiting. It’s actually getting worse.

It isn’t the first time John is out there looking for a hookup, but lately, when this happens, Paul feels his emotions, usually buried deep in his heart, stir inside him and surface in a way that anyone who wanted could notice. A kind of anger takes over him toward all those people, who are guilty of nothing except drawing John’s attention while Paul is around. It doesn’t show outwardly, but it consumes him and makes him feel utterly insignificant.

It was bad enough when John started dating Cynthia and Paul soon realized she was too sweet and kind to act like an asshole with her, but that relationship didn't last long anyway, especially with the tour coming. So there he is again, enjoying his single life.

"Hola, ¿tienes fuego?"

Paul looks up. So lost in his own thoughts, he hasn't noticed that two girls have approached him.

"Perdón, no hablo español." he says, in halting Spanish.

"English?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have a lighter?"

The girls each held a rolled cigarette, unlit.

"Sure."

Paul lights the both. He takes the chance to get a better look at the girls. One is blonde, wearing glasses, and the other is a short brunette with cropped hair. They are different from the English girls, and it seems that, like most people in this city, they have no idea who he is, which is a relief. Paul doesn’t mind meeting people who connect with the Beatles’ music; in fact, it’s quite satisfying after so much work and effort. But at this moment, he isn’t in the mood.

"Thank you!" they say. Paul thinks they look nice, but if they are looking for something else from him, they picked the wrong guy.

"Where are you from?" the blond girl asks.

"Liverpool."

She smiles.

"Cool! What's your name?"

"Paul."

"Nina. And this is Alba." She points to her friend.

Paul smiles politely. He could just wrap up the conversation there.

"Are you okay?" Nina asks.

"Pardon?"

"We were just wondering if you are okay. We saw you from there and you look a bit sad."

Paul's smile freeze. He senses that he’s already drunk enough to say too much. Maybe the Beatles aren't that known in Spain yet, but he can think about one journalist or two that would kill to be in the place of these girls. And maybe they can connect the dots anyway, with the right information.

"Hum... Yes, I’m alright, thank you."

"Did you come here alone?"

"No, my friends are inside. Just wanted to have a smoke."

The girls don't say anything. Nina looks at him, patiently waiting for him to talk more. She's listening. Paul feels a little annoyed, but doesn't want to be rude.

"I'm just... I saw something I didn't want to see. That's why I walked out."

"¿Mal de amores?"

"Say that again?"

"It means… eh… lovesickness. You look like you're going through it."

He hadn't told a soul about the John thing. Not even George, who Paul trusted with his heart. For Paul it’s sometimes painfully clear when it comes to his song-writing, but no one has asked yet. Maybe it’s not the most brilliant idea to tell a stranger at 3 in the morning, but, screw it. He’s sad, and he’s in love. And most importantly, drunk.

"Yeah. Yes, that's it." He takes a drag from his cigarette. "There's this.... girl in my friend group. We’ve had a strong connection since the beginning. Like we understand each other on a deeper level."

Paul likes to think that he met John by a twist of fate. He’s rather an atheist, but when it comes to him, he can’t help but doubt. It was in spring, and George's school was organizing a battle of bands. Paul was 15 years old and couldn't not think about something that sounded more lame to him than going to some event organized by the school, let alone one that wasn't his own, but George was very insistent, and Paul always had a weak spot for him anyway. Turned out to be the best decision ever made, because the last performance was a rock group that went by the name of “The Quarrymen”, led by John at the guitar.

"Sometimes I think briefly that she might feel something more, but I'm never sure, you know"

"Like mixed signals?"

Should the way John sometimes looks at him be considered a mixed signal? It happened just earlier that night, during the show. The performance was almost over, they were playing the outro of Hard Day’s Night, taking their time, especially with that generous crowd in front of them. John looked him in the eyes as he played his part, half rehearsed, half improvised. Is Paul reading too much into that mix of admiration, complicity, and camaraderie? He never knows.

"Maybe not. We’re just very close. Some months ago we went to..."

Paul didn’t want to say Paris. Just in case. Both had posted pictures on Instagram about that trip.

"...Greece. The two of us, for her birthday. Alone. It was her idea."

The girls looked at him, lifting their eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh. That’s…"

A few weeks ago, before the tour started, they went to Paris. It was already planned since October, when John turned 21. They slept in the same bed because booking an Airbnb with two rooms was out of the budget. No big deal, the bed was big enough, and it wasn’t the first time that had happened. Every morning, they woke up early, had breakfast at the same café, and took long walks wherever they felt like going that day. Paul tried to make a schedule for the trip, but John would ruin it every time, wandering down alleyways and ducking into places tourists rarely noticed. But Paul couldn’t get mad. He loved the way John looked at everything in Paris with quiet awe, as if he were trying to absorb it all.

"Yeah. You never know with her. H–she is with some guy she just met."

"You could tell her how you feel."

"Bad idea. We are coworkers. If this falls apart it will be only my fault."

If John rejected him, the Beatles could never be the same, and the thought rendered Paul incapable of doing anything about it. If there’s one thing that Paul could maybe love just a little bit more than John, that thing is the band.

"What do you do?"

"I’m in finance. We’re overseeing an international deal, that's why we're here."

"I wouldn't have guessed it."

"In what way?"

"I don't know. You look more like… Bohemian, maybe? I would have guessed you do art, humanities or something. Or music."

Paul tenses. The girl is so close to guessing it.

"Nah. I don't have the talent. I can't for the life of me sing in key."

What a fucking liar you are.

