Work Text:
John woke to light kisses at his throat. A smile graced his lips as the kisses moved up to his cheek. His eyes blinked open to see the top of Paul’s head.
“Morning, der.” Paul’s voice was gruff from sleep but his eyes were free of it, filled instead with dark and swirling lust. He pecked at John’s lips before making to straddling his hips in one swift motion.
“Morning to you.” The sheets had fallen off Paul’s back, leaving the lad in only underwear. John took in every bit of the thin and beautiful man before landing on the morning wood tugging at the cotton of his drawers. “And you.”
Paul chuckled before enveloping John in a deep kiss, moving his hips against John’s, making him groaned into the kiss. His hands trailing across the bass players back to pull him closer. Paul took the intuitive to tilt John’s head back, deepening the kiss. After a while, Paul pulled away, his hands pressed into John’s chest. His fingertips trailed down the blue fabric of John’s shirt until he was at the hem. Smiling like mad, John propped himself up and let Macca shimmy off his shirt before he fell back onto the bed.
He could practically feel his stomach fat move from the short fall and immediately began to worry at his bottom lip, his smile long forgotten. He wanted his shirt back on or for the morning light to disappear and give way to darkness. Looking at Paul’s slender body on top of his only served to enforce the idea that he really was the “Fat Beatle” (as one newspaper so elegantly put it). Speaking of, his eyes darted to the side table where that very newspaper sat, tucked away in the drawer.
“John?” Paul had become quite still on his lap.
The older man’s eyes snapped back to his partners. As a secondary thought, he released his lip from between his teeth. “Yeah, love?” He tried to lose himself in Macca’s eyes, his hands moving to pull the lad on top of him once again. Paul didn’t comply, however. He took John’s hands in his, a worried smile on his lips.
“Do you… not want to?” He shifted slightly, stroking the back of John’s hand. “I didn’t mean to-“
“No!” John rushed to answer, wanting to wipe the uncertainty from his Mcca’s face. “No… I do. I want you. It’s just…” John didn’t know where he was going with that. He certainly did not plan to tell Paul of his insecurities or that damned paper. “It’s nothing.”
Paul still slipped off John’s lap to sit beside him. This left John completely exposed and suddenly cold, the only thing covering him being his underwear. He preferred Paul’s body being there to hide his own from him. And, well, because it was Paul’s body on top of his. How many reasons does a man need to want that as often as possible?
His eyes trailed down to his stomach and thighs. He hated them. Would it be suspicious of him to put his shirt back on? He decided it would be and settled for setting up and pulling the sheet over himself.
“Did I do something,” Paul asked with all too much love and concern in his voice as he continued to stroke Lennon’s hand, his fingers trailing along the heart-shaped vein that sat at the center of his hand.
John snapped his hand away at the absurdity of the question. “Wouldn’t I tell you if it was something you did?” He realized, too late, that his movement and words were too harsh.
Paul threw his hands into the air, moving off the bed to grab up a pair of trousers from the floor. “Well, I’d fucking hope you would! What then? This all too queer for you now?” It was clear to see his partner had defaulted to defense mode. He yanked on the trousers, leaving them unbuttoned as he awaited a response.
This relationship was too new and precious to get lost for a stupid argument. His words should have been softer. He shouldn’t have pulled away. He knew Paul was frightened of John being scared off by the queer nature their friendship had turned to. If only he could keep that in mind when he spoke rather than after.
He had to fix this before Macca took the intuitive to storm off. Breathing in slowly, he lowered his head into his hands. “It’s not too queer for me, for fuck sake.” He couldn’t think right. His head was too fogged with the image of his own ugly body when he even glanced at Paul. As quickly as he could, he slipped his shirt back on and pushed his fringe from his eyes.
“What are you doing, then?” There was still a harsh clip underlaid in his words as he paced the floor despite John’s attempt at reassurance.
“Nothing, Macca. I just- I can’t think. Could you stop your pacing, please.”
Paul stopped in his tracks as the word please left John’s mouth. With lingering uncertainty dying away to concern, he moved closer to the bed.
John let out a sigh. “Can we just pretend this didn’t happen, aye? Start over?”
Paul huffed and moved a step back from the bed. John had lost ground— said the wrong thing. “Come on. Just tell me what’s got you bothered.”
John’s eyes moved, involuntarily, back to the nightstand drawer. Paul followed the line of sight and moved over to it in just short of a dead sprint.
“Hey! Stop- stop it!” John called out as he tried to wrestle Paul’s hand from the drawer. It was a useless pursuit, as Paul had it open in seconds, tossing out the hotel Bible and leaving only the paper underneath. John tried to snatch it up but Paul beat him to it, dancing on tiptoes away from the bed. “Give that back, you prick!” He wanted to jump from the bed to snatch up the paper and tear it to shreds but the thought of leaving the covers to expose his body was too much at the moment. So, instead, he curled his legs up to his chest, glaring over as Paul scanned the paper. His features had fallen into a deep frown as he looked over the paper.
“What are you doing with this rubbish? Aye? This is all rubbish, y’know?” Paul was waving the paper about in a clenched fist before finally tossing it in the bin.
Something sunk inside of John as it landed in the wastebasket. He wanted to get it out. Read it a million times to remind himself to not eat like he always does. He was so intently staring at the wastebasket that he hadn’t noticed Paul walking towards him until Paul had his face cupped in his hands. Warm and rough hands that he could melt into. Macca tilted John’s face up to catch his eye and John did nothing to resist, taking to the idea of melting.
“It wouldn’t even matter if you were fat but you’re not, y’know.” His voice was gentle and as genuine as humanly possible with his warm honey eye just adding to it all. John wanted so desperately to believe him but he couldn’t. It would make life a hell of a lot easier if he could believe every comforting word Paul spoke to him but life was not willing to be that easy.
So, instead of believing him, John scoffed and put his hands over Paul’s. He moved the younger man’s hands down, lacing their fingers together, and looked between them both as his legs fell into a crisscross. Paul stood with his trousers unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his hips, his stomach flat and trailed with dark hair. He was looking down at John with those beautiful eyes and face that could make a bird feel jealous and in love all at once. “How can it not matter when you look so perfect and I look like this?” He couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice as he looked down at his not so flat stomach, glad the sheet was covering his giant thighs.
It was Paul’s turn to scoff, now. He pulled John from the bed and John reluctantly followed, letting the sheets slip away. Paul’s eyes danced over his body, making John squirm a bit. “You are perfect to me. Wouldn’t dare change a single hair- not one.”
John made to protest. Those words were too kind, too heartfelt. The worst part was that he knew Macca could not be lying and that was too much to believe. He couldn’t think John was perfect. He just couldn’t because if he did John might fall apart and crumple to the floor and never be able to get up again. Because he didn’t deserve this stupid-beautiful man that loved him so much. But Paul silenced him with a kiss before any of that could be put to words, his hands snaking to John’s back to pull him close. Reciprocating tenfold, John formed as much of himself as possible against his partner, scrunching his eyes closed tightly. Everything felt suddenly so intense and John wanted to cry, hating himself for that too.
His hands went to Macca’s hips, pulling them forwards with a tight grip, before going over the soft skin of his back. He could kiss this man for hours, never leaving the spot. So lost was he that he hadn’t noticed the tears stream from his eyes.
Macca pulled back from the kiss, leaning his forehead against John’s. His hands suddenly appeared at John’s cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the runaway tears. “I know you don’t believe me now, Johnny. But I want to help you believe me- no matter how long it takes.” Paul kissed him softly and pulled away slowly. “You are perfect, John Lennon.”