Work Text:
It’s not as though John had ever made a habit of staring at Paul while they changed before shows, thank you very much, but he’d defy anyone not to notice what appeared to be the remnants of six of the best decorating Paul’s arse. The crisp white of Paul’s dress shirt draped just so, framing rather than hiding the marks.
The weals were slightly faded, not the angry, puffy welts John remembered seeing in the mirror in the immediate aftermath of the canings he’d received at school, but the marks appeared to be just raised enough still for John to want to run a finger over them to feel, and to make Paul shiver.
If Paul would let him. Suddenly, John remembered how Paul had always looked away when John caught him looking at rough play on display in Hamburg clubs. He’d assumed Paul wasn’t ready yet, but that he’d come to him if and when he wanted to try it. Or to try, well, anything, from a new chord progression to a new drug.
But Paul must have wanted to experience this with Jane first instead of him. Well, he’d have to punish Paul for that by calling everyone’s attention to his marks before he could put his pants on (had Paul not been wearing pants previously due to chafing from the marks? He might have to ask). He’d also have to add something about how under Jane’s control Paul apparently was, which was pathetic really when everyone knew she had another boyfriend in Bristol too.
John was just opening his mouth to invite the few people currently in their dressing room to look and laugh at the results of Jane’s fiery brand of discipline when George Martin, who seemed to have some sort of sixth sense for trouble, at least before shows, caught his eye and shook his head before moving to stand in front of Paul, shielding his lower half from view with his body while whispering in his ear.
Whatever George told him made Paul shimmy into his pants and trousers quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, given the state of those weals, because he winced a little. And then George, rather than considering the warning about Paul’s marks being on display to have been imparted and moving on to check sound levels or whatever it was he needed to do next for the broadcast, grimaced sympathetically in response to Paul’s wince. Anyone not observing intently would have missed how closely attuned to Paul George seemed to be. But John didn’t.
George rested his hand on Paul’s back for a moment before murmuring something else to him. A question this time, it seemed, because Paul looked down at the ground before giving a nod. George appeared to ask again, managing somehow to look both sympathetic and stern, and John could see his hands were restless, as though he wanted to…what? Tilt Paul’s chin up and look him in the eyes? Pull him close? But he seemed to accept whatever answer Paul gave this time and contented himself with giving Paul’s back a pat.
“Have a good show,” George said to John on his way out. It sounded almost like a warning. John nodded, too numb to respond in any other way. Paul? And George Martin? John had also assumed that when (or if) Paul wanted to try anything with a man, he'd try it with him.
By the time Paul had traded his “for the press” dress shirt for the one he’d spent all night creating for the show and come over to herd them toward the stage, John had come up with a response. Actually, he’d cycled through several responses.
He had things he desperately wanted to know but knew he couldn’t ask, not now and probably not ever. Like, how it had all started? Why George Martin and not him? And, finally, how had Paul taken his caning?
John found some satisfaction in the idea that Paul had cried out, though he suspected he hadn’t. It did look as if it had hurt, though. If Paul had cried out, how had he sounded? Distraught enough for George to stop and soothe him a bit before continuing? Or would George have calmly told him he was taking it well and saved any other comfort for after?
John couldn’t imagine what George might have done without imaging how he himself would have reacted to Paul's distress, which in turn made him wonder whether he’d have any chance at this point of engaging in something similar with Paul. Given the way George and Paul had been with one another, John suspected not. And that suspicion led him to respond with an attack.
“Will Daddy cane you again if you slip up on television?” he sneered into Paul’s ear. This wasn’t a taunt he could make in front of the room at large, much as he’d have liked to. At the same time, he wished he had the privacy to give Paul’s arse a good, hard pinch.
Paul raised a brow, as though he’d expected something worse, but he didn’t have the sense to look as ashamed as he should. “No, but he might if I do well,” he replied with a wink before brushing past John. A. Wink. Paul was lucky they were heading into a broadcast situation because John felt the need to give him a lot more than a pinch on the arse for that.
All You Need is Love indeed. John took some joy in the fact that Paul would probably be uncomfortable sitting on those hard stools during the performance. He tried not to think about George comforting him after as a result.