"Oi, Paulie!" says a loud voice from behind

Paul turns around immediately. There’s only one person in the world that calls him that. There’s John smirking with a hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink that who knows how the hell was he able to sneak out of the club. He’s dressed to kill in his black t-shirt and jeans combo, the one he uses to go out when the heat is unbearable to wear anything more elegant. Paul can’t remember what he was saying right before he appeared out of nowhere.

"Having fun, eh? You're in good company," he says, pointing to the girls with his chin, with a teasy tone in his voice. Then, he laughs, like he finds himself hilarious, or like he’s sharing a private joke with Paul. Which is strictly true, as John is the only person that knows Paul likes men.

He confessed it to him one night in which for some reason they couldn't stop talking. It was the summer after Paul graduated from high school, and they’ve spent the whole day together, writing music. Paul had never felt comfortable enough to talk about that out loud. Of course, he hadn't realized yet that he was falling for John.

John knows almost everything. The few infructuous experiments of his teenage years. The inside jokes in Paul's childhood friend group about his fear of women. The fact that Paul is more than willing to never ever tell his father, because he just knows he would get disappointed about it. He also knows that Paul hasn't slept with anybody yet, which, for some time now, has begun to feel like a weight pressing in the pit of his stomach. And John gets Paul, or at least he wants to think he does, because when he talked about all his internalized homophobia and all the things he had to do in order to more or less be in peace with himself, with no therapy and no friends that could reassure them, John was holding his hand, not judging him on the slightest.

Paul has always admired how unapologetic John is. He doesn’t mind not being liked, and Paul knows he could never live like that. But he felt so understood by him that day. Paul recalls everything. Today, however, those memories also bring some ache to his chest, now that there’s a new confidence he’ll never share with John.

"Were you having fun?" Paul answers.

"I do now," he says, turning to the girls in a smooth movement. "John, nice to meet you."

Nina and Alba introduce themselves and look at each other very subtly. Paul knows exactly what they are thinking. Been there, done that. Nobody can resist John Lennon.

However, Paul knows that this time it’s all a façade. There are two sides to John’s charming nature: the one you have a chance with, and the one you don’t. In both, John always gets what he wants. And now, for some reason, he flirts slightly at most, with no intention of pursuing anything else.

"Are you one of Paul's coworkers?"

John looks at Paul.

"I was telling them about our project at Lloyds."

Paul is not nervous about the interaction. Back at home, when they still could get out of the house without people approaching looking for a picture, if they went out they sometimes did this. Making shit up on the run, pretending to be different people. It was so fun. John looks amused.

"Right. Yeah. Paul's the best of the team."

"They were saying that I looked like a humanist, or an artist, can you believe that?"

"What, like a singer? How on earth? You can't sing, for the life of you."

Paul almost chokes.

"How did you sneak out your drink?"

"This? Oh, it's yours," says John, taking a sip. The drink is half empty and Paul swears that it had more liquid inside when he handed it to George.

"Then give it to me!" Paul laughs.

"Be grateful, George was done with his and was starting drinking it when I asked about you."

John takes the cigarette from Paul's fingers without asking and he takes a drag, while Paul takes his drink from his hand.

Now the girls are the ones looking amused. Amused at them, at the whole interaction. Paul knows that together they could cause that on people. They call it the Lennon-McCartney effect. He is unapologetically proud of that, proud that their bond is visible to everybody that meets them.

"We better get inside. They're playing bangers and you're not there with us."

Paul remembers with bitterness what made him step out of the club in the first place.

"Let's go then."

"Sorry ladies, I have to steal him from you. He's a very important man with no shortage of admirers."

John takes Paul by the arm and without waiting for permission he drags him towards the club.

"No worries. Bye Paul."

Paul waves at the girls wondering if they figured out that his "coworker" was indeed, John. But he's too drunk to care.

"So, we work in a bank now," John smiled broadly "In the city of London, perhaps? Private equity?"

"We are part of a team handling an international project."

"What do you do?"

"Didn't tell them."

"Still, what do you do?"

"Data."

"What about me?"

"You're my junior." Paul gives him a smug face.

"Oh, you wish, McCartney"

"Is that guy still around?" he asks in the most casual way possible

"Who? Oh, him. Nah, I got bored. I wanna have a good time with the band."

Paul feels much better than when he got out of the club.

A few hours earlier, Paul had thought the best thing he could do was go to bed. But here he is, goofing around with his friends. And it isn’t so bad. John was right: the music was good. Though, to be honest, Paul could have fun anywhere, as long as his company is the band.

There is a moment in the night when the four of them step out again. Paul has run out of cigarettes, so Ringo uses his charm to ask for more. The next thing Paul remembers, while George and Richie are somewhere talking to girls, he and John are on some stairs, saying nonsense that wouldn’t have been funny sober, but in that moment, they can’t stop laughing, repeating the same jokes over and over, each time laughing harder than the last. At one point, John loses his balance, and to keep from falling down the stairs, he leans on Paul, who grabs his shirt and pulls him close. John rests his forehead against Paul’s shoulder. The laughter slowly fades, and neither of them move. Paul feels intoxicated with his scent, a mix of John’s cologne, sweat and smoke.

"You were amazing today," John says, dragging the words. He’s drunk enough for that not to be a surprise, but also it looks like suddenly he’s getting really sleepy.

"Say again?"

"On stage. Best coworker ever."

Paul laughs, but lets those words warm his chest. He wonders if John’s thinking about them looking at each other when the concert was reaching its end.

On the way back to the hotel, John hooks his arm around Paul as if he owned him. It isn’t the first time. John is like that with everyone. When they are on the road, or they take the bus back in Liverpool, when he gets sleepy, he dozes on whatever shoulder or lap is closest. He goes around hugging the boys and messing with their hair. He climbs onto someone’s back, asks to be carried a few steps, and jumps down before they can protest. He swipes cigarettes with lightning-fast hands, winks, promises to pay them back, and always keeps his word. Always generous, overflowing with energy, spreading it through the group with his antics.

All of that becomes even more pronounced when John has a drink too many, just like tonight. Paul, despite the fact he’s just as drunk, knows it, and it would be foolish to think there’s anything special about it; the warm weight pressed against his side, the laugh vibrating near his neck, the way their steps fall into sync without anyone planning it. Richie and George sing the band’s songs in drawling voices, many of them written by John and Paul in their bedrooms. There’s a moment when Paul can’t help but sing along too.

Finally, they make it to the hotel. Resisting the temptation to collapse on the lobby couches and sleep soundly, the boys almost drag themselves to their rooms. Paul and John share one, Ringo and George another one right next to them. Paul opens the door and turns on the light. John kicks off his shoes immediately, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. Paul would go straight to his bed and sleep until the afternoon from sheer exhaustion, but seeing John like that stops him. He is completely bewitched, he just mimics John, leaning against the closed door.

"That guy wanted me to take him to our room. Even when I told him that I share it with you. Men don't have shame these days."

Oh no, not that again.

"And you said no?"

"Of course I did. You would've killed me."

Thank you I guess.

"True."

"We would've made out filthy and then I would've crawled to your bed, let him sleeping alone."

Paul just laughs, pushing John playfully.

"What the fuck are you saying?"

"Best of both worlds." John can't stop giggling and Paul knows he can’t take him seriously at all.

"God you are so wasted."

John goes into the bathroom, and Paul finally lays down. His head is spinning, and he isn’t entirely sure he won’t throw up, so he closes his eyes. A few minutes pass before he hears John coming out.

"So can I do it?"

"Can you what?"

"Sleep with you."

Paul freezes for a second, and just opens his eyes, staring back at John, who’s taking off his t-shirt. He is too drunk to understand what the hell is going on at this point. There’s something unreadable in the way John’s mouth moves, like he’s holding back a smile which meaning Paul can’t quite understand.

“W–what?”

“I mean sleep, Paul,” John rolls his eyes. “Gosh. Literally. Just share a bed.”

"O–okay, but why?"

"I don’t know," John mumbles. "I feel like it. Just like Paris."

Paul watches him get into his pajamas, which, on those heated summer nights, usually means nothing more than an old t–shirt and his briefs, his legs left bare. The moment Paul notices he’s staring at John’s tights as he walks to his bed, he closes his eyes again.

"Just like Paris, eh?" he says, almost in a mocking tone.

The last night they'd spent in Paris, they bought a cheap bottle of wine, which was better than any wine that they'd tasted before anyway. Paul doesn’t remember much of what they talked about, but he remembers the laughs. At some point John took his guitar and began to sign badly on purpose. Paul fell asleep almost as soon as his back touched the queen sized bed they shared, and could have perfectly not heard John's last thing that night:

"I've never met someone that gets me like you, Paulie."

But Paul will never forget that. John loves physical contact with those who loves and appreciates, but he is a bit more reserved when it comes to feelings.

Paul woke up that next morning hugging John from behind, legs intertwined, not minding all the empty space left in the bed. Neither of them have ever mentioned it. Paul is remembering the sensation of having John in his arms when he asks him to move over.

It’s at that exact same moment in which Paul realizes that not only is he drunk and slightly dizzy, but also he’s getting a little aroused. No good idea involving John, or the two of them for that matter, is likely to cross his mind in this state, so Paul makes a quiet promise to himself: he won’t open his eyes, he won’t look at John, he won’t move an inch. It’s bad enough that John has settled against his outstretched arm on the pillow. 

They are still and in complete silence for a couple of moments.

"You never flirt or make out with anybody when we go out," John says out of the blue. He sounds like he’s about to fall asleep.

"Because no one knows I like men?"

"If everybody knew, would you do it?"

Paul thinks about it for a moment.

"Nah."

"Why?"

"I don't like it. Not with strangers."

Paul did that once or twice, through dating apps, but never again. He still has faith in romance.

"You have to know the person, right?"

"Yeah."

"I get it," John sighs deeply "It's actually for the better. You are too good for most people anyway."

There it is again, the soft side of John. Paul sometimes has the feeling that he is like that only with him, but he is probably very wrong about that. He doesn't know what conversations John has with George, Richie, or his friends back in Liverpool.

"What are you talking about John? I'm just a guy."

"You're just a gay."

Paul and John cackle at the same time.

Why was he so upset early tonight? Paul almost can't recall, and definitely can't resist the temptation of opening his eyes and looking at John, and it is a terrible idea, because he's looking at him as well, smiling fondly, and Paul kind of wants to ruin everything and just kiss him. So he gets out of the bed slowly, as if John was pulling him back only with the strength of his mind.

"Be right back."

In the bathroom, he pees and brushes his teeth trying to get his shit together and gain mental strength to not do anything stupid. When he comes back John has his eyes closed and his breathing tells Paul that he is really close to falling asleep, which is great news. He turns off the light and lays with him. And he thinks it's over, that he's with his eyes closed, safe with his feelings, but no, because unwittingly, subconsciously, Paul has laid down, shortening the distance between him and John, and he knows that he has gotten himself into an even bigger and more tempting mess than before, breathing the same air as John, but he can't, won't move.

“I wonder if I’d be, myself.”

In the darkness, Paul feels John's hand moving to Paul's arm. His finger tips play with his skin for no apparent reason. A chill spreads through Paul’s body, starting at the point of contact where John touches him.

“What?”

“Good enough.”

“Of course you are.”

He knows it’s wrong and should put some distance between them but finds himself placing his hand in John’s side, not quite hugging him, just touching.

“I mean for you.”

Paul freezes. His whole body itches, like it’s waiting for something.

“What do you mean?”

John's hand moves slowly over his skin, making its way up to his face, his thumb wandering through the skin right below his lower lip. Paul knows he should stop this. How the hell did they get here?

"John?"

"Mmh?"

Please, don't, he wants to say. Don’t do this, I like you too much to say no to you. But he can't. He grabs John’s wrist, intending to move his hand away from his face, but instead finds himself caressing it.

What are they doing? John is in his bed, drunk, under the sheets, stroking him as if he wanted him. And Paul isn’t stopping him; he’s waiting to see where it will lead them, as if it isn’t bound to end in disaster. They’ve both lost their minds.

There’s a moment when John presses his thumb against Paul’s lower lip, parting his mouth just slightly. He shifts, replacing his thumb with his lips, and just like that, they kiss softly. And it’s the most amazing thing Paul has ever felt. Suddenly, he’s floating. It’s been a while since the last time he kissed someone and John’s lips are soft and perfect, and he can smell the alcohol in his breath mixed with the mint of his toothpaste; he follows the kiss for an instant, and the sound their lips touching make is beautiful, and definitely not enough. He has to summon a willpower he didn't know he possessed to take a deep breath, create a few centimeters of distance between them, and say under his breath:

"We’re too drunk for this."

There’s a short, tense silence that drags on too long before John replies in the same tone:

"But I've been thinking about it for weeks."

Weeks.

Paul wants to say he has been as well. For weeks, and months, and years. That he doesn’t want to see John with anybody but him. But those words never reach his lips.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

What the actual fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

"Then why are you always fooling around?" Paul can’t help but ask.

“People just come to me.”

“Yeah. Right,” Paul says sarcastically.

John can’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, maybe that’s not exactly true.”

“It’s a bold lie.”

"I can make it up to you if you want me to,” John says, placing his hand on Paul’s waist.

He can only think about two things right now. The first one, that soft touch, coming straight from heaven. Second, it’s all a terrible idea. But Paul can feel his resolve vanishing in a dizzying rush. He’s a very weak man.

"And how are you planning to do that?"

"I can show you if you let me."

Maybe this is just what he needs to do in order to finally move on. After tonight, after having a taste, Paul can stop yearning for John. God knows that's becoming a burden, as a friend, as a musician, as a writer. How many love songs has he written about John at that point? He’s lost count.

"Okay."

John coups Paul's face in his hands and kisses him again, but this time in one of his cheek, and then in his nose, and then in the other cheek; and finally in his mouth, to which Paul can't help but close his eyes and sigh, like if a pain that he didn't know he had, suddenly had disappeared.

In the darkness, Paul can see nothing but a shadow that is John, filling his entire field of vision. It allows him to concentrate on the sound of their breaths and the touch of John’s skin against his until they kiss again. He can’t see him, but he has memorized everything about John and now pictures all of his features. Paul traces his skin in the dark as if confirming he’s not imagining any of what’s happening. As if John might disappear if he doesn’t. His thin lips, from a small, careful mouth, pressed against his. John's face, naturally drawn long, with a sharp jawline looking gorgeous in every possible angle. He reaches his cheek, brushing his temple with his thumb.

John shifts in search of a different angle, brushing his pointed nose against Paul’s. And then, he’s stroking Paul’s lower lip with his tongue shyly like he’s waiting for permission. Paul answers almost thirstily, running his hand up to John's hair behind the ears, bringing him closer. The kisses become more intense. John is amazing at that and Paul feels almost insecure, but he can't think too much about it, with his tongue in his mouth, his hands in Paul's lower back to bring him closer, biting his lip softly before kissing him again.

Where is all this eagerness coming from?, he thinks moments later, when he feels John rising until he is hovering over him. Their bodies are almost pressed to one another, but John holds his own weight with his hands on both sides of Paul’s head. It’s enough anyway to add a slight friction in the right places, which makes Paul let out a very soft sigh in John’s mouth that hopes he didn’t notice. It’s only moments after when there seems to be some sort of truce, and John pauses, catching a deep breath, making Paul inadvertently do the same as his hands move through John’s shoulders and chest.

“So am I making it up to you?”

“I’ll tell you in a second.”

It seems like John is about to say something, when Paul senses him tilting his head toward him, but instead his lips press against his face and trail down to his ear, then settle on his neck. And John, the bastard, knows what he’s doing because at the same time he lowers his hips enough to press against Paul’s, making him let out a ragged sigh.

"Shit."

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly," John mumbles on his skin.

Paul can't help but chuckle, but deep inside he is starting to panic. Mildly, at least. Where are they heading with all of this? He feels the entirety of his bloodstream heading towards his crotch, and John knows it, and he has no idea what to do about it.

John moves back and kneels between Paul’s legs, sliding his hands over them. That alone would have been overwhelming, but suddenly he grabs them and pulls Paul closer, making him chuckle again, pleasantly surprised, feeling an intense tingling where their bodies touch, Paul’s legs loosely wrapping around John’s waist.

When John comes back to kiss him, bending Paul's body making him feel smaller, he notices that he's smiling too, but it doesn't take much time for him to kiss his hair, jaw and neck again, this time going down to his chest, over his t-shirt, kissing the fabric loudly. His hands also move to the edges, making contact with Paul's ribs, provoking chills all over his torso.

"Can I take this off?" John whispers.

Oh sweet lord, he’s not ready for this.

"Sure"

Paul sits up and raises his arms, ignoring his thoughts, letting John take the lead, who immediately turns on the bedside lamp. Paul needs a few seconds to get used to the light again, only to find John staring at him, and he swears his eyes are darker than usual. He looks like a dream come true, lips swollen from kissing, hair a mess. Paul smiles shyly, and John smiles back, not shyly at all.

John also pulls off his t-shirt. Paul is mesmerized. He recognizes his body as something kept quietly at the back of his mind: the rise and fall of his chest, the soft weight of his stomach, the line of his shoulders disappearing beneath his head, the scattered constellations of moles, the fine, restless hairs that never stay in place. And yet, simultaneously, it’s all completely different now. He can touch now, he can run his fingers through his skin. He’s drunk and he has the perfect excuse.

Soon John is at it again, kissing him, starting in his mouth and trailing downward, all the while stroking his legs and the sides of his hips. Paul really starts to panic when he realizes that what they’re doing isn’t going to stop here; on the contrary, it’s only going to escalate. At some point, John is going to reach…

Paul hisses when John cups his dick, hard at that point, softly over his shorts, while he keeps kissing his stomach.

Is he going to...? Paul's thoughts collide at full speed, John’s hand touching him over the cloth. What is he doing? What does he expect from Paul after... whatever that is? Reciprocity? Is sex etiquette a thing? Did he forget his lack of experience? Rings and George are in the next room... Can they hear them? How much can he last, giving all the alcohol he drank? What if he can’t get it up? Does John know that he isn't shaved? Will he be okay with that?

"I can hear you thinking."

Paul is looking at the ceiling and he realizes that he, on the other hand, can hear John smiling. He sits up slowly and they both look at each other. John still has his hand in his cock and Paul tries not to think too much about that.

"I’m sorry," he says

"Don’t be. Please, tell me what's on your mind"

Seconds ago Paul was spiraling, but not anymore. He’s a bit better now, more focused, but he still has questions.

"What do you want to do?"

John's smile gets wider and mischievous as he gets closer to Paul, slowly

"I want to suck you." John lowers his voice, dragging his words, pecking Paul's lips. He feels his stomach dropping at those words. "That's all I’ve been thinking about for like the past hour or so."

The past hour. Paul knew it was just an expression, but where were they an hour ago?

"You don't have to do anything.” John keeps talking as his lips go back to Paul’s neck. “Just let me make you feel good. If you want me to, of course"

Paul wonders if this is just a really long fever dream.

"Are you real?"

"Very much," John chuckles and kisses Paul again. "So, what do you say?"

"I'm not shaved, just so you know," Paul mumbles as fast as he can.

"That's okay, it's just hair"

Paul feels like Julius Caesar right before starting the civil war, but like if he'd crossed the Rubicon a couple of times already, one after another. But oh, he’s weak. He’s going to cross it again. Alea iacta est.

"Okay then, go ahead." Paul at this point can just stare at John’s lips, wanting more. In his mouth, his neck, anywhere.

"Haha. Funny. Go a-head."

Paul looks at him deadpan. John chuckles, like containing a laugh. He can tell he's so proud of that pun and won't give him the satisfaction.

"John, for fucks sake."

John is still smiling while he goes down again, leaving a trail of kisses, a bit more accelerated pace than before. His hands land in Paul's waist, playing with the elastic of his briefs.

"Lift your hips, dear."

The word lingers, suspended in the air and in Paul’s mind, as he obeys. He is soon completely naked. All his body tingles from the anticipation, and Paul holds tight to the pillow. He doesn’t think he can get his eyes out of the ceiling, not with John's hands running around his thighs, not when he can feel his breath against his dick.

He feels he's going mad, because now his lips are all over his pelvis and his thighs, kissing and licking his skin softly, and his hand suddenly holds his cock, motionless, almost loosely.

That's why Paul gasps and his back arches lightly when he feels John's tongue licking his dick from the base to the tip. Paul becomes fully conscious about the noises he can make from this moment on. He thinks again about George and Richie in the room beside them, and well, the people sleeping in the rest of the hotel rooms. And, God, John has much more experience than him. It's embarrassing to be as worked up as he’s right now, right? What a fucking loser he is. Oh, but it feels so good, he thinks as well, his arm pressing his eyes while he lets John do whatever the fuck he wants to him.

It takes some moments, but eventually John takes the entirety of his length and Paul can't help letting out a soft moan as he feels John's breath exhaling through his nose, landing in his stomach. Like it was some sort of a response, he hears a soft groan, coming from the back of his throat that makes Paul wonder if he's actually enjoying all of this. He feels it like a vibration expanding all over his pelvis that makes him arch his back again. But John holds his hips over the mattress, making it impossible for him to move. Like he has no choice but to enjoy what John's doing in the most passive way. He doesn't intend to complain.

Pleasure comes in waves, directly related to the movements John makes with his head and his tongue, twirling around his tip. It gets more intense all the time. The noises are the most obscene thing, like kisses, but wetter. Paul can't help it, he lifts his head some inches so he can see. The sight almost sends him to another dimension, because John's between his legs, his head going up and down as he sucks with his eyes closed, looking concentrated on his task in hand. There's a moment in which he opens his eyes, watery, and the eye contact makes Paul feel like writhing under him, everything's just too much.

"John," he whispers as he throws his head back against his pillow. "I— holy shit, don't stop, please"

John is smirking when he takes his cock out of his mouth and masturbates it briefly, fastly, and Paul's breath has become soft ah sounds, higher pitch and more accelerated every time. Soon it's back again in his mouth, and that's when Paul comes biting his own arm with all of his strength, so nobody hears him. John doesn't choke, doesn't even flinch, he just stays there for a couple of seconds until he swallows it all, caressing Paul's legs, not stopping to stare at him at any point.

Paul's accumulated tension in all of his body disappears and he could have almost fallen asleep, if he wasn’t… shocked by what just happened. He is looking at the ceiling again when John moves and lays down next to him, both releasing a deep breath.

"You’re alright?"

Paul needs a few more seconds than normal to process the question.

"Yeah," he nods.

There's a moment of silence until Paul speaks again.

"Can you pass me my briefs?"

John frowns very slightly, but gives them to him anyway without asking.

"Oh, you are shy," said John when Paul puts them on again, looking at John awkwardly.

"I guess so."

Paul knows his impulse to cover himself is rather weird. Especially after receiving a blowjob. But John doesn’t scoff at him or question his behavior. Instead, he lays his arm over Paul's chest, his hand caressing his cheek.

"Are you okay? Did you like it?" John watches him, uneasy.

Paul just snorts.

“Doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

John giggles in response, and Paul feels like a schoolboy, with butterflies in his stomach. He places his hands in John's arm and gives him a kiss, and John kisses his shoulder in response, closing his eyes and sighing again, visibly relieved. Paul does the same, and they lie there for a while. But soon after something pops up in the back of Paul’s mind.

"John."

"Mmh?"

Paul smiles slightly, like a kid about to curse, knowing that's forbidden.

"Do you want me to do the same?" he whispers

"Only if you want." Despite those words, John seems excited for the proposition, which makes Paul feel a bit more confident.

"I do. It’s just…” Paul lowers his voice “I don't think I want to swallow it."

"Okay."

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all, dear. I’ll tell you when to stop."

God, he's being so kind and so patient with him. Paul wants to cry.

"Okay.”

"Okay. I have tissues somewhere in... wait."

John sits up and looks at the bedside table for a pack of tissues that gives to Paul while he lays on his back again.

"There. Do whatever you want with me."

"Okay."

Paul suddenly feels much less confident than some seconds ago, but he tries not to show it while he sits up. John looks beautiful by his side like that, his arms next to his head, looking at him like he just woke up from a nap. Then, Paul changes his mind. Deep down he knows he really doesn’t have to look that cool in front of John. He couldn’t fool him anyway. That’s the downside of being known.

"I have no idea what I'm doing. You can guide me if you want to."

"You'll be fine, it's more simple that you think."

Funny John says that. He’s never been simple for Paul, not even a little.

"Can I kiss you?"

"God, you're adorable, come here."

Paul feels a very particular warmth in the base of his stomach that expands to his chest, a sensation he savors while he leans forward, kissing John deeply, while he grabs him and brings him closer until he’s sitting in his lap. His mouth has a different taste as before, but he refuses to think too much about it. He soon moves to his neck, but he wants to do it slowly, to take his time in hopes John enjoys it as much as he did. But he kind of enjoys it too, John’s hands on his back and his hair, messing it up, his hips rolling, looking for some relief in the form of friction against Paul’s body. For the first time in his life, Paul feels desired, and it’s weird.

Paul’s mouth goes from John’s neck to his clavicle, leaving a trace up to his sternum, coaxing deep sighs out of him. In the meantime, his hands anticipate, already on John’s hips. Paul only needs to rub his fingers against his dick, visibly hard under the cloth covering it, to hear John moan softly.

“Please take it off,” whispers, almost inaudible.

Paul gulps but he does what John asks him beneath his attentive gaze and soon he’s completely naked in front of him. Paul can’t help but observe for a couple of seconds John’s cock, thick and heavy against his stomach, with some precum in the tip. He doesn’t allow himself to think twice, and he just leaks it clean. The reaction that he gets from John is delightful, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. And, oh, the noise he hears coming out of his pretty mouth. Something really primitive inside of Paul makes him not stop with his little quest, and slowly, being careful not to gag, puts the rest of it in his mouth, until he can almost touch John’s crotch with his nose.

“What the fuck Paul.”

Paul pulls his mouth off, minding his teeth.

“Something’s wrong?” He asks, worried. John, on the other hand, looks flabbergasted.

“What? No, fucking hell, of course not.”

“Then?”

“You just took all of it it as it was nothing, fuck.”

Paul can’t help but smile slyly, but he’s not done. He’s a man with a mission, so he bends again, repeating the path that was already made, much easier this time. He bobs his head slowly, stroking John’s stomach. He can't look at him with his dick in his mouth, he could die of embarrassment. But still he feels a weird ache, a longing. He needs a linkage, some way to feel closer to John. Since the tip of his dick is already in the back of his throat and he can't merge their bodies, he takes his hand and guides it through his own arm, his back, to place it in his own head. That should do.

"Christ," John whispers. Paul can feel his fist closing, grabbing some of his hair. "You don't know how much I want to fuck your throat right now"

Once again, Paul lifts his head. "Then do it," he says deadpan.

"Say that again?"

Hang on, is Paul ready for that? He hesitates. He knows it can get aggressive.

"You can push. But... kindly. Please"

John looks at him with both disbelief and fondness, as he holds his head and face, shaking it softly, as he’s holding back an impulse to do something more harsh.

"You are so cute, God."

John’s almost moaning when he says that. Paul again feels the warmth in his stomach, but this time he picks up on a nuance of lust on that feeling, provoking thoughts he hasn’t felt before about anyone. He’s never in his life wanted to please someone as much as John in this moment. He goes back to what he was doing, but this time, John is the one who sets the pace, which suits Paul well because it's one less thing he has to think about.

"If you want to stop, tap my leg, okay? You can do it whenever you need it"

Paul doesn’t answer. He can’t, for obvious reasons. He concentrates on the task ahead, relaxing his throat and trying to figure out how to keep breathing without choking. He finds it helpful to hold the base with his hand, experimenting with various levels of grip.

“You’re so good, Paul, fuck—”

John minds his request, and he doesn’t go too harsh. But slowly, the pace accelerates. Paul reckons that John might even not realize it. And with that, John’s breath becomes erratic, sounding almost like soft moans, and his back arches. Paul knows that’s his cue to stop.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay” John’s hand stops the ups and downs, pulling Paul far away from his crotch.

Paul takes a tissue and they both cover John’s dick with it. He’s still pulling Paul’s hair as he comes. The substance soaks it quickly, warming Paul’s hand, and soon getting in his fingers. But Paul is not bothered by that. He uses another tissue to clean up John, who at this point lays almost lifeless, with a grin in his face. Paul is about to wipe his hand as well, but he observes the cum for a second, like a scientific observing an experiment. He feels John’s eyes on him when he leaks it.

“I’ve never cursed my eyesight more in my life.”

Paul laughs at those words. He concludes, as he wipes the rest with the tissue, that the taste is not as gross as he expected. Although he doesn’t know what he was expecting at that point.

"Come 'ere"

Paul obeys, laying down in John's chest as he hugs him, his lips on his scalp, kissing his hair.

“You did so good, dear”

Paul feels like melting right there, in John's arms, at those words. He's dying to know, is John this tender with everybody he sleeps with? Is that why everybody falls over heels for him, just like Paul did?

"Are you sure you've never done this before? You aren’t lying to me?"

Paul chuckles.

"No, nothing until now. Like you said, it's not that hard."

John smiles, kissing his forehead.

“Thank you. It was great,” he says against his skin. 

John keeps kissing his forehead and his temple, moving slowly. Paul knows that at some point he should ask what's the plan now, after that drunk-sex encounter, but he closes his eyes and realizes that he has no mental strength for that at the moment.

"Are you comfortable?" John asks.

The truth is Paul could die right there. He would be so okay with that.

"Yeah."

But he doesn’t die. He just falls asleep.

*

When he comes back to his senses he first notices the warmth on his skin, not related to the hot weather of the south of Europe, but to the soft body, with a familiar smell, laying next to him, and he hears a slow breath that swears that it's not his, very close to him, suggesting he's not alone in that bed.

The events of last night begin to unravel in his mind, first slowly, then all at once. The club, the drinks, the music, the girls, John, that guy that was very much into John...

John. The kisses and what came next.

Sweet Jesus.

Paul opens his eyes and lifts his head, and there he is. John is lying next to him, completely naked except for a thin sheet covering him up to the waist, Paul's arms wrapped around him. He looks like a dream in this light, with the sun all over the cream walls. Paul is terrified about what's to come right after this, the unavoidable, awkward conversation they're going to have that will probably cover their feelings for one another (John's, undoubtedly nonexistent, Paul's, far-reaching) and will destroy everything that they've built together over the years.

Unless, Paul thinks. Unless he can trick everyone, him, John, the rest of the world, fate, God, into thinking that it's not that deep. Of course he can sleep with people and not ruin things in the process. After all, people do that all the time. John does that all the time. Didn’t he have this fling with his friend Stu, some years ago? And he's one of his best friends to this day.

"Paul," John mumbles against the pillow, eyes closed still.

"Mmh?"

It’s a casual “mmh,” deliberately inflected, like John, with that sexy, raspy voice, hadn’t interrupted Paul’s internal spiraling.

"What time is it?"

Paul takes a look at his watch.

"10:52."

He definitely needs more sleep. Ideally, without John, so he can freak out peacefully.

"We better get ready"

"When are we leaving?" asks Paul.

"Around 6 o'clock I think. But we have the interview today"

Paul groans. John finally opens his big brown eyes and smiles when he looks at Paul.

"Hi"

"Hi"

"How did you know I was awake?"

"You breathe differently when you sleep. And you were caressing my back in a way"

Paul’s hand is in John’s back and he hadn't noticed he was doing that. He freezes immediately.

"Right"

Silence feels thick between them. Like there's some sort of tension forming, and Paul is dying to get rid of it, before he says something stupid, like he loves him or whatever. But John at least looks like he doesn’t notice it, because he whines.

"Why did you stop? I like it"

"Sorry.” Paul’s hand moves again. “How are you feeling?"

"Hangovered" John growls. “Shit, I don’t want to do that interview”

Paul also wants to ask what is going on. Does John know how he makes him feel? How many times has Paul dreamed about that exact situation, and how clueless he feels now?

"Are you alright?" asks John.

"Yeah."

But really he’s not.

"And with... you know, last night?"

Except for the fact that I'm in love with you?

"Yeah."

"Sound. 'cause I am too."

"Sound."

Is that all?

"I'm gonna have a shower, I feel disgusting," says John as he sits up in the bed and stretches. Then, he looks at Paul, smirking and whispers: "But if you wanna join me, you can."

And Paul must have completely lost his mind, because despite the spiral of thoughts he’s been drowning in, just minutes ago, he can’t help but sit up and follow him, by then John has already turned the corner and gone into the bathroom, and Paul can hear the water running.

Even though John has deliberately left the door slightly ajar, Paul knocks softly with his knuckles and peeks his head inside.

"Come in, silly"

Paul tries not to process what his eyes see, John's body and hair soaking. He’s not too thin, a tiny bit of body fat here and there, asking to be squeezed and held and kissed, just like he did last night. John was never the athletic type anyway. But it doesn't matter, not for him. It’s perfect.

Paul tries not to think too much about the way he, on the other hand, looks with no clothes on when he takes off his briefs and hops in the shower with him. He is grateful that without glasses, John's blind as a bat. Maybe that way his legs, a little short compared to his torso, or his pale skin, or the acne scattered across his chest would go unnoticed.

John doesn't seem to notice particularly in any of that, as he moves so Paul gets under the stream of water.

"Water's too cold," says as his skin meets the water. "Do you mind...?"

"’Course not," says John as he turns the tap. "Like that?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

Turns out that showering with another person is logistically harder than Paul thought. The stream of water is designed for one person and while he is under it, John waits outside while he lathers up, getting cold and vice versa. It happens even if they eventually hug, and it's not ideal, as their chests don't get wet because of the unexisting space for the water to get through them. But Paul enjoys it nonetheless. Especially when it involves kissing.

John's height is the perfect one to merge his mouth with Paul's neck, taking his time with every kiss, sucking very tamely, careful not to leave any mark that could make the boys raise questions. Paul's hands tangle in his wet hair, pulling softly to find his mouth and kiss it deeply.

The way John's hands run around the sides of Paul's torso gives him chills all over his body, making it difficult to concentrate on much else. Everything is new and exciting to him. At that point, he was kind of open to anything. Paul's mind begins to wonder. It's in that moment when he has an idea.

"John"

"Mmh?"

"Last night you said that most people were not good enough for me."

"And I stand by it, dear," John mumbles against his mouth before kissing him again.

"So you think that you are?" says Paul, almost whispering. John looks taken aback for a second, but then he looks at Paul and smiles when he says, while running his fingertips through his chest and stomach: "Tell me."

"I’m probably not. But, I mean, you seemed to enjoy what I did to you."

Paul did enjoy that blowjob, thank you very much. But he also likes this back-and-forth with John.

"But it's that all?"

John is silent for a second, and with his hand in Paul's neck, grabbing it softly, he guides him against the wall.

"You think I’m done? That's insulting."

John starts kissing his neck again with renewed energy, pressing his body against his while he keeps talking. Paul feels his legs weakening. The thought of whatever this is not being over yet paralyzes him.

"Just wait, the tour is far from being over."

"What if I don't believe you?" although Paul very much believes him. It’s easy to say yes to anything in this moment, with John’s hands in his thighs, touching lightly.

"Oh... you will."

John's hand explores Paul's inner legs until he touches his dick and balls, softly, as he resumes the kisses. He plays with them, like he has no plan in mind. Paul let his head rest against John's shoulder, letting go a small moan. Then John begins a rhythmic, slow movement from the base to the tip that makes Paul's legs feel like gum, and God, John won’t stop kissing his skin.

"I would love to suck you again. You were so good, Paul, so good for me. But you know what I would love to do after that?"

"No?"

Paul feels like he’s shaking in anticipation of the answer. With his other hand, this time, John explores the lower back of Paul, very slowly, squishing his ass before circling his fingers around Paul's hole. He doesn't put pressure on it, but combined with John masturbating him, is more than enough to make Paul open his jaw in an almost silent moan.

"I would love to fuck you. Not your mouth, you. You would take me so well, I’m sure," mumbles John while he starts putting light pressure in Paul's entrance, provoking goosebumps all over his body.

“Fu– uh,” Paul moans again when John’s finger moves just a bit more.

"I like the sounds you make."

Paul needs a moment to process what John is saying.

"Last night I held back," he whimpers.

"Why?"

"Just in case somebody heard us."

John grabs a bit of Paul's hair, pulling softly. He doesn’t stop those tortuously slow movements of his hand at any point.

"Look at me."

Paul lifts his head a bit, mouth half opened, gasping.

"I don't want you to do that."

Paul closes his eyes.

"Please go faster."

John ignores his petition.

"Did you listen to what I said?"

"What if they hear me?"

And there he goes. John speeds up, up, up, like the pitch of Paul's moans.

"Then they'll want to watch."

Paul let out a loud gasp before coming. He could have fallen to the floor, but John holds him tight in his arms, against the wall, completely unbothered about the fact that he has cum all over his stomach and chest.

"Holy shit." Paul smiles.

“Good enough yet?”

Paul laughs.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” Paul says before John leans on, kissing him deeply.

It keeps going for a long time. And then they're hugging, and at some point John's fingertips are running through his back, very very slowly. Paul feels like he could merge in one with John. Like that closeness was not enough.

"Did I go too far? With all that talking?"

Paul smiles. He just doesn't want to think (for now) about how John saying those filthy things made him feel.

"I mean you made me come, so... yeah, I guess you did."

"It's the fun part. What I mean is... don't take what I say very seriously. Most of it is... you know. Shit I don't really think."

"Except for...?"

"Well, I still would love to fuck you at some point. If you want."

Paul's mind comes with a question he's not sure if he wants an honest answer for.

"Have you thought about that for weeks too?"

John looks at him back and his eyes are different now. His gaze has the intensity it had last night, when he was undressing Paul. Paul thinks, vaguely, that if John keeps that shit up he could soon come again.

"Be very careful with what you ask."

And in that exact moment, Paul hears a knock on the door of the hotel room.